The Hidden Light of Mexico City

by Carmen Amato

  He stopped at the gift shop in the hotel lobby and bought a big bouquet of roses and some cigars to take to San Angel. Dinner tonight with Tomás and Ana. An opportunity to make up for being such bad company the last time he was there.

  Tonight they’d decide what to do about the surveillance on the Hotel Arias. After a week they had discovered exactly nothing. The problem was twofold. They didn’t know what they were looking for and they only had the manpower to cover the hotel in the evenings; everybody had a day job. Whatever new plan they came up with they would share with the guys tomorrow during fútbol at La Marquesa.

  Rush hour traffic was starting and the milky sky was darkening as he drove out of the hotel parking garage. A dark sedan came out of the garage right after him without stopping. Eddo felt a sting of adrenaline along his spine. He drove a purposely erratic route through the fancy suburb’s streets. The sedan stayed with him.

  A small truck replaced the sedan. After a few turns Eddo knew they were both tailing him, taking turns riding his bumper, obviously not caring if he knew they were there or not. There were three or four men in the sedan and two in the small truck.

  Eddo’s cell phone was plugged into the charger. He speed dialed a number and turned on the loudspeaker feature.

  “Time’s up,” he said as soon as Tomás answered. “Got a tail and they know I know.”

  “Where are you?”

  “Polanco. Marina Nacional. Two vehicles.”

  “I’m already in San Angel,” Tomás said. “Can you get on the Periferico? Head this way?”

  “Hold on,” Eddo said. He swung the car into the right lane, crossed over the interchange with Calzado Melchor Ocampo and stayed to the right. He kept going until the road forked and he was on Avenida Parque Via. The two cars were still in his rearview. “Still with me.”

  “I’ll call in Diego and some others,” Tomás said. “Get on the Periferico and get off at Barranca del Muerto. We’ll be there by the time you are.”

  “Okay,” Eddo said. “Barranca del Muerto.”

  He disconnected, driving west through the choppy traffic, and took his gun out of the divider between the seats and slid it under his right thigh. Maybe this was just a warning, but he didn’t think so. Either Luis was dirty or Bernal Paz had talked.

  A left turn off Reforma across from the Loma Linda restaurant brought him into the posh Lomas Virreyes neighborhood. He’d avoided the area in the past month--not that he usually had much reason to drive through it--half thinking he’d pull up next to some car and Luz would turn and look at him and they’d pretend not to recognize each other. He shook that thought out of his head, turned onto Virreyes and worked his way through the streets leading to the Fuente de Petroleos monument surrounded by rosebushes. The SUV juddered over the old railroad tracks, past the street vendors packing up their wagons. A minute later Eddo swung onto the southbound Periferico highway. The traffic was thick and fast, no backups at all.

  His cell phone rang and he hit the talk button.

  “Where are you now?” Tomás asked.

  “Periferico. Just passed Papalote.” The huge yellow children’s museum was a well-known landmark.

  “Friends still with you?”

  “Yep. Kept on me all through Lomas Virreyes.” Eddo kept scanning his mirrors. The big sedan was still behind him, letting two or three cars stay between him and them. The truck was weaving in and out of the three lanes and would be right up his ass in another minute or two. Former transitos, Eddo decided.

  “We’re six. Spread out on both sides of the Barranca del Muerto exit and on Revolución. Come off and work your way east.”

  Eddo gave Tomás the make, model, and placa numbers for both vehicles but didn’t disconnect as he concentrated on the aggressive traffic and the bad road surface. He kept the SUV in the middle lane as much as possible; both the right and left lanes of the highway were peppered with recessed gratings that could take out a tire.

  He was just about a kilometer from the Barranca del Muerto exit when they made their move. The sedan suddenly accelerated, jinking around the cars in the left lane, almost hitting the concrete barriers on the shoulder of the road, and swung up beside Eddo, pushing him to the right.

  Eddo jammed his foot on the accelerator and saw the sign for the Barranca de Muerto exit. The sedan kept pace with him. Eddo saw the front seat passenger window slide down and the ugly muzzle of a sawed-off shotgun appeared.

  “Not going to make it,” Eddo said out loud and hit the brake.

