Élmer Mendoza

  The Acid Test

  Translated from the Spanish by

  Mark Fried

  Contents

  Cover Page

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Also by Élmer Mendoza in English translation

  Dedication

  Translator’s Note

  Cast of Characters

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  About the Author

  An imprint of Quercus

  New York • London

  © 2011 by Élmer Mendoza,

  English translation copyright © 2016 by Mark Fried

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by reviewers, who may quote brief passages in a review. Scanning, uploading, and electronic distribution of this book or the facilitation of the same without the permission of the publisher is prohibited.

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  e-ISBN 978-1-68144-287-7

  Distributed in the United States and Canada by

  Hachette Book Group

  1290 Avenue of the Americas

  New York, NY 10104

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, institutions, places, and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons—living or dead—events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  www.quercus.com

  Also by Élmer Mendoza in English translation

  Silver Bullets (2015)

  For Leonor

  Translator’s Note

  The Acid Test is the second novel in a series set in Culiacán, a prosperous and sweltering Mexican city of nearly a million people, half an hour’s drive from the Pacific and nine hundred kilometres south of the U.S. border. Culiacán, the Sinaloa state capital, lies far off the tourist track, surrounded by desert and irrigated fields. While the city’s elite still thrives on commercial agriculture, the trafficking of marijuana, cocaine and heroin has long outdistanced the sale of cucumbers and chilli peppers. This story occurs at the beginning of 2007. Mexico’s president has just launched a war on drug trafficking, and Culiacán, already one of the country’s more violent cities, will see its alarming body count rise sharply.

  There is a smattering of blood at the origin of everything human.

  GUIDO CERONETTI, The Silence of the Body

  Is it the writer’s task to bring more fear into this world?

  RUBEM FONSECA, Romance Negro

  Fear is what arms the murderer.

  PATRIZIA CAVALLI, Yo casi siempre duermo

  Cast of Characters

  THE POLICE

  Angelita, Homicide Department secretary

  Omar Briseño, commander of the Sinaloa State Ministerial Police in Culiacán

  The Camel, Homicide Department officer

  Gorilla Hortigosa, known as Gori, specialist in extracting confessions

  Edgar Mendieta, known as Lefty, Homicide Department detective

  Dr Montaño, Homicide Department forensic doctor

  Noriega, police detective in Mazatlán, friend of Lefty Mendieta

  Guillermo Ortega, head of the crime lab

  Moísés Pineda, head of the Anti-Narcotics Unit of the Federal Preventive Police

  Robles, Headquarters duty officer

  Sánchez, retired detective, former work partner of Lefty Mendieta

  Terminator, Homicide Department officer

  Zelda Toledo, Homicide Department detective, work partner of Lefty Mendieta

  THE NARCOS

  Richie Bernal, member of the Valdés family clan

  Sergio Carrillo, also known as Muerto or Guasave, enforcer for Dioni de la Vega

  Max Garcés, chief of security for the Valdés family

  Grunt, gunslinger and bodyguard for Richie Bernal

  Guacho, driver for Samantha Valdés

  Eloy Quintana, drug lord from Sonora state, member of the Pacific Cartel

  Rafa, gunslinger and bodyguard for Richie Bernal

  Imelda Terán, also known as Vanessa, assistant to drug lord Dioni de la Vega

  Devil Urquídez, former policeman, now a bodyguard and enforcer for the Valdés family, engaged to Shorty Abitia’s daughter Begoña

  Marcelo Valdés, godfather of Culiacán, leader of the Pacific Cartel, father of Samantha

  Minerva de Valdés, wife of Marcelo Valdés

  Samantha Valdés, also known as La Jefa, daughter of the godfather of Culiacán

  Dioni de la Vega, drug lord from Culiacán

  CLUB ALEXA PERSONNEL

  Bernardo Almada, part owner, lives in the United States

  Mayra Cabral de Melo, also known as Roxana, Brazilian exotic dancer whom Lefty Mendieta met in Mazatlán at the end of Silver Bullets

  Rodrigo Cabrera, part owner, former district attorney for the State of Sinaloa

  Elisa Calderón, assistant manager

  Alonso Carvajal, manager

  José Escamilla, waiter

  Yolanda Estrada, also known as Yhajaira, exotic dancer, Roxana’s housemate

  Luis Ángel Meraz, part owner, former federal congressman, gubernatorial hopeful

  Miroslava, exotic dancer

  Camila Naranjo, exotic dancer

  The Phantom (Óscar Olivas), bartender

  Othoniel Ramírez, the club’s legal representative, who runs the business

  José Rivera, also known as Bigboy, bouncer

  THE AMERICANS

  Mister B., father of the U.S. president

  David Barrymore, assistant director in charge of the Los Angeles F.B.I. office

  Adán Carrasco, former U.S. army sharpshooter, owner of El Continente hunting camp

  Special Agent William Ellroy, second-in-command of Secret Service personnel guarding Mister B.

