He went back to the house with the yellow door. I need to see your boss. I told him you’d come by and he wasn’t happy, he said to tell you to go fuck your. Hang on, talk to him, tell him Lefty Mendieta wants to see him. The old man gave him the once-over and closed the door. Two minutes later he reappeared and handed him a cell phone: It’s Señorita Imelda. Lefty introduced himself, I want to speak with Dioni de la Vega. What about? That’s none of your business, tell him to stop acting like a fool and pick up the fucking telephone. The watchman’s eyes opened wide. I don’t like your style. I don’t give a shit, señorita, tell that bastard if he has any balls he’ll get on the line. Shut your trap, you fucking turd of a badge, I’m not Richie Bernal. I don’t give a fuck about Richie, the one I’m calling about is Mayra Cabral de Melo, why did you cut off her nipple? Silence. That shut you up, you fucking narco, too bad I don’t have you in front of me so I could bust your face. You’re barking up the wrong tree, copper, the wrong fucking forest, and you better not step out of line if you don’t want to get snuffed; that the Valdés family protects you means shit to me, you’re going to pay for pulling this stunt, and listen, I would never have killed Roxana, do you hear me? never, I’d cut off a ball first. Cut them both off while you’re at it. I’m doing my own investigating and I’m closing in on the culprit; I’m not going to let this lie, copper, I’m going to make that bastard pay. Lefty wanted to tell him he was after the same thing but he held his tongue. I don’t want you messing with this, not you or anybody else, and just so you know I’m not lying, I’m going to let you in on something: Richie Bernal asked me to take you down; don’t worry, now that they took care of him, I’m not going to bother, but the bastard who fucked with my girl and defiled her is dead meat, and you better stay out of the way if you don’t want to be worth shit, understand? or are you wanting to come over to me? if that’s the case the first thing you need to understand is Dioni de la Vega’s people are Dioni de la Vega’s people and nobody else’s. Where can I meet you? Imelda will pick you up, but not now, tomorrow or the next day, today is special, I’ve got something much better happening, and if I picked up the telephone it was only to stop you from making such a fucking pest of yourself. You know the buddy who killed her drives an armoured American car? I know, I also know he took the eighteen thousand dollars my girl had on her, and let me tell you again: you will not get that asshole, he’s mine, you’ll see what I do with him.

  While he drove towards El Quijote he thought about the nipple, and if de la Vega wanted to settle this, let him, all in all, they’re two peas in a pod. Oh, Mayra, my queen, you liked to walk between the horse’s legs and in the mud. So, where do we badges walk? I don’t believe you’re a badge, you’ve got that charm nice guys have that makes them look ridiculous. Maybe it would be better to bark at the moon.

  Forty

  Castelo was nervous. He looked at his watch: 6.43 in the evening. What the fuck was he doing here when he should be at home drinking coffee and taking it easy, watching television, chatting with his wife? A favour. What’s up, fucking Foreman? did you finally get over being a faggot? Hello, señor, not yet, it’s not like the flu, you know. The previous afternoon he had received a call from the main fixer for the head of the Tijuana Cartel. Then a few hours later came another from a cousin of the top honcho in Nogales, Sonora, and in the morning a third from the captain of the guards of the godfather of Reynosa. They wanted to hold a meeting and needed his house in Altata, about sixty kilometres from Culiacán. They all asked if he could do them the favour of lending it to them. The meeting would take place at some point that very night. In advance, two men from each gang would come to inspect the place. The house was located at the edge of a mangrove that Castelo cared for with the fervour of an ecologist: when he was drunk he would pee in it, which was supposed to protect it from ants. On the other side lay the bay, always calm except in hurricane season; two hundred metres up the coast stood the white mansion of the closest neighbour, and beyond it the restaurants.

  Foreman had done work for all three narcos and could not refuse. They had made it clear that the day he would not lend his friends a hand was the day his life would unravel. What good is a jerk like that?

