by Jim Daddio
The Mexican spoke first. “My friend, I am so glad you have decided to meet with me.”
Fat Baby shifted in his seat. “First, I am not your friend, nor will I ever be. Secondly, I just lost three very good men and a million dollars’ worth of drugs and equipment. I am very upset. And now I’m worried about the police. They have hit the streets hard. They are pushing everybody for leads. I have worked hard to keep the police away from our operation. Whoever did this doesn’t understand my operation.”
“I am sorry it happened. But I should tell you the people responsible for this disaster are very rich and powerful. They have made it known they want to control the lucrative drug trade in El Paso.”
Fat Baby slid his body forward. “Listen to me, Juan. We have worked hard to co-exist in this city for years. I have no desire to move in on your cocaine operation and this Oxy shit. And nobody cares about the weed business. And you have stayed away from my business. Now you tell me some very powerful people want my business. Why not yours…my friend?”
Juan glared at Fat Baby. He moved both hands up onto the table and tapped his fingers on the wooden surface. “I am sure you are not going to like my answer, but I will tell you this: they are Mexicans. I am Mexican…you are not.”
“So, they want to go after me because I am black. I—”
Juan interrupted. “Sorry. It is what it is. They are experienced in the new drug that is very cheap to make and sells at a good price. They know it is much cheaper to make and more profitable to sell. They have some knowledge of your operation and are ready to move into the city.”
Fat Baby sat quietly for several minutes. His mind was racing. He did not want a war. He knew if he retaliated, if would mean more attention from the authorities.
Juan continued, “As you know there has been an outbreak of drug wars throughout Mexico. From Mexico City to Tijuana. The Mexican government has taken a hard stand and has begun arresting drug lords in many cities. Juarez has had very little trouble regarding the drug wars. This cartel knows that and is ready to move into the city. Just a few weeks ago in Monterrey, there was a killing of an innocent bystander by a rival gang.”
“I heard about it. It was on the news.”
“Yes. Very powerful leaders of the drug trade were soon to be named. One of those men knew if he stayed, his name would become known. He contacted me. This is the reason why we are here today.”
“I must protect my territory. I do not want a war, but I will do what I have to do.”
“There will not be a war. They are smart people. They respect your knowledge of the business. They are willing to negotiate. They have money, power and knowledge. This is what they wanted me to tell you.”
“But why the attack?”
“I can’t answer you. I can only guess this was their way of letting you know they are serious.”
“I don’t like it, but it looks like I have no choice. I will meet with these people. But you tell them if they attack again or try to take us down, I will have no choice but to go to war. I must be assured I can make the kind of money I made with meth.”
“Meth is dying out as a popular drug. The Chinese are smuggling heroin into the States at a furious rate. We can offer Black Tar Mexican at a lower price and it is cheaper to make. We can own the market in the area and throughout the state. Then we can move into other states.”
~ * ~
Fat Baby sat in his office. The room was dark with only a light from his cell phone. He waited for the person on the other end to answer. The ringing sound stopped, and the person answered. Fat Baby said, “Is there a chance you can find out who did this to us? They want a meeting. I cannot go into it without some knowledge of who I am dealing with. And I believe someone from our team gave them the house. I hope you can find out who it was. I’ll take care of the bastard myself.”
“I will do this. Give me a few days.”
“Don’t call this number. It will be gone after this call. I will call you in two days.”
Fat Baby touched the red button and ended the call.
Twelve
The four Mexicans crept close to a long drain-pipe that stretched across the hot sand. The morning sun was slowly lifting toward the clear blue sky and the heat was already oppressive. There was an older man, maybe in his sixties, two women in their twenties and a young teenage boy. They were waiting for a truck that was to take them into El Paso. They had slipped into the U.S. side of the border and moved slowly to the place they were to meet the van.
They heard the sound of a vehicle and the old man stood. It wasn’t the vehicle he expected. It was two U.S. border patrol guards in a specially equipped SUV. He slid down and warned the others. It was too late. The guards spotted the man and drove toward him. They stopped, jumped out of the vehicle and approached the old man. The teenage boy stood and began shouting at the guards in Spanish.
One of the guards shouted, “You’ve illegally entered the United States. Don’t try to run. Drop to the ground.” The other guard shouted the same command in Spanish.
The two girls stood still. The old man dropped to the ground and put his hands behind his neck. One of the guards hurried to the man and quickly grabbed his arms and thrust them to his back. He wasted little time snapping handcuffs on the old man’s wrinkled wrist.
The other guard approached the two women and asked them in Spanish to lie on the ground. They dropped to their knees. The teenage boy slid behind the drain. He grabbed a large rock. He stood up and hurled the rock at one of the guards standing over the two women. The rock struck the guard in the back. The other guard removed his weapon from his holster and ran toward the boy. The boy grabbed another stone and raised his arm in a throwing motion. The guard yelled to him to put down the stone and raise his hands in the air. The young boy continued his motion when a shot echoed through the morning mist and struck the boy in the neck. The rock fell to the dirt. He stood motionless for a few seconds then tumbled to the ground.
