The Hand of Mercy (A Porter Brown Journey)

by Wells, Tobin

  “He tie me to the bed in the room you find me,” Renata said as she resumed the expulsion of her demons. “I no want to, but I remember everything about that room. It smell like a hot, wet...”

  “Humid,” said Porter to help her.

  “Sí, it smell like a humido place where they keep horses.”

  “A barn,” added Porter.

  “Barn, sí. And the bed was with lots of bumps and no comfortable. The walls were no made of wood but it look like wood, like plastico.” Renata paused again, this time a bit longer than before, as if to steady herself for a brutal memory. “And then the men come.” Her words became inaudible as the thought mangled her annunciation. “Saul have many to his home. I not how to say what they do to me. And they are so…,” but she cannot finish. Porter reached over and squeezed her soft, small hands. Renata wrapped both arms around his as both were now swimming in a river of tears.

  After a silent ten minutes, Porter did his best to offer her comfort. Searching his mind for the truths of a faith he no longer held, he said, “Renata, you go to Mass right?”

  “Sí,” was her rapid response.

  “Then your priest will tell you that Christ makes all things new. I’m sure it says that somewhere in the New Testament,” said Porter, a bit ashamed at himself for having heard his priest preach on that for so many years but now unable to provide a proper reference. “So all that awful stuff you had to live through,” he said, as he looked to see if any of this was making sense to her, “All that stuff is gone. In God’s eyes, you are new like a baby.” Renata smiled, still tucked under his arm. “My priest, Father Ryan, told me this same thing when I talked to him about the awful things in my life. So, I know it’s real.” Porter hoped the sincerity he had felt when he actually believed this was coming through to Renata, and not the consuming doubt which was now a part of his jaded faith.

  “Are you close to your family?”

  “No, we have much more hours to my house,” answered Renata.

  Laughing slightly at what was lost in translation, Porter restated his question. “No, I mean does your family care for you muchas? Do they love you muchas?”

  Now understanding, Renata sat up in her seat and with an expression of intense happiness exclaimed, “Oh sí! Mis padres love me very much. I am the baby in mi familia. Mi brothers and sisters love give me kisses and hugs, and the face of mi padre get bright as the sun when he see me.”

  “Okay,” Porter said, satisfied that they now understood each other, “Your family loved you before when they had you with them all the time. Think how excited they will be to see you now.” He emphasized, “All of their faces will be brighter than the sun when they realize that what they thought was gone has now returned and will stay with them forever.”

  Reassured and displaying a light of hope he had not yet seen in her eyes, Renata said, “Thank you Mr… I not know your name.”

  “Porter,” he said, realizing he had failed to provide the most basic information to her.

  “Thank you Mr. Porter. You save my life.” Renata smiled and turned her now beaming face to take in more of the landscape of her home.

  *****

  Northeast of Durango, the Órganos Mountains offer a multitude of locations to dispose of unwanted items. As Porter began to turn left onto one of the mountain roads, Renata asked in her elementary English, “What you doing Mr. Porter?”

  Speaking slowly, Porter answered, “I am going to find a place to dump the bodies.”

  Emphatically Renata commanded, “No! Mi padre want to see the men.”

  Porter stopped the car and considered her request. “What?" he asked doubtfully. "Are you sure?”

  “Sí," she answered bluntly. "He is boss of many men and he want to know who hurt me.”

  Recalling her command of the border guard, Porter reluctantly agreed. “Okay then. We’ll take them to your father, but it might be too much for him to handle.”

  “No,” Renata answered quickly. “He see many dead.”

  Not sure what to make of her statement, Porter slowly pulled the car back onto the highway and headed southwest.

  At the outskirts of Mazatlan, Renata directed Porter to turn right onto a road leading into some low lying hills. After two miles of dusty travel, Porter noticed a grand stone guard house which belonged on the grounds of an American billionaire’s home instead of at the end of a dirt road in the impoverished Mexican countryside. In front of the massive structure were a dozen or so sentries standing guard with machine guns. Porter looked over at Renata and with sincere curiosity asked, “Who are you?”

