Silver Bullets (9 page)

After the meal they said good-bye.

They reached the city at rush hour. Boss, I'm going to take a taxi to the Forum, I'll get something for Rodo and meet you at the office. Are you sure? There's a sale on that I don't want to miss. Call first, maybe you won't need to come.

On his desk he found a note from Ortega about the fingerprints on the supermarket bag and the cans: “They're Jack's.” He also reported that the sodium rhodizonate test showed the Beretta had been fired by Paola Rodríguez. He was feeling so good after the trip that he decided not to call Dr. Parra. Not totally confident but hanging firm.

Before going home he stopped by the Guayabo. The band was playing a medley by the quartet from Liverpool. He drank three beers and two tequilas and left when the memory of his impossible love began to moisten his heart, only unsolvable problems are worth the effort, then he went over the events of the day: fucking dancer, and to think that he already had us won over.

Luigi, Mariana's dog, a black cocker spaniel with white markings, watched them from the carpet. Remember how we scared Paola? That was you, Sam, you know it suited me fine to have her running around with Canizales. I caught them naked and I tore a dozen strips off them, he couldn't find anything to say and there I was all lit up cursing them, threatening them, listing all the ways they were going to die; I grabbed her by the hair and dragged her. That you had not told me, remember you didn't want me following you, I stayed in the car. It was only a few yards along the hallway, I never imagined hair was that strong; Bruno begged me to let them get dressed, saying we should talk like civilized people; he was wrong, when love is at stake civilization returns to the Stone Age and we attack each other with clubs: Civilized, your mother, I said, and I gave him a slap in the face that wounded me to my soul, she was sort of distant, watching us argue, or rather she watched me howling and him trying to calm me down with that soft voice of his, using all that bullshit about tolerance they teach at the Universal Small Brotherhood, and me I was not about to let him off: You are such a jerk, you dare to ask me to be calm when you've been fucking this slut, and you,
you better start praying, you fucking backstreet whore, because you're about to learn what real fire feels like, and she seemed to be in another dimension, looking at me, what was she on? That indifference was not normal, she looked like a statue, the skunk. I heard you scream and I got out of the car, I was desperate, it was the moment I most wanted to be with you. Samantha did not speak, she had a bizarre feeling: she wanted to cry, to talk about Bruno, whom she was beginning to miss. That morning her son César had asked about him twice, and she realized that she longed to see him, especially when César told her he had promised to take him rowing in Ernesto Millán Park. The first day of spring, that's not far off, right? She finished her gin. Fucking life, it's never what you expect. Mariana hugged her when she saw her eyes welling up. Uh uh, she murmured, here in my house you're the butch and you are not going to break down, much less give in, because of that asshole. They were in the living room of Mariana's apartment on a white sofa facing a window, a breeze drifted in. The two of us did it, me more than you. Mariana Kelly was white with short black hair, she had a rough beauty about her, a pair of killer blue eyes, she was about eight inches shorter than Samantha. They kissed softly. I don't understand myself either, Samantha murmured. Sam, you'll have to tell César, that would be best. Luigi wagged his tail.

The doorbell rang. They were expecting Ernesto Ponce, whom Mariana hated most cordially. Please, Sam, five minutes, she insisted nervously. Samantha liked to make her suffer, liked rubbing salt in her jealous wounds whenever she could, so now she recovered quickly and thought that if the Gringo was looking handsome, she would ask him to take her out for supper.