  The men who arrived at noon said nothing to him. They checked the bedrooms, the roof, the tanks of the toilets, the cistern. He realised the one giving the orders was the guy from Sonora. Then they unloaded a case of Chivas Regal 25, several boxes of shrimp, meat, chorizos, sausages, spices, gallons of purified water, and twenty cases of beer. I think I’ll leave you now, Castelo said with a smile, make yourselves at home, this is the key for locking up and. You are not going anywhere, Don Foreman, warned the lieutenant of the Nogales kingpin, those are our orders, you can sleep, watch television, whatever you want, but you’re staying here. Those assholes don’t trust me, he thought. Do you know if they want me for anything? Why don’t you cook supper? they’re going to be hungry as beasts when they get here; for sure my boss is going to want shrimp ceviche. Bro, said the one from Tijuana, stop playing the dummy, cook something for us and make supper for the bosses. Mine will want shrimp in salsa ranchera, really hot, the Reynosa guy said. The one from Sonora said his boss would be happy with beef. Foreman smiled, sipped from his litre mug of coffee, then went into the kitchen. He understood this was an order. Sons of fucking bitches. He left his white panama hat on the table and put on an apron. His bald pate shone.

  At 7.35 a roar of engines announced the approach of half a dozen pickups and S.U.V.s. Six A.K.-47s got the vehicles in their sights. Riding in the cargo beds were twelve gunslingers, their automatic rifles and a grenade launcher at the ready. See who it is, said the guy from Sonora. Castelo crossed the small garden to the entrance gate crowned by a flowering bougainvillaea, where the caravan had stopped. Fore-man, open this fucker, yelled the don of the Tijuana Cartel, who was driving the lead vehicle, and hey, thanks for lending us your spot, we won’t be too much bother. If you don’t eat what I’ve cooked, don’t invite me again. We’re starving, the Nogales boss shouted, you wouldn’t have any shrimp on hand there, would you? Wait until you try them, you won’t want to share. Castelo walked along beside the rolling pickup. Put me on the list for the shrimp, too, hollered the one from Reynosa from the back seat of the dualcabin, and fuck whoever turns tail, what about you, Quintana? Oh, I think we should eat like regular folk, Eloy said, while he shook Foreman’s hand, what about you, Dioni, will you have the usual? I dance to whatever they’re playing. So, let’s eat, the one from Reynosa was still going on breakfast. Quintana ordered his lieutenant: Make sure the boys are well positioned outside and give them some feed. I’ll take care of it, hesignalled two of his companions to follow him.

  The narcos occupied a table that in a moment was filled with delicacies: shrimp ceviche, aguachile, grilled sausages, fried chorizo, carne asada, red snapper zarandeado. As soon as the man from Reynosa sat down he was served his ranchera shrimp. At a side table, a hitman opened beers and readied the whisky. Two salt shakers bearing Coca-Cola logos lent the table a sense of order. Each kept his gun at hand.

  For more than an hour they ate and entertained themselves with happy memories: Do you remember when I was into killing young guys with white shirts? What a mess you got us into, we had to take down the commander of the federal police.

  Then they moved on to the purpose of the meeting. The killer in charge of the drinks handed around glasses of whisky. Quintana took it straight. The salt shakers were down by half.

