The House of Wolfe

by James Carlos Blake

  Shortly after dropping off the girl, the two men were seated in a softly lighted Argentine restaurant, perusing the menu. On arriving, they had tidied themselves in the men’s room, and Melitón grinned at his bruised face in the mirror and said, Look at me! Mr. Street Fighter! Galán laughed and told him he had very well held his own.

  As they decided on filets and a bottle of Barolo, Melitón saw Galán tapping his fingers in time to the low-volume music from the ceiling speakers and said, You like the sixth Brandenburg, eh?

  Galán felt himself flush and said he’d recently heard that music somewhere and had liked it very much, but he had no idea what it was called except classical. He said he wished he knew more about such music.

  If you wish to know more, learn more, Melitón said. He took a small notebook from his coat and wrote something in it and tore out the page and handed it to Galán. Meet me there for breakfast tomorrow, he said. I’ll have some books for you. Some recordings for you to try. If you don’t like them, donate them to the nearest library.

  Galán saw that the café address was in Colonia Roma. He pocketed the paper and thanked him and said he’d be there.

  They conversed with ease, and over the next hour they progressed from cordial guardedness to tentative candor to complete frankness. Galán had never before conversed so openly with anyone. By the time their table had been cleared away but for the glasses of amber brandy glowing in the candlelight, Galán had learned that Melitón was raised in a working-class home and had been in his share of boyhood fights. But he had been lucky to go to an adequate public school and eventually earned degrees in economics and in art history from the National Autonomous University. He had worked as a government accountant for several years before finding his true calling as a broker of sorts for Mexico City street gangs, which has been his main trade ever since. He is known to them as El Ingeniero for his ability to engineer almost any enterprise proposed to him that he finds promising. In exchange for a share of the gains, he provides whatever capital is necessary, plus, if also necessary, the venues for caching or brokering goods or for hiding out for a while. At times he even suggests improvements on the proposals themselves. The ventures he engineers range from burglaries, robberies, and drug transactions to larger and longer-term objectives such as brothels, gambling halls, and opium dens. Melitón’s shares from all such projects amount to a steady and considerable income. In truth, he told Galán, he is not the one staking them, but only a front man for the Gulf cartel, which gets fifty percent of everything he earns from the gangs. In this way does the Gulf organization receive a steady revenue from Mexico City without attracting attention to itself in the capital. Melitón is fairly sure that other major organizations operate similarly through their own Mexico City middlemen. If any of the gangs who do business with those middlemen suspect their connection to the cartels, they also know the wisdom of keeping such suspicions to themselves. The cartels prefer not to wage war in the capital, Melitón said, with either each other or the police.

  For his part, Melitón had come to know of Ramón Colmo’s origin in an abysmal shantytown—his father unknown to him, his two sisters dead in their infancy, his mother uncertain of the date of his birth but for the year, and herself dead before he was thirteen. Ramón had since chosen the midyear, the first of July, as his birth date. He told Melitón of his days with Los Malditos, of the small but efficient organization of his own making called Los Doce and its successful kidnapping trade, of his efforts to improve his manner and dress and speech. And of his great ambition—which he had never before revealed to anyone—to have Los Doce accepted as an associate gang in a major organization. As a cartel undergang, they would not have to look for jobs, but rather the jobs would be assigned to them. Bigger, more lucrative jobs, whether burglaries or kidnappings or whatever else. They would no doubt have to turn over to the cartel a large share of their reap, but Galán believed that as his gang proved itself equal to any task assigned them, they would gain in reputation and rise in the cartel’s esteem. As he saw it, he would either work his way up to an underboss position or, better yet, other small outfits of the organization would be assigned to Los Doce, enlarging it into a major undergang of the cartel with its own regional jurisdiction.

  I can see it quite clearly, Melitón said with a smile. But with more than twelve members, you would have to change the name.

  Indeed. Maybe to . . . Los Cincuenta? Galán smiled. Dare I think that big?