But the Gringo was dirty and worried, his jewelry made him look grotesque. Good evening, Señorita Samantha; Señorita
Mariana, how are you? They were fine, thanks. So, what happened, why such a rush to see me, couldn't it wait until tomorrow? asked Samantha while lighting a cigarette. Ponce sat across from them in a black leather chair, modernist style. You tell me, señorita, there are two things: First, your father doesn't want to pay for Tany's job and I'm afraid he'll find out everything about this mess; a few days ago I went to tell him and he wouldn't let me get the words out, yesterday afternoon he said no again, and then he said we had stirred up so much trouble he got a call from the district attorney's office. Those assholes, fucking leeches, sometimes I think that idiot Mendieta is right, we support the worst of the worst, what's the other thing? I have the distinct impression that Tany Contreras wasn't the one; he's always been a real talker, loves to boast about what he's done, how they beg him on their knees, and this time he said nothing. Maybe you took him down too soon. Ernesto Ponce looked at his hands: he saw his Magnum firing and Contreras falling from a bullet to the heart. Then his men castrated him and cut out his tongue. Late the night before Ponce had learned the hired gun had slept with the lover of one of his men and revenge was due. As you will understand, señorita, the matter has become complicated. You think so? Well, I need that money. I also need my share, but I can't continue fooling your father, that would be fatal. Have they identified the body? Yes, but that's no problem, the boys picked it up and buried him in the countryside, do you want me to send a gift to Moisés Pineda for whatever he might be able to do? Actually he had already done that. Let it lie, don't feed the pigs flowers; so, if it wasn't us, who was it? Who killed Bruno Canizales? Mariana watched her intently. Unless somebody was also dying to get him, he committed suicide. Forget suicide, he was killed with a silver bullet and he didn't have any
powder on his hands, nor was there a gun in the house. Mariana relaxed, noted that ten minutes had passed, and winked at Samantha. Gringo, will you take me to dinner? Ponce choked: It would be a pleasure, señorita. Mariana was livid, but Samantha did not give a hoot; she grabbed her bag and stood up.

Luigi turned toward the Gringo and growled.

Mendieta's house in the Col Pop was owned by his brother Enrique. Three rooms in a single story, kitchen, garage, living room, and a small garden at the back. Trudis woke him at seven: All right, Lefty, get yourself up, would you like eggs with shredded beef? The water is hot for your Nescafé and I brought flour tortillas that are so tempting. I fell asleep at four, after three movies, a program about the four hundredth anniversary of
Don Quixote
, and a special on John Lennon where Yoko Ono shows her tit. No matter, men should rise early, they've got to get themselves ready for work, I already cleaned your pistol and laid out your clothes. My pistol? It isn't the first time I've done it, don't forget my father was in the military and he showed me how. So, what time did you get here? I don't have a watch, what I earn is scarcely enough to feed myself and with everything costing the world what makes you think I would buy myself a watch? Get up because soon I have to go to a meeting at the high school, it seems Marco Antonio is up to his old tricks. The guy from Los Bukis's kid? Well, whose else would he be, he looks just like him, his beard is starting to come in, the damn squirt, and you should hear his voice when he sings, lovely. What about your daughter?
Which, Chespirito's or Vicente Fernández's? Remember I have two. Chespirito's. She went to Mexico City to find her father, she's already written two plays, maybe he'll give her a hand, you wouldn't believe how funny they are, as soon as you start reading you're in tears you're laughing so hard, imagine if she gets to put them on. What I don't believe is the part about Santana. I swear to God, it happened in Tijuana, he was so drunk he couldn't get it up, and Joan Manuel Serrat didn't feel like it, that man is a such a gentleman, how I would have liked to have his child, that time I didn't insist because I had my period, if not we'd have another composer in the family.

More tortillas? This is enough. I'm going to pour you more coffee, that work of yours takes a lot of energy, so don't you go leaving anything on your plate, and Lefty, go shave, you aren't the kind of person to go around like a penniless bum, yesterday I let you go because there was no time, but today you aren't leaving until you're presentable. How did it go in Mazatlán? It went, listen, don't think you can get me back into the bathroom. Why not? You leave here looking respectable or you don't leave, period, your blessed mother would not forgive me if you went out with that face. You can't win. He stood up and went off to shave.