  Renata smiled, understanding the meaning behind Porter’s question but answering him directly. “Renata Pérez Guzmán; daughter of Mario Pérez Vasquez and Ines Guzmán García.”

  “Oh, I see,” chuckled Porter. “You’re going to play coy now. Well, I just want to know which of the Mexican mafia families I’m about to be introduced to.”

  Renata grinned widely and said, “The biggest.”

  “Shit,” mumbled Porter.

  When Porter and Renata were within 100 yards of the stone house, the guards leveled their AK-47s at the car, slowing Porter's approach considerably. Cautiously, the lead guard motioned Porter forward.

  “Sergio!” yelled Renata as she stuck her head out of the passenger’s side window. “Es yo, Renata.” Immediately, Sergio spoke frantically into his radio while the others kept their weapons trained on the vehicle.

  The next ten minutes were filled with black SUVs barreling down the long driveway from the house which Porter presumed to be beyond the mountain’s ridge. Tears of joy were streaming down the face of the first to exit the vehicle. A barrel-chested man in his early fifties whose graying temples contrasted sharply with his pitch black mustache swooped up Renata and lifted her high above his head. Don Mario, thought Porter.

  As Renata's feet touched the ground, a woman with light brown hair, a full middle section, and a complexion much fairer than the reddish tones of Mario swallowed Renata to the point that Porter could hardly find her. Doña Ines.

  As the rest of the entourage hurriedly exited their vehicles and enveloped their little sister, Porter observed them all offer more signs of the Cross and praise to the Virgin than he had witnessed during his decade in the Catholic church. The mob is devoutly Catholic even when no one is watching, questioned Porter. The guards placed an exclamation on this reunion with whoops of joy and celebratory gun fire for the miracle they had just witnessed.

  Porter remained in the car out of respect for the family and because one of the guards was still pointing a weapon at him. As Renata loosened her grip on her father’s neck, Porter realized she was recounting the rescue to him. Don Mario’s deep set brown eyes stared through the windshield and fixed on Porter. “Shit! What did she tell him?” Porter muttered, a bit concerned that El Jefe did not trust the motives of her rescuer.

  Mario slowly made his way to Porter’s window. His appearance removed any preconceived notion that Porter held of what a Mexican cartel boss would look like. Instead of the godfather style of crisp dark suits and white shirts popularized in film, Mario looked like a model for Field and Stream magazine. His boots and designer jeans were covered in packed mud as if he had just fed the herds or been thrown from his horse. His gait, however, was stereotypical mob boss; confidence in every stride. His eyes showed the steel that came from years of running a criminal operation but were softened and fully soaked from his tears of joy.

  Amigo was the first word from Mario’s smiling mouth. “I am Mario Peréz,” he said as he extended his hand through the window.

  “Porter Brown,” he offered, accepting Mario’s thick and calloused hand.

  “I do not have the words to properly thank you for rescuing my daughter,” Mario said in perfectly accented English. “Renata told me how you freed her from four men by yourself. You must be well-trained.” He paused, considering his next question. “Are you military or police?”

  “Neither,” sai
d Porter, certain that the godfather was both pleased with his actions and sizing him up as an informant.

  To assuage the concerns of El Jefe, Porter decided a more detailed explanation of his work was in order. “I don’t like to see people getting abused, especially little girls. I travel a lot and when I do, I look for trouble and can usually find it quickly. When I was in Oklahoma City visiting some friends, I checked around for young girls in trouble. A pimp told me a guy in Enid catered to those who liked their girls barely legal, if at all.”

  “I found the farm he was using and staked it out. I wasn’t there an hour when I saw Renata being led from the trailer to the outhouse and then back in. I thought she was the only one in there, but honestly I didn’t know.” Porter slowed his response, realizing that he was puking out information. “Really Mr. Peréz, I have never killed anyone,” Porter said earnestly. “I don’t really know what came over me. I just saw those guys go into that trailer where your daughter was and I had to stop them.” Porter collected his thoughts and then sighed, “I never intended to kill them.”

