Three

  No-one knew who McGiver really was. Some said he was English, others thought he was German. No-one ever said he was Iranian or Argentinian. He was born in Culiacán in Colonia Popular, a neighbourhood known as the Col Pop, fifty-six years ago and he worked in contraband. Happen to need a shipment of A.K.-47s or Barrett 50s? How about a fleet of helicopters? Happen to crave a Dom Perignon ’54, a confession penned by Nicole Kidman, or one of Elizabeth Taylor’s diamonds? Leo McGiver was your man; he took orders from the good, the bad, and the worse, and he was not hard to find in Mexico City. He liked high-class bars, half-light, and a smiling, wordless woman. Bars today are designed for smiling, drinking, and performing the eternal gestures of wooing, not for conversation. If any girl tried to offer an opinion he would shut her right up. Smile, my lady, that’s the only thing I ask of you. Sexually replete, he was enjoying himself at the Jazz bar in the Hotel San Luis in Culiacán; he was in the city, among other reasons, to win the backing of a gang of drug traffickers and to close an unusual deal after days of concentrated effort, something he took on because it was for an old acquaintance, perhaps the only hometown boy with whom he remained on friendly terms, and the only one who knew his history. The least he could do was fulfil his end of the bargain. I like my friend, he’s the nut who invented the printing press with moveable type. The brown-skinned girl with green contacts kept smiling and occasionally sipped a White Russian. Do you know what a printing press with moveable type is? She shook her head. Well, he invented it; quite the guy, though he happens to be nuts. The girl nodded without making a sound; if there was one thing she had learned in her brief training it was that the client is boss, and if this idiot wanted her silent she would find another occasion to speak.

  They had been together for all of two hours and McGiver had had one too many. Why do people drink vodka as if it were water? He’s invented other gadgets, the fountain pen, for instance, have you ever written with a fountain pen? She shook her head again. He invented it one night when he had nothing else to do, just like that, without any preconceived notion, and he lives here in this city where everything is always changing. He was the kind who liked to look you in the eye when he talked, the girl had that figured out after three minutes in his company. To the health of my friend and his inventions. McGiver drained his glass, the young woman took a sip from hers and filled his. This time, however, he’s gone too far, not some new invention, I have no idea what he’s cooking up these days, I’m talking about the piece he asked me for, which I managed to get hold of thanks to my contacts in Europe, but what an unbelievable headache, the search took twists and turns that were utterly surreal. He drank his vodka. If I tell you he’s nuts it’s because he is. But not straitjacket insanity, no way, his craziness drives him to ask for nutty and absurd things, understand? The girl nodded. A man can’t possibly want such ridiculous things, do you have any idea where humanity will end up with people like him? She shook her head. In the most implausible chaos, global pandemonium, something I don’t ever want to see; his desires are simply inconceivable, if I were to tell you what he sent me to find, you’d be amazed, you wouldn’t think it was worth anything, but he didn’t care how much I spent, do you know who Jeff Beck is? The girl again shook her head. I figured, have you seen the movie Blow-Up? Another headshake. He gestured that he understood and bent to his drink. Too bad you can’t smoke in here, I feel like a cigarette, it’s the alcohol, oh, and as I was telling you, you need to be crazier than a goat to invest in things like that; tomorrow I’ll deliver his precious treasure which I searched for like an idiot all over Brussels and Turin and finally I found it in Lisbon, on the second floor of a house in the neighbourhood of Santa Catarina, do you know where Lisbon is? She rolled her eyes.

  Sir, I need to talk to you about something. Hey hey hey, none of that, we’re doing fine, don’t break the spell, that’s all I ask. I’ll be brief. No, no, no, your health. She was annoyed and bored. A few minutes later the smuggler asked for his waiter. The girl waved a young man over. The bill. They were the last customers and he had it ready. I don’t usually carry cash, could you add in the girl’s fee and give it to her? Three thousand, she said, and now she smiled again. Make it four thousand, you really are an enchanting companion, what’s your name? She mouthed it without a sound. With two s’s? She nodded. They smiled. McGiver signed the voucher with a flourish and stood up. Get me a taxi. There are taxis at the door, sir. Could I possibly put in words how much I enjoyed this evening? The smuggler wagged his finger and as he walked away his body drooped. The girl eyed him with a scowl. Out of a corner of the room came Muerto, a watchful young man who sat down beside her, in McGiver’s chair to be precise. They exchanged gestures: she of disappointment, he of love. They stood and left.