As soon as he turned on the cell phone: cavalry charge. Mendieta. Fucking killjoy, why did you take the chick with you? She would have had such a good time, to begin with she would have been nice and warm in bed, all her needs attended to. She confessed to me she likes you, she said she'll stay with you when you lose forty pounds, the way you are now she's afraid you'd have a heart attack, what news? Your dancer hasn't shown his face anywhere, but he hasn't left the port, last night we did a roundup on Crestón Hill, where the lighthouse is, we interrogated all the detainees and nothing, they hadn't even heard of
him. Okay, send me the report by e-mail. I'd rather Zelda Toledo came for it. All right, but send it to me first.

At the office he had a message from Guillermo Ortega. He went over to his cubicle next to the lab, which was overflowing with the residue of hundreds of cases. What's up, faggot? Listen, before I forget, my son needs to do a report on
Pedro Páramo
, that's a book you ought to have, could you lend it to him? You sure turned out cheap, buy him one, it won't even cost you a hundred pesos. But if you have one, why should I spend the money? So you'll have at least one book in your house. No way, suppose the kid turns into an intellectual, what a fucking curse that would be. The book is fairly dangerous, you're right, but I don't think anything is going to happen, that poor kid is so much like you I'd wager a testicle he'll barely read the cover. For all I've missed by not reading it, I don't think the little dummy is wrong, however, I'd rather not run the risk, so you are going to lend it to him and shut your trap; okay, there are two pieces of information I want to give you, even though I know you're worthless and you'll never find the culprit. The culprits find me. Well, while you're waiting for that to happen, I don't want things held up on our account, so here you go: both copies of
News from the Empire
, the one I gave you and the one I have here have too many fingerprints from Paola Rodríguez; the one I gave you was hers if I remember right, it also has his prints and some unknown; on the silver bullets, there is a factory in Tucson, here's the address and the phone number; now kiss my balls and don't forget Memo's book. I'm surprised he didn't download his report from Google. He did, but that twit of a teacher caught him. Didn't I tell you, a knucklehead just like his dad. Okay, jerk-off, don't step over the line, don't start in on my family. Come on, do you really still believe he's yours?

He left the room wanting a smoke.

At his desk he lit up.

He tried to make sense of his notes on the Palm: “cas Brun Caniz Paol sem m bod.” What is this? “Ripal aer 47. perfume, so&n Agric min,gv susp, Pao Rodrig, F aldan,p3 Yoonohoo Vald, M Kell, Saman Val, Laura, 17-46Z%&f!?tQ.” This sucker must have caught a virus. He turned it off and tossed it into the right-hand drawer. I can't deal with technology. If Laura Frías is right, the murderer could be any of the ones she named, including Paola Rodríguez, who more than made good on her threat; let's see, I've got Paola, Samantha, Mariana, Frank Aldana, Yoonohoo Valdés. The people from the USB could also have done it: Ripalda, Figueroa, Dania, and Laura herself. The way things are today, you've got to suspect even the guy everyone adores, and of what? Of godliness, to say the least, if not hypocrisy. They killed John Lennon, so why wouldn't they kill this loser, no one can be on good terms with everyone, if he was, he wouldn't have been rubbed out. Somebody new? Laura claimed to know nothing about that, but since the guy was friendly we can't rule it out. A killer hired by the father? Motive: to win the big chair. It's possible, why? What feelings does a man like Bruno awaken in the people around him? A sugar cube on some days, an insufferable jerk on others, according to Beatriz, affectionate with children, good lover, good friend; I should talk to his mother, since he called her to tell her he was happy.

A human being is so many things. Crime of passion, vengeance? The suspects so far fit the bill, except it was a bullet to the head and no sign of struggle; such respect for the body and the immediate surroundings indicates something else, no profanation, and what about the silver bullets? And the fragrance? Was there ever a murderer around here who used silver bullets? He did not know. I have to call Tucson. Every killer is sending
a message, what's this one's? What is he trying to prove? Who is he defying? He lit another cigarette. Society? The police? Did he own something? Land, houses, works of art? Did he have a will?

