Cities of the Red Night

And you, Lola.... You are younger, if anything.'

She waves a hand to the table. 'Please serve yourselves.... I think an old friend of yours is already here.'

I start towards the table and recognize Bernabe Abogado.

'Clem!'

'Bernabe!'

We got into an embrace and I can feel the pearl-handled 45 under his glen plaid jacket. He is drinking Old Parr scotch and there are four bottles on the table. He pours scotch into glasses as I introduce Jim and Kiki. 'Practically everybody in Mexico drinks scotch.' Then he laughs and pounds me on the back. 'Clem, meet the Iguanas ... this very good friend.'

I shake hands with two of the most beautiful young people I have ever seen. They both have smooth greenish skin, black eyes, a reptilian grace. I can feel the strength in the boy's hand. They are incredibly poised and detached, their faces stamped with the same ancient lineage as the shop proprietor. They are the Iguana twins.

Junkies arrive and pay court to Lupita. She rewards them with papers of heroin fished from between her massive dugs. They are fixing at the table of syringes.

'Tonight everything is free,' says the Iguana sister. 'Manana es otra cosa.'

The room is rapidly filling with whores and thieves, pimps and hustlers. Uniformed cops get in line and Lupita rewards each of them with an envelope. Plainclothesmen come in and shove to the head of the line. Their envelopes are thicker.

Bernabe beckons to a young Indian policeman who has just received a thin envelope. The policeman approaches shyly. Bernabe pounds him on the back. 'This cabron get cockeyed borracho and kill two people.... I get him out of jail.'

Other guests are arriving: the glamorous upper crust and jet set from costume parties. Some are in Mayan and Aztec dress. They bring various animals: monkeys, ocelots, iguanas, and a parrot who screams insults. The machos chase a terrified squealing peccary around the room.

A rustle of excitement sweeps through the guests:

'Here's Mr. Coca-Cola.'

'He's the real thing.'

Mr. Coca-Cola circulates among the guests selling packets of cocaine. As the cocaine takes effect the tempo of the party accelerates. The General turns to a spider monkey perched on top of his chair.

'Here, cabron, have a sniff.' He holds up a thumbnail with a pinch of cocaine. The monkey bites his hand, drawing blood. The cocaine spills down his coat. 'CHINGOA YOU SON OF A WHORE!' The General leaps up and jerks out his 45, blasting at the monkey from a distance of a few feet and missing with every shot as the guests hit the deck, dodge behind chairs, and roll under the table.

Lupita lifts a finger. Fifty feet away across the room, the old pistolero draws his long-barreled 44, aims and fires in one smooth movement, killing the monkey. The display of power intimidates even the machos and there is a moment of silence as a servant removes the dead monkey and wipes up the blood. A number of couples and some trios retire to the curtained booths.

Another contingent of guests has arrived among whom I recognize American narcotics agens. One of them is talking with a Mexican lawyer. 'I feel so sorry for these American boys in jail here for the cocaina,' the lawyer says. 'And for the girls, even sorrier. I do what I can to get them out but it is most difficult. Our laws are very strict. Much stricter than yours.'

In a search booth, which is also one of the booths at Lupita's party, a naked American girl with two uniformed police. The General and the