His luck seemed to hold for the next half hour. He lay down on his side with one arm covering his face and pretended to sleep in order to avoid talking with the other workers as the truck lurched toward the city. From what he could gather from the phrases they exchanged, they were all staying at the compound and had arrived more or less the same way he did. They were supposed to bring a new shipment back from Ciudad Miel, and more than one of them said they needed to hurry if they were going to get back in time to be allowed to eat dinner. When Treviño heard where they were going, he rolled himself into a ball. A few minutes after entering the city, the truck parked inside an enormous warehouse and the foreman told them all to get out. A visibly terrified man, who was either the owner or the manager there, stood trembling in front of the newcomers.
“Where’s the stuff we ordered?” the foreman yelled. “From the list.”
“We have everything ready, sir. It’s just that the guys who do the loading ran out on me when they saw you coming.”
“Cut the shit. Just tell me where the stuff is.”
Taking advantage of the chaos as the foreman and the driver located the items they were sent to expropriate on different shelves around the warehouse and the other workers waited for instructions next to the truck, Treviño grabbed a yellow, grease-stained shirt with the warehouse’s logo that someone had left on a shelf, put it on, and hobbled out. He made it to the corner as quickly as he could, then turned and walked toward a grocery store down the block. There was a public phone outside it that seemed to be working. He stopped to catch his breath. His face was so swollen he could barely see to his left. His ribs and his right knee hurt. He didn’t have a penny on him after going through the checkpoint. He was just wondering how in the hell he was going to call the Bus to come pick him up when an old man pulled up in a rusted-out Lincoln.
He didn’t like it, but it was either this old man’s life or his own.
In the time it took the old man to engage the parking brake, Treviño slid into the passenger seat.
“Hey! What—”
“Don’t move and don’t raise your voice, if you want to get out of this alive.”
“But—”
“Quiet. Start the car and drive toward the city limits.”
“I don’t have any money on me, just enough for—”
“Take me to the southern entrance to the city. Do you know where that is?”
“Yes, we’re close. Please, don’t hurt me.” The old man started telling him about how many grandchildren he had and how he was supposed to be bringing them food.
“Nothing’s going to happen to you, old man, but you’ve got to stop talking. Turn over there by that gas station.” Treviño had just caught sight of the motel in the distance. He got out of the car and told the old man to keep driving straight and to keep his eyes on the road. He waited until the car was out of sight before crossing the avenue.
When he finally made it to the motel parking lot, he noticed that the lights upstairs were out. After checking that the Maverick was there he headed inside to the reception desk to ask for the key. He could still hear the music coming from the bar and above it the laughter of women: different girls with the same laugh, as if they were part of some endless river. Suddenly, he felt metal against the flesh near his right kidney.
“Don’t move.”
They pulled something like a ski mask without holes over his head, snapped a pair of handcuffs tight around his wrists, and patted him down for weapons. He guessed there were at least three people standing around him, all of them skilled at moving silently. He heard someone behind him say, “Let’s go.”
The guy with the gun on him must have been a professional, judging by how quickly and confidently he moved its barrel from Treviño’s back to his left temple.
“Duck.”
He was pushed into a large vehicle—maybe an old car or a luxury model like the consul’s Mercedes—and then forced into the middle seat. Another man was waiting to his left.
“One move and you’re dead.”
He felt the car start up and back out. They weren’t going to kill him—not there at least—so he let himself go with the flow.
From the passenger seat came the voice of an old man.
“Put your hands on the front seat and don’t even think about moving. Why are you here, and who do you work for?”
“I’m a businessman. I’m in construction materials.”
“Businessman, my ass. You work for Junior?”
“Don’t know him.”
“I’ll ask you one more time. Do you work for Junior?”
“I don’t know who you’re talking about.”
Treviño hesitated and it got him an elbow to the face.
“Answer me. Are you here alone?”
“Yes,” he said, feeling a trickle on his face. One of his cuts had opened again.
“What’s your name?”
Treviño gave the alias the consul had invented for him, without a second’s hesitation.
“Juan Rentería.”
“It’s this one,” said the man to his right.
“Get out of Ciudad Miel,” said the old man. “If we see you or your car anywhere near here in an hour you won’t live to talk about it.” Then, to the others, he added, “Toss him.”