  Four

  Mendieta was reading the newspaper at his desk. Zelda Toledo was filing her nails. They were sipping their drinks, she Diet Coke, he coffee. Officers disappeared down the hallways after receiving their orders. Lefty’s cell phone rang out its familiar Seventh Cavalry song, which so inspires fans at horse-racing tracks around the world. Mendieta here. Why are you talking like that? Like what? Strange, as if you’d swallowed a syllable. I told you so much screwing was going to affect you, asshole, you’re going deaf. Don’t make up stories, Lefty, you really do sound different, besides, I’m the doctor. What’s up? Nothing, just I’m going to be out of circulation for a little while. You don’t say. When I’m free I’ll give you a call. What are her eyes like? Big and shining, the prettiest I’ve ever seen in my miserable life. Don’t end up deaf, eh? Deaf are moles and. Lefty hung up. It was Montaño, right? muttered Zelda. On his morning errand. What an appalling excuse for a man. Agent Toledo, since you are flour from another sack, it shouldn’t mean shit to you. Of course not, if I catch him with an underage girl I’ll throw the fucking satyr in the can, who does he think he is? Are you jealous? That’s the last thing I need, boss, no kidding, that guy won’t ever touch a strand of my hair even if he gets born all over again. Lefty smiled. It’s not all his fault, a couple of times I’ve seen the babes going after him. Well, I’ll say it again: if I find out he’s screwing an underage girl, he’ll never hear the end of it. Ortega came in with an open newspaper. Did you see the president’s speech? That’s what I’m reading now. Is he nuts, or what? he’s declaring war on the narcos, do you know how many badges are going to die? All of us, Lefty said and he fell silent. The guy doesn’t know what he’s talking about. At least he’s saying something, Zelda chimed in, can you imagine a mute president? Sort of like a vegetarian policeman, Ortega smiled. That’d be the last straw. I don’t like the way this guy’s talking. Take it easy, buddy, Lefty spoke up, they all do it and in the end nothing happens. Yeah, but this one needs to win some legitimacy, they’re already saying that’s what’s behind it. Don’t lose any sleep over that either, if they cheated in these elections they’ve cheated before; in this country it’s originality that would be a miracle. I don’t know, papa, something tells me this time will be different. May your tongue turn to pork rinds. Listen, how about the case of that girl with no tits, they’re all drooling over her and I hadn’t even heard about it, who is she? Let them frisk us, all we’ve heard is the gossip, I guess she’s from a powerful family. More than powerful, said Zelda, from what I hear they gagged the media, if you noticed there’s no mention of it anywhere. You think the media would go along with that? Not in our country, papa. Of course not, and certainly not nowadays.

  Angelita, the lithe secretary, peeked in. Good morning, did you all fall out of bed? What kind of comment is that, Angelita? It’s just that I rarely see you in so early. You came in late, that’s not the same thing, and since it’s Monday not even the hens are laying. She smiled. You’re sharp today, aren’t you, boss? the chief wants you, let’s see if you’re such a tough guy with him. Laughter.

