“You’re not from around here. May I have some water?”
Treviño was about to answer that of course, he should drink all the water he liked, but then he saw the glint in his interlocutor’s eyes. If he hadn’t been nearly forty, callous, and deeply cynical, Treviño might have said that the visitor’s teeth had gotten sharper from one second to the next. He felt a cold wind on the back of his neck and had to swallow hard before he could speak.
“Of course.”
The little man smiled and knelt at the edge of the pond. He took three sips, using his hands as a bowl, then dipped his hat in and poured water over the crown of his head.
“Ah … sweet, sweet water …” He sighed, content. Then, without missing a beat, he turned to the former cop. “They don’t give me water here. Not even water. Things were better, before. I’m famous over there, over there on that hill. Over there, some people even pray to me,” he smiled.
Treviño mumbled that yes, things were better before and how terrible that they didn’t let him drink the water here. The homunculus smiled and walked over to him. He seemed to enjoy Treviño’s fear.
“No, you’re not from around here,” he said, locking eyes with the detective. “This isn’t your place. You gave me a sip of water and so I have to help you, but only once. Only for a little while. Then I’ll be watching you, and every time something bad happens to you, you’ll know it came from me.”
He took a deep breath, as if he were searching for something.
“The door you seek is down the hill, behind those trees. But take that shovel. You’re going to need it,” he added.
The little man leaned over, picked up some dirt, ground it in his left hand, and blew a bit in each of the four cardinal directions while muttering: “Brother Red, Brother Black, and all my brothers without names: clear a path so this Christian may leave unbitten. And now,” he said, turning to Treviño, “get out of here before the door closes.”
Treviño hesitated.
“Go on. It won’t last forever,” the tiny man insisted.
Aware that his life depended on that conversation, the detective extended his hand, palm up, and asked, “What can I offer you so you don’t hurt me? I’ve already given you water.”
Red in the face and trembling from the effort to control his temper, the little man spat: “Nothing you have is of any interest to me. If I want to hurt you, I will. Now, get out of here before I get angry!”
But Treviño didn’t give up so easily.
“What can I give you so you don’t hurt me?”
“Nothing!” the homunculus barked, purple with rage. “You can’t give me anything. Everyone has his own luck. All you can do is pass yours to someone else.” As soon as he’d said this, the tiny man clammed up, as if he’d gone too far, and waved his hands in the air. “Now get out of here, before the door shuts.”
He thought he was going to fall, but Treviño made it down the hill with the shovel in his hand. When he saw a few cargo trucks parked near the fence there, he regained what little was left of his lucidity and wondered if he was walking into a trap. What if those men were waiting to kill him?
About a dozen men were shoveling gravel from a massive cargo truck into a smaller one.
“Hey!” a man with a walkie-talkie yelled in his direction.
As he got closer, he was met with loud whistles. The workers seemed to be giving him shit.
“Motherfucker!”
“Always there when we need you, right?”
Next to one of the trucks, a man lay on the ground in a dark puddle, surrounded by flies. No one seemed particularly worried about it.
“What happened? You fall?” the only guy with a gun asked him. Treviño remembered the bloodstains on his clothes and nodded.
“Dumbass,” the man scolded.
“Everybody in,” called the driver of the truck. “We’re running late.”
One after the other, the workers jumped into the back of the truck. Treviño limped after them, thinking there was no way he’d make it, but someone behind him pushed him onto the flatbed. He curled up in a ball in the far corner next to the other workers and looked up at the clouds and the spectacle of a perfect blue and an unforgettable red fighting for control of the sky. The truck drove down the hill and past a small copse of pines, passed through a wooden gate opened for them by the guards themselves, and then took the highway toward the city.
18
His luck seemed to hold for the next half hour. He lay down on his side with one arm covering his face and pretended to sleep in order to avoid talking with the other workers as the truck lurched toward the city. From what he could gather from the phrases they exchanged, they were all staying at the compound and had arrived more or less the same way he did. They were supposed to bring a new shipment back from Ciudad Miel, and more than one of them said they needed to hurry if they were going to get back in time to be allowed to eat dinner. When Treviño heard where they were going, he rolled himself into a ball. A few minutes after entering the city, the truck parked inside an enormous warehouse and the foreman told them all to get out. A visibly terrified man, who was either the owner or the manager there, stood trembling in front of the newcomers.
“Where’s the stuff we ordered?” the foreman yelled. “From the list.”
“We have everything ready, sir. It’s just that the guys who do the loading ran out on me when they saw you coming.”
“Cut the shit. Just tell me where the stuff is.”
Taking advantage of the chaos as the foreman and the driver located the items they were sent to expropriate on different shelves around the warehouse and the other workers waited for instructions next to the truck, Treviño grabbed a yellow, grease-stained shirt with the warehouse’s logo that someone had left on a shelf, put it on, and hobbled out. He made it to the corner as quickly as he could, then turned and walked toward a grocery store down the block. There was a public phone outside it that seemed to be working. He stopped to catch his breath. His face was so swollen he could barely see to his left. His ribs and his right knee hurt. He didn’t have a penny on him after going through the checkpoint. He was just wondering how in the hell he was going to call the Bus to come pick him up when an old man pulled up in a rusted-out Lincoln.
