Where are you? Commander Briseño from the other side of the world. Downtown, another dead woman. Are Ortega and Montaño with you? We’re here working. Who is the dead woman? A dancer. From one of the dance companies? She danced at the Alexa. Oh, a table dancer; leave Zelda there and the three of you go immediately to the Hotel San Luis, they just found a body. This is a body too. But this one is a gringo, he’s got two bullets in his chest, get going already, Lefty, and take the whole team!

  *

  Sixth floor. Room with a view. The housemaid found him. The manager, an elegantly dressed young man, accompanied them. His name was Steven Tyler and he lived in Scottsdale, Arizona; American. Profession? Pianist. Mendieta examined the body up close, then checked around the room while Ortega and two helpers set up and Montaño took Muerto’s temperature on the carpet where he lay. O.K., kiddo, don’t move so much. Beneath the pungent smell of cadaver fluids, Lefty caught a sweet, feminine scent: He smells like a woman. Shows the guy wasn’t a faggot. Why are you pretending, asshole, you use Sarita’s perfume. Ortega smiled, put on his gloves, and went through the dead man’s pockets, pulling out a thick cloth wallet, which he handed to Lefty. Forty dollars plus a hundred Mexican pesos, but no identification. He returned it to the technician, who said: We’ll take along the sheet, it always has something. The bathroom smelled of Hugo Boss and looked clean. Mendieta’s cell phone rang, but he did not feel like talking to Dr Parra: bearded fuck, let him wait. Instead he came out of the bathroom, looked in the empty closet, opened a drawer, also empty. From the doorway, the manager watched like a hawk. When did this guest arrive? Yesterday noon. Did you see him? No, he went through reception like everyone else. Call the clerk who registered him. He comes in at two, I’ll call down in a minute. Is something wrong, Lefty? Ortega noticed his friend seemed back to his old self. There’s no luggage, in the bathroom only one fragrance, which he didn’t use, and in the wallet a few pesos, no I.D. or credit cards; I don’t think this guy’s the guest, he’s someone who came looking for him; and he’s really young, how old would you say? Maybe twenty, twenty-one. What do you think, Montaño? He might have American citizenship, but his features – nose, mouth, eyes, shape of the face, etc. – say he’s as Mexican as they come. May I use this telephone? No, we have to dust it for fingerprints. The manager went to the next room to make the call.

  A short while later the young man from reception came through the door. This isn’t Señor Tyler; Señor Tyler is about fifty, he’s white and tall. Mendieta and Ortega exchanged glances. I need the form he signed, Ortega said, and I’ll send over my artist to make a sketch from your description. Montaño gave his conclusion: He’s been dead for about four hours and the bullets came out his back. Our housekeeper found him at a little past twelve and no-one heard shots or saw anything. Typical, Lefty said, the society of crime is deaf, blind, dumb, and accommodating; let them take him to the morgue and we’ll see who comes to claim him; then he let his thoughts loop back: Why did they cut off a nipple? knife or teeth? teeth?

  He called Briseño. Chief, the gringo looks Mexican; what we found is a young guy, maybe twenty years old, but he’s not the one registered; he’s got two bullets in his chest, one of them went through his heart; the guest, by that I mean the gringo, fled; Ortega found the shells, 9mm. Is there anything for the press? I don’t recommend it. Wasn’t he a pianist? If he’s a pianist, I’m the captain of Apollo 13; his hands are small, rough, and full of scars. Then I’m going home, Lefty. What are you going to cook? Shrimp Rockefeller. Enjoy it. Listen, in the case of the dancers do we have any suspects? Two, Richie Bernal and a Spaniard, Miguel de Cervantes, but Attorney Luis Ángel Meraz visited her once in a while. I don’t believe he’d have anything to do with it, he’s a gentleman with a great future, let’s not bother him. That’s why I didn’t mention him as a suspect. Mendieta intuited some link between his boss and Meraz, and thought he would keep him out of the picture for now. That Cervantes, isn’t he the one who wrote Don Quixote? One and the same. Didn’t he die a long time ago? It seems he didn’t, you should see how good he looks. O.K., feed that neuron in your brain, Lefty, it may be the only one you have left; ask Pineda for help with Richie Bernal, that asshole owes us one; see you later.

  The chief called home. My love, how about we cook shrimp in garlic sauce so we can eat as God wishes? Once in a while in a game of chess it works to castle. Honey, please, that garbage? make it Rockefeller, you know how delicious they are when you make them. Very well, my love, I’m on my way, can I pick anything up? If you bring some wholewheat zucchini bread, I’ll give you what you really like. You mean you don’t have a headache? Me? where did you get that idea? I’m on my way to the bakery.