  The SUV’s tires locked and there was a screeching squeal as the vehicle fishtailed and slowed, but didn’t spin. The sedan shot by and Eddo cranked his wheel to the left and bulled the SUV back into the middle lane, away from the dangerous concrete barriers and recessed gratings.

  But the sedan was waiting for him ahead, almost stopped in the middle of the highway as the heavy traffic buzzed by on the left and Eddo had no choice but to swing to the right again.

  The boom of the shotgun was followed by the blast of his left rear tire being blown to hell and then the harsh metallic clatter of the vehicle rolling over a recessed grating. The SUV flew up, the right side tires clawing high up the concrete barrier and then Eddo was tumbling sideways, the vehicle airborne. The roof of the SUV hit the highway with a sickening sense of gathering motion and the teeth-jarring grind of metal against tarmac. Eddo managed to keep his hand on the Glock as the SUV rolled side over side over side across all the lanes of traffic and slammed into the concrete barrier on the left side of the highway.

  A delivery van smacked into the rear corner of the SUV, swinging it around so that it lay on the passenger’s door with the nose pointing down the highway like a crippled horse waiting to be put out of its misery. The noise of the fast-moving highway traffic coming to a screeching halt was deafening.

  Dazed from the disorienting tumble and dangling from the seat belt shoulder harness, Eddo managed to cut the ignition. He tried to unfasten the seat belt when there was a shot and the shoulder harness ripped apart where it was attached to the frame, dropping him abruptly into the passenger side of the vehicle. He heard bones grate and pain flashed through his body.

  Another shot pounded into the roof of the SUV, then another and another. The windshield was a maze of glass that had crackled but not shattered but it was the only way out of the vehicle that didn’t put him into the line of fire. Eddo leveraged himself and dove shoulder first through the crumbly glass mosaic, still gripping the Glock. He bounced over the mangled hood amidst a spray of glittering shards and dropped messily onto the debris-covered road.

  All three lanes of traffic were stopped, cars slewed at crazy angles, people screaming and honking in the dirty half darkness. Eddo was dizzy and bloody as he got to his feet but stayed hunched behind the SUV’s bulk, bits of tire and glass and plastic clinging to his suit pants and crunching under his shoes.

  The sedan was waiting against the concrete barrier on the far right but the small truck was stopped in the middle lane near the SUV. Two men were using the vehicle’s open doors as cover. Chips flew around Eddo as a round nicked the barrier behind him and then something slammed into the left side of his head and pressed him against the cold concrete. But he didn’t fall and he didn’t feel the pain any more. It seemed phenomenally heavy but he sighted the Glock and fired again and again, staggering with the recoil that would have been less with two hands but he couldn’t raise his left arm. The door windows of the truck shattered and the men stopped shooting.

  Eddo walked toward the center lane, aiming now at the sedan, waiting for a shotgun blast to cut him in half. But the vehicle took off. Eddo fired at the windows, squeezing off the rounds as fast as he could, but the side of the car scraped against the right side concrete barrier and then it was gone.

  Eddo lowered the gun, dully aware of the sounds of engines and people screaming, of the stink of blood and burned plastic. He walked over to the small truck. Glass was everywhere, twinkling in the gray light.

&
nbsp; The two men were dead, both shot in the head. He looked at their bodies and then for some reason felt he should put the Glock into his shoulder holster. To his surprise he wasn’t wearing it. There was blood on his white shirt and on his tie. His knees buckled and Eddo dropped to a kneeling position.

  His left side felt very odd, as if it was melting in a blue flame. The pavement seemed very deep, deep like the ocean, as he pitched face first into it. Something trickled through his hair. Now it hurt to draw a breath and so he stopped trying and just watched a dark puddle seep out from under his cheek. He smiled because it looked like her hair in the water the night he kissed the mermaid.

  Chapter 32

  Hugo’s secretary had done a fine job putting together the ministry’s Christmas party, although all she’d really had to do was book the hotel ballroom for Sunday evening and agree to all the event planner’s suggestions. Waiters circulated with trays of ceviche in martini glasses and mini corn tortillas heaped with caviar. Champagne flutes lined up like wings on either side of an ice sculpture that towered over a vast skirted table.

