AHMM, October 2006 Read online

  "Should I be worried?” Gonzalo asked one of the officers as they shook hands at the end of the interview.

  "Nah,” the man told him. “We're going to talk to this Rafael Martín. Worry if he says you did it."

  Gonzalo didn't worry. Instead, he went home, had a late dinner, told his mother and sister all about what had happened. They listened attentively, then they added information: so and so said this, this other person said that. Speculation about Don Martín's situation had apparently reached all the way around town. Nothing at all that sounded like a fact.

  * * * *

  Gonzalo was awakened early the next morning by Francisco Cruz.

  "Come with me,” the mayor said. Gonzalo readied himself, ate a breakfast his mother had already prepared for him, and went out with the mayor. He didn't know why the mayor had come to get him, but given Don Martín's situation, it seemed like a good chance there was a road cleaning job in his future; doing as the mayor asked now was good practice. They drove to a little clothing store on a street a block over from the plaza.

  "Why are we here?” Gonzalo asked when the mayor got out of the car. He wouldn't have said anything at all except he thought they were headed to Don Martín's store or the alcaldia and was surprised with where Cruz parked.

  "Can't you see?” the mayor asked.

  Gonzalo couldn't. Cruz pointed to the large plate glass window, then went in. Gonzalo walked up to the window, trying to see what was wrong. It took him ten seconds to figure out that the glass was missing.

  Doña Ausencia was seventy years old, but she sat at the back of the store surrounded by five or six neighbors, crying uncontrollably like a child. Someone gave her a paper cup with water, and she spilled half of it getting it to her lips.

  "Someone,” Mayor Cruz whispered to Gonzalo, “threw a rock through the window, climbed in. Doña Ausencia was in the back, came out to see what was happening, and they chased her."

  "Did they hurt her?"

  "No, no. She ran into the closet and closed the door. They kicked it. See?” Francisco Cruz pointed.

  The door to the closet was cracked down the middle. There were three boot prints.

  When she was able to talk, Doña Ausencia didn't have much to say about her attackers. She didn't get a good look but didn't know them. Two men, young. As far as she knew, they hadn't taken anything. They almost killed her with fear.

  The police came and asked Doña Ausencia questions she had already answered for her neighbors.

  "Where's the glass?” one of the officers asked.

  It had been swept up by a neighbor along with the rock that was used to break it. Both officers rolled their eyes and left the trash can with its debris. Cruz walked them back to their car. He was angry when he came back.

  "They're not going to do anything,” he said.

  "What makes you say that?"

  "Because they told me, ‘We're not going to do anything.’ They say they think it was probably the same two guys who attacked Don Martín, but neither witness gave them enough of a description to be sure about it, and there are no leads."

  The police who serviced Angustias were stretched thin. They were stationed in another, larger town, and besides patrolling the main road that went through town, they came in only rarely. They didn't know the people of Angustias or the side streets. The people of Angustias, los Angustiados, were used to dealing with problems on their own. They were used to having their problems make some sense, however.

  "What should we do?” the mayor asked.

  Gonzalo was about to answer that he wasn't a detective and didn't know what should be done next, but with one person in the hospital and with Doña Ausencia unable to stop shaking, it didn't seem like a time to claim ignorance. Besides, he had some ideas.

  "I think—” he said. The mayor leaned in closer to hear the pronouncement. “I think if I had the time to investigate this, I would make sure to keep the trash can with the glass and the rock safe, and I would not let anyone touch that closet door. Also, there are some questions that I would start asking the people who live on this block and the block where Don Martín's store is. I would ask store owners to be aware that this may happen again later today or tomorrow. They should try not to be alone if it can be avoided. Anyway, there is a lot to do."

  "Then we should get to work,” Francisco Cruz said.

  "Well, as you know, I'm looking for work. It might take days to clear up this problem. Also, it's dangerous sniffing along on the trail of these men."

  Cruz thought for a moment before answering.

  "Angustias will pay you,” he said. “Twenty dollars a day until this is all figured out."

  That was much more than minimum wage, but Gonzalo didn't answer right away. He needed another concession.

