Missing

by Sam Hawken

  He found the police station as he had left it: strangely quiet and virtually deserted. Jack remembered reading something about a shortage of police in Nuevo Laredo because of threats of violence, and he supposed this had something to do with it. For a city under siege, it was almost sleepy here. But that was the problem: it was too easy to forget what was happening, and forgetting was what brought him to this.

  Gonzalo was not at his desk when Jack arrived, but a uniformed officer promised he would not be gone long. ‘He’s on a call,’ the policeman explained. ‘But it’s not serious.’

  ‘No one died?’ Jack asked.

  ‘No, no one,’ the policeman said quickly. ‘It is nothing.’

  It was over an hour before Gonzalo entered by the front door, his face decorated with sweat. He spotted Jack before Jack could even stand up and approached with a look of caution. ‘Sr Searle?’ he said. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘I came to ask how things were going,’ Jack said, and he sounded lame to himself. ‘You know… just to see.’

  ‘Come with me and sit down.’

  They went back to the familiar desk and chairs and Jack saw Gonzalo put aside a green folder with care, as if it were fragile. The man took off his jacket. His pits were deeply stained with perspiration. His gun was exposed. ‘I understand you’re busy,’ Jack said.

  ‘It’s no problem. But you could have called. There’s no need for you to trouble yourself with the crossing.’

  ‘I wanted to come.’

  ‘You are always welcome, of course. Can I get you anything, Sr Searle?’

  ‘I’m fine. And you can call me Jack. There’s no need to call me señor.’

  ‘All right. Then you must call me Gonzalo.’

  ‘Gonzalo.’

  ‘Yes. Jack, I’m afraid there’s not much I can tell you today that I haven’t told your brother-in-law already. I have some promising leads, but they are still developing. You may have come all this way for nothing.’

  Jack breathed. A moment before he’d felt something clutching at him, threatening to squeeze his chest, and he’d shaken it off. From time to time in the night he’d felt it, too, waking him from unpleasant dreams and sitting on his heart in the darkness. Sometimes there was the threat of tears, but he had not cried yet and he would not. This much he’d promised himself.

  ‘You do understand, don’t you, Jack?’

  ‘I understand. You told me before: police work is slow.’

  ‘Very slow. I wish that were not the case.’

  ‘It’s just… I feel like I ought to be doing something. It’s not right for me to sit around waiting for a call.’

  He felt a surge of something like anger that he knew would lead to no good. His hands closed tightly in his lap, and then opened again slowly.

  Finally Gonzalo spoke. ‘Jack, have you had something to eat? I skipped lunch and I could use some food.’

  ‘I could eat,’ Jack said.

  Gonzalo rose from his desk and put his jacket back on. ‘Then let’s go to a place I know.’

  Jack allowed himself to be led away and out the front of the station onto the street, where an eddy of dry, hot wind picked up grit from the roadway and blew it in his face. ‘I’ll drive,’ he said.

  They went to Jack’s truck. Gonzalo was not a small man, but he seemed so climbing into the big cab. He sighed when the air conditioning came on. ‘You saved my life,’ he said, and turned the vents toward himself.

  Gonzalo gave directions as Jack drove. They passed a Burger King and a McDonald’s built right next to each other, indistinguishable from the franchises on the Texas side of the border except for the promotional signage in the windows, which was all in Spanish. The closer to the river one went, the more alike the two cities seemed until they were abruptly divided by 300 feet of concrete-reinforced riverbed and a tall metal fence filled with rust.

  ‘You said you have leads,’ Jack said after a while. ‘What kind of leads?’

  ‘I can’t really talk about such things,’ Gonzalo said. ‘Nothing specific, anyway.’

  ‘Who would I tell?’

  ‘This is true.’

  ‘Then you can talk about it,’ Jack said. ‘I’ll keep your secrets.’

  Gonzalo was quiet for a few minutes except to point out a turn that brought them down a broad street littered on both sides by shops and restaurants and all the normal, ordinary things that a city should have. There was no violence here, nor the promise of violence, and there were not even any police or army vehicles anywhere to be seen. Jack did not understand Nuevo Laredo, and maybe he never had.