  In a gang worthy of your leadership, at least fifty men, Melitón said. A hundred would be more like it.

  Galán said he liked the sound of it—Los Ciento. It is a large ambition, he said. I know that.

  Melitón said it was, yes, but what was life without a large ambition? In the meantime, and even though Los Doce was doing quite well on its own, he wanted Galán to know that if he should ever find himself in need of capital for some particular endeavor, it would be his great pleasure to provide it.

  The next morning they met at La Golondrina as agreed and Melitón presented him with the books and CDs he’d promised, and Galán’s instruction in classical music began in earnest. Melitón also gave him a book about world history. You want knowledge, Melitón said, and tapped the book. It begins here.

  They continued to meet at La Golondrina on every Monday thereafter. Under the guidance of Melitón, Galán further improved his general education, his elocution and manners, and at every meeting he learned more about the workings of the crime cartels. Before long, he too was dressing almost exclusively in white suits of superior tailoring. Moreover, it pleased him to know that even at his age Melitón was still enjoying himself in bed with such lovelies as were always with him on Monday mornings. Melitón in turn always took great enjoyment in Galán’s tales of past street battles and of his own latest sexual adventures.

  And then a little more than two months ago Jaime Huerta had come to Galán with an audacious proposition to kidnap an entire wedding party of ten members, all of whom belonged to wealthy families. Over a succession of meetings between just the two of them—sometimes in Chapultepec Park, sometimes at La Nereida, sometimes near the Palace of Fine Arts in the Alameda municipal park—they discussed the project at length. They carefully formed a plan, reviewed it, refined it, came to accord on its logistics. They haggled about the ransom amount and finally agreed to a demand of five million American dollars. After further wrangling, they agreed as well that Huerta’s share would be two million, the enormous cut premised on Huerta’s argument that the project was after all his idea and, most important, could not be carried out without his inside information and access. Without Huerta present, Galán then gathered Los Doce at their usual meeting place, El Nido, the basement restaurant in his old neighborhood, and told them of the plan he and Huerta had devised. The men were excited by it but displeased with Huerta’s share of the ransom. Then grinned in unanimous approval of Galán’s suggested reapportionment of the shares. They were all in favor, as well, of his proposal for allying Los Doce with the Gulf cartel.

  He met with Huerta a few times more after that, the last time just two weeks ago, when he took Espanto with him so Huerta could meet the man he would be working so closely with in making the snatch.

  Galán had by then told Melitón of the project, and had asked him to convey an offer to the Gulf organization. He wanted him to tell them that, on completion of the job, Los Doce was willing to pay the cartel one million Yankee dollars for admittance into its ranks as an undergang.

  A sort of membership fee, Galán said. Also, our successful exploit to acquire that money should testify to our proficiency. All I want is for them to admit us to the organization and give us a chance to prove ourselves worthy of remaining a part of it.

  Jesus, kid, Melitón said. A million. You want in that bad?

  Galán stared at him. If you race cars for a living, he said, you want to compete at Le Mans, no? If you play soccer, you want to play for the
World Cup, is that not so? For what we do . . . he turned up his palms. What but membership in a top company?

  I understand, Melitón said. But, well, how do your boys feel about giving up a million? It leaves your bunch with two million yes, but divided among—

  Actually, it leaves us with four million, Galán said.

  Melitón tilted his head and studied him narrowly. I see. The security chief is in for a surprise.

  He’s the only one of us they can identify, Galán said. If they track him down, he’ll betray us. Look what he’s doing to his own men.

  Yes, I understand. Still, the captives will know you, too.

  They’ll know our faces, our nicknames. No matter. I’ve already frightened them with the possibility that any police officials they deal with might be friends of ours. But why would they go to the police? To try to get their money back? For justice? At the risk of angering us? Of having us revisit them? And even if they go to the police, so what? There are hundreds of known kidnappers at large. Untold hundreds of killers. The police have more important business than searching for unknown kidnappers who release their captives unharmed.

