The Mongolian Conspiracy Page 18

  “Did you get Doris for him?”

  “No!”

  “You got her, didn’t you?” García’s hand was squeezing his arm hard, pressing his skin against the bone.

  “I . . . I introduced them.”

  “He asked for a woman?”

  “He told me . . . that he wanted to meet someone. So I introduced him to Doris . . .”

  They went down in the elevator. Mauricio ran to take refuge behind the counter. García walked up to him:

  “I think, my friend, that it would be better not to tell the gringo anything. He’s not going to be here for long.”

  “Yes, sir . . .”

  He went out and found a public telephone.

  “García here, Colonel.”

  “More dead?”

  “No. I have to see you. I think I’ve come across something important.”

  “Come here.”

  “Maybe it would be better not to meet in your office, Colonel. You’ll soon understand why.”

  “Where are you?”

  “On Mina Street, Hotel Magallanes.”

  “That’s almost at the corner of Guerrero. Wait for me on the corner. I’ll come in my car, the Mercedes.”

  “Very well, Colonel.”

  He walked to the corner. It was two thirty in the afternoon. Not even twenty-four hours left, but now we’re seeing the whole stinking rat. Fucking Outer Mongolia! I think I’m being followed. I’ve seen that guy twice already. Fucking Russian! Thought he was going to play me for a chump with his team and his technology and his Outer Mongolia. And them leading us around by the nose with their Chinks and their dollars from Hong Kong. This is what they call a smoke screen in war. Fucking smoke screen! And behind the screen the clever ones are getting away with murder. Absolutely sure they’ve already seen our backsides. With their rifles with telescopic sights. They think they’re in Dallas. But they don’t know what it takes to kill a president. Here, if you want to do that, you’ve got to be right on the spot, right where he is. And then you have to die there, too. That guy is definitely tailing me, and seeing as how I’m not going anywhere, he’s fucked, he doesn’t know what to do. Let him tail me. I’m done with this mess. I’ll just turn it over to the colonel and take myself home. To Marta, to take a look at what she’s bought. Maybe I’ll even buy something for her. Because now we’re finally done with the daytime soap. Now we’re going to get serious, and we’ll do it because we both want to do it. Like things should be done and not like I’ve always done them before. And that’s why I’m going to bring Marta something. A brooch, or maybe a watch. She doesn’t have a watch. Fucking Chink Liu! And maybe before going home, I’ll go around to Dolores Street, have a look at where they’ve stashed the dough. Then I’ll go back at night. Fucking Doris! If I hadn’t been in such a hurry, who knows. And if it hadn’t been for Marta. But she was a looker. And it seemed like she even liked my touch. Those sick bitches! I was liking it, too. Why not admit it? But now, when I get home, I’ll be with Marta and then I’ll take her out to dinner before going for the dough. I’ll take her out in the car. To Las Lomas. And tomorrow, Cuautla, and maybe even Acapulco. She must look smoking hot in a bathing suit. And she’ll love it. I don’t think she’s ever been sightseeing. Fucking Chink Liu! And that del Valle, telling me this is only for experts. He’s right. What he doesn’t know is that the real expert is me, his minion, that motherfucker. Because Outer Mongolia, it moves me as much as a gust of wind did that statue of Juárez: not one fucking inch.

  VI

  The colonel stopped at the corner.

  “Get in, García.”

  He drove off.

  “What’s going on?”

  “I think we’ve nailed it, Colonel.”

  He told him what he’d done during the day.

  “Did you take the rifle?”

  “No, I didn’t want to alarm them, Colonel.”

  The colonel drove along in silence. He was thinking hard. He took out a cigarette and lit it. He blew the smoke out slowly. He turned down a side street and stopped the car. García turned around, looking for the person following him.

  “Why couldn’t you tell me this in the office?”

  “Because there we wouldn’t know who’s listening. If the people I suspect are the ones involved in this, they could and probably do have spies in your office, Colonel.”

  “Could be. Someone told Manrique that you were on the case.”

  “Right.”

