Missing

by Sam Hawken

  Everyone knew there were travestido bars and brothels in La Zona, but Gonzalo had never visited one. He caught sight of a waitress who looked almost exactly like a woman, maybe the one he’d glimpsed before, but upon a closer look it was clear she was a man, as well. Gonzalo was frozen in place, feeling suddenly and keenly exposed.

  Loud dance music abruptly surged from speakers all around the bar area. From beside the stage a transvestite man emerged wearing a go-go dancer’s outfit like the ones pictured outside, and began a routine before the assembled crowd. If Gonzalo had not known differently, he would have thought this was another woman, too.

  The booth beside him was empty and Gonzalo sat down quickly. His eyes were drawn to the spectacle on the stage even as the music hammered him, but he turned away and scanned the audience instead.

  A waitress appeared at his booth without warning. ‘Something to drink?’ she asked.

  ‘Um, water,’ Gonzalo managed to say.

  ‘Something real to drink?’

  He paused, thinking this man dressed as a woman could see right through him to the badge and the gun beneath his jacket. That she would know everything he was here to do and would shout out his secret. ‘A beer,’ he said.

  ‘What kind?’

  ‘Any kind.’

  The waitress looked annoyed, but she left him and that was all Gonzalo wanted. He realized he was perspiring even though it was cool inside the place. On the stage the dancer was rubbing fake breasts—or were they fake breasts?—on the shiny brass pole. The scene was unsettling, unreal, and once more Gonzalo had difficulty looking away.

  He searched along the perimeter of the big room, frustrated by heads turned from him and toward the stage. Guadalupe could be there and Gonzalo might not see him. He looked anyway.

  The waitress returned at the same time Gonzalo spotted Guadalupe. The sweating beer went down on a napkin and the waitress leaned in to tell him the price. Gonzalo thrust one of the fifty-peso notes at her and waved away change. He was looking at Guadalupe, ensconced in a corner booth directly adjacent to the stage. Guadalupe was not alone.

  Gonzalo did not recognize the second man. He had slicked hair and when he gestured broadly with his beer Gonzalo could see the man had a bright gold watch. The man was talking to Guadalupe over the music, but it was far too loud for Gonzalo to hear anything. When the man with the gold watch turned his head, Gonzalo could see he had a large mole on his cheek.

  They stayed together through the dancer’s song and when the brightest lights shut down, replaced by a series of rapidly flashing red and yellow bulbs that made the stage area throb, the man with the gold watch waved the dancer over. The dancer, Gonzalo did not know whether to say she or he, came to them and kissed the man with the gold watch on the mouth. Guadalupe got up so the dancer could sit between them.

  From their new angle in the booth, Gonzalo could see the man with the gold watch more clearly. He wore a Ralph Lauren shirt with the word LONDON printed across the chest, accompanied by the horse-and-rider seal. The police had a name for shirts like that one: ‘Narco Polo.’

  He went on watching them even when the stage brightened again and a new dancer came on. The three spoke animatedly and ordered drink after drink. Gonzalo’s beer remained untouched. He wished for a camera to take the man with the gold watch’s photo, but there would be no way to get away with that in here, even with the distractions of the light and the music.

  A shadow fell over him and then he was crowded into his booth by a new body. Gonzalo flinched as a man dressed in a wig and skirt and tight top pressed against him. He smelled alcohol when the man spoke. ‘Hello. I’m Celia.’

  ‘Hello,’ Gonzalo said. ‘Look, I’m—’

  ‘You’re nervous,’ Celia said, and put a hand on his arm. ‘I could tell you haven’t been here before. You don’t need to be afraid. I saw you sitting here alone and thought you could use some company.’

  At Guadalupe’s table the man with the gold watch was getting up and saying his goodbyes. Gonzalo tried to slip his arm free of Celia’s grasp. ‘I’m not staying,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry, but you’ll have to talk to someone else.’

  ‘Would you rather go somewhere quiet? There are rooms in back.’

  ‘No! I mean, no thank you. You are very nice, but I have to go.’

  Celia’s grip tightened on his arm. ‘Listen, I have to make some money tonight. Are you sure you don’t want something?’

