He paused again. The colonel was still entertaining himself with his lighter, García with nothingness.
“What is your opinion, Colonel?”
“You have analyzed the situation correctly, Mr. del Valle.”
“I believe so. And you, Mr. García?”
“Maybe.”
Del Valle,who had his congratulatory speech all prepared, was taken off guard. He was about to say something to García, but instead turned back to the colonel.
“We must triple our precautions. Mr. President will not like being forced to ride in an armored car, but let’s not forget that such a vehicle should have been used in Dallas.”
“I understand, Mr. del Valle.”
“And even if we do resort to armored vehicles, which will be necessary if we fail to dismantle this conspiracy before the day after tomorrow, there remain several moments of serious danger. I’m thinking particularly of the unveiling of the statue in the park. Needless to say, we have searched all the surrounding buildings and have ordered security forces on all the balconies, but there is still danger. .”
“That’s true, Mr. del Valle,” the colonel said.
His eyes were half closed, staring at the lighter twirling in his fingers. Mr. del Valle turned to García with a grave expression on his face:
“In the meantime, Mr. García, you can see the importance, for all of us, for all Mexicans, of finding those Communist Chinese agents and liquidating them as soon as possible. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes.”
“I think the steps you’ve already taken are very important. What other measures are planned?”
“Tonight, in a few minutes, I’m going to meet the Russian and the gringo at Café Canton.”
“Do you think that’s a good idea?”
“No. But it’s necessary. If these. . these Chinamen are planning something, we have to draw them out.”
Del Valle stood up. Now this guy is going to deliver a speech about our nation and our loyalty to its institutions. Fucking loyalty!
“Mr. García, the matter is in your hands and, if you will allow me to say so, I admire your courage. I’m sure I don’t need to tell you that you are putting your own life in danger.”
“It’s necessary, Mr. del Valle,” the colonel said.
García stood up:
“I have to go.”
“I understand, I understand,” Mr. Del Valle said. “But before you leave here, Mr. García, I have to again express my admiration for your courage. These people, it seems, are quite serious, as the lamentable events of last night demonstrate.”
“We’re serious, too,” the colonel said, standing up.
Mr. del Valle walked up to García:
“Mr. García, allow me to shake your hand. Our nation is proud of you. Your heroism, because that’s what it is, heroism, must remain a secret, but the nation and our president will find a way to show their gratitude. I wish you the very best of luck.”
“Thanks. Anything else, Colonel?”
“No. Good luck, García.”
García walked out, but he could overhear Mr. del Valle’s next comment:
“A crude man, like the great Centaurs of the North who made the Revolution. .”
Fucking Mr. Del Valle! Him and his independence day speeches. His mother is crude, the motherfucker. I’m just a professional gunslinger, a hit man on the payroll of the police. Why so many damn words? And if he wants me to whack those Chinamen, why doesn’t he just come out and say so. Fucking Chinamen! Anyway, I’ve got it in for Liu — the sonofabitch beat me to it. Yeah, me and Pancho Villa, the Centaurs of the North. Hey, I’m from Yurécuaro, Michoacán, son of La Charanda and father unknown. And if they don’t like it, they can all — absolutely all of them — go fuck their mothers. Fucking Charanda! And Marta there in my house, looking at me with my stupid mug. Her with all her kisses and hugs and me with my stupid mug. Maybe if instead of learning how to kill I’d learned how to give speeches, then I’d be like Rosendo del Valle. A dandy-ass. Or I’d end up like the professor, mooching booze for a living. And now our nation will be grateful. And what should I be grateful to our nation for? As my fellow countryman from Michoacán famously wrote: “If as a kid I went to school / and was a soldier when I grew / if as a husband she gave me horns / and then I died as was my due / What do I owe the sun / for having warmed my bones?”
Neither Graves nor Laski was in Café Canton. Wang was working the cash register and four young Chinamen were standing behind the counter. Only one of them lifted his eyes to look at García; his face revealed no surprise. He simply edged over toward the cash register, as if he was just doing his job, spoke quickly to old man Wang, then disappeared into what seemed to be the kitchen. García sat down in one of the booths and ordered a beer. These fucking Chinamen are getting nervous. Seems a good idea to come here, just to see what they’ll do. Maybe even that restless soul from Sayula will show up. Fucking Mr. del Valle! “Killing is so repulsive.” But when he was governor of his state, he brought with him everybody under his wing. He had General Miraflores with him as his chief of operations. Next thing it’ll be Miraflores going on about how repulsive it is to kill. They’ve all become so damn upstanding. The Revolution turned government. Fuck the Revolution and fuck the fucking government!
Laski appeared at the door. I almost didn’t see him coming. This fucking Russian seems to blend into other people and things. And now his eyes look even sadder than they did before.
“Is Graves coming?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m going to order a glass of milk.”
“Don’t they have milk in your country?”
“Of course they do. In Russia we have everything, absolutely everything.”
“There’s only one Russia.”
“Naturally, Russia is. .”
“I was pulling your leg, Laski, my friend. What news have you got for me? Any new rumors from Outer Mongolia?”
“Ha, ha, ha. . You are formidable, Filiberto, truly formidable.”
“I’m going to make a call before Graves gets here. Excuse me.”
He got up and walked over to the telephone. Wang didn’t look up, but one of the young Chinamen was keeping a close eye on him, and the one who’d disappeared still hadn’t returned.
They answered at La Ópera cantina, and in a few moments he was talking to the professor:
“What happened?”
“Everything went south, Cap’n. The gringa threw me out, she didn’t even let me finish the bottle of rum. She said she was having a party with you and that everything was going to work out. So, what about my three hundred pesos?”
“Two hundred and fifty.”
“So, what about it?”
“Tomorrow.”
“The gringa is sure you’re going there tonight, Cap’n.”
“I just might.”
“She’s pretty washed up.”
“See you tomorrow.”
He hung up and returned to the table. Graves was already there, sitting across from the Russian. García sat down next to Graves.
“You two already met?”
“Yes,” said Graves, “many years ago.”
“Unfortunately,” Laski said, “one cannot say that in all this time a true friendship has flourished between us.”
Graves flashed his tourist smile:
“Ivan Mikhailovich tried to kill me in Constantinople in ’57.”
Ivan Mikhailovich’s eyes grew even sadder stilclass="underline"
“A poorly planned job, very poorly planned. There was no time to make it foolproof.”
The memory of his failure seemed to pain him deeply. Graves interrupted his sad reflections:
“I haven’t been able to get the numbers of the bills. The Hong Kong Bank and, it seems, even the colony’s English authorities have been unwilling to cooperate.”