  "I would take the job, but I will need help. There are a lot of people to talk to, and if I do it by myself, it can take a long time..."

  Cruz agreed to assist and to have the deputy mayor and several other town officials pitch in on the door-to-door questioning. By the end of the day, people who lived near Doña Ausencia and Don Martín's stores had made clear one important detail—the two men arrived and drove away in a beige Chevrolet. Both stores were on one-way streets and the strategy had been to drive past the store, park around the corner, walk calmly back to the store and just as calmly to the car again.

  On his part, Gonzalo got someone to take a Polaroid picture of the boot print on the closet door. He carried it with him to the brooks and streams that flowed through Angustias. The rock was a smooth one, but if it had been worn smooth by water, it didn't seem likely to be water from Angustias.

  The next morning, early, Cruz was at the Gonzalo home again. Another attack, before dawn, a farmer. His door had been kicked in, he'd been dragged out of bed and beaten in front of his wife and three young boys. No motive, never seen the two guys before, they didn't say anything, broken ribs and a broken nose.

  Gonzalo's questions were nothing different from what had already been asked by neighbors and the mayor. When he left the small house, Mayor Cruz followed him.

  "That's it?"

  Gonzalo stopped and thought a moment. He went back into the house.

  "José, I'm going to ask you a question. If you don't want to answer, then don't, but I think it might be important. How much did you make last year?"

  José Alvarez looked from one person to another in the room. He was holding a wet towel to a spot under an eye where he had a small cut.

  "Why?” he asked.

  Gonzalo didn't say anything. He didn't want to pry. The house he was standing in was small. There were three children with a fourth on the way. Whatever amount of money José made from his farm, it wasn't enough. Still, Gonzalo was trying to form a picture of the next likely victim. The first two were elderly and defenseless; José Alvarez was strong and young. The first two had stores; Alvarez, just a farm.

  "I made about three thousand last year,” Alvarez said. Not terrible, but nothing to be proud of, and his eyes lowered to the ground.

  "That might help,” Gonzalo said. It was the only thing he could think of, then he left.

  "How is that going to help?” Cruz asked outside.

  "Not sure,” Gonzalo said. It wasn't a very powerful statement, but soon it didn't matter. The sun had only been up for little more than an hour, but there was a second attack. A woman flagged down the mayor's car as they approached town.

  "Domingo,” she said. “Someone beat him up.” The woman making the report was Domingo's wife. They no longer lived together but were still married. Reyes had called her when he came to, she said. He was alone in his house.

  Domingo Reyes owned a bar near town and lived in an apartment above. Loud music and drunken arguments filtered up deep into every night. This explained the housing preferences of Mrs. Reyes.

  At this hour, Domingo was upstairs on the balcony of his apartment. He was sitting in a lawn chair, an open beer in his hand. His eyes had raccooned, his lip was split.
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  "When did this happen?” Gonzalo asked.

  Domingo looked first at the mayor, whose expression somehow conveyed that Domingo should answer the young man.

  "Last night. After closing. Maybe two in the morning. Two guys. They were waiting for me when I closed up the place."

  "Where were they waiting?"

  "On my stairs. I tried to fight them, but they were too strong, too fast."

  "Were they armed?"

  Domingo shook his head.

  "Say anything?"

  "They said, ‘don't tell anyone.’ Then they gave me a couple more kicks and left. Strange."

  "What was so strange?"

  "Well, I've been robbed before, but usually they take the money.” Domingo pulled a small roll of bills from his shirt pocket.

  "Maybe they didn't find it,” Gonzalo said.

  "It fell out of my pocket while they were punching me. One of them put it back in before they left. Some kind of good Samaritan bastard.” He took a long drag from his beer.

  "Have you ever seen these guys before?"

  "I barely saw them at all. They took out the light bulb for the stairs. I thought it went out until they grabbed me. One grabbed my arms behind me; the other punched me in the gut. With the first punch, I basically stopped seeing straight. The guy doing the punching had a five o'clock shadow and his hair slicked back; light skin, my height or a little taller. The other guy had on leather work boots. Hurt like hell."