  Win Harrison, also known as Jean Pynchon, F.B.I. special agent

  Master Special Officer Mitchell, commander of Secret Service personnel guarding Mister B.

  Donald Simak, also known as Peter Connolly, F.B.I. special agent

  OTHERS

  Begoña Abitia, daughter of Shorty Abitia, engaged to gunslinger Devil Urquídez

  Shorty Abitia, childhood friend of Lefty Mendieta, father of Begoña

  Esteban Aguirrebere, owner of San Esteban farms, Club Alexa customer

  Andrade, arms dealer for the Mexican Armed Forces

  The Apache, police informer, sells candy, gum and cigarettes outside Club Alexa

  Dulce Arredondo, collaborator of smuggler Leo McGiver

  Father Bardominos, priest who abused Lefty Mendieta when he was eight years old

  Miguel Camacho, father of former boxer Kid Yoreme

  Miguel Ángel Canela, businessman, Club Alexa customer

  Foreman Castelo, childhood friend of Lefty Mendieta, owner of a killer-for-hire agency, who owes Lefty for getting him out of a jam

  Miguel de Cervantes, Club Alexa customer from Spain

  Curlygirl, waiter at El Quijote bar, friend of Lefty Mendieta

  Marcelino Freire, Brazilian football player for Dorados of Sinaloa

  Silvio García, legendary Culiacán boxing trainer

  Rudy Jiménez, owner of Café El Miró, Lefty Mendieta’s favourite spot

  Mariana Kelly, publicist, romantic partner of Samantha Valdés

  José Antonio Lagarde, businessman and former husband of Anita Roy, father of Marcos

  Marcos Lagarde, son of Anita Roy and José Antonio Lagarde, lives in Toronto, Canada, friend of Paty Olmedo

  Lili Leyva, wife of Alexa manager Alonso Carvajal

  L.H., retired master perfume maker in Tijuana, now consultant to police investigators in California and Mexico, friend of Lefty Mendieta

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  Fermín de Lima, wealthy businessman in Mazatlán

  Joaquín Lizárraga, mayor of Mazatlán

  Susana Luján, long-ago girlfriend of Lefty Mendieta, with whom he unknowingly fathered a child, lives in California

  Leo McGiver, smuggler and gunrunner, also known as Steven Tyler, friend of Fabián Olmedo

  Enrique Mendieta, brother of Lefty Mendieta, former guerrilla, lives in Oregon

  Jason Mendieta, seventeen-year-old son of Lefty Mendieta and Susana Luján, lives in California

  Felipe Montemayor, district attorney for the State of Sinaloa

  Fabián Olmedo, known as Gandhi, owner of a luxury car dealership, friend of Leo McGiver, father of Paty

  Patricia Olmedo, known as Paty, fashion designer, daughter of Fabián Olmedo

  Dayana Ortiz, publicist and girlfriend of politician Luis Ángel Meraz

  Juan Osuna Roth, owner of a Mazatlán modelling agency

  Elena Palencia, mother of exotic dancer Mayra Cabral de Melo

  Dr Parra, Lefty Mendieta’s psychiatrist

  Daniel Quiroz, star crime reporter for “Eyes on the Night” radio programme

  Rodo (Rodolfo Uzeta), boyfriend of police detective Zelda Toledo

  Anita Roy, friend of Mayra Cabral de Melo, former wife of José Antonio Lagarde, mother of Marcos

  Sarita, wife of crime lab technician Guillermo Ortega

  Teo (Teófilo), trucker, former guerrilla, best friend of Lefty Mendieta’s brother Enrique

  Trudis, woman who cooks and cleans for Lefty Mendieta and whose children were fathered by several Mexican musicians