  The man with the gold watch was making his way across the room toward the exit. Gonzalo fished out his wallet and offered Celia the other fifty-peso note. ‘Here’s something,’ he said. ‘Now I have to leave.’

  ‘Fifty pesos? What the hell am I supposed to do with fifty pesos?’ Celia exclaimed, and heads turned Gonzalo’s way. ‘It’s a thousand pesos to spend time with me!’

  ‘I don’t have a thousand pesos! Please, just let me go. I won’t come back.’

  Gonzalo wrenched his arm free and scooted out of the booth. The man with the gold watch was almost gone.

  ‘You go to hell!’ Celia shouted at him. ‘You chingadores are all alike! Go back to your wife, you coward!’

  He did not spare a look back toward Guadalupe in case the man should see his face and everything would be ruined. Instead he bumbled between tables as Celia yelled after him, making it to the door and freedom before anyone could step in front of him. He bumped the thickset man at the entrance and ignored the man’s sound of protest. On the street he looked left and right for the man with the gold watch and saw him going south on Circunvalación Casanova toward Lucrecia Borgia.

  The man did not slow or stop all the way back to the entrance to La Zona. At the gates he turned right and walked a hundred meters to a parked Mercedes where a second man was waiting. Gonzalo was trapped between La Zona and the Mercedes, his own car parked well away on the far side. He moved as close to the wall as he could, hoping not to attract attention.

  The two men spoke briefly and got into the Mercedes. The headlights went on and the car pulled away from the curb. They passed Gonzalo headed north and he scrambled for his notebook to scratch out their license-plate number. He took off at a run, crossing the road heedless of an oncoming car, and made the distance quickly.

  His lungs were burning by the time he was behind his own wheel and his car protested the sudden acceleration and sharp turns that put Gonzalo on the Mercedes’ path. La Zona whipped past on his left, but Gonzalo was searching ahead, hoping the man had been slowed by something and was still close enough to catch.

  He traveled a kilometer and then another before he slowed. There was no sign of the Mercedes anywhere and the traffic was light enough that they would have free rein on the road. Gonzalo realized he’d been gripping the wheel too tightly and he forced his fingers to relax, his knuckles coloring from white.

  ‘¡Mierda! ¡Mierda! ¡Mierda!’ Gonzalo cursed out loud and thumped the dashboard with his hand. ‘Who are you?’

  For the next hour he traversed the city north of La Zona in slowly widening circles, but he did not spot the Mercedes, the man with the gold watch or the driver. Gonzalo did not expect a miracle, but sometimes a policeman was lucky. Tonight he was not.

  He thought briefly about going back to La Zona and picking up Guadalupe’s trail again, but by now the man would have finished his business in El Pájaro and gone on home. Certainly Gonzalo could not show his face in the club again without running afoul of Celia. The man at the door would probably throw him out without questions.

  Finally he turned toward home and let the slow strobe of passing streetlights lull him into a state of quietude. When he pulled into the lot of his apartment building and parked the car he sat a while behind the wheel just listening to the engine tick as the metal cooled. No Guadalupe. No man with the gold watch.

  Gonzalo opened his notebook and looked at the number he’d written down. Tomorrow he would run it through the computer and get a name. Maybe it would not be the name of the man with the gold watch, but it would be
something more than he had now. And even if it all had nothing to do with the missing American girl and her cousin he would know something for sure: Eliseo Guadalupe was friendly with narcos and he could not be trusted.

  SEVENTEEN

  GONZALO SAW THE ARMY TRUCKS AND Humvees collected on the street in front of the station when he drove past, and when he approached the entrance to the building on foot he saw the soldiers with their weapons at rest, milling around or simply standing sentry while smoking cigarettes. The soldiers regarded him with something like open contempt as he drew closer, only parting when he was nearly upon them, and lining the route to the door like a gauntlet.

  Inside there were still more soldiers. Filing cabinets stood open and there were uniformed men in every office, some searching and some waiting. He passed the empty counter at the fore of the station and saw a soldier sorting through the papers on his desk. ‘Hey!’ he said. ‘What the hell are you doing?’

