The Hand of Mercy (A Porter Brown Journey)

by Wells, Tobin

  As Porter was preparing for his return trip, Don Mario assigned two escorts of four guards each to accompany him across the country. “Now that news has traveled that you are family, there are many of my competitors who would love nothing more than to take you from me as they did Renata,” said Mario. “Your safety is now of great importance to me…as important as any of my other children.” Porter sensed Mario meant what he said and accepted his embrace. “When you return, and I hope it will be soon, I would like to discuss your methods for finding and disposing of the evil we have in our world. With the extensive drug problem we have here in Mexico, it would be helpful to get your thoughts on how to eliminate those associated with that business.”

  Porter tried to mask the humor he found in this request as he thought Mario was either playing coy or he truly believed Porter did not know the lifestyle he enjoyed came from more than just cattle and crops. “Certainly Mario,” said Porter. “I'll be glad to talk to you about that.”

  “Thank you Porter," Mario added. "Also, when you get to Nuevo Laredo, would you please deliver this to the border guard who helped you bring Renata home?”

  “With pleasure,” said Porter as he strained to put the brown leather satchel in his backseat. He would not view the contents of the gift but presumed the clanging metal he heard had a yellow hue. For those who acted generously towards the godfather of the Sinaloa cartel, the Don rewarded them handsomely. Porter smiled again and said, “With pleasure.”

  Chapter 3

  Killer Bonding

  January 2002

  Each return visit to Mazatlan made Porter long less and less for the United States. His first return to Mexico came three months after he first crossed the Rio Grande. As promised, Mario welcomed Porter as family. When he entered his new home on the Peréz estate, the remaining family members were waiting inside to greet him. Renata purposefully placed herself at the end of the procession line to embrace Porter for as long as she wanted. Her appearance was relaxed and serene. The darkness in her eyes which Porter first noticed in her bedroom prison was now replaced by a soft, bright sparkle.

  The welcoming meal was enjoyed at the main residence of the compound in the formal dining room which was normally reserved only for meals with state officials or members of Mario's executive team. After the flan and coffee were consumed, a post-dinner tradition with the Peréz family, Mario asked Porter to his spacious office.

  Porter had seen these same offices while working at the Chicago Board of Exchange. Porter surmised that executives across the globe must use the same interior decorator, as their offices all have the same surge of power, punctuated with oversized cherry wood furniture, and the smell of leather.

  “How did the border guard react when you approached him?” asked Mario. This first question surprised Porter and he did not immediately respond, so Mario continued. “Describe that scene to me. I find great pleasure in helping others, especially those who help me.”

  “Well, when I approached the guard,” Porter paused trying to recall the guard’s name, “Raul something.”

  “Vargas,” added Mario.

  “Right, Vargas. So, when we came to the border crossing, the other SUVs you provided as my escort drew some attention. One of your men went to the border patrol office and asked for Raul. When he exited, I could tell he was reluctant to come to the vehicles and be seen with what he assumed were drug lords. But he came over anyway.”

  Mario gave a slight chuckle at this. “He thought you and my men were in the drug trade? Did he ask that, or did you presume that’s what he thought?” asked Mario, his gaze firmly fixed upon Porter.

  Understanding Mario's real question, Porter answered quickly, “No, he didn't ask anything. It was my presumption only. I mean he was really nervous and to be honest, the guys you sent with me looked like either FBI agents or those who guard a narco king.” Porter said, emphasizing the last two words. “Raul didn’t recognize my face at first so I reminded him of his conversation with Renata and who you were. At that he immediately remembered our previous interaction.”

  Porter paused to study Mario’s face. “When I told him I had a gift from you to thank him for his assistance, his face beamed. He told me that a gift was not necessary and that he was happy to help out Don Mario. When I underscored that the gift was from you personally, he accepted it with pleasure. I didn’t think that handing him a heavy bag to take back to the guard station was a good idea. So, he gave me the address of his family and I told him your men would deliver it...after I crossed the border, of course.” Porter’s face then changed as he realized what Mario was doing. “Your men already told you all of this didn’t they?”