  Danilo Twain, arms smuggling partner of Leo McGiver

  Vinicio de la Vega, federal congressman, brother of drug lord Dioni de la Vega

  Kid Yoreme (José Ángel Camacho Arenas), former boxer, Club Alexa customer

  MEXICAN DISHES AND DRINKS

  Aguachile: fresh raw shrimp marinated in lime juice with cucumber, red onion, and crushed chillies in water

  Barbacoa: cubed beef and beef marrow stewed in beer with potatoes, onions, tomatoes, olives, chillies, and spices

  Campechana: seafood cocktail of oysters, baby octopus, mussels, shrimp, squid, and scallops

  Carne asada: grilled roast beef

  Ceviche: raw fish or shrimp marinated in lime juice with chillies and spices

  Chorizo: sausage made from smoked, cured pork, guajillo and ancho chillies, and spices

  Eggs montados: fried eggs on ham and tortillas

  Filete culichi: fish baked with poblano chillies and cream

  Guacamole: dip of avocados, lemon, onions, and jalapeño chillies

  Levantamuertos (“raise the dead”): spicy seafood stew made with shrimp, octopus, fish, and manta ray

  Machaca: marinated beef or pork rubbed with spices, pounded, shredded, and dried

  Menudo: tripe and hominy stew

  Michelada: beer, lime juice, and assorted spices served in a chilled, salt-rimmed glass

  Pan de pulque: sweet bread made with fermented cactus water

  Pozole: pork and hominy stew

  Quesadillas: deep-fried corn dumplings with cheese or other fillings

  Red snapper chicharrones: deep-fried chunks of fish

  Red snapper zarandeado: grilled fish marinated in chillies, garlic, and spices

  Salsa mexicana: condiment of chopped tomatoes, onions, jalapeño chillies, cilantro, and salt

  Salsa ranchera: very spicy sauce made with onions, garlic, tomatoes, and serrano chillies

  Salsa roja: spicy sauce made with onions, tomatoes, cilantro and assorted chillies

  One

  Faced with a dark night that was growing darker, Mayra Cabral de Melo gave in. She realised that the man who was opening the car door and hauling her out would be the last man in her life, that Almighty God would not alter her fate, and that she had been wrong about something, maybe about everything. She stumbled. What good is a man? Behind her the city formed an icy painted backdrop. Good for everything and nothing. The man, a lover for the past two months, though lately she had been avoiding him, steered her by the waist with the roughness of a soldier. Oh God, after so many extraordinary times. She remembered her dreams when she was small: to be a firefighter, police officer, nurse, doctor, football player, actress, singer, dancer. The best in the neighbourhood and the best in the country. The queen. Right. But she set fire to her youth as if it were a snake-infested boat: night after night, when flames burn deepest and cause the most damage. When you answer to any name. Now nothing made sense, not here, far from the domain of her dreams, behind some big warehouse, walking through stubby plants that did not hurt though she was wearing a short skirt and strapless blouse, marched by that tall man with whom she had had fun and entertained guests, and with whom she had slept so often, but not, despite his insistence, in the past week.

  Minutes earlier, however, after he had lured her with the offer of an exorbitant amount, she had agreed and tried to caress him. He brushed her off with sarcasm: I never do it with dead girls. My love, relax, do you want me to do it the way you really like? Get it, I’m serious. What are you talking about? what do you mean you’re serious? No answer. Did I do something wrong, my love, my teddy bear? if I did, won’t you forgive me? He did not turn to look at her.

  She had not finished the letter to her mother or sent her the money. She did manage to pay the electricity, the water, and the telephone. She had gone to the supermarket, booked appointments with the gynaecologist for Saturday and with the pedicurist for Monday, and what about the people from Mazatlán? She had forgotten her housemate Yhajaira’s birthday, first time that ever happened. No-one makes a fool of me, especially a stupid whore. Several times she had thought about buying pepper spray, but what for? It was not such a dangerous city and, anyway, right then she did not have her handbag with her. Inside it were the eighteen thousand dollars her pimp had given her so she would not have to work as of Friday, the unfinished letter, her relaxing cream, her sleeping pills, and a lot more. It will all end up with this swine, who may have introduced her to important people, but so what? Why didn’t I leave the money at home? because I was in a hurry. I didn’t mean to offend you. Shut up! you’re a millionaire thanks to me, what more did you want? The plants brushed against her legs, but she no longer felt them. I wanted you to stop threatening me, my king, to stop scaring me with that temper of yours. If only she had got around to speaking with. She heard the shot and that was it: the night suddenly got darker. She landed with her face to the sky, tilted towards the whitish moon. The murderer, tall, somewhat heavyset, short hair, took his time, not to close her eyes, but to pull down her blouse and cut off one dark nipple.

