• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

that has generated a war

between groups

and is a factor in the

incidence of criminality.

Another factor

is that we have not been able to have a structure

for

the efficient procurement of justice

demanded

by the size and quantity

of the crimes.

The state attorney general’s office offers,

For the Prosecutor’s office,

the most important thing

is to carry out

the greatest effort to lower these statistics.

I feel the dust blowing across Juárez, sip a beer, hear the humming of the gears in the murder factory, watch the police prowl and hunt. Serenity comes once you relax and accept the product. There is so much work to be done and so many willing hands. Those hundreds of gangs, also the gangs that wear police uniforms or military uniforms, the polished professionals of the fabled cartels, as well as volunteers from the bars and sad marriages—all are willing to help with the slaughter. And all of those failed gods line up like tired whores to give whatever support they can.

Black velvet, yes, that is the feel of the sky, the feeling of the darkness coming down as I spiral into the embrace of death on high heels wobbling through the bullet-shredded night. The lipstick bright red, the scent a bouquet snatched from a fresh grave.

Feel the rush of fresh air as people vanish, and space becomes available.

Take the present for granted.

And the night.

A long time ago, back when the world made sense to me and everything was appetite, I walked across the room at a party toward a woman with fine breasts and a “hello fella” smile and a singer floated out of the speakers saying, “Ain’t it just like the night to play tricks when you’re tryin’ to be so quiet.”

A long time ago, I walked into a motel room covering my first murder and saw blood on the concrete block wall, a dull brown-colored stain against the gleam of the latex paint.

A long time ago, I broke into a neighbor’s house because she had not answered the phone or door for a day and I found her sprawled on the kitchen floor, eyes open and mouth with an expression of mild surprise.

A long time ago, I did not have to live in the future.

Nor did Miss Sinaloa.

I hold her hand, and, to be honest, neither of us pays much attention to the murders. We’ve lost count and ignore the details of the slayings.

The headline says that a commando re-kills a guy at the local Red Cross.

Around 8 P.M., a man arrives in a Montero jeep with Texas plates and a bullet hole in his thorax.

A few minutes later, three cars arrive, and two guys with rifles walk in, and as a doctor watches, they pump three rounds into the patient, two in the chest, one in the head.

Then they leave, and all three vehicles melt back into the traffic of the city.

For two hours, the Red Cross is out of commission, though the parents of the dead guy come by to see how he is doing.

Like I said, Miss Sinaloa and I have lost track of the killings and become lazy these days.

Round up the usual suspects.

What we have here is a failure to communicate.

There are a million stories in the naked city.

Death be not proud.

“You are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes,” James 4:14.

True grit.

Suck in yer gut, we’re gonna whup it.

Don’t complain, don’t explain.

Are you feeling lucky, punk?

I have this desire to hear out a killer, to get down some torrent of speech on the work, a cascade of meanings and theories about killing people. I will be in a room sitting on a hard chair, notebook in hand, and the killer will start speaking and go on and on, and I will never write down a word, I will never hear a word. For a moment, I will be stunned by this dereliction of duty, and then a vast calm of indifference will descend, I’ll pour another drink, turn my back on the killer, watch a bird on a wire, think of a recipe I wish to cook, hum a favorite hymn as he prattles on and on trying to give meaning to a life he has emptied of meaning.

I have lost all appetite for explanations since they stalk truth and love and shove us all into a coffin of lies.

In the