Zelda came in with a Diet Coke: Want some? It rusts my insides. He called Tucson.

After two female voices, he was put through to Mr. Gary Cooper, general manager of Tucson Weapons, Ltd. This is Detective Edgar Mendieta of the Federal Preventive Police in Mexico, I'm going to ask you a few questions. It's been years since I've been to Mexico, last time I was there I drove down, the highways were awful, full of dead dogs, they seemed like backstreets. The detective ignored the comment and went right to the point: How many Mexican customers do you have? I will not give out the names of my clients, nor the number, who do you think you are? All I want to know if anyone buys from you. More than you would imagine, I won't say any more than that, I won't waste my time talking to the most corrupt police force in the world. How many in Sinaloa? Maybe twenty, and as I said, I will not give you a single name. All of them buy silver bullets? You are an idiot, the stupidest policeman I have ever spoken to in my life. You can repeat that to the boys from Interpol who are dying to pay you a visit. Let them come, I do everything by the book and you have no right to harass me. Mendieta changed tactics: Let me apologize, Mr. Cooper, I thank you for your cooperation, it turns out that we have a nutcase here killing Americans with silver bullets and the FBI asked for our cooperation, what you have told me is sufficient and since I'm sure you like hunting, I promise to take you to the Siete Gotas Mountains, where there are plenty of deer, ocelots, and lynx. I've heard about that place. Well, free up your calendar for November when the season opens, you'll be the guest of the Federal Preventive Police. I understand, give me an e-mail address; oh, and tell your friends
from Interpol that I cooperated. No need to worry, the Mexican police have everything under control.

An hour later he printed out a list of eighteen names.

He looked the first one up in the telephone directory, Carlos Alvarado. Culiacán Farms, a woman answered. Señor Alvarado, please. The elder or the younger? The elder. He heard a friendly voice: How can I help you. My name is Bond, James Bond, he thought, but he said: Edgar Mendieta from the State Ministerial Police, you buy silver bullets in Tucson, what do you use them for? Ah, you had me scared, when the police call it could be anything, please don't take offense; yes certainly, about five years ago I went with my compadre Federico Villegas, may he rest in peace, to Tucson, he liked to give those bullets as gifts and I bought a box, I still have it, unopened, if you'd like to come by and see it, I've got it in a display case as a curiosity. How long ago did your compadre pass away? It's going to be three years. Could you give me the phone number of one of his relatives? Sure, my compadre Ernestina, 513-98-31, she lives in Chapule on Dr. Romero Street, they own Villegas Farm Tools, a long-standing business in the valley. Do you know of anyone else who likes to shoot silver bullets? We all like shooting, but these are expensive, five years ago I paid thirty dollars a bullet, can you imagine, just for a gift. I thank you for your cooperation, Don Carlos. Excuse me, Lieutenant Mendieta, before we say good-bye, is there any news on the death of Engineer Canizales's son? Don't tell anyone, but we are about to zap the murderer. We're anxious to stay on top of developments in the case, Lieutenant, since we all want the engineer in the palace, right? It's the perfect place for him. That's what we farmers think. Thank you again, Don Carlos. Whatever I can do to help, Captain, we are here to serve you.

Zelda and Angelita located the rest. Eleven deceased, and except for Don Carlos and his compadre Ernestina de Villegas, who was away on a trip, they all had moved to the United States and it would cost a fortune to find them. They checked the names, and none of them had a criminal record, none was young, and all were from traditionally powerful families. If we are going to get anywhere it won't be with that obsolete list. Could there be another? Where do young people buy their munitions? He saw it was impossible and decided to abandon that angle for the moment. They would try another route. He reminded himself that no expert follows the evidence, since in this business the truth always resides precisely where it should not.

With that thought in mind he returned to Canizales's house.

What was he seeking? He wished he knew.