  “Couldn’t it be the Russians themselves, like you suspected before? And they’re using the opportunity because they think we’ll blame the Chinese.”

  “I don’t think so, Colonel. Those Russians know how to organize things. They don’t use local talent like Luciano Manrique or the Toad. This is local. Now it’s clear, the target isn’t the gringos’ president, it’s ours. Using the rumors as their opportunity, Colonel.”

  The colonel kept smoking in silence. This notion is spinning around in his head faster than a mouse on his wheel. For all I know he’s trying to figure out which side he should be on.

  “What you’re telling me is dangerous, García.”

  “That’s why I wanted to tell you where nobody would hear.”

  “If it’s true, the people implicated are very high up, very high, indeed. Do you understand?”

  “Yes.”

  “And we have to tread very carefully.”

  “There’s not much time left, Colonel.”

  “No, not much. How do you think they’re planning on carrying it out?”

  “Easy. They give police passes to the Toad and the gringo and place them among the guards in the square. They use the rifle.”

  The colonel picked up the car radio and spoke. He gave orders for a guard to be placed at the Magallanes Hotel and for the arrest of the gringo, Browning, and the Toad. He also ordered the rifle be confiscated from Browning’s room.

  “They probably have other weapons available, Colonel. And even other men.”

  “Right.”

  “Have to go the top, the tip-top.”

  The colonel was thinking.

  “You are absolutely sure of your facts?”

  “Yes.”

  García lit a cigarette. The colonel wants me to be the one to say that I’ll take care of the fat cats, on my own. Out of loyalty. So if things go wrong, they’ll say it was that dumbass García who’s to blame, and they’ll screw me. But they already know it’s me. No orders, nothing.

  “It’s probably better not to tell the FBI,” the colonel said, “and definitely not to ask them for help. We need people we can trust.”

  “Yes, Colonel.”

  “I don’t have anybody I can trust to watch the principals. It’s a very delicate task.”

  “For experts, Colonel.”

  The colonel glanced at him. A light smile was hovering over his lips. Fucking colonel! He doesn’t want to give the order. And in the meantime, I can play the chump. If he wants me to whack those sonsabitches, he’s going to have to say so. But I don’t have any experience with that kind of thing. They would be proper corpses, and I only know how to make stiffs.

  “Ever since Obregón,” the colonel suddenly said.

  Yeah. Ever since they blew away General Obregón, the elected president. But to do that, they didn’t make up stories about Outer Mongolia. Toral did it, killed him right there, in front of everybody. Then Toral got whacked. That’s something I can understand. What if they’d drummed up all this bullshit about Hong Kong and Outer Mongolia in those days?

  “This is very bad for Mexico,” the colonel said. “We have transformed the Revolution into a system based on laws, and those laws should not be broken. Do you understand what that means, García? A government subject to the rule of law. That’s worth a whole lot more than the lives of a few nutcases.”

  That guy in the green Fiat parked over there is the same one who’s been tailing me. Fucking law! And what’s this shit about “We have transformed?” We is a lot of people. This je
rk was still hanging on his mother’s teat when there was real shooting going on. And as far as I can tell, he’s still on his mother’s teat and he’s still trying to figure out whose hide’ll yield more whips, or which side of the fan the shit is going to hit. What do these fellows know about making a Revolution, what it was like to be out there dying along those roads?

  “A government of laws,” the colonel said. “That is what we must preserve at all cost.”

  Sounds to me like he’s practicing his speech for Independence Day. The Revolution hasn’t turned into anything. The Revolution is over and now there’s nothing but fucking laws. And that’s why, no matter where you look, we’re all turning into dumbasses. All of us, one way or another. Although with a lot of grace, as the corrido says. As far as I’m concerned, the professor is the only revolutionary left, because he’s the only one who doesn’t believe in the law. Before, when somebody needed to be whacked, they’d tell it straight, give the order and save the pretty words for their banquets. This fucking colonel is really taking it hard. He’s finding out what it’s like to give birth on Good Friday, as they say: all by himself he’s going to have to find a way. His whole team and his whole laboratory don’t do him a bit of good. Now he’s fucked. All alone, like a woman in labor. And no matter how hard she pushes, the brat doesn’t want to come out.