The other guard ran to the boy and bent down. He called out, “Jesus, John, what the fuck?”
“He attacked us.”
“He threw a rock. Oh, man. I think he’s dead. God, there’s blood all over his face and chest. You hit him in the neck.”
“I was protecting us.”
“We have to call this in. You know what this means. Oh man, the Mexican people are going to go crazy. And…shit.”
~ * ~
Mat drove slowly down Interstate Ten. His head hurt from another night of drinking and hanging out with a couple of strippers. He had taken three of the dancers to the race track and casino across the state line in New Mexico. They drank, partied and gambled late into the night. He found a cheap motel and they engaged in an all-out sex orgy until dawn. He left the three girls asleep and found his way to the office.
Betty looked over at him and said, “You look a little pale this morning. You okay?”
“Oh, yeah. I feel just great.”
“Well, your hands are shaking a little and I notice you have on the same clothes you had on yesterday.”
Mat looked over and smiled. “Why so observant?”
“Training, I guess.”
“Let’s just say it was a long night and a longer morning. But I posted and that’s all that counts.”
Betty was ready to reply when her cell phone rang. She pressed the talk button. “This is Betty.”
She listened quietly, nodding her head from time to time.
“I understand. We’ll be there as soon as possible.” She pressed the end button and turned to Mat. “How soon can we be at the border?”
“Ten, fifteen minutes. What’s going on?”
“A Mexican boy was shot and killed by U.S. Border Patrol Agents.”
They hurried to the car, Mat punched the gas pedal and turned on the siren. The car sped down the interstate toward the border.
The scene was chaotic when they arrived at the border station. The media had arrived, and the line of cars stretched for miles o
n both sides of the border. Mat steered the car down the side of the road and found his way to a parking area. They jumped out and raced to the office. Betty recognized a member of the ICE team, Randy Manning. She called out, “I just got the call. This is a mess.”
“You got that right. The FBI arrived, and everyone took off to where the shooting happened.”
“We need to get there.”
“I’m about to leave…and who’s this?” the man asked, looking at Mat.
“Mat Watkins. He’s with the El Paso…”
The agent interrupted, “So you’re the famous Mat Watkins. The asshole who gave Agent Ken Jameson a hard time. You won’t be needed today.”
Mat stepped closer to the agent. “I still have my job and my job calls for me to be involved. I do have jurisdiction in this town and know more about illegal immigration than all of you put together. If I recall, you and your team are here to support our efforts.”
“You don’t get it, do you? Homeland Security is running the show now. ERO is making the decisions. So, hop back in your car and go home and find something to do.”
Betty said, “Take it easy Randy. I’ll be responsible for him.”
He replied, “I don’t like it. But just don’t let him get in the way.”
As they drove to the scene, Mat said, “I just don’t get those agents. They have little or no respect for the Mexican government. That guy Jameson didn’t have a clue how to work with the police. Especially the federal police. They are tough, mean and dedicated. Get on their bad side, and act like you have all the answers, they will go out of their way to make it hard. I know.”
They arrived at the scene of the shooting and were briefed on what had happened.
Mat walked back toward his car with Betty following. She said, “Sounds like the guard had a quick finger.”
“He’s new. I know the other guard. Good guy.”
Mat walked over to the guard he knew. He said, “How’d it go down?”
“We spotted four people along that drain-pipe. They were sitting behind it. I think they were waiting for someone to pick them up. The old man there…he must have heard our vehicle and thought it was their ride. He looked up and we saw him. We drove over, and the old man and the two girls gave themselves up. The boy, he stayed behind the pipe. The next thing we knew was he fires a large boulder and hits me in the back of the head.
“My partner turns toward the kid. And the kid fires off another rock. Well, my partner pulled his weapon and shot the kid. Hit him right in the neck. Jesus, Mat, I guess he lost it. Hell, I don’t know.”
“What a mess. I can’t wait for the backlash on this one. The FBI, Homeland Security, the Border Patrol, the Mexican police, and the family… not to mention your people…oh, wow, it’s going to be a media circus.”
Mat walked back to Betty. He leaned on the car and folded his arms across his chest. “No one has any answers. Damned if you do and damned if you don’t.”
“Are you saying the guard did the right thing?”
“No. What I am saying is this is like eternity…nobody can do anything about it, and it will never end.”
Thirteen
Mat sat at an outside table sipping a cup of hot coffee. It was morning and a light rain had helped keep the heat index below one hundred. Dark clouds circled above, and thunder rumbled in the distance. It had been a couple of weeks since the news of the shooting had become a world-wide event. He felt sorry for everyone involved. His mind wandered as he waited for Betty to join him for their morning meeting.
The senseless shooting of the boy had affected him in a strange way. He had never had a reason to use his weapon. Most of the time he left his weapon in the trunk when he was on duty. He only wished there were a better way to solve the illegal immigration problem. It had become too political for his liking.
He had been drinking and gambling at a furious pace during the past few weeks. He had lost several thousand dollars at the race-track and couldn’t stop. He knew he needed help, but he also knew he wasn’t about to ask for it.