He didn’t like it, but it was either this old man’s life or his own.
In the time it took the old man to engage the parking brake, Treviño slid into the passenger seat.
“Hey! What—”
“Don’t move and don’t raise your voice, if you want to get out of this alive.”
“But—”
“Quiet. Start the car and drive toward the city limits.”
“I don’t have any money on me, just enough for—”
“Take me to the southern entrance to the city. Do you know where that is?”
“Yes, we’re close. Please, don’t hurt me.” The old man started telling him about how many grandchildren he had and how he was supposed to be bringing them food.
“Nothing’s going to happen to you, old man, but you’ve got to stop talking. Turn over there by that gas station.” Treviño had just caught sight of the motel in the distance. He got out of the car and told the old man to keep driving straight and to keep his eyes on the road. He waited until the car was out of sight before crossing the avenue.
When he finally made it to the motel parking lot, he noticed that the lights upstairs were out. After checking that the Maverick was there he headed inside to the reception desk to ask for the key. He could still hear the music coming from the bar and above it the laughter of women: different girls with the same laugh, as if they were part of some endless river. Suddenly, he felt metal against the flesh near his right kidney.
“Don’t move.”
They pulled something like a ski mask without holes over his head, snapped a pair of handcuffs tight around his wrists, and patted him down for weapons. He guessed there were at least three people standing around him, all of them skilled at mo
ving silently. He heard someone behind him say, “Let’s go.”
The guy with the gun on him must have been a professional, judging by how quickly and confidently he moved its barrel from Treviño’s back to his left temple.
“Duck.”
He was pushed into a large vehicle—maybe an old car or a luxury model like the consul’s Mercedes—and then forced into the middle seat. Another man was waiting to his left.
“One move and you’re dead.”
He felt the car start up and back out. They weren’t going to kill him—not there at least—so he let himself go with the flow.
From the passenger seat came the voice of an old man.
“Put your hands on the front seat and don’t even think about moving. Why are you here, and who do you work for?”
“I’m a businessman. I’m in construction materials.”
“Businessman, my ass. You work for Junior?”
“Don’t know him.”
“I’ll ask you one more time. Do you work for Junior?”
“I don’t know who you’re talking about.”
“Are you here alone?”
Treviño hesitated and it got him an elbow to the face.
“Answer me. Are you here alone?”
“Yes,” he said, feeling a trickle on his face. One of his cuts had opened again.
“What’s your name?”
Treviño gave the alias the consul had invented for him, without a second’s hesitation.
“Juan Rentería.”
“It’s this one,” said the man to his right.
“Get out of Ciudad Miel,” said the old man. “If we see you or your car anywhere near here in an hour you won’t live to talk about it.” Then, to the others, he added, “Toss him.”
They hit him with something metal, probably the butt of a gun, right at the base of the skull, and he saw a flash of lightning made of shadow. Interesting, he thought. I didn’t know there was a color darker than black. And then he stopped thinking.
When Treviño opened his eyes, the young man from the reception desk was offering him a towel to stop the bleeding. He was on his back in his room.
“How are you, boss? Should I get a doctor?”
Treviño’s head hurt more than it ever had, but he said no. As soon as he could sit up and get a handle on the dizziness, he saw the Bus staring at him intently, as if he’d given him up for dead.
“What happened, man? What happened?” the Bus asked when the young man went for more ice. The blow to Treviño’s head distorted his image.
“Did you see them?” asked the detective. The Bus shook his head.
“I heard a racket down at reception, so I went to take a look and saw you lying on the pavement out front,” the Bus grumbled. “Let’s go back. Stop fucking around. That was a warning. The big dogs know we’re here.”
The big dogs, thought Treviño. How could I have been so stupid. Why didn’t I think of that before?
“Bus, give me your phone.”
“What?”
“Give me your phone. I have to make a call.”
The Bus handed it over and the detective dialed a number he already knew by heart. Mr. De León answered on the second ring.
“Treviño?”
“Yeah, it’s me. Bus, would you give me a minute?”
The driver left the room, but he didn’t like it.
“What happened?” shouted Mr. De León. “Where have you been? We haven’t heard from you in a day!”
“I was in the Los Nuevos compound.”
“What?”
“Your daughter isn’t there, but I know how to find her.”
“Where’s Cristina?” his employer shouted.
“Am I on speaker?”
“Yes. I’m here with my wife and the consul.”
“Turn it off.” When this was done, he continued. “Your telephones are probably tapped, or else there’s a leak among the people closest to you. I can’t say any more.”
“What are you talking about?”
“No one knew I was coming to Ciudad Miel, but they were waiting for me. A group of armed men jumped me a little while ago, and it’s a miracle I got out alive. It was obviously a trap. They had the whole thing planned.”
“Is she alive?”