  The one from Tijuana spoke up. This war is something new, they don’t want to negotiate, it seems what they’re hungering for now are bodies. If that’s what they want, they won’t be hard to beat, the trouble is our operations will get disrupted and the bros won’t want to work. That’s no problem, a shitload of people are unemployed. Like twenty million. Not all of them are any good. Out of twenty million some of them have to be. A lot, I’d say. The people in the mountains, how are they doing? They’re all set, the weapons arrived last week and they’re waiting for us to give the word. Mine are all lined up, too. But we should wait; let them throw the first fucking punch. They’ve already thrown a few in Michoacán. That must be their strategy. Where did Samantha get her guns? From a guy named McGiver, but he’s small-time, we’ve got the good ones. McGiver’s my guy too, but he still hasn’t delivered. Don’t forget they killed the gringo who was our contact. Who did him? Nobody knows. Until a new one turns up, McGiver will do. I’m not so sure, it looks like Samantha’s got him in her net. What about our friends in government, what do they say? Nothing yet, they’ll let us know what’s what before long, but we can’t rest easy. The point is that Samantha’s idea of negotiating is fucking ridiculous, we need someone with balls in command and the one who has them is Eloy Quintana. I’m with you, Don Eloy. Me too. They all pledged to follow him. They would break with the cartel and form their own group, they would hire whatever gringos they needed and then put up a fight, in a few years they would be the ones on top. Quintana explained his plans and ambitions at some length: All of Sonora would be theirs, plus all the territories the others represented. They got to their feet and embraced. Dioni, now you’ll be boss in Culiacán; who is this guy McGiver? A smuggler, apparently he’s from here. Well, we’ve got to put him down, he’s in too far. I’ll take care of it. Castelo, panama hat over his eyes, swirled his whisky in the bedroom next door without taking a sip. He was chain-smoking.

  They said goodbye. Foreman, thanks, and don’t forget, whatever you need, here you’ve got friends not fuckers. Ten minutes later, the only sound was the roar of vehicles fading into the distance. On the table sat a pile of dollars that Castelo did not touch. He turned out the lights and sat drinking coffee. He preferred it to whisky. He thought of his children, who were expecting babies. Can you guess when he would allow his descendants to get involved in shady business? Never.

  Forty-One

  Mendieta was chatting with the night watchman. Sitting on a couple of bags of cement, they were smoking, taking it easy. That’s right, he came back at dawn; big dark-brown car; he went by at a crawl, looking over his shoulder; I thought he was going to get out, but no, he kept going, then he accelerated and disappeared towards the freeway to Mazatlán. Are you sure? Who was it said the devil knows more for being old than for being the devil and there is nothing stupid about me? White smoke drifted up. I couldn’t see the driver clearly, but I saw the car. And you say it didn’t look like a Mexican car. As far as I’m concerned it’s a gringo car, a little jacked up, wide tyres. The city is full of those cars, the detective reflected, what would be easier to find, a car or a man? a man, of course, cars don’t make mistakes. They lit up again and spent a few minutes in silence, watching the night. Why hasn’t it rained? They say the climate is changing. On the day of San Juan a few drops fell, but that was it. Watch out, it might come flooding down all at once next month. This is the second time I’ve seen you here, I never thought the police really looked for culprits. Well, now you know. Was that girl something to you? Last puff. A friend; Lefty stood up, well, I’m going home, have a good night. You know something? the old fellow stood up as well, maybe the man you’re looking for doesn’t live here, because he went by heading that way, then he made a U-turn and drove by slowly on his way back. Was the car noisy? Not at all, it was like silk.

  At home he went over Olmedo’s list once more: no foreigners. If he’s a gringo there’s no reason his name would be on it.

  For hours he ruminated on the case without reaching any conclusions. What about Rivera, where does he fit in? What can I say, another unsolved case.

  Forty-Two

  The convoy of drug lords took the highway to Culiacán. In the most protected position rode the Hummer belonging to Eloy Quintana, the region’s new godfather. They were going pretty fast. At the fork for the New Altata development, they came face-to-face with the devil. Two vehicles fired bazookas at them head on, two more hit them from New Altata Road, plus another two from the rear. Quintana’s men returned the fire, but it was too late. Fifty-four gunslingers armed with A.K.-47s and Barrett rifles came at them from the gas station on one side of the highway and the beer store on the other, running and shooting like crazy until nothing moved. Funereal scene. Futile fire. Max Garcés and his lieutenants leapt out from their hiding places to give each victim a coup de grâce. Zero losses. Samantha Valdés, dressed in black, hair pulled back, drove up in her dual-cabin pickup. Guacho opened the door of a Hummer and there was Quintana, wounded. He’s mine, the woman said firmly. Quintana looked up. Garcés handed her a Smith & Wesson. You’re just like your father. I don’t think so, he was a nice guy; I don’t have that luxury. She fired three times. Quintana crumpled. Samantha returned the weapon and, followed by Garcés and her driver, walked back to her vehicle. There’s no way we can sidestep the confrontation within the government, she thought aloud. Garcés, I want you to take charge; make it absolutely clear who’s boss here; tomorrow I’m meeting the Mexico City people in Los Angeles and I want them to know what I’m after. No need to worry, Jefa, rest assured.

