Free The Shadow of the Shadow by Paco Ignacio Taibo II Page A

an outsider. If he talked with an accent, dropping his r's, it was
more than anything else out of a sense of contrariness, a certain
pleasure in emphasizing his difference. He had no way of knowing
that in recent months the six or seven square blocks of Mexico
City's Chinatown, spread out on either side of Dolores Street, had been the scene of a fierce war between competing tongs, merchant
societies, revolutionary lodges, the monarchists of the Chi-Konton, and the Triads.

    His friend the journalist, just then walking across the lobby of
the Hotel Regis, knew far more about these strange events than
he did. And Pioquinto Manterola might well have put aside the
mystery of the Englishman's "suicide" had he been able to see that
just as Tomas turned the corner off Juarez onto Dolores Street,
Chief Mazcorro of the secret police, Commander Lara Robelo,
and six of their men were advancing from the far end of the block
on their way to raid an illegal gambling house.
    But neither Manterola nor Tomas realized what was about to
happen. It wasn't until Tomas stepped back out of the stationers
onto the street, lugging two boxes of paper tied up with string,
that he saw everything wasn't as it should be. A fifty-year-old
man jumped out of a second-story window, almost landing on top
of Tomas. A crowd in the street applauded the old man's escape,
and their cheers mixed with the intermittent pop of gunfire from
inside the house.
    While Tomas might have been a stranger to Chinatown, he
was no stranger to violence; as soon as he heard the first shots he
pressed up against the wall and covered himself as best he could
behind the boxes of paper. He watched as Mazcorro emerged from
the house pushing a Chinaman in front of him. The man waved a
fifty-peso note in the air, shouting: "I pay, boss, I pay. No wolly."As
far as Tomas was concerned, the only fights worth getting mixed
up in were the ones he chose of his own free will. Or when it was
a matter of defending his ideas, or just plain orneriness. He took
ahold of his boxes and was walking rapidly toward the near end of
the street when he felt a hand grab his arm.
    "Get me out of here," she said. "Please, save me. Get me away
from here."
    Tomas stared at her for a moment and then resumed his
previous pace, only this time with the young woman at his side.

    The overwhelming smell of violet-scented perfume filled his
nose and made him wrinkle up his face.
    At that moment, the reporter Pioquinto Manterola wrinkled
up his own nose, metaphorically speaking.
    "So you're sure the door was locked from inside, are you?"
    "I was with the colonel when they broke into the room. Later
on he saw it and pointed it out to the rest of us, that the key
was still in the lock on the inside of the door," said the hotel
employee.
    "Have you got a pair of keys to one of the rooms?"
    "Of course. What do you have in mind?"
    "A little scientific experiment." The reporter grinned, taking
the hotel man by the arm, leading him along.
    "This one here'll do, I suppose. The guest ought to have his
key, and I've got the master."
    Manterola knocked softly on the pale green door adorned
with golden frets.
    A fat-cheeked pink face ringed below by a half circle of neatly
trimmed beard peeked through the door.
    L' acqua non e calda. Miparti degli ascingomani, sapone."
Manterola showed the man his best smile and pushed him
gently back into the room.
    "Let's have a look at your key, sir," he said, gesturing to show
the man what he wanted.
    "Desidera la mia chiave?"
    "That's right. And now you put your key in the lock on this
side," he directed the hotel man. "All right, now turn the key. See,
the other one stays in the lock. You can lock the door from the
outside while leaving the other key in place on the inside of the
door. It's because the shaft is so long."
    "How did you know?" asked the hotel man.
    "Before I was a reporter I used to work as a locksmith...
What did you say this