  "Anybody angry with you the last few days?"

  "Besides people who want me to start them a tab? No."

  "We need you to repeat all this for the police,” Mayor Cruz said.

  "Don't bother with them,” Domingo said. “Nothing was stolen. If they wanted to kill me, they could have done it last night. If they wanted to hurt me, well, that job was pretty much done."

  "You're saying you don't think they'll be back?"

  "I don't see why they would."

  "Well, don't tell anyone about this until later, okay?"

  "I open up at four thirty. Right now, I'm taking the phone off the hook and going to bed.” He finished his beer as the mayor and Gonzalo got into the car.

  "Why did you tell him to say nothing?” Mayor Cruz asked as they headed for town.

  "Well, it's not too useful because he already told his wife, but people are getting scared, and we need less of that, not more."

  "Maybe I should have a town meeting. We can talk about what's going on, what we know, what we don't know."

  "I would leave out the part about what we don't know,” Gonzalo said.

  * * * *

  Gonzalo ate a late breakfast in a diner near the center of town. The talk all around him was of the attacks of the last few days. Terrible. Horrifying. Why? What was the mayor doing? When he was done, he went to a nearby store and bought a notepad and a pen. Sitting on a plaza bench, he sketched out what he knew about the victims and about the attackers. He put down the times of the attacks and what had been said to Domingo Reyes, the only thing said to any of the victims. After two pages of details, he tried to see if there was any way to put the information in order. The attackers had given Reyes his money back when they could so easily have taken it. They attacked male and female, elderly and young, the poor and well off, store owners, bar owners, and farmers. Tangled in these thoughts, Gonzalo didn't notice the mayor until he stood right at his side.

  "Another attack,” he said. Gonzalo followed him back to the diner where he'd had his breakfast.

  In the lull between breakfast and lunch customers, the diner had been virtually empty. Lolita Gomez, the diner's owner and only worker, had been in the back when the two men came in. She got a good look at them, had never seen them before, was afraid of going near them. She did it anyway. One guy grabbed her by the throat and slapped her so hard it made her ears ring. The backhand stopped the ringing. He didn't realize who Lolita Gomez was, however. He didn't know how much of a match for him she was. When he raised his hand for another slap, she raised hers. Her reach was too short to get at his face, so she jabbed the pencil she was going to use to take his order into the muscle of his upper arm. It was a thick muscle, but a long pencil. The man screamed, let her go, said he would be back, and he and his partner left, turning over two tables as they went. Part of the pencil was found out on the sidewalk. About two inches of it was thought to be still in the man's arm.

  Lolita's description, though more detailed than anything that had been given so far, was not too helpful at the moment. The police in Ponce sometimes used a sketch artist; maybe he would travel to Angustias.

  "I don't need the police here,” Lolita said. “Lunchtime is coming."

  "But he said he would come back,” the mayor pointed out. She shrugged.

  "Let him come. I got more pencils."

  In the end, she agreed to see a police officer if he came after the lunch hour rush.

  "Well,” Cruz asked as he and Gonzalo walked to the town hall, “do you have any ideas?"

  "I've got a couple,” Gonzalo said. “First, you should let the police know that they should warn hospitals and clinics. If anyone comes needing a pencil fragment removed, the doctors should know to call the police. After that, can I make a phone call?"

  When he had made the announcement to the police at the nearest stationhouse, Mayor Cruz left Gonzalo in the office to make a call. He called his fiancée. She was happy to hear from him, but he was in a rush. It was long distance, and he assumed the city of Angustias would bill him for it. He explained the strange job he had taken temporarily.

  "Well, it's very good money,” she assured him. “But it sounds a lot like that movie we saw, the one with the Mexican actor. Remember?"

  He wanted to tell her that he remembered very little about their time together except that she was there and that was all that mattered to him, but it wouldn't be manly to fawn like that. When was it he learned to hide the love he felt? Why were men consigned to that fate? She gave him the outline of the plot.