  Hugo was feeling particularly jovial as he greeted his guests. Over the past few weeks he’d orchestrated solutions to problems that would have caused a lesser man to fold. As a result Lorena was creeping up in the polls, now trailing Arturo Romero by only 12 points. Romero was helping by staying in Oaxaca and being a starchy intellectual whose public appearances revolved around foreign affairs or legal reform; hardly issues to excite the average Mexican voter.

  Lorena was across the room, fabulous in a white satin gown, acting like the presidential candidate that she was. Fernando was there as well, entertained by Hugo’s senior staff. It was clear that Fernando still suspected nothing.

  Key PAN politicos circled around, sniffing the wind, as did senior officials from other ministries. Everyone was wondering about Lorena and Romero going head-to-head for the PAN nomination but no one was talking about it.

  Hugo had just helped himself to another delicacy from a passing waiter, his wife Graciela smiling nervously at his elbow, when Luis Yanez Luna edged through the crowd and came up beside him.

  “Luis,” Hugo beamed. “I don’t believe you’ve met my wife.”

  He introduced Graciela to Luis. They exchanged pleasantries and then she had the good sense to excuse herself, saying she had to mingle.

  “Excellent evening,” Luis said. “I’m glad you didn’t cancel.”

  “Cancel?”

  “Cortez Castillo’s attempted carjacking.”

  “Yes.” Hugo nodded gravely. “The random violence in this city is out of control.”

  “I read about it in yesterday’s newspaper,” Luis said. “Horrific crime.”

  “Shot in the head.” Hugo eased past a group of women in evening dresses.

  Luis followed until they were relatively alone on the edge of the party. “How bad is it?”

  “He’s in a coma. Hooked up to a million monitors, bandaged up to his eyeballs.”

  “Did you see him?”

  “Yes.” Hugo didn’t have to feign a shudder. Cortez had been unrecognizable. “Yesterday in the hospital. Neurologist says his brain swelled and recovery is unlikely. Marca Cortez issued a press release. Family moved him to a private clinic in Puebla this morning. If he survives he’ll be a vegetable.”

  “Good,” Luis muttered. “Fucking scary bastard.”

  “Won’t be roughing you up again any time soon.”

  “I held my own,” Luis said.

  Hugo made as if to bring his knee up to groin height and Luis flinched. Hugo chuckled and raised his glass. “To Eduardo and his family.”

  “To friends with the right skill set.”

  Hugo snorted. “To a direct approach.”

  It was a slam against the botched job in Anahuac and Luis glowered for a moment, then touched his glass to Hugo’s. They drank. Hugo waved to a passing waiter who refilled their glasses. A few partygoers drifted over and they made polite conversation for awhile. When the others moved on Hugo maneuvered so that Luis ended up in a corner by a big palm and Hugo’s back was to the rest of the party. “I’ll go to Cortez’s office tomorrow,” Hugo said. “Express my sympathies to the staff. There’s some woman there nobody knows. She can be the acting head of the department for awhile.”

  Luis bobbed his head. “I’ll let her know that Financial is at her disposal.”

  “Find out if he passed anything to her.”

  “I doubt it.” Luis drank more champagne and eyed an attractive woman in a halter dress across the room. “Cortez was such a solitary bastard. Never did anything more interesting than play fútbol with his old police cronies.”

  “You’d better hope you’re right,” Hugo said. “Banco Limitado is back in operation and I want it to stay that way.”

  “I’ve got a stake in this, too,” Luis reminded Hugo.

  As if he needed reminding. Every peso that went to Luis to keep people like Cortez from finding out was another peso diverted away from Lorena’s campaign.

  “I’m still not convinced Bernal Paz didn’t give Cortez something,” Hugo said. “Keep looking. I don’t like loose ends.”

  “Relax,” Luis said. “I know what I’m doing.”

  “You know how to sleep with Cortez’s secretary to find out his lunch schedule,” Hugo said.

  Chapter 33

  Luz stood in front of Eddo’s apartment door, trying not to hyperventilate. All the wrong words ran through her head.

  Señor Cortez. I see you have company. Is she a prostitute? Because I’m not.

  Hello, Eduardo Martín Bernardo Cortez Castillo. I hope you realize I didn’t take your maldita 200 pesos.

  Eddo. It’s me. I love you.

  It was four weeks since they’d met. What if she rang the bell and he didn’t recognize her? She’d pulled her hair back, put on makeup, and was wearing the Dolce and Gabbana jeans, a simple white tee shirt, and the black sweater she’d worn to the visa interview. The Prada tote was tucked under her arm.

