Bitter Drink (17 page)

6 OUNCES GIN

5 DROPS TABASCO SAUCE

2–3 DROPS LIME JUICE

1 PEELED SHRIMP, GRILLED

1 LIME SLICE

M
ix the gin with the Tabasco sauce and lime juice in a blender with ice. Serve in a cocktail glass. Garnish with the shrimp, the slice of lime, and the sixties hit “Surfin’ Bird” by The Trashmen.

This drink was born in the 1960s in Puerto Vallarta, when the beach town became one of the main tourist attractions in Mexico after John Huston filmed
The Night of the Iguana
there. The romance between Richard Burton and Liz Taylor got a lot of press, providing great publicity for the resort. The creator of the iguana martini was a local restaurant owner who got his start with a small seafood grill, thus the creative addition of a grilled shrimp garnish. The inspiration for the cocktail came
from one of the restaurateur’s best customers, an amateur surfer who worked as head of security for the famous film.

__________________

The sun rose behind me, illuminating the bay. I’d been waiting for daybreak on the beach just outside town so I could catch the early-morning surf. The waves were small, peaceful, as if they were playing at slower revolutions than the rest of the world.

After several hours lost in my own world, I came back to reality, collapsing contentedly on the beach and reaching for my last bottle of gin. My Woody was waiting on the access road, along with what few belongings I had. Ready to go back home, or to whatever else was out there.

Some of the rustic palapas that sold grilled seafood were starting to come to life. The smell of freshly made tortillas reeled me in to one. Inside it was hot from the grill, but I found myself surrounded by familiar faces. The family that had given me a ride on the boat that fateful night was there. When he saw me, the man smiled, and the kids ran around me, cheerfully shouting and laughing.

The woman was preparing the tortillas, taking advantage of the fact that the baby was asleep by her side.

“
Buenos días
,” I said, sitting down on an old wooden chair.

“
Buenos días, señor
,” the father replied, still smiling. Seeing him made me remember our encounter with the
whale. For me, it had been a magical moment; for them, just another day living in paradise.

“And what are you doing here?
Qué estas haciendo?
”

“Here,
ya ve
,” he responded matter-of-factly, as always.

I ate beans and tacos with shrimp and octopus near the grill, the soft breeze off the ocean caressing my face. And hot coffee spiced with cinnamon worked its magic. I paid with a ten-dollar bill, refusing to accept the change.

I stretched out my arms lazily, bottle of gin in hand, and walked toward the edge of the water. Mornings in Puerto Vallarta are beautiful. The place was worth every centavo, every drop of blood. I took another swallow, a long one, and threw the bottle into the sea as far as I could. I watched the waves drag it away until it was lost from sight.

I hadn’t liked that last swallow. There are times when not even all the booze in the world can take away the bitter aftertaste of life.

I
first read Raymond Chandler when I was twenty-five. All of his novels, in one month. The next month, I read the entire Belascoarán series by Paco Ignacio Taibo II. When I went backpacking in Europe, I carried along a copy of
The Long Goodbye
and another of
Some Clouds
. They changed my life. I was falling in love with the genre. This novel is a tribute to both writers. I’d like to think that even after all the blending their flavor can still be savored.

Most of the characters in this story existed; they did and said what’s written here. Sometimes reality surpasses fiction. It’s up to every reader to discover how much of this is true and how much is the product of my imagination.

Like all good cocktails, this novel features several ingredients. The main one was Bernardo Fernández’s insistence that I write it. His support and years of teaching have made me less of a hack. There’s also the encouragement I received from Francisco Ruiz Velazco, Bachan, and Edgar Clement.

I genetically inherited a taste for martinis from my grandfather, journalist Eduardo Correa. He wanted one of his grandchildren to be a writer. Unfortunately, I wasn’t on the top of his list. I hope he takes it philosophically. Wherever he may be, I’m sure they prepare the best martinis.

I’d like to thank the Reeds for the information and anecdotes about old Vallarta, and also Scott Cherrin, for giving me a copy of
John Huston,
King Rebel
. My thanks to Pepe Quintero for inspiring his character, to the entire city of Puerto Vallarta for assimilating a strange beast like me, and to Sonia Diego and Tanya Huntington because they made this a better book. And, of course, to my accomplice in life and my harshest critic: Lillian. I love her even more since she decided we should leave the Condesa neighborhood in Mexico City and go live in Vallarta, and later, in Tehuacán. Since then, my life hasn’t gotten any easier, but it’s a lot more fun.

Salud!

F. G. Haghenbeck

Puerto Vallarta, Mexico City, Los Angeles, 2005–6

Photograph © Lillyan Funes, 2009

F. G. Haghenbeck was born in Mexico City. He’s been an architect, museum designer, freelance editor, and TV producer. He’s also the comic book writer of
Crimson
and
Alternation
, as well as a Superman series for DC Comics. John Huston biographer William Reed encouraged Haghenbeck to transition into writing crime novels, and the result is
Bitter Drink
, which has already won the Turn of the Screw Crime Novel Award in Mexico.

Haghenbeck currently works full time writing novels and editing historical and pop-culture books. He loves eating his wife’s gourmet food, drinking cocktails, reading the noir novels of Raymond Chandler and Paco Ignacio Taibo II, and watching cartoons with his daughter, Arantza.