  Foreman Castelo was waiting nervously. He knew he had sold his soul to the devil and the first thing that would be affected was his reputation. He felt bad about that, he was a serious professional with a certain prestige, and that meeting had ruined his career. He heard the dual-cabin pickup stop at the gate of his Altata house, where Samantha had ordered him to remain. It was past midnight. He stepped outside, Guacho went to position the bodyguards who were travelling in the Hummer behind them. The woman lowered the armoured window. Foreman, ask for whatever you want, I know you like rocking and rolling, but you could also retire, everything that has anything to do with you will be on my tab. I’ll think about that, I want you to know how much it pained me to learn of Don Marcelo’s passing. I know, he told me once that if I ever had any clean-up problems you were the only sure thing, and did you ever demonstrate your loyalty today. Of all the messes I fell into, not once did your father fail to bail me out. He told me a few stories; though you know already I’m going to spell it out: Foreman, you can count on me exactly the way you counted on my father, let me know what you decide. Do you know who Leo McGiver is? Who wants to know? Lefty Mendieta. Are you still friends with that lowlife? Nobody’s perfect. Leo’s one of ours, he pretended to sign on with Dioni de la Vega and we learned a few things; plus he got us the weapons we used tonight, could you hear them? they were awesome; now go get some sleep, your wife must be worried. Thank you. Samantha disappeared behind the glass and the vehicle got in gear. I never thought I would retire so young, Foreman mused, I just turned fifty-six. He went inside, splashed gasoline in the corners, lit matches, grabbed the pile of dollars, and ran. He was sobbing.

  He had no desire to watch flames consume the house he had built little by little.

  *

  What’s the story, Adán? are you expecting me to come pick up the money, or what?

  Gandhi, the truth is I don’t have it, the business is barely taking off and if what happened to Mister B. gets around, I doubt we’ll see the volume of customers we need; I know I owe you, but understand that you lent it to me to invest and that’s what I did.

  I happen to know you did not invest it all there, but that’s no concern of mine.

  I don’t believe you don’t understand, you’re a businessman.

  I am not prepared to get involved in problems, Adán, not yours or anyone else’s.

  Give me an extension, please.

  That was not our deal and now the situation has become complicated, how much is your camp worth?

  Don’t think you can run me off for that amount, it’s worth much more.

  I already told you, it’s not me. On Tuesday I’ll drop by with a notary, just so we’re prepared.

  What kind of moneylender are you that you can’t give me an extension with interest?

  One who only lends his friends capital that does not belong to him; so I’ll see you Tuesday.

  What time?

  In the afternoon; listen, are you going to Meraz’s funeral?

  Gandhi Olmedo heard the click. He smiled.

  *

  McGiver was waiting. Dulce Arredondo had at last got hold of “The Two Fridas” and he gave it as a present to Samantha, whom he had not fully convinced even after tipping her off to the conspiracy. He told her about Connolly and thanked her for her protection; however, he knew it was a haemorrhage that would continue to bleed. Twain had made that clear and asked him to back off until further notice, the contacts were already refusing to deal with him. Suddenly, his only option was the cartel.

  Forty-Three

  It was Sunday and Lefty, utterly exhausted, was lying down. On top of having barely slept, he felt profoundly useless and off his game, every line of investigation had led nowhere. Was Dioni de la Vega the murderer? Nothing pointed to that possibility and he didn’t have the energy to confront him. He was drinking Nescafé when his telephone rang; he let it ring, as he had the previous night. Before he finished his coffee it started up again; this time he picked up. It was Win Harrison. Come to the Hotel Lucerna for breakfast, I’m paying. Did you call a few minutes ago? No, this is the first time.