  She looked around nervously. Eddo’s apartment was on the lobby floor. A uniformed guard in an enclosure by the courtyard gate had buzzed her into the building. The big marble and glass lobby was empty except for a nicely dressed man who was probably waiting for someone. He paid no attention to Luz.

  She took a breath and pressed the bell.

  The door was opened by powerful, thickset man of medium height. He wore pressed khaki pants, a pale blue button-down oxford shirt, expensive shoes, and a gun slung under his arm as if he was in a norteamericano police movie.

  “Uh,” Luz said.

  “Fuck,” he said. “Are you Luz de Maria?” He pulled her into the apartment. Someone came in right behind her. The door shut with a sharp click.

  Luz found herself surrounded by five men, all staring at her like schoolboys who’d found a dead cat. One was the man from the lobby. All were armed. None were Eddo.

  “I’m sorry,” Luz faltered. “I must have rung the wrong bell.”

  “Can I see your identification?” asked the man who’d opened the door.

  She was hemmed in. Luz handed over her wallet.

  “Knew it,” the man said smugly. “You’re as pretty as he said you were.” He handed back her wallet and said to the others, “la novia.” The girlfriend.

  As the men nodded and smiled at her, Luz realized she was in the right apartment after all. There was the green suede sofa and chairs, the iron kitchen barstools, and even the familiar basket of fruit on the bar. But the place was littered with packing boxes and rolls of bubble wrap, as if Eddo was moving.

  “Hey, Luz de Maria ought to see some ID, too,” the man said. He flipped open a worn leather wallet so Luz could see a shiny Highway Patrol badge and a police credential with a photo identifying him as Lieutenant Tomás Valderama Castro. “Just so you know you’re among friends.”

  Each of the men in the apartment came forward and showed her some sort of police credential, grinning and nodding at her lik
e she was someone important who made them a little nervous. They were all cops; two others from Highway Patrol, one from the Judicial Police, and one from the Diplomatic Protection police. Valderama Castro was the most senior and very obviously in charge.

  As Luz looked at the badges, the situation suddenly made sense. Eddo was a drogista. That’s why he hadn’t told her what he did. Now he’d been arrested and the police were confiscating his things. Luz didn’t know why they would think she was his girlfriend but if they did she could be in big trouble.

  Luz pulled on her stupid face and sidled toward the door. “Yes, well, thank you for showing me.”

  “Did you have a date tonight?” Valderama Castro asked, stepping in her way. “Eddo didn’t tell me.”

  “Not a problem,” Luz murmured, trying to keep sidling.

  “Cristo,” Valderama Castro swore. “You don’t know about the accident.”

  “Accident,” Luz repeated. Maybe that’s what they were calling it now when drogistas got caught.

  “On Friday,” Valderama Castro said. “Car’s a total loss.”

  “A real accident?” Luz asked in spite of herself.

  “It was a near thing,” Valderama Castro said. “Concussion and a cracked collarbone--.”

  “And a--,” one of the others started to say but Valderama Castro jerked his head for him to shut up as Luz staggered a little. Valderama Castro caught her by the elbow and steered her to the sofa. She sank gratefully onto the soft green suede. She loved that sofa.

  Valderama Castro sat next to her. “Car rolled across all three lanes of southbound traffic on the Periferico. Eddo went headfirst out the windshield.”

  “He went out the windshield?” Luz gasped. “On the Periferico?”

  “It was a monster,” one of the younger men said excitedly from behind the kitchen bar. Luz looked at him as he went on. “Man, el jefe is tough! The car rolled across the highway and then a truck smashed into it, too. So they’re shooting, see, and el jefe, he’s trapped in the car and he can’t get the seat belt off because he’s like stuck and they shoot the seat belt apart. Oye, how lucky was that?! So el jefe goes out the windshield and over the hood and he’s kept his gun the whole time and he starts shooting back and takes out two of them, Cristo, just by the exit.” He grinned at Luz, proud as hell of el jefe. “We was there and then Tomás is calling and, Cristo, we drove down the wrong side because traffic was stopped and there he was, lying right in the middle of the road with two dead guys, like the devil’s own pistolero.”