They hit him with something metal, probably the butt of a gun, right at the base of the skull, and he saw a flash of lightning made of shadow. Interesting, he thought. I didn’t know there was a color darker than black. And then he stopped thinking.
When Treviño opened his eyes, the young man from the reception desk was offering him a towel to stop the bleeding. He was on his back in his room.
“How are you, boss? Should I get a doctor?”
Treviño’s head hurt more than it ever had, but he said no. As soon as he could sit up and get a handle on the dizziness, he saw the Bus staring at him intently, as if he’d given him up for dead.
“What happened, man? What happened?” the Bus asked when the young man went for more ice. The blow to Treviño’s head distorted his image.
“Did you see them?” asked the detective. The Bus shook his head.
“I heard a racket down at reception, so I went to take a look and saw you lying on the pavement out front,” the Bus grumbled. “Let’s go back. Stop fucking around. That was a warning. The big dogs know we’re here.”
The big dogs, thought Treviño. How could I have been so stupid. Why didn’t I think of that before?
“Bus, give me your phone.”
“What?”
“Give me your phone. I have to make a call.”
The Bus handed it over and the detective dialed a number he already knew by heart. Mr. De León answered on the second ring.
“Treviño?”
“Yeah, it’s me. Bus, would you give me a minute?”
The driver left the room, but he didn’t like it.
“What happened?” shouted Mr. De León. “Where have you been? We haven’t heard from you in a day!”
“I was in the Los Nuevos compound.”
“What?”
“Your daughter isn’t there, but I know how to find her.”
“Where’s Cristina?” his employer shouted.
“Am I on speaker?”
“Yes. I’m here with my wife and the consul.”
“Turn it off.” When this was done, he continued. “Your telephones are probably tapped, or else there’s a leak among the people closest to you. I can’t say any more.”
“What are you talking about?”
“No one knew I was coming to Ciudad Miel, but they were waiting for me. A group of armed men jumped me a little while ago, and it’s a miracle I got out alive. It was obviously a trap. They had the whole thing planned.”
“Is she alive?”
“I can’t say for sure, but I’ll know in a few hours. Right now I need to see a doctor. If anything happens to me, don’t forget about my widow.”
He was about to hang up when he realized the businessman hadn’t answered.
“Agreed?”
“Agreed,” Mr. De León replied. He didn’t sound very convinced.
The Bus poked his head into the room.
“Take me to the hospital,” said the detective.
They hit their first checkpoint not far from the hotel. Right where the road narrowed on the way to the private clinic, a group of rancheros stood in front of two parked pickups and a sports car with damage to the driver’s side door.
“Fuck. Game over.”
“Relax,” said Treviño, but his heart was pounding like a jackhammer. Were they looking for him?
“Got your gun?” he asked, and the Bus responded by taking his piece out of its holster with his left hand and holding it close to the window.
Three guys were giving the car in front of them, a taxi without plates, a quick once-over. They waved at the driver and let him pass. In the meantime, something caught Treviño’s eye.
“You see that black car?” he asked, pointing at the sports car. “I think it was parked next to the Maverick back at the hotel.”
“Don’t make me nervous, man.”
A muscular guy with a military buzz cut signaled to them with his flashlight and they rolled up to the improvised checkpoint. One of the rancheros walked over to the passenger side while the guy with the flashlight aimed his rifle at Treviño.
“Where are you headed?”
“To the clinic. I just got mugged,” said Treviño. The Bus, pursing his little mustache, kept his mouth shut.
“Not from around here?”
“We’re from La Eternidad. I was attacked on the way into town. I need to see a doctor.”
The man asked for their papers and the Bus handed over his passport, but Treviño claimed his wallet had been stolen in the attack. The fake soldier looked him over carefully, examining his grease-stained shirt, and said, “Stay where you are.” He showed his colleague the Bus’s passport and whispered something to him. Then the one with the flashlight said, “That’ll be a donation of five hundred pesos. Each.”
They paid up and the soldier handed back the Bus’s passport and rapped two times on the hood of the car.
They parked in front of a sign that read EMERGENCY and the Bus got out to ring the bell. Two apprehensive nurses who had been stationed at reception came to the door, followed by a woman in a white lab coat with a stethoscope hanging from her neck. They didn’t seem to be in any rush to let them in. The Bus helped Treviño to a bench.
