The Black Minutes

4

The place to meet about customs issues was the restaurant Mogambo, the most ostentatious and expensive restaurant in any city in the region.
As soon as he parked, he noticed a woman waiting at the door. Instead of the normal bodyguards, a girl of incredible proportions was receiving the clientele. He was saying to himself that the lack of security was suspicious, when he noticed that two people working behind the counter in the store next door were watching him. In the parking lot, two pickups were idling, a man inside each one. Taboada noticed that all of them (every single one of them) was monitoring him. It wouldn’t surprise him if one of them right at that moment were to point a high-powered gun at him. What have I got myself into? This place is perfect for a massacre, he said to himself. Against his better judgment, he left his gun under the seat in the car, so they wouldn’t get violent, and headed to the front door of the restaurant. The hostess smiled at him.
“Good afternoon, sir, do you have a reservation?”
“I’m not here to eat. I’d like to speak with Mr. Obregón.”
“If you’ll just wait one moment, sir, what was your name?”
This girl must be new, he thought; for sure she’s from somewhere else. The girl left and came back with Vivar, Mr. Obregón’s attorney.
“It’s not a good time, Licenciado Taboada, the boss has a really tight schedule.” And he pointed inside the restaurant.
Vivar was almost six and a half feet tall and was wearing a dark blue suit that rippled as he walked. As they crossed the threshold, Taboada saw Mr. Obregon at the far end of the room, in front of several plates of goat meat. At the table, three stunning girls in low-cut dresses and an effeminate young man laughed at his jokes. Taboada started to walk toward them, but the bodyguard cut him off.
“Over here, please. Licenciado . . . please.”
Vivar took him to the table farthest away, at the other end of the room. One of the bodyguards was smoking at a nearby table, his hand under the table like he was holding up the barrel of a gun. So this is the table for questionable visitors.
“I’d like to speak with Mr. Obregón.”
“The boss isn’t able to receive you, Licenciado. Please relay whatever you would like to say through yours truly. I’m at your service.”
One had to recognize that Vivar was an educated man. There was a reason why he was the lawyer for the boss of the Paracuán cartel.
“He complained about an issue that I had nothing to do with. I’d like to explain the misunderstanding and ask him for a favor.”
“Just a moment.”
Vivar went over to Mr. Obregón and relayed the message as his lunch companions pretended to look away. How ridiculous, Taboada thought. Since when do I have to talk through messengers?
“Sir, it’s Chief Taboada.”
“I know who it is, tell him not to f*ck around.”
He saw his intermediary lean over and whisper in his boss’s ear.
Mr. Obregón looked very upset. His voice carried across the room.
“Tell him I said El Chincualillo is one of my people and ask what he locked him up for. I don’t know how he’ll do it, but I want him out.”
Judging by his tone, he’d spent the night drinking. Taboada understood he’d picked a bad time, but it would be worse to postpone it now.
Vivar sat down in front of him again. Before he could convey the message, Taboada said, “I already heard; you don’t need to repeat it. I’ll look into what happened, but the investigation is already well under way. Best case, we could transfer him to the prison in the capital, where you already know the way things work.”
“That’s not going to be good enough for him, but I’ll tell him. Something else, Licenciado?”
Taboada accepted his reprimand, but he still needed to find something out. “Was Bernardo Blanco in touch with your people?”
“Please don’t insinuate—”
“Of course not. But I thought perhaps someone from your organization might have acted on his own, someone who wanted to make a good impression with Mr. Obregón.”
Vivar sucked his teeth. “I can answer that one: we haven’t seen Mr. Blanco in a year. We’ve had no contact with him since the day of the interview. If you’re really interested, Mr. Obregón said last night that if you want to find who’s responsible you should look around you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You should know.”
He thought about it for a minute, then stood up. “I appreciate your help. Tell him I’m very sorry and I am more than willing to—”
“I will, Licenciado.”
Vivar shook his hand and led him to the door. Although Mr. Obregón did glance at him, he didn’t say good-bye. The relationship was falling apart.
As he took the avenue back to the office, Taboada saw the white highway they had just finished. He remembered the receipt he’d found among the journalist’s personal effects and told himself it wouldn’t be a bad idea to take a look at the Las Conchas subdivision.