  The soldier stopped rummaging around and turned his attention to Gonzalo. The man’s face had a coolness Gonzalo did not like. ‘I am checking your outstanding cases,’ he said.

  ‘That has nothing to do with the army! Back away from there!’

  The soldier did not move. ‘You are relieved of duty.’

  ‘The hell I am! Who’s in charge here?’

  A nod directed Gonzalo to the duty sergeant’s office. An armed man guarded the door while another man sat at the desk among Sergeant Ahumada’s paperwork. The guard moved to block Gonzalo’s way, but the second man spoke first: ‘Let him in.’

  ‘Who the hell are you?’ Gonzalo demanded. ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘I am Captain Ernesto Alvares,’ the man said. He stood up from the desk and Gonzalo saw he was not tall, but broadly built through the shoulders like a much bigger man. His uniform was pressed and his gold captain’s tri-bars polished. Instead of a crew cut, he styled his hair perfectly short and parted sharply on the left. He had a mustache. ‘All of these men are under my command.’

  ‘Why are they in my station?’ Gonzalo asked.

  ‘The Municipal Police are hereby suspended,’ Alvares said. ‘The army has assumed all local law enforcement functions in Nuevo Laredo, as well as twenty-one other municipalities in Tamaulipas. Police personnel are to receive professional training and recertification under a process overseen by the military and the State Police.’

  Gonzalo felt his mouth drop open and he consciously closed it. ‘But…’ he said. ‘But why?’

  ‘What is your name?’ Alvares asked.

  ‘Gonzalo Soler. Inspector.’

  ‘Inspector Soler, you know as well as I do that the Municipal Police is rife with corruption and unprofessional behavior. Don’t deny it. Police are taking money from the cartels, turning a blind eye to their activities while the military take the brunt of the violence.’

  ‘That’s not true,’ Gonzalo said. ‘Some police may be on the take, but that’s no reason to suspend the entire force! And we’ve taken our losses, too! How many of us have been killed in the last few years? We’re fighting beside you!’

  Alvares held up a hand. ‘This isn’t a time for argument, Inspector Soler. May I call you Gonzalo?’

  ‘You can call me Inspector Soler, thank you very much,’ Gonzalo said.

  ‘Very well. I won’t stand here and bicker with you about who carries more water in this city. The decision has been made that the police force is enjoined from all duties until further notice.’

  ‘What about pay?’

  ‘Pay is also suspended.’

  ‘How the hell am I supposed to pay my bills?’

  ‘That’s not my concern, Inspector Soler,’ Alvares said firmly. ‘As of this moment I am more interested in making this transition a swift and easy one.’

  ‘And the first step is to take over the station house like an occupying army?’

  ‘You should calm yourself before you say something you might regret, Inspector.’

  Gonzalo stopped himself from sneering. ‘What will you do? Suspend me? You’ve already told me my job is forfeit.’

  ‘For the time being only. The process of professionalization and recertification will begin shortly and the best officers will be returned to duty as quickly as possible. Do you consider yourself among the best officers?’

  ‘What kind of a question is that?’

  ‘A simple one. I don’t know you, Inspector. We’ve only just met.’

  Gonzalo pointed out the door toward his desk. ‘I have cases. I have pending cases. How is some soldier going to handle my workload? This isn’t shooting up a plaza full of narcos, this is real police work.’

  Alvares’ eyes were flinty. ‘I think you underestimate the quality of our men. We are a special unit of two hundred and fifty men trained specifically in security matters. General Santos, our commanding officer, is a respected figure and takes his new role seriously.’

  ‘How are two hundred and fifty men going to police this city effectively?’

  ‘It will be done.’

  ‘Like hell it will! This is an insult and I will make my voice heard!’

  ‘Would you like me to take your complaint now, or would you prefer to wait until you’re called before a board of review?’

  ‘Is that some kind of joke?’

  Gonzalo turned to leave, but Alvares brought him up with a word: ‘Stop!’

  ‘What do you want?’

  ‘Your weapon. You’ll have to turn it in.’