“I can’t say for sure, but I’ll know in a few hours. Right now I need to see a doctor. If anything happens to me, don’t forget about my widow.”
He was about to hang up when he realized the businessman hadn’t answered.
“Agreed?”
“Agreed,” Mr. De León replied. He didn’t sound very convinced.
The Bus poked his head into the room.
“Take me to the hospital,” said the detective.
They hit their first checkpoint not far from the hotel. Right where the road narrowed on the way to the private clinic, a group of rancheros stood in front of two parked pickups and a sports car with damage to the driver’s side door.
“Fuck. Game over.”
“Relax,” said Treviño, but his heart was pounding like a jackhammer. Were they looking for him?
“Got your gun?” he asked, and the Bus responded by taking his piece out of its holster with his left hand and holding it close to the window.
Three guys were giving the car in front of them, a taxi without plates, a quick once-over. They waved at the driver and let him pass. In the meantime, something caught Treviño’s eye.
“You see that black car?” he asked, pointing at the sports car. “I think it was parked next to the Maverick back at the hotel.”
“Don’t make me nervous, man.”
A muscular guy with a military buzz cut signaled to them with his flashlight and they rolled up to the improvised checkpoint. One of the rancheros walked over to the passenger side while the guy with the flashlight aimed his rifle at Treviño.
“Where are you headed?”
“To the clinic. I just got mugged,” said Treviño. The Bus, pursing his little mustache, kept his mouth shut.
“Not from around here?”
“We’re from La Eternidad. I was attacked on the way into town. I need to see a doctor.”
The man asked for their papers and the Bus handed over his passport, but Treviño claimed his wallet had been stolen in the attack. The fake soldier looked him over carefully, examining his grease-stained shirt, and said, “Stay where you are.” He showed his colleague the Bus’s passport and whispered something to him. Then the one with the flashlight said, “That’ll be a donation of five hundred pesos. Each.”
They paid up and the soldier handed back the Bus’s passport and rapped two times on the hood of the car.
They parked in front of a sign that read EMERGENCY and the Bus got out to ring the bell. Two apprehensive nurses who had been stationed at reception came to the door, followed by a woman in a white lab coat with a stethoscope hanging from her neck. They didn’t seem to be in any rush to let them in. The Bus helped Treviño to a bench.
“I was mugged and hit in the head,” Treviño said. “I don’t feel well.”
“Where did it happen?”
“Near the city limits.”
“I see.” Treviño might have been imagining it, but the doctor and the two nurses seemed to go pale. “All right, then. Someone will … Someone will be right with you.”
As the two men sat there, the doctor removed her lab coat and stethoscope with trembling hands, then threw open the front door and ran into the parking lot.
“What, did she forget something?” asked the Bus.
By way of an answer, the two nurses took off their smocks and threw them to the floor as they ran out after the doctor.
“Hey! Ladies! Hey!” a man in a nurse’s uniform shouted.
From the front door, the Bus and Treviño watched them get into the doctor’s car and close the doors as the car screeched out of the parking lot.
“The emergency’s over here,” said the Bus. “Where are they going?”
“Ah, well …
” sighed the remaining nurse, then looked over at the detective. “You couldn’t have waited until tomorrow?”
“He’s injured and he needs to see a doctor,” grunted the Bus.
The nurse took a deep breath and went to lock the front door. Then he dragged a chair over and wedged it under the knob so the door couldn’t be opened from outside. The Bus never took his eyes off him.
“Yesterday a guy was brought into the hospital with a bullet wound, and an armed crew burst in to finish him off, right there in the operating room. Killed the surgeon and her whole team, too. That’s why they ran.”
The man’s poor bedside manner didn’t bother Treviño: after months of living in constant fear and anger, learning again and again to heed bad omens, of course these doctors were on edge. People from the north went from being the gentlest and kindest in the country to being the most nervous and cagey, the ones most afraid of conversation.
The nurse looked at the two men, knowing there was no point in asking whether they’d reported the incident to the police. There hadn’t been any police for months.
“Do you have a credit card? We don’t take cash here.” Then, to the Bus, he said, “I can take care of your friend, but don’t try anything.”
“Don’t worry, Doctor,” said Treviño.
The nurse nodded and offered him a wheelchair. “This way,” he said. “But he has to stay here. For security,” he said, blocking the Bus’s path. “I’m sure you understand.”
“Wait here,” repeated Treviño.
Not entirely convinced, the Bus watched as the nurse pushed the wheelchair down the hall and closed the door that separated the waiting room from the clinic itself. There wasn’t another soul in sight.
Twenty minutes later, he saw two doctors head out to the parking lot for a cigarette. When they saw him they lowered their voices. He heard several buses drive past. Twice, the moon peeked out from behind the clouds and disappeared again.
When the doctors finished smoking, the Bus said to himself, “All right, that’s it. It’s hot as hell out here.” And he sneaked in behind them.
“Can we help you?” asked one of the physicians.
“I’m looking for my colleague. He’s being seen inside.”
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