  ‘I’ve interviewed a number of witnesses,’ Gonzalo said. ‘All of them tell me the same things: that your stepdaughter and her cousin were drinking, that they came to the concert with friends but left alone. I’ve found not one person to dispute that timeline.’

  ‘But?’

  ‘It’s here. Pull in here.’

  Jack turned off into the parking lot of a small restaurant called La Pequeña Cocina, the Little Kitchen. A few other cars were already there and the truck bulled up between them like their big brother, casting a long shadow in the early evening light. He killed the engine and they got out. The day was still hot, though it had mellowed somewhat from earlier.

  Inside the restaurant there were oscillating fans on tall stands in the corners of a big dining area. Someone had attached tinsel to the fans so they streamed out like cartoon waves of cool. The whole place smelled richly of chilies and cooking meat.

  Gonzalo led them to a booth. The laminated menus were pinned against the wall by bottles of hot sauce. They each took one. Though he was not really hungry, the smells of the place stirred something in Jack’s stomach and it growled.

  ‘Their pescado a la veracruzana is excellent,’ Gonzalo said. ‘I have it every time I come here. But don’t let me decide for you.’

  A little old woman emerged from the back and brought them glasses of iced water with slices of lemon in them. Gonzalo greeted her warmly and the old woman leaned in so he could kiss her on both cheeks. Jack merely smiled and nodded his head.

  In the end Jack ordered albóndigas soup, which came with tortillas for sopping up the broth. Gonzalo had his fish in a cast-iron vessel, the rich odor of tomatoes spilling up from it.

  ‘You were going to tell me more about what’s happening,’ Jack said.

  ‘I hoped you would forget about that,’ Gonzalo said. ‘The food was supposed to be a distraction.’

  ‘It worked. I’m full.’

  Gonzalo drained his glass. ‘Then I suppose I will tell you,’ he said.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘The problem I’m having with your stepdaughter’s case is that no one saw her after she left the concert. Or if someone did, they have not come forward. And why would they? People in this city have learned how to mind their own business.’

  ‘Has somebody said something?’

  ‘No,’ Gonzalo said.

  Jack wanted to pound the table. ‘What kind of a secret is that?’

  ‘It is possible that there was someone who saw your step-daughter on the night who has not come forward. Someone we can identify through evidence taken from the car. I can’t tell you who, but what I can say is that I’ve spoken with this person and I have my concerns. The things they told me and the things I know do not match.’

  ‘Well, then, what comes next?’ Jack asked. He was leaning forward now and the table creaked.

  ‘Now I do police work. I told you when all this began that some of us take our jobs very seriously. When there’s something that doesn’t fit, we investigate until it does.’

  ‘This person did something to Marina, didn’t he?’ Jack asked, and he felt breathless again, as if there was not enough air in their booth for both of them.

  ‘It’s too early for us to know such things.’

  ‘When will you know?’

  ‘Soon, Jack. Very soon.’

  FIFTEEN

  LIDIA WAS WAITING FOR H
IM WHEN HE CAME home. ‘Where have you been?’ she asked.

  ‘I had some people to meet,’ Jack said simply. He did not want to share the details of his visit with Gonzalo, not now, and he knew she would get it from him if he wasn’t careful.

  ‘I was worried. You should tell me next time,’ Lidia said, and Jack became aware of the way she was looking at him, the intensity in her face and the way she held her body. She thought he was lost and it frightened her. He never should have gone without warning her first, even if it was to tell some lie.

  ‘Come here,’ Jack said, and he put his arms out for her. She came to him and he held her closely. Lidia wrapped herself around his waist and squeezed as tightly as she could, her face in his chest, but she did not cry. Jack was proud of her for that. ‘I was just gone a little while. I promise I won’t do it again.’

  When they parted, Lidia seemed tired, as if the waiting had depleted her and now she was left with nothing. ‘What are you going to do now?’ she asked.

  ‘I’m going to hop in the shower. Maybe we can watch some TV?’

  ‘Sure.’