“I was mugged and hit in the head,” Treviño said. “I don’t feel well.”
“Where did it happen?”
“Near the city limits.”
“I see.” Treviño might have been imagining it, but the doctor and the two nurses seemed to go pale. “All right, then. Someone will … Someone will be right with you.”
As the two men sat there, the doctor removed her lab coat and stethoscope with trembling hands, then threw open the front door and ran into the parking lot.
“What, did she forget something?” asked the Bus.
By way of an answer, the two nurses took off their smocks and threw them to the floor as they ran out after the doctor.
“Hey! Ladies! Hey!” a man in a nurse’s uniform shouted.
From the front door, the Bus and Treviño watched them get into the doctor’s car and close the doors as the car screeched out of the parking lot.
“The emergency’s over here,” said the Bus. “Where are they going?”
“Ah, well …” sighed the remaining nurse, then looked over at the detective. “You couldn’t have waited until tomorrow?”
“He’s injured and he needs to see a doctor,” grunted the Bus.
The nurse took a deep breath and went to lock the front door. Then he dragged a chair over and wedged it under the knob so the door couldn’t be opened from outside. The Bus never took his eyes off him.
“Yesterday a guy was brought into the hospital with a bullet wound, and an armed crew burst in to finish him off, right there in the operating room. Killed the surgeon and her whole team, too. That’s why they ran.”
The man’s poor bedside manner didn’t bother Treviño: after months of living in constant fear and anger, learning again and again to heed bad omens, of course these doctors were on edge. People from the north went from being the gentlest and kindest in the country to being the most nervous and cagey, the ones most afraid of conversation.
The nurse looked at the two men, knowing there was no point in asking whether they’d reported the incident to the police. There hadn’t been any police for months.
“Do you have a credit card? We don’t take cash here.” Then, to the Bus, he said, “I can take care of your friend, but don’t try anything.”
“Don’t worry, Doctor,” said Treviño.
The nurse nodded and offered him a wheelchair. “This way,” he said. “But he has to stay here. For security,” he said, blocking the Bus’s path. “I’m sure you understand.”
“Wait here,” repeated Treviño.
Not entirely convinced, the Bus watched as the nurse pushed the wheelchair down the hall and closed the door that separated the waiting room from the clinic itself. There wasn’t another soul in sight.
Twenty minutes later, he saw two doctors head out to the parking lot for a cigarette. When they saw him they lowered their voices. He heard several buses drive past. Twice, the moon peeked out from behind the clouds and disappeared again.
When the doctors finished smoking, the Bus said to himself, “All right, that’s it. It’s hot as hell out here.” And he sneaked in behind them.
“Can we help you?” asked one of the physicians.
“I’m looking for my colleague. He’s being seen inside.”
“I’m sorry, but you can’t go in there,” the physician replied, but the Bus was already halfway down the hall.
“Hey!” the man shouted.
Three doors led away from the reception area. The Bus stuck his head into the first room. It was empty.
“Hey, you can’t—” The doctor tried to block his path, but the Bus easily pushed him aside.
“Don’t try me, asshole.”
In the second room, an elderly nurse was watching television. She nearly had a heart attack when the bodyguard burst in.
The third and final room was empty. The Bus swung around, furious, and saw the nurse who’d admitted Treviño filling out forms on the computer.
“Where is he?” he demanded.
The nurse looked at him, wide-eyed.
“He was right there, in that room. They took care of him and he said he was going to leave.” When the nurse saw there was no one there, he lifted his palms apologetically. “I swear.” But the Bus didn’t stick around to listen to his excuses, because someone was screaming out in the street. He drew his gun and ran down the hall until he found a door.
He had no choice but to take cover from the explosion. He waited a moment, then ran around the building to the front entrance.
Except for the nurses and doctors beginning to mill around, there were no suspicious persons or vehicles in the parking lot. The Bus holstered his gun when he realized that he, in fact, was the suspect. He watched silently as the flames grew higher.
“Enough!” the nurse yelled. “Can’t you see we’re sick and tired of all of you?”
The few vehicles passing by at that hour of the night slowed a bit for a better look at the fire blazing in the parking lot, then sped up again. Not a single squad car or fire truck ever appeared. In the middle of the blaze were the skeletal remains of the Maverick and something that had been sitting on the passenger side.