  Unless some of them are not released unharmed, and especially if they are rich, Melitón said. Unexpected turns can occur. Exigencies arise. Dire surprises.

  Yes, the unexpected is always possible, Galán said. You try always to plan so that the possibility is minimal.

  Naturally. But if an exigency should arise?

  Then you do whatever must be done.

  Melitón smiled. That, he said, raising a finger for emphasis, is the creed of the top ones. It is the creed that carries them to the top and keeps them there. He leaned closer and said, Tell me, do you know of the Zetas?

  Of course he did. They were the enforcement arm of the Gulf organization, most of them deserters from the Mexican Special Forces. They were widely regarded as the most fearsome enforcers in the country.

  They are everything you have heard and more, said Melitón. Not so long ago they persuaded their Gulf employers to let them operate their own drug trade, and now it is said that their aspirations have grown even larger. The Gulf bosses have become very nervous about them, and they have reason to be. The Zetas are on a rapid ascension. Indeed, if I were a small gang seeking to join with a major organization, I might pass up a larger one that’s afraid of its own enforcers and turn instead to the feared enforcers. It is only a matter of time before the Zetas establish their independence from the Gulf clan, and I have it on good authority that they have already begun to recruit their own network of undergangs. I think they would be highly receptive to a million-dollar membership fee from a gang they might otherwise reject as, ah . . . insufficiently seasoned, let us say.

  And who better to carry my offer to them, Galán said, than someone of their acquaintance who is himself ready to transfer his full allegiance to them? Who may even be awarded a cut of the membership fee.

  Melitón smiled back and said, What is friendship but a bond of mutual advantage? The important question is whether you and your boys would rather serve a large but nervous organization or join with a small self-confident one that will do whatever it must to achieve its high ambitions.

  I take your point, Mr. Engineer.

  Melitón smiled. Well then, you and your men have a decision to make.

  I’ll call you tonight, Galán said.

  That evening he gathered Los Doce at El Nido and explained their choices and stated his preference. Every man of them opted for that choice too. He then called Melitón and said, You may take our offer to the Zetas, Mr. Engineer.

  The next time they met at La Golondrina, Melitón introduced him to another fetching companion and then excused himself and escorted her out to the Chrysler. Then he returned to the table, resumed his seat, leaned toward Galán and said, It’s a deal.

  The light rain persists. As the waiter clears away their dishes, Galán excuses himself and tells Melitón he will be right back. He goes outside and stands under the Golondrina’s entranceway awning and takes out an old clamshell phone, then waits for an arriving couple to walk by him and enter before he makes his call.

  Señor Belmonte sounds alarmed when he answers on the special phone Espanto gave him, Yes? Hello?

  This is X, Galán says. Is everything well?

  As if baffled by the question, Belmonte hesitates, then stammers and says, Yes, yes. I will be . . . we, we will be leaving for the bank soon. They don’t open until—

  Be calm, Mr. Belmonte, Galán says, watching the traffic hissing past in the rain, the world proceeding about its business. I know the bank hours. You and Mr. Sosa must be calm when you deal with the bankers. I am calling only to reassure all of you that your children are well and safe. Also to ask if you have spoken to anyone else of the situation.

  No, no, certainly not. We won’t in any—

  Not even other relatives of the party members?

  Oh! . . . Yes, I see what . . . Yes, we told them the wedding party decided to spend today at my ranch in Cuernavaca . . . riding horses, canoes on the river, a barbecue. There are only four in the party who are not our children, and so—

  I know, Galán says. Your nephews Carlos and Colón, Mr. Sosa’s niece Francesca, and the American girl. And I know Mr. Sosa spoke to his cousin and you spoke to yours. I know Sosa received no answer at the apartment of the American girl’s cousin, but he left the same message on her phone. As I have told you, Mr. Belmonte, we are aware of all communications transmitted from or to your home. I wanted to remind you of that—and to say you did well in ensuring the relatives will not become alarmed. Continue to do as well for the remainder of this day.