  “Truth is, García, for something like this, I don’t have enough men I can trust.”

  “You’ve got a lot of men.”

  “Yeah, but this is special. Call me at ten tonight, I might have some orders for you.”

  “I wanted to ask for a short leave, Colonel.”

  “No dice. You’ve got me thinking about a lot of things, and I have to put some of them in order and check up on others. Call me at ten. I hope you understand that if what you suspect is true, this is one of the most dangerous moments in our history.”

  “Yes, Colonel.”

  “I know you have a new girl, a Chinese girl. But that can wait. Be at home at ten and call me.”

  Fucking colonel! Even he knows about it.

  “Where do you want me to drop you off?”

  “On Avenida Juárez, Colonel. I’m going home.”

  “I’ll expect your call at ten. Don’t fail me and don’t leave your house. I might need you sooner.”

  “Yes, Colonel.”

  He paid four thousand pesos for the watch, then bought her a gold band, not a very thick one, because Marta has thin wrists.

  “Would you like it gift-wrapped?”

  “Yes, please, miss.”

  “Birthday?”

  “More like birth.”

  “Oh, it’s for the mother of your grandchild . . .”

  The clerk smiled and wrapped the box in white tissue paper, then added a pink bow. I’m going to watch as she opens the box and tries it on. I don’t know if I should set it or wait till she’s wearing it. That way she’ll ask me what time it is. And at ten I’ll have to go see the colonel and before that, here on Dolores Street, I’ll go see about the dough. And then tomorrow, with what I get, I’ll buy Marta a fur coat. Unless by ten the colonel has grown a pair and manages to actually issue an order. Then Marta will be left alone again, waiting. Fucking colonel! And, what’ll I tell Marta? Wait, my dear, I’m just going to go kill a couple of people, I’ll be right back. I think I’m going to quit after this. I’ve got my little stash, and then, if Dolores Street works out . . . For me and Marta. And then for her alone. I’ll have to ask the professor to write me a will. Fucking will! The money for Marta and the memory of all my faithful departed for my grave, right along with me.

  He left the shop, walked a block, and turned down Dolores Street. He stopped in front of the address he’d been given. It was Liu’s shop — closed, bolted, and barred. He played it shrewd, that fucking Liu. So he’s mixed up in that Cuba business. Tonight I’ll give him what’s coming to him, for Marta and the dough. Damn right they warned me the Chinamen like me because I don’t see or hear or talk. Because I’m a dumbass, they should’ve said.

  Santiago was in the restaurant.

  “Mr. García, Mr. García!”

  García entered and greeted him.

  “You look for honorable Mr. Liu?”

  “He’s not here?”

  “No. He no open shop all day and this bad, very bad. You find something about Marta?”

  “No.”

  “I think . . .”

  “Where did Liu go?”

  “I no know. I see he go out. Maybe to the Alameda, to the sunshine. You want I go look for him?”

  “No, I’ll be back later.”

  He left and took a taxi home. Fucking Liu! Maybe this business with Marta has really gotten to him. But it’s weird, because these Chinamen don’t care that much about these things. Or maybe he’s shaken up about the dough and the killings last night, maybe they were his buddies. Maybe he’s already gotten rid of the dough. Fucking Liu! Better to surprise him at night and scare the daylights out of him. If I tell him I’m bringing news of Marta, he’ll probably let me in. And he’s got no way of knowing that I was involved last night in the killing of his buddies. For sure he’ll let me in, even if as a cover-up. And then I’ll take the dough. All in fifty-dollar bills.

  He arrived home at six in the afternoon. He put the box with the watch in his pocket and walked upstairs to his apartment. He opened the door. The sofa in the living room was covered with boxes and bags from Palacio de Hierro. On the table was a box with three ties in it. García smiled. Damn Marta! I told her to buy things for herself, not for me.

