The Black Minutes (39 page)

Still worked up, El Flaco watched me in silence, but he couldn’t resist the feast.

“OK,” he said, “I want some chips.” And before I could order them, he added, “The big bag. And I want salsa and peanuts on them, too.”

The guy behind the counter said, “You don’t have enough. And you owe me ten pesos for the Chaparritas.”

I had to give him the tape recorder for two bags of chips and a box of grape Chaparritas.

El Flaco, like a real vulture, was still mumbling. “We should go get El Chucho and the Ostrich, so this pig can get stuff for them, too.”

Just to follow up, I called the kid in the striped shirt over away from the other kids—as far away as I could, since two kids followed him over. “Hey, bro, what’d your mom call us for?”

He answered with his mouth full. “She thinks the Jackal is my Tío Abundis.”

“Your Uncle Abundis?” I gave him my last piece of gum. “Abundio Mariscal?”

“Yeah.” He took the gum. “That’s why my dad hit her, ’cause she reported my uncle to the cops. He hit her so bad he sent her to the hospital.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yep. I’da done the same thing.” He was a really tough kid.

I knew who Abundio Mariscal was. He was a lowlife with a repair shop that used all stolen parts. He was from Tamuín, and he was missing an arm. There was no way he could be the Jackal, because, according to the medical examiner, the killer had to be ambidextrous to inflict the wounds.

“Right,” I said.

“I’m gonna want another Chaparrita,” said one of his bodyguards.

“No problem,” I promised. “Just lemme go to the bank,” and I started to walk away.

El Flaco threatened me. “Don’t go too far, copper. We’re watching you.”

I left them there, focused on stuffing themselves silly.

I didn’t get anything from the next three houses: a teenager with a big imagination who wanted to be a police officer, a woman getting beaten by her husband, and an old woman who’d come to her own conclusions about life. I’d promised to visit Mrs. Dorotea Hernández, the mother of one of the victims, but I was already fed up. I just wanted to get out of there and relax. I was about to leave, but I thought, well, I’m already here, and if I don’t go, this old lady might just cause me problems at headquarters, besides it’s the only thing Rangel specifically assigned me to do.

Around that time, Mrs. Dorotea Hernández had appeared in the papers, talking bad about the police and saying we didn’t know how to do our job. The woman was really annoying. We were all fed up with her statements in the press, most of all for having led the protest. Her daughter disappeared on January 15, but no one helped her and the case got lost in the shuffle. If someone had paid attention to her, we could have avoided the whole
problem. Maybe I’d still be working in the secret police. But it didn’t happen like that. Then the second girl disappeared, the woman called the office every day and now no one even took her calls. Rangel had assigned me to ask her if she knew where Mr. So-and-So’s ranch was, so I went. I was getting more and more nervous by the minute, because, after leaving the last interview, the same people who had called the police could spread the rumor that a cop was walking around the
colonia
. Besides, every time I left a house, I’d always run into El Flaco’s gang, El Flaco riding the bike with the training wheels. When I left the old lady’s house, I saw the kid waiting for me under a mango tree, like a bad omen. Then he ran toward me and introduced me to a big group of future gang members, not one of whom trusted me.

“You buying?” El Flaco asked.

“Sorry, bro,” I told him, “I don’t have a dime. I’m gonna have to walk back home.” Despite its being the truth, I didn’t convince him.

“Whaddaya mean? You don’t have any more cash?”

“Are you deaf? What don’t you understand?” I said it so rudely his friends made fun of him.

Then the kid really did get mad. “You fucking cop! Now you’re really in for it.”

Go to hell, I thought, and I headed off to Mrs. Dorotea’s house, at the end of the market, next to Public School Number Five. The majority of the gang members dispersed, but El Flaco followed me at a distance, pedaling his bike with two bodyguards behind him. I had made him look bad in front of his friends, since they had to leave without their chips.

“Now I’m not telling you nothing!” he yelled at me.

But I didn’t stop. If I could get to the market without any problems, I’d be safe, or at least that’s what I thought. The idea was to avoid one of the busiest streets, the one by the dock.

