Fragment of the first Mexican narcowestern

Chinola Kid ‘s Christmas gift to Los Pinitos F150 is a blue color, with Nevada plates, 20 – inch chrome wheels and raised suspension. Rodrigo Barajas understood why the godmother refused to take her. Too much risk for an ordinary man. He does not see himself as an ordinary man. He has tried hard not to be. Rodrigo Barajas is considered the last professional in a business plagued by amateurs. No, he does not know kung fu, nor karate, nor jiu-jitsu. He simply acts when the situation asks for it. No hesitation. That is why he is the man indicated for this job, which makes him proud. Before reaching Caborca, Rodrigo Barajas encountered the slow caravan of nostalgic emigrants, all starting to return to their homeland. Always traveling south. Nobody travels north in December. Rodrigo Barajas will do it soon, since he has delivered the horse. The detour to Los Pinitos, in the Sinaloa sierra, is far more lonely than Rodrigo Barajas expected. The calm procession of santa closes from the north, with their vehicles loaded with Christmas presents for the poor relatives stranded in the south, made them arrive at the ascending and winding road of Los Pinitos at five in the afternoon, already with the firmament color Purple, becoming darker and darker. In front of him, Tamara Garcia pulls her thin, golden arm out of the window, with her hand open, waving it wavefully, as if to greet him. The high lights in the rear-view mirror, approaching at high speed, makes him suspect that he made a mistake by allowing Tamara’s family to follow him along this path. The blow on the defense by the other pickup confirms it. The shots in the cold night make it brake in the dry. Image: courtesy. Eleven years before: Tamara Garcia can not believe the fact that she is traveling in a free taxi. Even her mother does not give herself such luxuries. The two always travel by urban truck. The taxi driver listens to Tatuajes, by Joan Sebastián, in the modest sound system of his vehicle. -What music do you like? Tamara asks Rodrigo Barajas, on the way to Chinese food. “All,” the boy replied, shrugging his shoulders. “But which one do you like best?” -I like The Invaders of Nuevo León. Rodrigo Barajas recalls seeing a caset of The Invaders of Nuevo Leon in his father’s van. Remember Lalo Mora on the cover of that caset, with his jeans, his fur coat, his red complexion, his brown mustache, and those small, spiteful eyes you’d better not mess with my son of a bitch. Javier Ríos, on the left, looked like one of those young gunmen who talk little but when they make them angry they take out their revolver and end the discussion right there. The caset included songs like El corrido by Laurita Garza, a teacher who kills her boyfriend out of spite and then kills her too. With a short squad. If my dad likes this music, he means that he’s not just any fag, Rodrigo Barajas used to think. -And what music do you like? -Of all … I really like Coyote … “Do not you mind if I’m a little fat?” “I mean his music … But I would not even beg to beg him.” “Then the fat ones attract you.” “Money is money.” It took less than five minutes to get to the restaurant. “Wow, how nice it is here,” Tamara says, while Rodrigo Barajas holds the buffet door open. And it has air conditioning! “You never came?” -Do not. “Comel here, or pala lleval?” Asks the eastern waiter. “We’ll go to the buffet,” Rodrigo Barajas answers, very sure of himself, with his right back and steady pace. -Ahead. “Where do you want to sit?” The girl still does not believe it. This seems like a dream come true. “There,” Tamara pointed out, pointing to one of the cabins glued to the edge of the property. “Grab your plate and we’ll serve.” Tamara Garcia has nowhere to start. Cantonese rice, chopsuey, chicken kung pao, almond chicken, chicken with pineapple, chicken cantones, shrimp with broccoli, shrimp enchilado, chunkun, chowmein, shrimp fin broth … “How do they shrink those elotits?” “They put a chemist on them. -Ah. They sit close together. Another couple watches them. An older couple. The man is about thirty-five. The woman possibly thirty four. He looks older, because of the mistreatment of his hair and his body type as well. “Shall we go and see each other someday?” Tamara asks in horror, facing death.