The Cowboy Bible and Other Stories Read Online Free
Author: Carlos Velázquez
Tags: spanish, Fiction, Mexico, Crime, Short Stories, Literary Fiction, Short Fiction, mexican fiction, drug war, Border, Carlos Velazquez, Narcos, Mexican books, English translation, Stories about Mexico, Surreal, Latin American literature, Mexican music, Mexican literature, Mexican pop culture
had said he would, but then refused: I’m hungover, vieja . You go at it, and if you manage to stay up all night, you’ll finish them. Whether more or fewer burritos, Sussy took care of the orders. In the meantime, The Cowboy Bible spent each afternoon shadowboxing at La Cuauhnáuac. The contest date was nearing. Rumors about an opponent who was up to snuff meant he had to increase his training.
In the next two weeks, the master burrito micro-industry went off the charts. The birthday girl told all her friends that the burritos from La Cuauhnáuac were fantastic. In order to keep up with trends, several very chic girls from her school asked their daddies for burrito parties. I can make them for you, one mother told her daughter. No, absolutely not. But it’s no big deal, hija . No, mama, they have to be street burritos. Do you understand?
The list of orders grew and Sussy could not keep up by herself. A week from the contest, the publicity campaign ramped up. The drug baron wanted his own Las Vegas at the corner of Madero and Villagrán, and he invested even more in propaganda. The Cowboy Bible dedicated the following week to finishing his training on the hill at La Campana.
San Pedro began to pressure Sussy, because The Cowboy Bible had not interrupted his training. It was looking like he would reign again as the idol of the gutless, the consul of the lumpen-depraved, the idiot drinker who would cost San Pedro thousands of pesos. It’s time to force a change, he said. We can’t lose.
Sussy wasn’t sure she’d be able to keep up her end of the deal. Preparing the burritos exhausted her, left her too wasted to plan the conspiracy they needed to perpetrate against the father of her non-existent children. She didn’t know what to do to keep her viejo from showing up at the contest.
But then The Cowboy Bible returned from La Campana in a physical condition that assured their victory. Don Lucha Libre wanted to underwrite a trip for him to Liberia so that he wouldn’t turn into a pimp, but they reconsidered, since his opponent had surely not even arrived in Villa Juárez to prepare himself. With a little visit to the Formula 1 spa, surely The Cowboy Bible’s motor would be able to get some rest.
Finally the day of the contest arrived. The excitement spread all over the city’s downtown. At ten in the morning, a parade officially kicked off the madness. A caravan sponsored by Coca-Cola led the way, polar bears included. Those in charge of logistics warned the narco that he’d look foolish. We don’t give a damn, we have more than enough bears, they taunted. For them, it was Christmas and New Year’s all year long. Besides, how would we be noticed without these red trucks? When have people not turned around to look at the colored lights on the damn trucks, soda cans painted on the sides?
At noon, a betting festival commenced at the Plaza de Armas. There was a food court, free sotol, and music by cumbia and norteño groups. At six in the afternoon, the show ended with Valentín Elizalde. People were already drunk and crazy, and everybody, including the street vendors from Oaxaca, had gathered in front of La Cuauhnáuac. As in every gala, there was a red carpet. The star hosting the event was the editor of themusic magazine Furia . Carmen Salinas and the singer from Nilo Gallardo’s band, Mocorito, were among the distinguished guests. Also present were representatives from Noni Juice of Mexico, the technical director from Santos Laguna, and local superstar Wendolí, since phased out from the first generation of La Academia .
The public was yearning to see the masked men die onstage. The rapper Chico Ché’s famous rhymes could be heard coming from the speakers: El Santo, El Cavernario, Blue Demon, y El Bulldog. Beer spewed as if in an epiphany had by any Irishman with glaucoma.
There were thirty-two contestants. Two resigned when they realized there was no swimsuit competition. They all took their places. The
In the next two weeks, the master burrito micro-industry went off the charts. The birthday girl told all her friends that the burritos from La Cuauhnáuac were fantastic. In order to keep up with trends, several very chic girls from her school asked their daddies for burrito parties. I can make them for you, one mother told her daughter. No, absolutely not. But it’s no big deal, hija . No, mama, they have to be street burritos. Do you understand?
The list of orders grew and Sussy could not keep up by herself. A week from the contest, the publicity campaign ramped up. The drug baron wanted his own Las Vegas at the corner of Madero and Villagrán, and he invested even more in propaganda. The Cowboy Bible dedicated the following week to finishing his training on the hill at La Campana.
San Pedro began to pressure Sussy, because The Cowboy Bible had not interrupted his training. It was looking like he would reign again as the idol of the gutless, the consul of the lumpen-depraved, the idiot drinker who would cost San Pedro thousands of pesos. It’s time to force a change, he said. We can’t lose.
Sussy wasn’t sure she’d be able to keep up her end of the deal. Preparing the burritos exhausted her, left her too wasted to plan the conspiracy they needed to perpetrate against the father of her non-existent children. She didn’t know what to do to keep her viejo from showing up at the contest.
But then The Cowboy Bible returned from La Campana in a physical condition that assured their victory. Don Lucha Libre wanted to underwrite a trip for him to Liberia so that he wouldn’t turn into a pimp, but they reconsidered, since his opponent had surely not even arrived in Villa Juárez to prepare himself. With a little visit to the Formula 1 spa, surely The Cowboy Bible’s motor would be able to get some rest.
Finally the day of the contest arrived. The excitement spread all over the city’s downtown. At ten in the morning, a parade officially kicked off the madness. A caravan sponsored by Coca-Cola led the way, polar bears included. Those in charge of logistics warned the narco that he’d look foolish. We don’t give a damn, we have more than enough bears, they taunted. For them, it was Christmas and New Year’s all year long. Besides, how would we be noticed without these red trucks? When have people not turned around to look at the colored lights on the damn trucks, soda cans painted on the sides?
At noon, a betting festival commenced at the Plaza de Armas. There was a food court, free sotol, and music by cumbia and norteño groups. At six in the afternoon, the show ended with Valentín Elizalde. People were already drunk and crazy, and everybody, including the street vendors from Oaxaca, had gathered in front of La Cuauhnáuac. As in every gala, there was a red carpet. The star hosting the event was the editor of themusic magazine Furia . Carmen Salinas and the singer from Nilo Gallardo’s band, Mocorito, were among the distinguished guests. Also present were representatives from Noni Juice of Mexico, the technical director from Santos Laguna, and local superstar Wendolí, since phased out from the first generation of La Academia .
The public was yearning to see the masked men die onstage. The rapper Chico Ché’s famous rhymes could be heard coming from the speakers: El Santo, El Cavernario, Blue Demon, y El Bulldog. Beer spewed as if in an epiphany had by any Irishman with glaucoma.
There were thirty-two contestants. Two resigned when they realized there was no swimsuit competition. They all took their places. The
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