So I’m heading that way with El Flaco grumbling behind me. As soon as I made it out of the market, I breathed deep and started to run. I lost them at the Danny candy store. It was tough to get through because it was payday and the market was packed, full of women running their errands and transvestites, prostitutes, dockworkers, and the normal customers. I went out a side door and saw no sign of the kids. I got to Mrs. Dorotea’s house around noon; the sun was beaming down hard, and as soon as I saw her I knew this was it. I questioned her relentlessly, until suddenly she confessed. Oh, shit, I said to myself, I got him. But I would’ve preferred it wasn’t him, because the guy was such a pain. The news made such an impression, I got really quiet, and she turned pale.

“Did I do something wrong?”

“Yes,” I said to her. “You should have said something before.”

And she started to cry. I was already way beyond thinking about right or wrong, and I ordered her not to tell anybody what she told me, and we’d see if I could still help her. Don’t tell anybody at all, I insisted. At that moment, I was only thinking about the reward: I couldn’t believe it; I had found a needle in a haystack, a four-leaf clover. The money would be mine soon, twenty-four hours at the latest. I couldn’t hear what the woman was saying to me anymore, I was in another dimension and a voice was saying to me: “The reward,
cabrón
, go get the reward.” The woman didn’t know how to get to the person’s ranch, but she gave me the number of someone who did.

When I went out into the street, El Flaco and his dad were
waiting for me. His dad was a crazy-looking black guy, with the face of a boxer. He looked mad as hell.

“Cop!” El Negro yelled. “Fucking cop!”

I acted like he was talking to somebody else and turned my head, like he wasn’t talking about me, and went up the street that leads to the plaza. I heard the kid’s voice, saying, “That’s him, dad, that’s him!” and I heard the father’s steps, following me—“Officer!” he yelled at me—but I didn’t turn around.

Fucking Rangel, I thought, I never should’ve agreed to come here without a pistol; he should’ve lent me his. All I needed was to get killed just when I’d found the murderer. Then El Negro shouted, “You’re not even a real man! You just mess with little kids!” And I heard him spit. I noticed El Negro was giving instructions to two people who ran off toward the market, and I felt the sweat pouring down my back. I thought, Oh, God, they’re gonna block the street off; they’re gonna kill me like a rat. I walked faster. The alley sloped up really steep, and I thought I was going to pass out. El Negro kept on shouting, but I didn’t turn around. Then I noticed that people were moving out of my way, like I was in trouble. I figured he must’ve been pointing a gun at me. For sure, they got him a gun. Since I saw there was a group of guys waiting for me at the end of the street, I turned off toward the customs house. As I walked by the
tortas de la barda
shops, El Negro’s steps sounded so close to me, they might have been my own. I almost passed out from the fear alone, but I made it to the train station. Then I saw that the kids were back, “Negro, Negro, here he is!” And I didn’t have any doubt. I said to myself, Fuck. Now they did get him a gun. I turned left onto a street that looked busier, but it didn’t help me at all, because the people jumped off to one side if I got close to them. Some of them even looked at me like a person condemned to death who still doesn’t know his fate, and I said
to myself: Oh, God, they’re going to execute me. And I didn’t want to look back, because I figured El Negro wouldn’t shoot me in the back—or maybe he would; I mean, I was in the Coralillo. Nobody likes the police here. Then I knew very clearly that a crowd of people had gathered behind me, ready to see me die, like they were at the Roman circus, and right then a guy coming in the opposite direction ducked down as I came up next to him, like he was trying to duck something and I felt the first shot hit my back, hard and compact, and it made my whole body shake. I remember I thought: Oh, shit! That was it. My back was wet and dripping: Oh, God, oh, God, they got me! I couldn’t breathe and my nose was running, but I didn’t stop: Holy Mary Mother of God, Holy Mother of God! Get me out of here! When I got to the top of the hill, tears started to pour out of me, and I took the second hit, boom, and that was when I said, Ave María Purísima, I made it this far! But something strange was happening to the people, because instead of shouting or getting scared, they were laughing at me! All of a sudden, my legs gave way as I felt a soft, juicy substance slithering down my neck. I reached back, and my hand came away covered with yellow pulp: papaya. El Negro had thrown papayas at me! “Hey, officer!” he shouted, “I don’t think you’ll come back here no more!” Everyone was laughing wildly, and my nose wouldn’t stop running. I went up Calle Héroes de Nacozari, cleaned off the pulp, and didn’t stop until I got to police headquarters. I could breathe again. I was humiliated and dirty, and I had lost my tape recorder. But I was alive and I knew who the murderer was.

