cover their stomachs: a distinguishing feature of the Psychedelic Lolitos. No one was frightened by their death’s head logos when they were printed on stretch cotton. The The inhabitants of Villa Miserias suffered the effects of these confrontations. The price of the laced drugs went up to absorb the increasing costs of arming the combatants with knives, nun-chaku, and brass knuckles. Expeditions to avenge insults spiraled. There were no-go areas. The rival groups searched any unwary person who passed through their zone; if someone was wearing the symbol of the enemy gang, they were forced to buy merchandise then and there.
Both gangs made forays into other related activities, such as robbery and extortion. The Lolitos stole imported aftershave lotions from apartments; to impress the girls, they borrowed—without permission—the flashiest cars. Either from carelessness or as a sophisticated form of torture, they would leave tapes of their sickly-sweet romantic ballads in the stereos.
The
There were also psychological terror tactics. One morning Villa Miserias awoke to a gruesome scene in the Plaza del Orden: blond-haired heads with well-defined features, impaled on posts, surrounded by a wash of red stains and severed limbs. They were the remains of a well-known brand of plastic doll and represented the violent dismemberment of the
The naked violence exasperated the residents. It wasn’t the same as knowing awful things happened in other places where the victims were always far away. The horror was no longer abstract and now it was very close to them all. The routine nature of the violence periodically mobilized those affected into action. When some wealthy member of the community suffered the effects, it was considered more serious than if it happened to the habitual poor wretches. Inflammatory meetings were organized, demanding the resignation of the board, the cleaning up of the Black Paunches, increased security and harsher punishments, the creation of neighborhood groups to oversee the implementation of these demands…The criminal gangs would turn down the heat for a short time. In reality, the excesses that triggered the fury of the moneyed classes didn’t suit them either, but it wasn’t easy to ask their scorpions not to sting frogs if doing so went against their instincts. The situation would stabilize until the next rocky patch merited a fresh outbreak of the same drama, but with different protagonists.
Joel Taimado felt under pressure to intervene, but the juggling act required was beyond him: in essence, a community with high levels of addiction was asking him to combat the people who were supplying the very thing they didn’t want to live without. Even he realized that the demand would be satisfied one way or another. It was a matter of taming the bronco not canceling the rodeo. The provisional solution consisted of a few, very public crackdowns, almost with the agreement of the gangs themselves, as a necessary sacrifice to keep the wheels rolling. This triumph was attributed to a careful intelligence operation. For a couple of nights, people slept more soundly, until the organizational chart of the stricken villains was reconfigured. Taimado was aware that he was just putting temporary caps on molars destroyed by caries. In consultation with Selon Perdumes, they opted for the best of non-solutions: the time had come to talk to Mauricio Maso.
Taimado waited until Maso returned from his night shift. He found him sitting on his mattress between the containers, sucking out pieces of glass from his arms and putting alcohol on his wounds. In his own particular way, Taimado asked Maso to return to his old occupation. In exchange for a cut of the profits, he would turn a blind eye. What’s more, since the workers had just been moved to Building B, they could offer him a shared room that would be a haven from the dry winds.
“Sorry my friend, other bastards are taking care of that now,” murmured Maso without letting his attention stray from his surgical task.
“Uh-huh. The thing is that the boss is pushing harder and harder for us to do nothing and we’re going to end up with sweet FA again.”
“The solution’s obvious, you son of a fucking bitch. Give me back what you stole and I’ll get started with that.”
Hearing this demand, Taimado held out the envelope he’d been given in anticipation of just such an eventuality.
“Right. I’m already on the case,” said Maso before spitting a gob of blood mixed with alcohol onto Taimado’s shoes.
Maso began announcing his return through his appearance. He started washing again, his hair was combed and he had new iguana skin boots. When his old regulars timidly approached him once again with requests, he openly shunned them, sending out a veiled message that something was going to happen.
To clear up any doubts in the communal mind, Juana Mecha repeated to anyone interested: “The speckled cock’s about to stretch its wings.” Maso was waiting for Taimado to raise the checkered flag.
The first step was to weaken the groups from within, stealthily placing explosives to bring about an implosion. Contact was made with the most corruptible elements: a talent scout in a linen suit promised the Lolitos places on the catwalk of a coming fashion contest, a sure springboard to stardom. They went excitedly home to consult the faithful mirror that never lied. Due to their sinuous ethical principles, the
The coopted members of both gangs provided Taimado with precise information on the structure of their organizations. They were also asked to plant rumors about the quality of the goods, already dangerously poor due to the wars. Each gang accused the other of cutting their wares with fertilizer and powdered gelatin. Stories of blindness and other secondary effects were rife. Consumer confidence plummeted.
To assure a simultaneous, two-pronged attack, the turncoat Lolitos were asked to organize a megaparty on a specific day:
