The Black Minutes

6

He couldn’t go back to his office looking like such a mess, so he went home to take a bath. As he took off his mud-covered clothes, he had the idea of calling Camarena.
“Find out who Grupo Enlace belongs to. Who owns it. And look for Fatwolf and the Bedouin. Tell them to come to my house.”
He waited ten minutes, which seemed to last forever, and since they hadn’t called him back he called the office again. The girl answered.
“Do you know who owns Grupo Enlace?”
“Yes, sir. Grupo Enlace belong to the governor’s brother. My sister-in-law works there.”
Damnit, girl, he said to himself, you’re finally worth something.
“I’m on my way.”
“Licenciado,” said the girl, “Mr. Campillo just called for you. He says the governor wants to see you in the capital at eleven o’clock.”
Taboada sighed deeply and collapsed on the bed. This is how it starts, he told himself: one day the governor calls you and it’s all over. Back to the street, you f*cking dog, thanks for your help. He had helped governors, mayors, secretaries of state, and even union leaders, but suddenly he wasn’t needed anymore. What bullshit, he thought. The governor had wanted to put someone he trusted in the port, someone who could look out for his businesses. The way things were, he could choose to fight and win some time, stay on top of things, but he couldn’t lose sight of the fact that the governor still had four years in office. . . . He could also negotiate for a good pension, some repayment for many years of loyalty.
“Thanks,” he told her, “call them and tell them I’m on my way.”
I’m on my way? he said to himself, no f*cking way! He remembered an important detail: he had already seen a similar situation, a long time ago, when they got rid of Chief García. He wasn’t going to let them do the same thing to him, so he picked up his cell phone and called his office.
“Licenciado?”
“Has anyone gone into my office?”
“Mmm . . . just Camarena, sir, when you went to eat.”
Camarena? He didn’t expect that one.
“And did he take anything?”
“No, I asked him what he wanted, and he said he was looking for you.”
“But did he have anything in his hands?”
“Some papers.”
Then he understood. The land they bought, Grupo Enlace, the journalist’s murder, all of it was connected.
“Sir?”
“Lock up my office. Is the Bedouin there? Let me talk to him.”
“What can I do, Licenciado? We’re willing to do whatever you need.”
“The next person who tries to go into my office, arrest him, whoever it is, especially Camarena. Understand? No one goes in there, nobody touches my files; you take care of that. I’m on my way.”