  “Sí,” said Mario flatly. “Let us address this squarely Porter,” began Mario. “My businesses are numerous and very complex. My cattle operation has over 20,000 head of cattle. I grow soy beans on 100,000 acres. My fruit and palm trees stretch for more than 30,000 acres. I have a shipping operation off the coast that processes more ships than any other port besides Acapulco.” At this Mario sat back and offered Porter a cigar. As he lit the Maduro, he said without emotion, “However, your presumption was correct. My most profitable business is the export of marijuana to the United States.”

  Porter assessed Mario's admission as if he was listening to a quarterly earnings report from any of the hundreds of faceless public companies in which he had invested.

  “Does this change our relationship?” asked Mario.

  Firmly, and without hesitation Porter answered, “That depends. I do not personally find pot any different than alcohol production and have no issue with your distribution of it. The consequences of its prohibition are the same as when alcohol was banned in the 1920s. The gangland deaths were and are numerous, and the killings atrocious. But the product itself is no more destructive than booze. In fact, I would much prefer a stoned driver to a drunk driver.” Porter deepened the conviction in his tone and said, “However, if your intention is to use my skills against your competitors, then yes, our relationship will change.”

  “I respect that Porter,” answered Mario. “But before we discuss this any further, let me first compliment you. The bravery you showed when rescuing Renata is impressive and uncommon today. Even more uncommon is the insight you have displayed since then. And, I must say, I find it refreshing that you are not intimidated by me. So many of my men are completely overwhelmed by who I am, and in truth, they should be. I have done many things in my pursuit of commercial success that the moral world does not smile upon. But my aura, if you will, retards the ability of my men to be honest with me when I need to know I have incorrectly assessed a situation. It is a welcomed change to have someone near me with excellent judgment and little if any fear of man, especially this man.” Mario said pointing his cigar at himself. After a series of inhalations to maintain the burn, he asked. “Why is that?"

  "Because I don't care if I live," said Porter.

  "Or die," Mario said, attempting to finish Porter's thought.

  "No. I mean I don't care if I live. It may seem like a subtle nuance, but where most say they are scared of dying, I think that is untrue. All humanity hates the unknown; fears it. Therefore, they want to preserve what they currently know...life. Not me, my existence for the last ten years has been filled with grief and debilitating guilt. So maintaining that state is of no importance to me. I may not know exactly what awaits me after life, but I certainly am not going to respect or fear another just because of what they've done...or could do to me. I've been living in Hell. Continuing that in another dimension will be no change."

  Mario held Porter's gaze for a moment before he asked, "So, this devilish past drives all that you do?

  "Yes," Porter said without emotion.

  "But why do you feel you must pronounce judgment and deliver justice to violent, abusive men? I have known many who eliminate others to improve their own lives, but never one who pursues the victimizer solely on behalf of the victim. Is this a penance? Are you atoning for som
ething?”

  Having only shared that harrowing event with Connie and Father Ryan, Porter stalled for time to decide what story to divulge. “Probably," he said. "And I will tell you that, but first, how did you come to speak English so well?”

  A proud smile illuminated Mario’s face as he answered. “Thank you. I try very hard to speak English as if I was a native. But, I was born right here in Mazatlan. From the age of six, I spent half the year in San Diego when my parents would cross over to harvest the crops. I attended the schools there and made many gringo friends, and I mean no disrespect when I say gringo. It is just a term of description."

  "No offense taken," said Porter.

  "Good," said Mario as he continued. "My parents were very supportive of me learning English as they knew it offered the best hope of a better future for all our family. From age 14, I stayed in San Diego with a cousin until I finished high school. After that I attended UCLA where I majored in history.” Motioning behind him at his extensive library, Mario said, “As you see from my collection, I am quite interested in learning from the successes and mistakes of the world's greatest leaders. Sadly, I find few exemplary leaders today. But who am I to talk? Would I really want exemplary leaders?" Mario said with a laugh.