  Lidia went to the family room and Jack headed for his bedroom. He closed the door and stripped down and walked to the bathroom to shower. On his skin was the blowing dust of Nuevo Laredo and the stickiness of the ever-present sweat. It was good to get under the spray.

  He had not gotten from Gonzalo what he wanted, but it had to be enough. Gonzalo counseled patience and he was patient. It was only that his patience did not last forever. He wanted to wrap his hands around this thing and squeeze it until Marina popped out. The police in Nuevo Laredo would never allow him to do that.

  The shower suddenly sputtered and then a deluge of uncontrolled spray blasted Jack in the face. There was the ringing sound of metal hitting the floor of the stall. Jack fumbled blindly for the knob to cut the water. The flow snapped off sharply and Jack stood dripping, blinking water from his eyes.

  He examined the showerhead. The plastic face was cracked wide open. It had probably been wearing away for some time like a ticking bomb. Jack pounded the wall of the stall and cursed.

  Tomorrow he would go to the store and buy a new head. He toweled off roughly and in the bedroom he put on fresh jeans and a white undershirt that had a hole in one sleeve.

  They watched a television show about funny videos off the internet and then some sitcoms Jack didn’t follow, but Lidia seemed to know. She even laughed once or twice and Jack was glad.

  After a long time, she said, ‘Jack.’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘How long will it be before they stop looking for her?’

  ‘Not for a long time. They just got started.’

  ‘But they have so many other things to do over there. I read online today that there’s a shooting every day. Do you know how many soldiers and police they have there?’

  ‘No, I don’t.’

  ‘It’s a lot. They say it’s not as bad as some places, but the cartels are killing cops. The police won’t pay attention to Marina forever.’

  ‘The guy on the case is a good man, and he’s not going to let this go. And I won’t, either.’

  ‘How do you know you can trust him? I read that the local police over there are always taking bribes from the cartels. Nobody can trust anybody.’

  ‘I trust him,’ Jack said. ‘That’s all I can tell you. He’s trustworthy. Maybe there are others over there who take money on the side from the drug dealers or whatever, but he’s one of the good guys.’

  Lidia was welling up now. ‘I miss her,’ she said, and her voice was thick.

  ‘I miss her, too. We all miss her: Uncle Bernardo and Aunt Reina, the kids. But we’re gonna make it through this to the other side. As long as you stick it out, I’ll stick it out, but I need you to keep it together. For Marina.’

  Lidia covered her mouth and nodded. The tears were going away now, tamped down fiercely, not allowed to take over. ‘Okay,’ she managed to say.

  ‘Why don’t we just call it a night? Some sleep always helps.’

  ‘All right.’

  SIXTEEN

  GONZALO HAD A DAY OFF, SO HE SLEPT late. There was a replay of a fútbol match from months ago on the television and he watched it with one eye on the clock. When it was time he would be ready.

  Afternoon crept in, the day hot against the windows of Gonzalo’s apartment, and then cooling into the evening hours. He dressed and put on his weapon. Again he checked the clock. Almost there.

  He got out of the apartment and on the road. The station house out of which Eliseo Guadalupe and Darío Fregoso worked was much smaller than Gonzalo’s, more like a frontier outpost at the edge of a bad part of the city, a place where gangs were deeply rooted among the poor who were fortunate enough to work and the even poorer who somehow managed to cling on. Only a few vehicles operated out of this station despite the relatively large size of their patrol area. Army and Federal Police helped fill some of the gap, but a person could go a long time without a sign of the authorities.

  Getting Guadalupe’s schedule had been easy. Gonzalo called the station and represented himself as a commander from another area gathering information for a report to the federales. The duty sergeant gave Gonzalo all of the information he asked for, including the names and schedules of officers he didn’t care about at all. Guadalupe would never hear a thing about it.

  He almost missed Guadalupe when he emerged from the station house because he had already changed into civilian clothes. It was Fregoso who stood out more because he was so slender and wiry, like a bendable toy. The two men walked together to the small lot that adjoined the station and got into the same car with Guadalupe behind the wheel.

  They navigated through evening traffic. Gonzalo was sure to keep at least four cars between them.