  Friends, this is living, don’t you agree?

  *

  Lefty returned to Headquarters where he found Zelda interrogating the club’s assistant manager, Elisa Calderón; they seemed so absorbed he decided not to interrupt them and instead took José Escamilla, the waiter, to another office and left the Phantom cooling his heels. The women were drinking Diet Cokes. She was truly gorgeous, men took one look at her and they were transfixed, they went all googly-eyed, and that seemed to turn the hussy’s crank; the way she moved her body even the other girls came out to watch, they’d be dying of envy, but they couldn’t take their eyes off her. Today in her apartment we saw some photographs of her with a very unusual tattoo. She was so vain, there’s no other explanation, and she wasn’t exactly nice; she was friendly, sure, but she was incapable of doing her co-workers a favour and some of them couldn’t stand her, Camila Naranjo, for example, told me several times she wanted nothing more than to see her dead; Mayra poached her best client. Who was that? Attorney Meraz, who had been nuts about Camila and then went crazy for Mayra, you know how fickle men can be, are you married? No, though I am engaged. I don’t see your ring. It’s a promise. In other words, nothing, didn’t I say men are fickle? get him to give you the ring so there won’t be any surprises. What about you, are you married? I was years ago, from that relationship I’ve got a sixteen-year-old son in high school. The manager told us Mayra had been stepping out of line. God forgive me, but she was a skunk; the contract they sign stipulates that we control their comings and goings, especially anything that starts in the club; if they pick up something during their time off we look the other way and nobody is really watching them; at first, she did as she was told, and then she started making her own deals; like now, for example, we didn’t know where she was, she’d been missing for two days, the truth is I still feel like yanking on her ears; if we had known who she was with, probably she’d still be alive. Who was your contact in Mazatlán? The mayor, Joaquín Lizárraga, his office is near La Casa del Caracol bookstore; he did the hiring and the girls put on a show. Did you notice anything unusual in Mayra lately? She’s been really snooty, this week she was supposed to go work in Mexicali and she didn’t want to go; of course, with the clients she had I wouldn’t either; imagine the pile of bills Richie Bernal must have laid on her, that guy thinks money only exists for him to spend it. Who was her favourite? She liked money and all three of them gave it to her, what I can’t believe is that any of them would kill her; Richie is really violent, but in her hands he was a silk stocking; the other two are well behaved, but, look at the way the world is; I read about murders in the newspapers and I can only wonder if I’d do the same, and my answer isn’t always no. Did Mayra get along with Yolanda Estrada? There were days when they weren’t speaking, they’d fight like cats and dogs, but the two of them were inseparable, as if they needed each other; are the crimes related? We don’t know yet, was Yolanda respected by her co-workers? So-so, though a lot more than Mayra; that one nobody liked. Not even you? Me even less, she made my job as difficult as she could.

  They talked about the day-to-day work in the club, about problematic customers, and about the manager, who had finally settled in. One of the partners hired Carvajal because his predecessor turned out to be a soft touch. Do you remember which partner? Rodrigo Cabrera, I think Carvajal worked for him in the D.A.’s office. Can you recall any of the first customers Mayra refused to continue seeing? That’s hard because she was very clever, she knew how to chase them away bit by bit. Who was Camila Naranjo going with before Mayra came on the scene? They started at the same time, I think there was already bad blood between them; Meraz took Camila out a dozen times, that’s all. How often did Mayra’s clients come to the Alexa? Cervantes was stuck on her, he’d be there almost every day; Richie could turn up; Meraz never comes, the Phantom lets him know when there are new girls and he decides if he wants to take one out. Zelda asked her not to leave the city until everything was cleared up.

  I hope the boss forgives me for not bringing him in on the interrogation, she mused, he’s upset and I really ought to help him get over it. Let’s see: we’ve got a girl who’s tough, envied, and very attractive, with three clients who will deny everything, though any of them could have murdered her. She got up from her desk; I’ve got to talk things over with Rodo. She called out to Terminator and the Camel and asked them to interrogate the waiter and the bartender. She was surprised when they said Escamilla was with Mendieta. O.K., tell him I went out to eat; what about the bartender? We sent him out to get us Cokes, but the boss wants to make him sing, too.