  “I am grateful that you did. Although I would have preferred to talk to them here and show them how a father reacts to his daughter’s molesters,” Mario said, as he paused to consider that discussion. “But dead is good. And Renata says you have brought them with you.”

  “Yes, sir,” answered Porter.

  “May I see them?”

  “Sure,” came Porter’s quick response as he opened the door to get out. “I have them in the trunk.”

  “Please,” said Mario with a hand motion telling Porter to wait, “Let my men take your car up to the house. I will view them away from my wife and daughters.” Mario placed a reassuring hand on Porter’s shoulder and said, “You may ride with my family up to the house.”

  Displaying a wide smile and turning with arms outstretched to collect all the beauty the world had to offer, the Don said, “You must join us to celebrate Renata’s return.”

  Porter’s face displayed his earnest appreciation, but he countered, “Thank you for the invitation sir, but I should probably just let you and your family have your time with Renata. I certainly don’t want to impose.”

  With a slightly offended huff, Mario questioned, “Impose? Mr. Brown, without you there is no reunion. You will be,” Mario emphasized, “The guest of honor at our celebration tomorrow. We will have a fiesta bigger than when the Hijo Perdido came home to his father.”

  Porter translated Lost Son in his head and then replied, “Oh, the Prodigal Son.” Thinking it unwise to refuse the Don's hospitality again, Porter replied, “Thank you sir. I will be happy to join the celebration.”

  *****

  The following night seemed to Porter as though all of Mazatlan had come to Don Mario’s estate for the celebration. Priests, paupers, and all manner of those hoping to ingratiate themselves to the Peréz family were present. A party this grand, with such short notice, could only be accomplished by one with considerable power and enormous wealth, thus removing any lingering doubts Porter had about Mario’s profession.

  Porter excused himself to no one and walked a few hundred yards to the edge of the front lawn to observe the valley below and the thousands of acres that comprised the Peréz estate. After ten minutes of breathing in the grandeur, Porter turned to rejoin the party and came face to face with Mario.

  "Do you enjoy the solitude of nature?" asked Mario.

  "Very much," answered Porter. "Too much concrete and steel isn't good for me."

  "Me either," said Mario. "And yet you have chosen to live in the heart of Chicago. Doesn't all that city noise bother you?"

  Shocked that Mario knew he about his home town, Porter searched his deeply lined face for what he was trying to communicate. "It does," said Porter hesitantly. "But how..."

  "How did I know you were from Chicago?" he asked triumphantly.

  "Yeah," Porter answered quickly, hoping for a reassuring response.

  "The men who took Renata are monstrously evil and I had to insure that your returning her was not a trap. So, I had my associates search to see who this Porter Brown is. But you are quite a short read.”

  "Am I?" asked Porter, his face displaying a proud smile.

  "Yes, quite. My men were able to determine your occupation as a commodity trader, that you maintain a penthouse residence on Michigan Avenue, you are not a registered voter, and that you only have a high school diploma."

  "That's me," Porter said, still smiling.

  "None of that helps remove my suspicion that you are an informant of some kind," said Mario sternly. "Those without even as much as a speeding ticket or an overdue library book are perfect candidates for ones leading a double life."

  "You may believe what you will," answered Porter defiantly. "But my actions speak for me. I certainly admit to living a double life. I have a day job that society accepts and I also hunt evil when I can. But I do it for no one but myself. And you'll find nothing because there is nothing."

  His agitation rising, Porter continued, "Remember, I asked to leave yesterday and you asked me to stay. If I was a mole, why would I do that? But like I thought, I should leave. My motives are pure. I saw a girl in distress, did my best to get her safe, and now you suspect me of collaborating with the guys I put in the trunk. You're obviously protecting something here that a mole could uncover. Given where we are on the globe, I'm guessing its narcotics and I don't want a thing to do with that world."