  *

  What the hell would I do in Madrid? Mendieta and Briseño looked at each other without blinking. The chief had called him in to tell him the case of the girl with no tits would be suspended. It was never assigned to us, chief. I know, but I don’t want any hallway chit-chat, we’ve got plenty to do given the daily body count, we’re about to pass Tijuana and Ciudad Juárez in the national ranking. Not a bad idea to have a trophy, imagine a miniature A.K.-47 on a golden pedestal on your desk, I know a buddy who could get rich making those. This is no joking matter, Mendieta, and that comment makes me sick. Lefty smiled, raised his hand, and let the topic drop. And regarding that lady, nothing, do you understand? let everybody else know; oh, we’ve got another invitation, this one from the D.E.A. for a course on fighting organised crime. That must be for Pineda. The chief handed him the letter, it’s for you, it says so right there: Mr Edgar Mendieta. He read the contents, then said they should stick their course where the sun never shines; as far as the gringos are concerned, chief, the further away the better, I wouldn’t even play marbles with those guys from the D.E.A. Briseño gave him a disapproving look, Well, then think about the invitation from Madrid.

  *

  Before rejoining Zelda he made a call to Dr Parra. Eight o’clock in my office. Couldn’t it be earlier? it’s just I feel really weird, every desire gone, it’s as if I had a big hole in my body; I woke up in the night thinking my life was a piece of shit, I even got out my pistol. Call me back in two hours, I’ll see if I can squeeze you in.

  He heard the cavalry charge and answered. It was Trudis. I know you don’t like me to bother you at work, but this time I have to, are you coming home for lunch? I can’t, we need to solve the murder of a girl who got her tits cut off. Holy God, are you serious? With my hand on my heart. My God, how cruel, where are we going to end up with all this violence? No idea, the only thing I know for sure is that we’re in the middle of it and it sucks. I won’t take any more of your time; listen, the gringo just phoned, he says he really needs to talk to you. Mendieta had refused to speak with Susana Luján’s son, but the kid was tenacious and called every day. If he calls again, tell him I’m away on a trip, I’ll get in touch as soon as I’m back. Oh, Lefty, I don’t understand you, he always asks me how you look, what you like, how you dress, how tall you are; when I told him you like black T-shirts he was happy. Tell him I’ll be back in ten days. He hung up. Just thinking that his brother Enrique might be right terrified him; if he looks like me it’s not my fault, or is it? there are people who are not born to be fathers and I’m one of them.

  Zelda found him: Boss, they called in an S-26 on the freeway to Mazatlán, Ortega’s people are on their way.

  Soon enough they arrived at the crime scene. Ortega was checking the area marked off by his technical team, and a forensic intern sent by Montaño was making notes in a little book. The body was covered, lying in a field of Swiss chard about eight metres from a seed warehouse. Mendieta strode up to it, uncovered the face, and froze. Are you a policeman? You don’t look like one. You look a little gloomy, do you feel lost? Are you Lefty? Her eyes were open and the beauty of her face, even in rigor mortis, was disturbing. Lefty was speechless. Police usually have an air of cruelty about them that speaks of who they are, but you look so normal, do you exercise much? They found her just like that, Ortega told him, killed by one shot, we’ve got the casing, they sliced off a nipple; we found footprints from work boots and from her slip-on shoes. Paralysed: That case we’re not supposed to touch, he managed to think, was it just the nipple or the whole tit? Are you alright, Lefty? you look a little green around the gills. He could not avoid her eyes: one green, the other the colour of honey. The forensic intern came over. You’re a lefty! Me too. From the temperature of the body she’s probably been dead six or seven hours and she’s got ant bites, he reported, in the morgue we’ll see if there’s any semen.

  The ants went to town, the intern added, though I don’t see too many now; the bullet came out by her left ear and she was killed right here. Observing carefully, Zelda Toledo deployed her spatial intelligence: boots, a hiker? new ones, did a narco do her in? maybe, only they wear cowboy boots. Someone from the district attorney’s office who was taking pictures answered Zelda’s thoughts: The boots were big, like a soldier’s. Would a woman use men’s boots to throw us off? The stride is long. Lefty took a step back, Mayra Cabral de Melo’s curls were a mess. The Roberto Carlos song went through his mind: “Beneath the curls of her hair, a story to be told.” O.K., when you’ve got the reports ready send them to me; Zelda, I’ll be in the car. Ortega came up to him. Lefty, you knew that babe, I can see it a mile away. Of course not, I only know she’s so pretty it’s a damn shame she’s dead. Don’t play the dummy, papa, even one of the guys on my team knows who she is. Lefty walked away without a word. I understand, my friend, if you need to talk about this, I’ll be first in line. Ortega’s cell phone rang out. What’s up, Pineda? He listened. We’ll head right over, you think the war’s begun? two bodies on Obregón, gangsta-wraps, near the fork for La Primavera, more blankets for my collection.