He sat quietly watching the people come and go. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed a man dressed in a green shirt. He read the lettering; “West End Landscaping and Nursery.” He looked Mexican.
He looked beyond the man and noticed a young lady slide into one of the chairs at another table. She was very attractive and well dressed. He gave her a good look. She smiled back at him. As he watched, he noticed out of the corner of his eye the Mexican placing a black duffel bag on the ground by his feet. Within a few seconds a thin man in jeans, dark sunglasses and a baseball cap strolled past the Mexican, picked up the bag and disappeared into the parking area.
Mat knew that wasn’t good. It for sure was a drop and pick up. And it usually meant drugs and/or money. He decided to make sure. He would come back to the same place each morning and see if it happened again. Something was telling him this wasn’t a one-time drop. Betty arrived, and he decided not to mention what he had seen.
~ * ~
Mat went to the same cafe every day for the next week. On Tuesday, he observed the same action. It was clear to him this drop and pickup happened every Tuesday. He knew for sure this was an illegal transaction because the Mexican paid no attention to the man or showed any reaction to the missing bag.
He waited for the Mexican to finish his coffee and watched as he walked toward the parking area. Mat put his cup down and followed him. He watched as he approached a pick-up truck. When the Mexican reached for the door handle, Mat slid up behind him. He leaned over and whispered, “Don’t turn around. Don’t make a move. Just walk slowly over to that black SUV.”
Hector Morales started to turn around. Mat grabbed his arm. “Do you understand English? I said don’t turn around. Do as I say. Walk quietly. Now!”
Hector walked toward the SUV. He asked, “Who are you? Why are you doing this?”
“Open the door and get into the driver’s side.”
Hector followed the instructions. Mat walked around the other side, opened the passenger side door and slid in. He tossed Hector the keys. “Drive. I’ll tell you where to go.”
Hector grabbed the keys in mid-air, put his foot on the brake, pressed the start button and headed out of the parking lot.
“Turn right. Go two red lights and turn left. There is a park on the left. Drive into the park. Do not talk. Do not say a fucking word.”
Hector’s whole body shook as he looked over to see a gun pointed at him. He continued to follow the instructions and drove into the park. He looked over at Mat a few times but didn’t say a word. Mat called out, “Park over there and get out. We’ll sit on the bench by the table.”
~ * ~
Hector sat and asked, “Can I talk now?”
“Just listen. I am a cop. Okay, get it. A police officer with the El Paso Police Department. Now, don’t try to bullshit me. Because what I saw you do today for sure had to be illegal.”
Hector shouted, “This is crazy. You just can’t grab me off the street and force me to come with you.”
“What is your name?”
Hector didn’t reply. Mat raised his voice, “I asked you to tell me your name.”
“I don’t have to.”
“Pal, listen closely. I am with the Illegal Immigration Department and—”
“I got a green card and a work permit. Take me back to my car.”
“Good for you. Let me see it.”
Hector knew he had to do what he was asked. He showed Mat his green card.
“Ah, Hector Morales. Very good. My name is Mat. Now, Hector, nobody puts a large bag down by their feet and doesn’t get a little crazy when they realize it was taken. You didn’t even look down. You didn’t even reach for it. Why…because you knew some dude was going to pick it up. He walked over, picked it up and you took one last drink out of your cup, waited a few minutes and walked slowly toward the parking lot. And, very calmly I must say.”
Hector could feel the heat smash through his
entire body. He had been caught. Two years of doing the same thing every Tuesday and now it was over. A picture of him sitting in a jail cell and his family alone and penniless flashed through his brain. He couldn’t hold back the tears.
Mat continued, “Now Hector, I have to believe it has something to do with smuggling drugs across the border or a cash payment. So tell me all about it.”
“Am I under arrest? If so, take me to the station so I can call an attorney.”
“Hector, Hector. I am not with the Drug Enforcement Division. My main job is to track down companies who hire illegal immigrants. I have nothing to do with drugs. Truth be told, I could care less. I drink. People do drugs. So what?”
Hector was confused. He didn’t know what to do or say. He couldn’t figure out what was going on.
“What are you saying?”
“Tell me everything. I am not going to arrest you. Just talk to me.”
“I…I…Jesus…” Hector paused and wiped the sweat from his face. A loud clap of thunder roared above him. A light rain began to fall. Mat waved his hand in a circular motion. “Continue.”
Hector ran his fingers through his dark wet hair. He shook his head. “I don’t get this. What are you saying?’
“I said I wasn’t going to arrest you. I know you’re dropping off drugs. Come on, man, it’s too obvious. I want to know what the fuck you’re doing. Talk to me or face some hard shit.”
“If you're not going to arrest me, then why are you doing this?”
“Hector, Hector. My man.” Mat smiled. “Let me hear what you're doing and maybe we can work out a deal.”
“A deal? I don't get it.”
“You don't have to get it. Just start talking.”
Hector stammered, “I…I don't understand but…but…I work at this nursery here in El Paso. I live in Juarez. I drive in every day except Sunday. Every Tuesday I bring in a bag filled with packages. I don’t even know what is in them.”