  "First they scare the people of the town, then they come back and say they'll protect them for a fee. They don't rob the people, the people are happy to pay them."

  "And how does that one end?” Gonzalo asked.

  "Federal troops fight them in a shoot-out,” she said.

  That didn't seem like a viable option, but it gave him an idea. He brought it to the mayor.

  "A posse?” Cruz asked. “Like in a John Wayne movie?"

  "Well, I think there will be more attacks. These men are not beating people up for nothing. They may be planning on a long-term business here in Angustias. They may be armed. They're obviously violent. There are some people in town who own guns, but even an air rifle is good. We have one at home to keep the hawks away from our chickens."

  "Great. But where do we look for the criminals? Are we going to follow their trail like Apaches?"

  "We're going to do better than that. We're going to wait at their watering hole."

  Lying in wait for a criminal is a difficult task not to be delegated to just anyone. There is the question of trying to stay awake, but there is also the moment of confrontation to be handled. One may have the upper hand, but this cannot be abused. Of course, one might also be outgunned.

  There was only one gas station in Angustias. It was on the northern fringe of town, fairly isolated. A Chevrolet the size that all witnesses agreed was being used by the attackers was a thirsty animal. The men might use gas stations anywhere, but Gonzalo had in his mind how slowly, how calmly they walked from the crimes they committed. Men so nonchalant would not hesitate to stop for gas. Or so he hoped.

  The two men did not return that day, though there was a group of men patrolling the town and standing guard at the gasoline station throughout the night. In the morning, however, as Gonzalo was taking his turn, sitting just inside the gasoline station with his air rifle resting across his lap, the men in their beige Chevrolet drove past, heading into town. Gonzalo rushed out to the street and took aim, but
the car went round a curve in the road and was lost to him. He called Mayor Cruz, warning him, but it didn't help. The car stopped at a house at the far end of town that doubled as the only shoe repair shop in Angustias. The owner, Ignacio Ramos, used his cobbling hammer to fend off his attackers, but they overpowered him, dragged him out to the street by his hair and in front of neighbors beat him until he sagged to his knees, then crumpled over onto his side.

  Mayor Cruz immediately received a call from one of the neighbors who had seen the whole thing. He called the gas station. Gonzalo had just picked up the phone when he saw the Chevrolet heading back the way it had come. He hung up and stepped out. He felt certain that the car would pull in for gas. The driver was laughing about something, one arm hanging out of the window, a small white bandage covering where a pencil point had drawn blood. The passenger was examining the knuckles of his right hand. When it was clear they weren't stopping, Gonzalo raised the rifle, took aim, and hit his mark.

  The driver swerved from the feeling that another pencil had been jabbed into his arm. Gonzalo was priming the gun for a second shot when the car pulled to a stop twenty yards past the gas station. He raised the rifle again as the driver put the car in reverse.

  "What are you doing?” the driver yelled out. He was furious. Gonzalo shot him in the face from fifteen feet away.

  The pellet was painful. Perhaps the best course of action would have been for the driver to keep driving, to get away as fast as possible. He opted instead for getting out of the car. He was reckless; he left the car door open behind him, the key in the ignition, the car still in reverse. His passenger, sensing the need to beat another Angustiado to the ground, jumped out only a fraction of a second behind the driver who approached Gonzalo, his arms stretched out in classic “¿Que pasa?” pose. The third pellet, from only five feet away, struck him in the neck, making him double over for a moment from the pain. When he stood up, Gonzalo had already started running.

  There were woods behind the gas station, a thick forest, sloping down and away from the road. Gonzalo ran into the woods priming the gun, knowing he had only four more shots before he'd have to use the rifle as a club. He skipped over a large root and heard his pursuer trip behind him; he turned and found the driver raising himself from a facedown fall just a foot behind him. Gonzalo used the rifle butt on the crown of the driver's head, then he aimed a pellet at that same spot from inches away and fired. The man lunged from his prone position like a bull enraged, grasping at Gonzalo's pant leg. His hold was too weak. Gonzalo mashed the rifle butt down on the hand three times. It was bloody after the first hit.