  Finally they reached a squat apartment building and Guadalupe sidled up to the curb. Gonzalo consulted his notebook. Fregoso got out of the car. This was his place.

  If he could have, Gonzalo would have followed them both, but it was Guadalupe who interested him. Guadalupe was the senior one, and senior officers always took the lead. Fregoso was a follower; Gonzalo could see it in the way he moved. Yes, Guadalupe was the one to watch.

  Fregoso waved from the sidewalk as Guadalupe pulled away and he was already through the front door of the building by the time Gonzalo passed. They were headed north now, trending to the west. Gonzalo had Guadalupe’s address and this was not the way. He went on, careful in his distance, as they crossed El Centro.

  The shadows were long and the streetlights were on before Gonzalo saw where Guadalupe was going. He saw the painted wall of cinder blocks and the sides of the road already crowded with cars. Visible over the upper lip of the nearest wall was a strip of flashing neon. La Zona. Somewhere inside its walls, Iris Contreras was working on her back. There was no time to think of that now.

  Guadalupe parked half a kilometer from the entrance to La Zona and Gonzalo had to be quick to find a spot for himself before Guadalupe was down the street and out of sight. He jogged to catch up and found Guadalupe at an intersection waiting to cross. The man looked both ways, but not back.

  They crossed Monterrey Street at almost the same time, half a block from each other. Guadalupe reached the open gate first and left-handed inside, forcing Gonzalo to run again.

  Music blared from open doors and multicolored lights blinked and beckoned. Gonzalo dismissed them all and focused on Guadalupe as the man picked his way down a dirt and gravel street called Lucrecia Borgia toward the western-most reaches of La Zona. Guadalupe did not slow to look into open doorways where scantily clad women beckoned and he shrugged off the attentions of talkers looking to lure in a new customer. One man reached out and grabbed Gonzalo by the elbow, directing him toward the entrance to a strip joint and brothel called La Cosa. Gonzalo disengaged himself and located Guadalupe again, still moving.

  They went farther and Guadalupe vanished. For one moment he was there and then the street where he had been
was empty. Gonzalo hurried forward, looking in open doors. He nearly missed Guadalupe, swathed in the dim interior of a club’s bar area. Gonzalo saw him only for a second, and then he was gone again.

  The club was called El Pájaro and it boasted a brilliant neon sign of a colorful bird, its animated wings flapping. Behind a clear plastic sheet were small posters and photographs of women in go-go dancer costumes, all faded from the sun. There was something about them that Gonzalo could not place.

  A thickset man guarded the door. He wore a leatherette fanny pack that looked strangely awkward under the shelf of his expanding belly. When Gonzalo tried to pass him, the man put out an arm. ‘One hundred pesos,’ he said.

  ‘Just to get in?’ Gonzalo asked.

  ‘I don’t make the rules.’

  Gonzalo gave the man a two-hundred-peso note and waited while he unzipped the fanny pack and brought out a wad of bills. He carefully peeled off two fifty-peso notes and gave them to Gonzalo. ‘Thank you,’ Gonzalo said.

  ‘Have fun.’

  The inside of El Pájaro was barely lit, but there was enough glow from the purple and green lights to see people moving around. It was impossible to make out faces until Gonzalo was right atop them. He searched the darkness for Guadalupe, hoping to spot a familiar silhouette, but the man was gone.

  There was little open space in the place, with many small tables scattered around the floor. Gonzalo made out what looked like the square of a stage with a vertical pole mounted in the center of it, but like everything else it was shrouded in gloom. He bumped a waitress carrying a tray of empty glasses. ‘Excuse me,’ he said.

  ‘It’s all right,’ the waitress said. Her voice was pitched low.

  Gonzalo skirted tables and people until he was close to one wall. There were booths here. He felt his way, one to the next, hoping he would not stumble across Guadalupe, and then the place was suddenly alight.

  Intense bulbs came alive around the stage. Illumination cast off the glittery tinsel backdrop and washed back across the audience, who Gonzalo could see clearly now. The place was only half full of men and women, but they turned their attention forward and in the blaze Gonzalo saw the women were not women at all, but men dressed as ladies.