Read Online Silver Bullets by Élmer Mendoza, Mark Fried - Free Book Online
Authors: Élmer Mendoza, Mark Fried
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Federal Preventive Police, went in person to the scene of the crime and declared that they are hot on the trail of the murderers and will spare no effort to put them behind bars. On another matter, little news in the case of Attorney Bruno Canizales, murdered two days ago at his home in Guadalupe neighborhood; Commander Omar Briseño reported to this station that the perpetrators of the crime will soon be caught and there will be no funny business. The investigation is being led by Detective Edgar ‘Lefty’ Mendieta, one of the most prestigious and incorruptible members of the force, and results are expected soon.For Eyes on the Night weekend edition, this is Daniel Quiroz reporting.”
He parked his car at El Quijote. You are two bricks short of a load, fucking Quiroz, you haven’t a clue, and when you do, you shut your trap, and shutting up is a priceless virtue if you live in hell and have to speak with the Devil.
He sat near the bar, far from the stage where a dark-skinned girl was dancing to Barry White’s “Under the Influence of Love.” The place was a sound box. They sent a beer over and a double tequila, which he downed quickly. He was thirsty. They served him again. The waiter, a homosexual known as Curlygirl, was from the Col Pop and held Lefty in high regard: he had known his mother, whom he referred to as a stern but understanding woman. At the next table over, a man was yammering at a beer that had grown warm. No one paid any attention to him. My God has eyes and nothing escapes him, my God has ears and hears all, my God has skin and feels everything; He shall soon be here to set things straight and the impious shall pay: all the criminals with starched collars, the corrupt judges, the people who set the price of coffee and tobacco, all of them will pay. He really needs his snort, Curlygirl murmured while serving the detective his third drink. Well, get it for him and you’ll have your ticket to heaven assured. If only your mother could hear you, may God hold her close, so little time left and you giving me advice. He saw coming through the door the cheerleader for the Tomateros who had gone to bed with the forensic doctor, accompanied by two girlfriends and a transvestite. All three girls were attractive, lithe, fit, long hair full of highlights and colored strands, pierced belly buttons on view, and the tranny was not about to be left behind. Just look at that quartet, a fascinated Curlygirl exclaimed, no doubt swept away by some recollection because right away he said: What times those were.Who is he? He’s one of the Valenzuelas, Lefty. You don’t say, the son of Yoonohoo Valenzuela? No more, no less. Would he have known Bruno Canizales? he wondered, and grew thoughtful, noticing how they drew the attention of the crowd, which sent a steady stream of drinks their way. The girls were happy, they had more admirers than the dancers, who were certainly awful that night, same as the comic. The one on stage at the moment had her top off to dance a polka, but not even that made the crowd look up. Mendieta entered an easy state of drunkenness, controlled drunkenness, in which he never allowed himself to remember anything except the fact that he had to save his own skin. The last time he had let himself wallow in memories, he did not go to work for a week and it took Ortega and Montaño’s determined efforts to raise him from prostration. Dr. Parra, I hope not to see you for a long time, my friend; I promise I will never again be weak and if I feel any commotion I’ll cut off my balls. Goga: the name surfaced, and with it a gorgeous face, a smile, a way of walking, and he drank. Goga, why don’t you come and pick up the pieces? They’re scattered in the sewers, chewed on by the rats. Shaking his head, Curlygirl watched him: Edgar, drop all that, my son, the world is full of women. Don’t say that, bro, don’t say it and don’t believe I’m not frightened by the fact that all those women come down
He parked his car at El Quijote. You are two bricks short of a load, fucking Quiroz, you haven’t a clue, and when you do, you shut your trap, and shutting up is a priceless virtue if you live in hell and have to speak with the Devil.
He sat near the bar, far from the stage where a dark-skinned girl was dancing to Barry White’s “Under the Influence of Love.” The place was a sound box. They sent a beer over and a double tequila, which he downed quickly. He was thirsty. They served him again. The waiter, a homosexual known as Curlygirl, was from the Col Pop and held Lefty in high regard: he had known his mother, whom he referred to as a stern but understanding woman. At the next table over, a man was yammering at a beer that had grown warm. No one paid any attention to him. My God has eyes and nothing escapes him, my God has ears and hears all, my God has skin and feels everything; He shall soon be here to set things straight and the impious shall pay: all the criminals with starched collars, the corrupt judges, the people who set the price of coffee and tobacco, all of them will pay. He really needs his snort, Curlygirl murmured while serving the detective his third drink. Well, get it for him and you’ll have your ticket to heaven assured. If only your mother could hear you, may God hold her close, so little time left and you giving me advice. He saw coming through the door the cheerleader for the Tomateros who had gone to bed with the forensic doctor, accompanied by two girlfriends and a transvestite. All three girls were attractive, lithe, fit, long hair full of highlights and colored strands, pierced belly buttons on view, and the tranny was not about to be left behind. Just look at that quartet, a fascinated Curlygirl exclaimed, no doubt swept away by some recollection because right away he said: What times those were.Who is he? He’s one of the Valenzuelas, Lefty. You don’t say, the son of Yoonohoo Valenzuela? No more, no less. Would he have known Bruno Canizales? he wondered, and grew thoughtful, noticing how they drew the attention of the crowd, which sent a steady stream of drinks their way. The girls were happy, they had more admirers than the dancers, who were certainly awful that night, same as the comic. The one on stage at the moment had her top off to dance a polka, but not even that made the crowd look up. Mendieta entered an easy state of drunkenness, controlled drunkenness, in which he never allowed himself to remember anything except the fact that he had to save his own skin. The last time he had let himself wallow in memories, he did not go to work for a week and it took Ortega and Montaño’s determined efforts to raise him from prostration. Dr. Parra, I hope not to see you for a long time, my friend; I promise I will never again be weak and if I feel any commotion I’ll cut off my balls. Goga: the name surfaced, and with it a gorgeous face, a smile, a way of walking, and he drank. Goga, why don’t you come and pick up the pieces? They’re scattered in the sewers, chewed on by the rats. Shaking his head, Curlygirl watched him: Edgar, drop all that, my son, the world is full of women. Don’t say that, bro, don’t say it and don’t believe I’m not frightened by the fact that all those women come down
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