  Lefty got into the Jetta, turned the ignition, felt the air conditioning and then the soft rhythm of Peter Frampton’s “Baby, I Love Your Way”. There are memories that build a future and others that shut it down. Do you really like that music? You are the most romantic cop I’ve ever met. He remembered her astonishing lips, her raspy voice, her Brazilian accent. I think the Portuguese call it “pimba”. The passenger door opened, but it was not Zelda who slid in beside him. Daniel Quiroz, the cleverest reporter in the city, smiled. What are you doing here, my man Lefty? Sucking my thumb, I was missing you. I went to Pineda’s first. I heard you two were in love, when is the wedding? Have they identified the chick? Yup. That’s what the badges told me, too, she worked at the Alexa; have you got diarrhoea? because you’re really pale. What do you mean pale, fucking Quiroz, I’m fine. Aha, were you one of her customers? that’s a weakness I hadn’t known about you, Lefty. Would you like to shut up? he turned towards the journalist, his face crumbling. For one fucking time, shut your trap, you bastard. Oooh, sorry, I must have touched a nerve. You know what? just get out, I don’t want to end up beating the shit out of you. You don’t want to see that one, Lefty: “Policeman attacks defenceless reporter”, imagine that. Mendieta tried to blank him out by staring at the highway choked with trucks full of produce for the city, at the curious trying to cross the yellow tape. Zelda was interrogating two workers at the warehouse who kept shaking their heads.

  I know she was Brazilian, she worked exclusively at the Alexa, and that to go to bed with her cost a testicle and a half; what do you know, my man Lefty? Nothing, and just this time, if you have any respect for me, don’t ask me anything else and just get out. Quiroz looked at him and did not move. If it hurts so much, you’ll never find the culprit. I’ll find him, you’ll see, even if he hides in the womb of his whore of a mother.

  *

  Boss, there isn’t much; the boys say she was a dancer at the Alexa and Ortega thinks you knew her; I called the watchman there and he gave me the home address of the manager, shall we go to him or to the club? Zelda Toledo pulled the passenger door closed and held her other questions for later. Mendieta simply followed his partner’s directions to the manager’s house. Months earlier he had met Mayra Cabral de Melo in Mazatlán, and they had clicked: Are you a cop? You don’t look like one, you look so innocent, so sweet, like you wouldn’t break a dish and all your dishes are broken; you do have pretty eyes, a bit sad, but expressive; from now on I’ll feel protected by the law; you should come see my show at the Alexa, it’s not just the pole or the lights or all that collective heat rising, it’s the dance, the beauty of the body insinuating things; besides, there’s a tradition I need to uphold, when have you seen a Brazilian woman who doesn’t dance? our bodies are born dancing and we begin refining it when we’re small, we find a spot and a movement for every emotion, as if it were a spell. You could say I express the joy of living; if some people come in for other reasons I hope they at least feel something before they leave. No, I don’t like to drink, but we can talk, eat, take a stroll, a bit of wine maybe if I have to; we Brazilians like beer, but it makes me feel bloated and I prefer other things. I came to work, I can’t tell you about it, but you’re right, it was for a private party; you nearly guessed it, they were such celebrities and more than a few wanted me to go with them, I didn’t dare, that’s a delicate matter and sometimes it’s better to leave things the way they were agreed; if somebody insists, you can meet them later on and so far no-one has come looking for me. I understand, don’t think I’m naive, life is more than dancing. You really do have pretty eyes. Of course you can talk about mine, but you’re going to be hard put to say something original.