Free Silver Bullets by Élmer Mendoza, Mark Fried

at the hawks? They shook hands.
    Samantha was tall, perfect measurements if a bit too large at the hips; rumor had it she had spent a fortune on plastic surgeons, but not even the Brazilians had managed to get it right. Red tresses, thin lips, green eyes, nails painted purple; her soft perfume had not been floating in Canizales’s room, at least not the scent she had on at the moment. She wore black and had arrived in a green Hummer, which the detective spied through the window. An H3. She parked it next to the botanical gardens named for Carlos Murillo Depraect. A black pickup with tinted windows carrying the bodyguards she preferred to keep out of her sight had pulled up a few yards behind her.
    She was a strong-willed woman who did not like to waste time: What’s bothering you, Lefty Mendieta? Did his voice crack? No, were his palms sweaty? Not a chance. Did he lower his eyes? Not even in your dreams. The detective liked the way she used the familiar tú , the way she took a sip of the coffee he had in front of him and made fun of the dishwater people drank in every government office. Canizales was killed with a silver bullet, do you know anyone who uses them? Lots, though only two of them live here, and, if you don’t mind me saying, they would bethe last people interested in someone like Bruno, they’re people of a certain stature. People of a certain stature also get spattered with blood. What do you know? Oh, you learn a few things being a policeman despite what you may have been told. People like you don’t reach those heights, understand? She gave him a cold, irritated smile. Mendieta chose not to pursue the matter.
    He asked for another espresso, she for a Frappuccino. The place was overflowing with chattering women. During the week they left their children at school and congregated here until classes let out: they gossiped about diets, fashion, diseases, useless husbands, high-spirited secretaries. On Sundays many of them continued the gabfest while their husbands watched soccer or got drunk with their friends.
    I sought you out for two reasons, Mendieta: First, respect my father, asshole; he is one of the most important men in this country; the president, his ministers, and every brownnoser around them salutes him, if it weren’t for him millions of people would be unemployed and dying of hunger, who are you to harass him at home? A worthless, starving policeman; second, do not bother Mariana Kelly, do you hear me? She had nothing to do with that murder, but she’s anxious, she once threatened him in public so she’s afraid of being interrogated. What are you worried about? Your daddy will fix everything in the time it takes to say amen. I don’t want you to mix my father up in this, jerk-off, your disdain I understand, but I don’t give a fuck, to each his own and don’t think for a minute I sought you out for your pretty face, I’ll pay you for the favor. You can take your money and your father’s money and shove it up your ass and, stay where you are, girlie, hold it right there, because I don’t have time for cheap theatrics. Red-lipped smile, a woman accustomed to difficult moments: Say whatever you like, you’ll always be a piece of shit. Mendieta’s face grew hard: I’m not playing,Samantha Valdés, and now that we’re into it, I hope you’ll answer a few questions. I’ll answer whatever you want as long as you do the same, and don’t make me suspicious, asshole, because I’ll be after you wherever you go, she paused, her features like stone. He was going to reply but decided to change the subject. Tell me about your relationship with Bruno Canizales. I liked how he did it with me, he drove me wild, that man had a feeling for the body, for sexual sensations, for time, for smell, he made everyone else look like a moron; I’d give him a ten and even an eleven if that’s allowed; and then my son became really attached to him, he even took him to the park and he had the patience his