  *

  Your stats, doll. José Escamilla, twenty-four years old, from here, married, a two-year-old daughter, three years working at the Alexa. Do you know why we’re interrogating you? Because somebody killed Yhajaira and Roxana. Tell us about Yhajaira. She and Roxana were in huge demand, bros of all kinds came in because of them and they paid whatever the girls asked, what a drag what happened to them; look, we’re all in this gig for the money, forget pleasure or any of that shit, especially the babes who are only young and fresh for a few years. What are the names of their regular clients? It’s hard to say, one day an army officer might come in, another day a businessman, a teacher, a politician, a construction worker; the Alexa is like the church, everybody goes at least once; Yhajaira might be out several times one week with a colonel and the next week it’d be a professor from Sinaloa University. What about Roxana? She was the star, the prettiest and the best, last week I saw two with her: the owner of San Esteban Farms, he’d been after her for two months like a rabid dog until she convinced him to leave her alone; and Marcelino Freire, a Brazilian who plays for Dorados, the one who missed that penalty when they could have got into first division; people say he was paid off, what do you think? Of course not, only honest people get involved in football; give me the names you can remember, first Roxana’s regulars and then Yhajaira’s. Ramón Ibarra used to write her poems that made her smile; a skinny guy with an afro would come in with him, he liked to make music clinking on glasses and bottles; another guy with a beard liked to put on a red clown’s nose and spend hours making faces at her; the manager of the Multicinema was incredibly persistent. Who stood out? There was a blond journalist, a guy who used to be really fat, he gave me good tips, he’d drool from the corner of his mouth watching her dance. He paused to think. No-one else? No, I don’t think so, except for that Spaniard, Miguel de Cervantes, and Richie Bernal, who everybody knows. Mendieta opened the door and shouted: Terminator, call Gori, I’ve got a witness who’s lost his memory, I need him warmed up; in a minute somebody will be here who’s found a cure for Alzheimer’s. What’s that supposed to mean? Nothing, just in case you forgot to mention anybody. Escamilla lowered his head and began to sweat. It’s not easy working there, I’ve lasted three years because I don’t look, I don’t hear, and I don’t speak. Well, Gori is like a Bic pen, he never fails. In the end Roxana only took care of three people: Attorney Luis Ángel Meraz plus the two I mentioned, Bernal and Cervantes. Which did she prefer? Lately, it was Richie, who must have spent a fortune on her, do you know Richie? God forbid. I thought all the badges knew him. What about the manager? He’s easygoing, at least we don’t hear about anything, he’s been on the job for a year and a half and he’s only got involved with Nadia, she used to be a gymnast in university, at the club we call her the queen of the pole, and also with Miroslava, who’s stuck around for a while and now she’s the oldest. Where’s he from? Around here, he worked in government in the last term, I think in the D.A.’s office. What about the owner, what can you tell me about him? As far as I know, the club is a partnership made up of Meraz, former D.A. Barrera, and a gringo I’ve never met. There are several clubs in the city, did either of the girls branch out? Club Sinaloa; you know, they could have gone there on their own, but, go figure, they asked me to keep them company and, well, I pocketed some change. Those gentlemen must like pretty girls. I’ll say, Yhajaira was a complex beauty and they’d drool all over her, but Roxana was a goddess; when she walked by no-one could look away, and don’t think it was only the men, the women too; she was one incredible babe, plus her eyes, one green, the other the colour of honey, and she would never blink. Of course you can talk about mine, but you’re going to be hard put to say something original. Who else they saw, I couldn’t say, Attorney Ramírez would call the girls in and close the door, I’d hear laughing or some sound of agreement, but I never saw who was in there, they must have been powerful people because there were always bodyguards around and cars with logos from some government ministry or some company; I never got any warning, so I’d drive them wherever and that’d be it; Attorney Ramírez didn’t want me in on it, but the girls stood up for me; they never told me anything about the people or the places I took them, in this business it’s wise to be discreet; Ramírez runs the show and, yup, he’s a person to be reckoned with. O.K., live your life as usual, if we need anything more you’d better be on hand. If you want a girl, say the word, I know where most of them live and they all owe me favours. Do you know how many years you’ll get for pimping? No, but I know how much I have to fork over every month if I want to work in peace, he smiled. You can go. He stood up fast. Wait, you haven’t told me the name of the owner of San Esteban Farms. Esteban Aguirrebere.

  The Phantom then confirmed everything Escamilla had said. The bartender was totally at ease, smoking; he was one tough cookie, calm as could be. So that’s what you do? asked Mendieta, you say, attorney, we’ve got a new hooker, and then he comes by for her? More or less. Why does he trust your judgment? No big deal, I know his taste, he likes a big ass and a pretty face, well put together. Tits? However, small, big, he usually doesn’t care, what he notices is the ass. Uh-huh. The others did not turn up for their appointments. Who was this guy Ramírez?