  "Calm yourself," said Mario attempting to wrest control of the conversation. "I meant no offense. It is my duty to protect my family. I failed by letting Renata suffer. I will not make that mistake again. For that reason, I must insure those around me have no ulterior motives." Extending his hand as a sign of good faith, Mario said, "I believe you. I have no reference for someone doing all that you have to save a stranger. But you did and I will trust your word. Please don't make me regret my trust."

  *****

  A few hours into the festivities, as dusk was setting in, Don Mario ascended the stage assembled at the edge of the mountain overlooking his vast property below. Without asking for quiet, the crowd hushed to hear El Jefe speak. His speech was what one would expect from a father whose lost daughter had been restored to him. This powerful, larger-than-life figure held Renata under his arm as he and his guests shed tears of joy and anguish. After ten minutes, Mario called Porter to join them on stage. Reluctantly, Porter complied.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, this is Mr. Porter Brown; the man responsible for the safe return of our sweet Renata,” he said in joyful Spanish. The crowd of thousands erupted in joy. Most already knew that the only gringo in their midst was the rescuer, and like all small towns across the globe, the gossip lines had provided many of the details of her rescue. Mario continued with a line that seemed suited for a courtroom and not a fiesta. “Mr. Brown, you do not know our family or Renata, correct?”

  “That’s correct,” was Porter’s Spanish reply.

  “This brave man has explained to me that he found our daughter because he had heard of evil men who were taking advantage of young girls and he went to stop them...by himself,” the Don emphasized as the crowd roared. Anxious to continue, Mario spoke over his guests as they still celebrated. “And he has no training for this. He is not in the military or a police officer. But he could not bear the thought of my child, any child, being violated by such evil men. As you all know, I am familiar with many courageous men. I tell you honestly, that very few in this world will show the valor Mr. Brown displayed to rescue a stranger. But like our Savior Jesus Christ," in unison the crowd crossed themselves, as Mario continued, “Mr. Brown reached down into the depths of depravity and saved a soul from Hell.” As if this celebration had turned into a Mexican version of a tent revival, the crowd exploded into shouts of praise and thanksgiving to the Virgin Mary and Jesus.

  When the praises subsided, Mario continued, “Although I can never repay my debt to this man, as a small token of my appreciation, I welcome him
in to my family. And to make sure he knows he is a part of our family, beginning tomorrow we will begin construction of a home for him on my property.”

  The noise inside Porter’s head was more deafening than that of the guests’ cheers. Family of a Mexican drug lord?

  But his thoughts were interrupted by Mario again. “And to bring him back to his Mexican home as often as possible, I would like to present him with this small gift.” Mario motioned to a black Land Rover at the back of the crowd. Porter stood dumbfounded. With the crowd in full celebration, Mario leaned into Porter and whispered in English, “I hope you will accept this. Your car and the men in its trunk are two miles offshore at the bottom of the Pacific. I thought it best to leave no trail for anyone to follow.”

  Without hesitation Porter said, “I am honored to accept your gift,” certain that Don Mario had great experience in cleaning up the unseemly side of his business. “Honored,” Porter said again audibly. Shit, was his inaudible response.

  *****

  Porter spent the better part of the next week enjoying the hospitality of the Peréz family. He observed sincere gentleness and love between Mario and Ines, and their seven children, especially their youngest Renata. He offered his input to Mario’s architect on the details of his future home. He rode along with third son Rodolfo in the early mornings to tend to the cattle herds. The afternoons were typically consumed by leisure trips to the Pacific for surfing, which Porter found much more difficult than he had first imagined. Dinners alternated between grand feasts at Mario’s estate and fish tacos from Renata’s favorite restaurant on the coast. The Don introduced Porter to a few of the most beautiful and eligible senoritas in the area who were more than eager to serve him in any way he liked. Porter respectfully declined these advances with a variation of the line, “It is a pleasure to meet you. I would be honored to get to know you when I return.” By the sixth day, Porter knew he was a member of the family and felt as if he could stay on Mario’s estate indefinitely. He also knew Connie would worry if he did not return home quickly.