They arranged to meet at the Tiberius Bar at six in the evening. The Blind Man had ordered tequila, enchiladas, bread, and a
queso fresco
. As soon as he got there, Vicente asked, “Did you find what I asked for?”

The Blind Man handed him an envelope from Congressman Wolffer, the envelope with the bribe, which had an official seal. “You got lucky. I was about to throw it out.”

“And did you go see Mrs. Hernández?”

The Blind Man showed him the letter with the threats.

“This is it,” he said. “But first, we have to negotiate my percentage.”

He told him about his interview with Mrs. Hernández. He was so happy he didn’t even mention the attack in the market. As soon as he finished, Rangel noticed his hands were sweaty.

“Do you have the map?” That afternoon, he had asked for a map of the state highways.

“Here it is. What I don’t understand is why such an influential person is hiding out there in the middle of nowhere.”

“Why do you think?” asked Rangel, pointing to a path on the map. “It’s a perfect location, if he feels threatened by the law in Mexico, he can just walk across the border into Texas. They’ve got it all figured out. That’s why we have to show up there at dawn, before they can get away. Did you find out how to get there?”

“Yeah, we just take this highway.”

“No way, Romero, that whole stretch is full of drug dealers. I don’t want problems with anybody. Imagine if we crossed a poppy field or if they pointed an AK-47 at you. Look for somebody who knows that area real well. Or what? You don’t wanna take half anymore?”

The Blind Man mentioned that Mrs. Hernández gave him the number of a guy that worked on a ranch close by there.

“Go talk to him, but watch out, man. Careful with what you say or you could fuck up the whole thing.”

They looked over the highway map. The Blind Man added up the miles and said the hideout was at least six hours from the port. “I’ll drive there and you drive back. We bring him in and divide the reward.” Then he asked, “Have you ever dealt with such a big shot before?”

“Do you want out?”

“No, I just wanted to know if maybe we’re setting our sights a little high.”

“If you want out, there’s still time.”

“No way,” said the Blind Man. “No way.”

Rangel handed him the keys to the Chevy Nova. “Get it ready for the trip.” In the meantime, he’d go rest a few hours, since he hadn’t slept at all.

“Do you want me to take you boss?”

“No, I’ll go by myself; you focus on what I told you to do. Hey, Romero, would you really use electric shocks on a suspect?”

The Blind Man seemed to think it over. “Well, yeah . . . as long as my wife was working that day.”

“What does your wife have to do with this?”

“I’ll explain later. If I don’t hurry, I won’t see any money.”

“OK, but like I said: not a word to anybody.”

The Blind Man left there right at nine o’clock. He had to go to the mechanic’s house to find him, force him to open up his shop, and check out the Chevy Nova. The mechanic checked the timing, topped off the oil, adjusted the belts, and rigged it so it would get more speed. The Blind Man went to fill up the gas tank an hour later, made sure the tire pressure was right for the highway, and got into the car, but before he went to pick up his partner, he went to Flamingos, the only place that was open on the avenue. Inside, there were just the usual regulars: taxi drivers, truckers, and journalists leaving work. Johnny Guerrero was one of them; he seemed really worked up and was having dinner with a secretary from the paper. Romero went straight to him and motioned for him to follow. They met in the men’s bathroom.

“What do you got?” Johnny asked. “Why so mysterious?”

“I’ve got something really—and I mean
really
—good, Johnny, but you’ve gotta double my cut.”