  "Probably not," said Porter joining him in laughter. "They might curtail your lavish lifestyle."

  "They certainly would," added Mario, "and we can't have that."

  "I'm sure you would find a way to survive. You've been doing it since junior high right?"

  "Essentially," answered Mario.

  "Then we share several things in common."

  "Do we?" asked Mario.

  “Yes. I devour history and politics, and I too left home at 14.”

  “Is that right?”

  “Yeah,” said Porter, “But not to better myself as you did. Mine was pure cowardice."

  "So you ran away?"

  "Oh yeah. I ran like I was on fire. Which, looking back, my mind was on fire." Porter paused, now ready to provide his story. "My family was attending this cult-like church in West Virginia. Our pastor, Orin Hill, manipulated the congregation into doing whatever he wanted. He would say the Spirit of God had told him this or that and would find Scripture to support his edicts. If someone challenged him, the next Sunday he would preach a sermon about how God’s anointed leaders were never to be questioned. ”

  "So Hill took James 1:27 where it says to look after widows and orphans. Do you know that passage?" Porter asked.

  "Very well," said Mario. "A great deal of my largess goes directly to widows and orphans."

  Porter considered Mario's line of work and fully understood his meaning.

  "Continue please," urged Mario.

  "Ok, so Hill manipulated three divorced female parishioners into believing that when the Scriptures said ‘to look after orphans and widows in their distress’, it really meant the church was to care for all their needs as they had obviously been ‘widowed’ by their ex-husbands. But his twist was that the church members were to care for their physical needs while Hill would attend to their sexual needs.

  A lot of people in the community suspected that he was having affairs with women in the church but he had never been caught. That is until he listened to God too much, and completely ignored Congreve’s advice that..."

  "That ‘hell hath no fury like a woman scorned’," Mario said, finishing Porter's sentence.

  "Exactly," said Porter. "The way it went down, though, was straight out of Hollywood. On a warm Sunday morning in May of 1991, Hill voluntarily removed himself from leadership, or as some saw it, fled. While the 400 or so of us members were filling our seats for the morning worship, Hill’s secretary Sally, one of the ‘widows’ for whom he was caring, went back to her office to retrieve her purse. Hill’s door was closed as usual while he prepared for the service. But the noises she heard come through the door were more moans of pleasure than prayers for guidance. Certain she had heard this from Hill before, Sally kicked his office door in to confirm her suspicions. Finding another ‘widow’ kneeling to do more than pray, Sally exploded in a momentary rage of expletives.

  Quickly recovering from her unholy behavior, Sally walked back to her desk and pushed the intercom button which broadcast throughout the entire church and said, 'Brothers and sisters of Teays Valley Followers of Christ, if anyone would like to see Pastor Hill’s small dick, you can come to his office. But you may have to wait a bit as it’s currently in Maureen Smith’s mouth.”

  Mario howled with laughter. "She really said that?"

  "I can hear her words in my head now as plainly as when she spoke them. I mean I was only 14 and sex was always on my mind. But to hear that broadcast publicly was better than sneaking a peek of my neighbor's girlie mags."

  Porter continued, "So, Hill sprinted to his car, in the opposite direction of Sally of course, and did not stop until he reached Boise, Idaho. Over the next few weeks, the true followers, or as I came to understand, the totally manipulated, sought out Hill and begged him to continue his leadership, even if that meant they had to go to him. They believed that if God's anointing could remain on David after he had an affair with Bethsheba, or on Solomon despite his hundreds of pagan wives, then Hill too should remain their spiritual leader. Sadly, my mother was one of those followers. Her calculation was that it was better to abandon her family and follow this man of God than to risk Hell's lake of fire. So she left."

  "That must have been an awful time for you and your family," said Mario earnestly.

  "It was," added Porter. "My journey into the dark began then."