  Without making any noise, on tiptoe, he walked over to the door to the bedroom. She must be sleeping. She hasn’t gotten used to the hours I keep. She’s going to say that I always come when she’s sleeping.

  The door to the bedroom was ajar.

  “Marta!”

  Nobody answered. He took the box out of his pocket and pushed the door. She wasn’t in the bed. Maybe she’s in the bathroom, but there’re no sounds from there.

  But Marta wasn’t in the bathroom. She was on the floor next to the bed, covered in blood, her legs folded up under her, her eyes wide open.

  García approached slowly. He kneeled down. He took off his hat and dropped it. Then, with his fingers, he closed her eyes. He picked her up in his arms and put her on the bed. She hadn’t been dead long. He stretched out her legs and crossed her arms over her chest. She wasn’t bleeding anymore. He took out a clean sheet and covered her with it. A little bit of blood had trickled out of her mouth. He wiped it with his handkerchief. Then he folded the handkerchief neatly and put it back in his pocket. He picked up his hat and placed it on the dresser and placed the box with the watch on the nightstand. Still a little blood was trickling out of her mouth. He wiped it clean again with his handkerchief. He bent over and kissed her on the forehead. Then he covered her face with the sheet and sat down in the chair next to the bed.

  His face was set. Like a bitter stone. His hands were crossed on his lap. His eyes began to burn from hatred.

  Later, he got up and went into the living room. He gathered together all the things Marta had bought and put them in the closet, where he also put the watch. Then he went back and sat down next to the bed. There was time, lots of time. A while later, he uncovered Marta’s face. There was a spot of dried blood on the corner of her lips. He wiped it with his handkerchief, but there was another spot on her cheek. He moistened his handkerchief with some cologne and wiped off the spot. He sat down again.

  He pressed his gun against his ribs with his arm. He kept sitting. There was still a lot of time.

  At eight-thirty he picked up his hat and left. He carefully closed the door, without making any noise. He went to the garage, where he kept his car. He drove toward Reforma and Colonia Cuauhtémoc. He stopped in a coffee shop where there was a public telephone.

  “Mr. del Valle, García here.”

  “Yes?”

  “I’ve found out something that might interest you . . .”
/>
  “I thought you were no longer on the case.”

  “This might interest you.”

  “What is it?”

  “We have to talk face-to-face. It’s very important.”

  “I don’t have time. You know that tomorrow —”

  “We have to talk, Mr. del Valle. Something’s come up, something we hadn’t figured on.”

  “I’m telling you I don’t have time.”

  “Do you want me to tell the Toad and Browning?”

  “What?”

  “Browning, the gringo you imported. And the Toad, from back home, Mr. del Valle. Or would you prefer I talk to General Miraflores?”

  “I don’t understand . . .”

  “I think you sent a message to my house this afternoon, Mr. del Valle. I wasn’t there, but when I arrived, I understood the message.”

  “Do you want money, García?”

  “Maybe. But first we need to talk. And I don’t want to talk to the gringo or the Toad. I want to talk to you and General Miraflores.”

  “Okay, fine. Do you know where I live?”

  “Yes.”

  “There’s a side door, a door only I use. It’s number 64, next to the large gate. Come in half an hour. I’ll be waiting for you.”

  “Good.”

  “We’ll talk here, García.”

  He hung up the phone. He rushed out and got into the car. Del Valle lived two blocks away. He located the door as he drove by, then parked the car half a block further on and walked back, then waited, hiding in the shadows. Now Marta is alone. She’s alone in the bed, alone with her death. I had never thought about that. Killing someone is sending them off to be by themselves, to be alone. They should’ve killed me, that’s what real men do. But they must have thought that one woman is just like any other. And one dead woman is just like the next. That’s what they must have thought. But it was Marta. And now she’s there alone, with her death. And I was sitting next to her, but she was alone. And I was alone. The two of us. Like a wake! Maybe I should’ve gotten one of those nuns who sit with the dead. But what would Marta want with a nun now? Fucking nun! Seeing as how you’re all alone with your death, you don’t need anybody.