  On the highway close by drove oblivion.

  Two

  Two in the morning. Edgar “Lefty” Mendieta reared up in bed gasping loudly. He felt he was in the dark cave of his stomach, searching, and he kept bumping into a diminished, frightened version of himself, devoid of past or future. That is what he felt. He thought: I’ll die before Mick Jagger. On the television they were selling exercise machines. That bastard Jagger turned vegetarian and now he stuffs his face with omega six and fortified calcium. He got up and switched it off. Who am I? who says I’m doing what I should? that I’m worth anything? at what point in my life did I mess up? is living worth the effort? What a numbskull I am, a loveless idiot, pursuing a profession that earns nothing but scorn. A 43-year-old jerk living alone in his brother’s house, no father and what’s worse no mother. A scumbag who never even got fucking divorced because I never got married, and no godfather from baptism or first communion. A hack fated to die before that skunk Jagger who’s now a Sir and won’t leave Keith Richards in peace. Wearing the white T-shirt and boxer shorts he slept in, he sat back down on the bed and turned on the light. The air conditioner was quiet. On the dresser, The House of the Fortunate Buddhas by João Ubaldo Ribeiro with a bookmark in the middle. Outside, barking. I’m a failure, he went on, a loser whose only future is to be a worthless nobody, because to be a Mister Nobody would be beyond me. He thought of the pistol in the car, and he stood and left the bedroom. There are things that cannot be fixed. He went through the door to the garage, opened the Jetta, and took the Beretta out of the glove compartment. I don’t understand how I’ve lived this long; does it really make sense for somebody like me to live longer than he should? whatever that is. This is what it is: years and years go by and everything you do is wrong; you turn eighteen and you don’t have a clue why you were born, what you should do, and you spend your life spinning your wheels. Somebody like that does not deserve to live, a person like that has no right to consume oxygen. He looked and the bullet was chambered. From inside the car he took a cigarette and lit up. That was when the barking registered. Fucking louse, for sure he’s chasing his tail. He went to the gate, then into the street. The moon was large and reddish and the dog was barking away at it. You’re fucked, you stupid beast. He addressed him in a low voice. What are you doing barking at the moon? You’re just like me, you’re in another world; just like me, everything you do is ridiculous. There’s no way out, little dog, are you going to kill yourself or am I going to kill myself? because frankly isn’t that what I’ve been doing my whole life? yapping at the moon? with the damn Bible on the brain? Don’t tell me barking at the moon is poetic, poetic’s my balls and nobody barks at them. The dog in the little front garden across the street knew Lefty, he came to the fence wagging his tail. So, you want to go first? You sure turned out to be one tough fucking pooch. He saw his shadow and the shadow of the 92FS in his hand. Eyeing him, the dog growled. What kind of support is that, you fucking pest? ah, you don’t want me muscling in on the first shot? His own shadow again caught his attention and he studied it, raised the gun, and watched his shadow follow suit; he aimed the weapon at his temple and held it there as he walked back into the garage. Seconds later, he emerged without the pistol and holding a fresh cigarette. Let’s see, tough guy, you who knows everything and whatever you don’t know you make up: why have I been thinking what I’ve been thinking? what piece of me came apart inside? what fucking amino acid, amphetamine, or brain cell got all riled up and made me delirious? He crossed the street, went up to the dog, and patted his head. What provokes a man who is not suicidal to think that ending it all would not be such a dreadful thing? The dog wagged his tail. He smiled. Alright, you animal, tomorrow I’ll go see Dr Parra. I’ll get an appointment for you too, but you have to promise me something: don’t pay any attention to what he says; if you like barking at the moon, just do it, after all, what can you lose? He took a drag, the dog watched. You want a cigarette? you’ve gone too far, you fucking beast, you’re a bagful of vices. He crushed the butt on the pavement. O.K., try to get some rest, tomorrow is another day, and he went back into his house without a glance at the moon, which had turned whitish.