the young man. “More medication is on the way, but I have just a few more important questions. Can you respond?”
He blinked his assent, rather than nodding.
“Thank you, Manuel. So you were in the back of this truck. Then you arrived at the plaza. What happened next?”
“There were two others . . . also alive. They were both with me all the way from El Salvador. I don’t know their names or nothing . . .” His eyes clouded. “Then they dragged everybody off the truck. There was a fat man. I did not know what the sound was at first. I thought it was a machine. But no. This man was chopping heads off.”
“With what? A machete?”
He frowned. “I don’t know. I never seen nothing like it. It was like . . . one of those things you dig holes with. For fence posts. Except there was just this one big heavy blade on the bottom.” He pantomimed lifting something in the air with his left arm, but didn’t get it very high before wincing in pain.
“Any other information you can give me? I want to catch these men. Who was in charge? Did you see the man in charge, Manuel? Was it this fat man?”
The young man’s eyes were full of tears now. He shook his head.
“You saw the man in charge,” said Garza, pushing.
“Dark eyes.”
“Was he tall? Short?”
“Baseball. A hat.”
“A baseball cap? But he was Mexican. Yes?”
“There was another. A boy.”
“A boy?”
Manuel pointed to his wound.
“A boy did this? A teenager?”
“The one in charge . . . he made him do it.”
Garza nodded. Manuel was fading fast. “Is that why he failed? With the tool?”
Manuel blinked several times, loosening the tears in his eyes. It meant yes.
Garza had seen enough. She turned back to Chief Ramos. “Get the nurse.”
Garza looked back at Manuel, leaning even closer. She wanted Manuel to feel her presence here at the end. “Anything else you can tell me? Anything else you want to say?”
“They . . . they call him something. The man in the cap. Chupa . . .”
Garza could have finished the word for him, but she wanted to hear it herself. She leaned even closer, the name coming on Manuel’s foul breath.
“Chuparosa.”
Garza heard stirring behind her. Despite her order, Chief Ramos had not left the room yet.
Garza said, “You’re certain?”
“Chuparosa . . .” said Manuel, closing his eyes, his head sinking further back into the pillow.
Chief Ramos said, “I will get the nurse.” He left the room quickly, and Garza could hear him shouting, “Nurse! Nurse!”
Alone for a moment, Garza laid her hand atop Manuel’s hot forehead. She stroked his hair until the nurse entered.
“Thank you,” Garza whispered into Manuel’s ear. She stood, watching the nurse’s ministrations for a few moments, said a little prayer for the young man from El Salvador, then opened the door and stepped out into the hallway.
Chief Ramos was nowhere to be seen. Apparently the health crisis was too much for him to bear.
GARZA WALKED THE HALL OF THE HOSPITAL, thinking about Manuel’s ride in that truck.
All those men. Beheaded and set in the town plaza. It was an obscenity, and yet one the Mexican people were tragically growing used to. And like all obscenities, the more times it was used, the more it lost some of its power to shock and offend. How would they top this? What was the next disgraceful step?
And how could she head it off?
Down a stairwell, she strode out the rear entrance of the hospital. She did not go to her vehicle, continuing on to a blue panel truck parked at the back of the lot, its side emblazoned with a logo that read CERVEZA DOS EQUIS .
The rear door opened as she reached it. She stepped inside, and it closed.
Two technicians sat on opposite sides of the truck, facing matching computer screens. The cargo space was crammed full of modern communications gear, much of it provided to the PF by United States Immigrations and Customs Enforcement.
“You get it?” she said.
By
He blinked his assent, rather than nodding.
“Thank you, Manuel. So you were in the back of this truck. Then you arrived at the plaza. What happened next?”
“There were two others . . . also alive. They were both with me all the way from El Salvador. I don’t know their names or nothing . . .” His eyes clouded. “Then they dragged everybody off the truck. There was a fat man. I did not know what the sound was at first. I thought it was a machine. But no. This man was chopping heads off.”
“With what? A machete?”
He frowned. “I don’t know. I never seen nothing like it. It was like . . . one of those things you dig holes with. For fence posts. Except there was just this one big heavy blade on the bottom.” He pantomimed lifting something in the air with his left arm, but didn’t get it very high before wincing in pain.
“Any other information you can give me? I want to catch these men. Who was in charge? Did you see the man in charge, Manuel? Was it this fat man?”
The young man’s eyes were full of tears now. He shook his head.
“You saw the man in charge,” said Garza, pushing.
“Dark eyes.”
“Was he tall? Short?”
“Baseball. A hat.”
“A baseball cap? But he was Mexican. Yes?”
“There was another. A boy.”
“A boy?”
Manuel pointed to his wound.
“A boy did this? A teenager?”
“The one in charge . . . he made him do it.”
Garza nodded. Manuel was fading fast. “Is that why he failed? With the tool?”
Manuel blinked several times, loosening the tears in his eyes. It meant yes.
Garza had seen enough. She turned back to Chief Ramos. “Get the nurse.”
Garza looked back at Manuel, leaning even closer. She wanted Manuel to feel her presence here at the end. “Anything else you can tell me? Anything else you want to say?”
“They . . . they call him something. The man in the cap. Chupa . . .”
Garza could have finished the word for him, but she wanted to hear it herself. She leaned even closer, the name coming on Manuel’s foul breath.
“Chuparosa.”
Garza heard stirring behind her. Despite her order, Chief Ramos had not left the room yet.
Garza said, “You’re certain?”
“Chuparosa . . .” said Manuel, closing his eyes, his head sinking further back into the pillow.
Chief Ramos said, “I will get the nurse.” He left the room quickly, and Garza could hear him shouting, “Nurse! Nurse!”
Alone for a moment, Garza laid her hand atop Manuel’s hot forehead. She stroked his hair until the nurse entered.
“Thank you,” Garza whispered into Manuel’s ear. She stood, watching the nurse’s ministrations for a few moments, said a little prayer for the young man from El Salvador, then opened the door and stepped out into the hallway.
Chief Ramos was nowhere to be seen. Apparently the health crisis was too much for him to bear.
GARZA WALKED THE HALL OF THE HOSPITAL, thinking about Manuel’s ride in that truck.
All those men. Beheaded and set in the town plaza. It was an obscenity, and yet one the Mexican people were tragically growing used to. And like all obscenities, the more times it was used, the more it lost some of its power to shock and offend. How would they top this? What was the next disgraceful step?
And how could she head it off?
Down a stairwell, she strode out the rear entrance of the hospital. She did not go to her vehicle, continuing on to a blue panel truck parked at the back of the lot, its side emblazoned with a logo that read CERVEZA DOS EQUIS .
The rear door opened as she reached it. She stepped inside, and it closed.
Two technicians sat on opposite sides of the truck, facing matching computer screens. The cargo space was crammed full of modern communications gear, much of it provided to the PF by United States Immigrations and Customs Enforcement.
“You get it?” she said.
By
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