  ‘I’m a police officer!’

  ‘You are effectively a civilian until such time as you have been reinstated, and like any civilian you are not authorized to carry a firearm. You can leave it with me. I’ll make sure it is well taken care of.’

  Gonzalo looked at Alvares and the officer looked back. Neither turned away and in the end it was Gonzalo who unclipped his holster from inside his waistband and put his weapon on the desk. ‘Do you want my badge, as well?’

  ‘No, you can keep that.’ Alvares put his hand on the pistol and slid it over to his side of the desk. ‘I’m sure you have a second weapon that no one knows about that you can use instead of this one. If so, I would advise you not to leave it somewhere it can be discovered easily because as part of the recertification process your home will be searched.’

  ‘You people are unbelievable,’ Gonzalo said.

  ‘We’re doing a job, Inspector. Just like you do.’

  ‘Not anymore. Now I’m just an unemployed civilian with the army breathing down his neck. Do you even understand what you’re doing here? You want to get rid of the bad cops so you punish all the cops? It’s insane.’

  ‘If you have suggestions about how we can better address widespread corruption, there are people you may speak to,’ Alvares said. ‘But I am not one of those people.’

  ‘No, of course not.’

  Alvares picked up Gonzalo’s weapon and held it in his hand as if weighing it. Again he was blank as a stone. ‘Is there anything else, Inspector Soler? I have a great deal of work to do and the more time we spend talking the longer it will be before my men can take up their duties.’

  ‘I’m finished,’ Gonzalo said.

  ‘It was a pleasure meeting you, Inspector. I look forward to working with you in the future.’

  Gonzalo left without saying anything in reply. He went to his desk, where the soldier was back at his task of sorting through the files he found there. The man stopped when he saw Gonzalo approaching. Gonzalo pointed. ‘This is where the pending cases are kept. These over here are closed cases that have not had their final reports written. Don’t confuse the two or you’ll be wasting your time. If you want to be sure, just look for the sticky yellow tag; I put one on every case file and remove it when it’s closed.’

  ‘Thank you,’ the soldier said.

  ‘Have you ever worked as an investigator before?’

  ‘No.’

  Gonzalo shook his head. ‘Just keep things organized and take lots of notes. Good note-taking can mean the diff
erence between closing a case or not. Don’t let your files get messy and be sure everything is together at the end of your shift. You want to be able to get right back to work the next time and every minute you spend spinning your wheels is a minute someone is getting away with a crime.’

  The soldier began to sort out the files according to closure. To Gonzalo he looked comical in his uniform, with his slung automatic weapon, doing the work of a plainclothes inspector. The whole thing was farcical. He didn’t see a single familiar face. All around there were soldiers and no cops.

  ‘Let me give you my telephone number,’ Gonzalo said. He took up a pad of sticky notes and scrawled his name and number on the top page, then fastened the note to the desk. ‘If you have questions or you just want advice, you can reach me anytime. It’s not like I’ll have anything else to do.’

  ‘It won’t be long,’ the soldier said.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean you won’t be suspended for very long. The good policemen will be back at work before you know it, and you obviously give a damn. It’s the ones who just walk away that will never come back. I’ve seen some of those already today.’

  Gonzalo wanted to ask the soldier which ones, but the question stalled on his tongue. Instead he asked, ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Gervasio.’

  ‘Gervasio what?’

  ‘Gervasio Chaidez.’

  ‘My name is Gonzalo Soler,’ Gonzalo said, and he offered the soldier his hand. ‘And I mean what I say: if you have any questions at all, you can call me day or night. There are people who depend on you now. I can’t help them, but you can.’

  The soldier was solemn. ‘I just wanted to be in the army,’ he said.

  ‘Well, you’re one of us now. Get used to it.’

  PART THREE

  PARTNERS

  ONE

  JACK HAD A HEADACHE AND LAY DOWN on the bed for a while to make it go away. He slipped away into a dreamless sleep and when he woke he was surprised so much time had passed. There was the half-distant buzz of the television playing in the front room, the sound carrying down the hall through the open bedroom door, and outside the cicadas were making their song.