  Yes, yes, we will. Whatever you—

  Do not for a minute forget that your children’s welfare depends completely on the four of you.

  Yes, sir, yes . . . we understand, believe me. I—

  Very good. I await your call at four.

  Yes. At four. Exactly.

  Until that time, Mr. Belmonte. Stay calm and be strong.

  Galán ends the call. He goes into the men’s room off the foyer, finds it unoccupied, breaks the little phone apart in a sink, and deposits the pieces in a trash receptacle. Then washes his hands and returns to the table.

  Melitón smiles. Your face suggests that all is well.

  My face cannot lie, Mr. Engineer, Galán says, and they laugh.

  Lingering over coffee in the pleasant warmth of the café, they are content in each other’s company. They talk of music, of a new exhibit at the Palacio de Bellas Artes featuring the fascinating collection of a young photographer from Morelia.

  Galán will soon repair to El Nido, where he will pass the day contemplating the future of Los Doce, reading, taking phone reports from Espanto. Waiting for Belmonte’s call.

  19 — THE BETA HOUSE

  The stink in the Beta hold house is unyielding. The place is far from the Alpha house but in a similar neighborhood of rutted streets littered with trash and rattletrap motor vehicles. But this house is smaller—a one-story, four-room structure of cracked block and weathered wood.

  The Beta chief is Barbarosa, so known for his short red beard. His two-man crew consists of Cisco and Flaco. The three male hostages have been put in one of the small bedrooms under Cisco’s watch, the two women in the other, with Flaco guarding them. The sole furnishings in each bedroom are inflated camping mattresses on the floor for the captives, a chair for a guard, a little table with a lamp. The crew has brought bottled water and sandwiches, but the awful smell has stoppered all appetites.

  They have determined that the stink comes from the basement. It seeps up through cracks in the wooden floor and from under the basement door at the bottom of an enclosed stairwell off the kitchen. But they can’t investigate the source because the heavy door is secured by a padlock the size of a brick, its shackle protected by shoulder shrouds, and
the reinforced steel hasp has no exposed pins or screws. The door’s hinges are also on the inward side. The men had taken turns trying to cut into the lock with a hacksaw but gave up after half an hour, having made but a minor scratch in the metal and blunted the saw’s teeth.

  Cisco had suggested they shoot the lock off. Barbarosa asked if he’d ever tried shooting off a padlock, or even seen anybody try it outside of the movies. Cisco admitted that he had not, but it seemed a damn good way to him and he’d like to see the lock stand up to a nine-millimeter bullet. Barbarosa said he once witnessed someone try to shoot a padlock off a clothes trunk with a .45-caliber pistol. There were four guys there, and in less time than it takes to blink, the bullet ricocheted around the room and hit one of them in the arm and crippled it. That was in a room, Barbarosa said. In a stone stairwell like this, the ricochet will be like a machine gun burst. You want to try it, that’s fine, but wait till I go upstairs. Cisco declined to try but wanted to know if the bullet opened the lock. Barbarosa said it did not, but it bent the cylinder, and when the key was found five minutes later it no longer fit the keyhole. The owner of the trunk then tried using an axe on the lock but the blade glanced off it and chopped into his boot and maimed his big toe. The guy howled and swore like the devil while they bandaged him, then said fuck it and had another guy hack the trunk apart to get the clothes out.

  That worked, Barbarosa said. I don’t believe that option would succeed with this door, but if you want to try chopping through it, I have no objection.

  Cisco declined that opportunity as well.

  Thinking that electric fans might effect some relief, Barbarosa had sent Flaco to a twenty-four-hour store in the city to purchase a half dozen, but they only generated a foul cold wind through the house and caused a short in one of the outlets. The house lights have since flickered every so often as if preparing to quit altogether.