The Black Minutes

22

They arranged to meet at the Tiberius Bar at six in the evening. The Blind Man had ordered tequila, enchiladas, bread, and a queso fresco. As soon as he got there, Vicente asked, “Did you find what I asked for?”
The Blind Man handed him an envelope from Congressman Wolffer, the envelope with the bribe, which had an official seal. “You got lucky. I was about to throw it out.”
“And did you go see Mrs. Hernández?”
The Blind Man showed him the letter with the threats.
“This is it,” he said. “But first, we have to negotiate my percentage.”
He told him about his interview with Mrs. Hernández. He was so happy he didn’t even mention the attack in the market. As soon as he finished, Rangel noticed his hands were sweaty.
“Do you have the map?” That afternoon, he had asked for a map of the state highways.
“Here it is. What I don’t understand is why such an influential person is hiding out there in the middle of nowhere.”
“Why do you think?” asked Rangel, pointing to a path on the map. “It’s a perfect location, if he feels threatened by the law in Mexico, he can just walk across the border into Texas. They’ve got it all figured out. That’s why we have to show up there at dawn, before they can get away. Did you find out how to get there?”
“Yeah, we just take this highway.”
“No way, Romero, that whole stretch is full of drug dealers. I don’t want problems with anybody. Imagine if we crossed a poppy field or if they pointed an AK-47 at you. Look for somebody who knows that area real well. Or what? You don’t wanna take half anymore?”
The Blind Man mentioned that Mrs. Hernández gave him the number of a guy that worked on a ranch close by there.
“Go talk to him, but watch out, man. Careful with what you say or you could f*ck up the whole thing.”
They looked over the highway map. The Blind Man added up the miles and said the hideout was at least six hours from the port. “I’ll drive there and you drive back. We bring him in and divide the reward.” Then he asked, “Have you ever dealt with such a big shot before?”
“Do you want out?”
“No, I just wanted to know if maybe we’re setting our sights a little high.”
“If you want out, there’s still time.”
“No way,” said the Blind Man. “No way.”
Rangel handed him the keys to the Chevy Nova. “Get it ready for the trip.” In the meantime, he’d go rest a few hours, since he hadn’t slept at all.
“Do you want me to take you boss?”
“No, I’ll go by myself; you focus on what I told you to do. Hey, Romero, would you really use electric shocks on a suspect?”
The Blind Man seemed to think it over. “Well, yeah . . . as long as my wife was working that day.”
“What does your wife have to do with this?”
“I’ll explain later. If I don’t hurry, I won’t see any money.”
“OK, but like I said: not a word to anybody.”
The Blind Man left there right at nine o’clock. He had to go to the mechanic’s house to find him, force him to open up his shop, and check out the Chevy Nova. The mechanic checked the timing, topped off the oil, adjusted the belts, and rigged it so it would get more speed. The Blind Man went to fill up the gas tank an hour later, made sure the tire pressure was right for the highway, and got into the car, but before he went to pick up his partner, he went to Flamingos, the only place that was open on the avenue. Inside, there were just the usual regulars: taxi drivers, truckers, and journalists leaving work. Johnny Guerrero was one of them; he seemed really worked up and was having dinner with a secretary from the paper. Romero went straight to him and motioned for him to follow. They met in the men’s bathroom.
“What do you got?” Johnny asked. “Why so mysterious?”
“I’ve got something really—and I mean really—good, Johnny, but you’ve gotta double my cut.”
“Like what?”
“Like we’ve got the Jackal.”
The reporter rolled his eyes. “You got here too late, my friend. I already know the guy who arrested him and I even interviewed him.”
The Blind Man’s face turned white and he felt his mouth dry out. “Who was it?”
“What do you mean who? Your friend, the fat guy.”
“El Travolta? Not a chance. That idiot can’t even piss straight. Remember what happened with El Profeta?”
“I already told you: the perpetrator is in jail, he confessed, and they’re gonna give him his sentence the day after tomorrow. Sorry, amigo, I have to leave because my little friend is waiting for me.”
“Wait a second, cabrón. According to El Travolta, who’s the Jackal?”
“A Jehovah’s Witness: he drives a truck. He works for Mr. Juan Alviso. They have him in solitary right now, because the governor’s coming the day after tomorrow and they don’t want the news to come out till then.”
“Is his name René Luz de Dios López?”
“Yes, that’s him.”
The madrina sighed with relief. Then he explained to Johnny that René Luz de Dios couldn’t have been the perpetrator, among other reasons because he wasn’t in the city when the first killing took place, he had alibis for second one, and it was more than obvious that El Travolta had been looking for a scapegoat for days.
“Hold on, hold on, what are you trying to say?” Johnny asked as he lathered his hands.
“I’ll give you an exclusive tomorrow. And if I were you, I’d get rid of that interview.”
Johnny Guerrero burst out laughing. “F*cking Romero. If what you’re saying is true, you’re the one they’re gonna get rid of. They’ll dump your body out there by the Texas Curve.”
He was talking about a part of the highway that was practically deserted, where certain criminals went to unload their rivals. Since the area was full of coyotes and there wasn’t a lot of traffic, the bodies were unrecognizable by the time they were found.
He left the bathroom shaking his hands. The Blind Man understood that he didn’t have a hookup with Johnny anymore. But that doesn’t matter, he thought, the reward will be enough to get out of here and start again somewhere else. He dreamed about setting himself up in Guadalajara.
“OK,” he yelled, “I’m going with the competition!”
And he left in a bad mood. He didn’t notice when the person in the last stall flushed the toilet, stood up mad as hell, and left through the door that was always half open. It was El Travolta.
At the same time, Rangel went by El Mercurio to look for his girl. He asked for her in the lobby and she came out a minute later. She was smiling, her hair was slicked down and tied back. A half hour later, they were walking into the house.
“If you want to go get something, now’s the time. I don’t know if we’ll be able to come back later.”
“Just like that? I can go with what I have on; I don’t have any problem with that. But when Johnny sees that I don’t come back, he’s going to be angry as hell. This place you’re going to is close to the border?”
“Yeah.”
“Be really careful. They say weird things happen up there, like there’s an alien base. Here, take this. It’s my Mobdolite lucky charm.”
It was a wide flat rock like a paperweight, hanging off a strip of leather. The stone slipped, fell off, and rolled in Rangel’s direction.
“Look, it wants to go with you.” She was pleased. “It likes you.”
In exchange, Rangel gave her Mr. Torsvan’s German coin. The girl looked it over carefully, and told Vicente he shouldn’t part with it just then.
When she was asleep, Rangel went out on the terrace and looked up at the red clouds in the sky. They seemed to be warning him: holy shit, this could be the last time you’re here. The hum of the Río Pánico and the sound of the ferry whistle floated through the trees. Over there, on the other side of the current, was Luis Carlos Calatrava’s checkpoint, where he was killed by a gun. How strange it was to think that he wouldn’t ever see the Wizard again; he found it hard to believe that such a loyal ally had actually died. F*ck, I’m all alone. He was meditating on that until he realized he was falling asleep, and he got comfortable in the deck chair, ignoring Práxedes’ advice. I’m taking a big risk, he thought, I should go inside. He meant to go in, but he was feeling heavier and heavier by the second and he fell asleep right at the moment he was going to get up.