  "And that is why you pursue abusers?" asked Mario, his face showing confusion. "That was certainly an awful event for you, but it seems unlikely to be your motivation to eliminate others."

  "No, you're right Mario," said Porter. "That by itself didn't do it. It just dug the foundation. It took another event to complete the home."

  "Porter," started Mario, "you do not have to continue."

  "No, I'm ok with it," said Porter without emotion. "So much of my life is hidden, it feels good to be honest and transparent about why I do what I do."

  "Then get on with it," said Mario, with eagerness in his voice.

  "All right, so a few weeks after Hill and Mom split, one of the associate pastors was meeting with me and my sister Jennifer for counseling. And Jenny was only 12 at the time." Porter stopped as the emotion he had suppressed for years now welled up inside of him, causing his lips to tremble and throat to dry.

  Forcing the emotion back down, he continued. "The pastor's name was James Holland and he really wasn't a counselor, more of a community outreach guy. But because so many in the church were affected by Hill's departure, all those on the church staff were asked to meet with whoever needed help."

  "He asked to meet with me first but I didn't have much to say. I was just going there 'cause my grandmother wanted me to go along with Jenny. Our discussion ended in about five minutes and then it was Jenny's turn. It was about dinner time, so I told them I was going up the road to the diner to get a quick bite and would be back in about 30 minutes." Porter paused and held up his hand to halt what he knew was Mario's next question. "And before you ask, yes, I was only 14. But remember, it was West Virginia. I'd been on a tractor since I could reach the pedals and neither Dad nor the sheriff had any problem with me driving through town."

  Mario smiled, "You read my mind."

  "I'm good at that," Porter said with a smile. "So, when I walked outside, no one else was in the church; just Holland and Jenny. I can't say I had a bad feeling about that as I left the building, but when I got to the truck, I just couldn't turn it on. Something told me to go back in, but I ignored it. At most it was two minutes before I listened to my conscience and headed back in.

  As I walked down the hall towards Holland's office, I heard sounds of panic. Like someone was rattling a door handle trying to get it open, but it wouldn't. And then I heard muffled sounds like screaming behind a wall. When I got
to his office, I saw the handle moving but the door stayed shut."

  "It was dead bolted," Mario said solemnly.

  "It was," answered Porter, a bit surprised at Mario's guess. "I went to grab the handle and that's when I heard him say, 'You little bitch! Get over here!'. And I froze. I heard Holland grab Jenny and then he must have forced her down, all the while barking, 'Shut up' and, 'I'll kill you'. She was muzzled somehow 'cause I could hear her screaming, but it was very faint. It wasn't until he said, 'Shut your fucking mouth or I'll do the same to your brother' that she went quiet. For the next 15 minutes I stood catatonic in front of his door. There was not another sound made except for that of Holland and his vile, aggressive grunts."

  Desperate to end this confession, Porter said, "I waited in the truck for her to come out of the church. When she did, I couldn't bear to watch her slow, injured walk towards me. I had the radio on pretty loud when she got in, so we didn't talk and I sure as hell wasn't going to look over at her." Porter stared at his cigar as he said in a hushed admission of shame, "I haven't seen or talked to her since."

  Mario sat with his eyes fixed on the floor, unsure what to next say. Placing his hand on Porter's shoulder, as a father does when comforting his son, Mario said, "I understand your rage."

  Mentally exhausted from the memories he could not escape, Porter directed the conversation back to Mario. “Now that you understand my motivation, how do you envision me helping you? Is one of your other businesses killing abusers?" Porter said jokingly. "But seriously, I really care about your family and I have no desire to ruin that by assisting you, then us falling out of favor 'cause I disagree with what you're doing.”

  Mario interjected quickly, “I will never place you in a position to choose between my family and any work you would do for me. You saved that which we had lost and could never have found. Do you know that I had the best private detectives searching for Renata and none of them had even the slightest lead? But you, with your vigilante idealism, found her. So I promise you now, I will never make you choose.”