The Mexican Connection: Ted Higuera Series Book 3

by Pendelton Wallace

“Just Chris and Ted is fine,” Chris said.

  Robles led them through the building to his office. Ted and Chris took the chairs opposite his desk.

  “I hope you don’t mind, I had your father’s body moved to our morgue. In Mexico they cremate the bodies if the family doesn’t claim them within twenty-four hours.”

  “Thank you, Detective,” Ted said. “I’d like to see my father.”

  “Ted I’ll tell you the same thing I told your father. Stay out of Mexico. It’s dangerous. As your father discovered, it’s no place for wealthy Americans to be wandering around.”

  “What do you know about my father’s death?” Ted asked.

  “Would you like coffee?” Robles responded.

  “No,” Ted said.

  “I’ll take a cup. Black with sugar,” Chris said.

  Robles got up and poured two cups from the pot on his side board. “Your father was here Monday morning. I told him what we know about your brother’s disappearance. He took off for Juarez immediately after he walked out of here,” he waved his hand to indicate his office. “I warned him to leave the investigation up to the police.” He handed Chris the cup he’d just poured.

  “Thanks.”

  Robles sat down again. “We know he went to a bar called Chili Pete’s. He met a man named Jose Ruiz. The man is a well-known pimp for the whorehouse your brother disappeared from. Witnesses saw him get into a car with Ruiz. That’s the last time anyone saw him alive.”

  Silence hung in the air.

  “He was found in a bad area of town the following morning,” Robles concluded.

  “Do the Mexican police have a suspect?” Chris asked.

  “No. They think he was asking the wrong people the wrong questions. It was more than likely one of the drug cartels, but no one is willing to speak out. You have to understand, the city lives under a veil of fear. Anyone who narcs on the cartels, ends up hanging from a bridge. They’ll just sweep this under the carpet with two thousand other murders.”

  “What do you know about this Jose Ruiz?” Ted asked.

  “Small timer. He’s got a rap sheet in the US. Busted for pandering in L.A. Did time on drug charges and was extradited back to Mexico. The Mexican police have half a dozen arrests with no convictions.”

  “And they met at a place called Chili Pete’s?” Ted asked.

  “Yes. It’s purportedly owned by the Los Norteños drug cartel. Ruiz took your brother to a brothel also owned by Los Norteños.”

  “Well, that’s a start.” Ted started to rise.

  “Mr. Higuera,” Robles said. “Ted, listen to me. There’s nothing you can do. You need to take your father home and just wait and see about your brother. The authorities there work for the highest bidder. They’re not going to cross a drug lord. You do that and your mother ends up in the soup pot.”

  “Thank you, Detective.” Ted rose. “We’re aware of that. We know the risks. But I can’t just sit here if there’s a chance my brother is still alive.”

  Robles rose with Ted. “There’s nothing I can do to change your mind? I don’t want to have to call your mother again.”

  Ted shook his head.

  “Mr. Hardwick, try to talk some sense into him.”

  ****

  Seattle

  Catrina pulled her Explorer into the parking lot behind the Dirty Bird. Ted’s phone call had gotten her an appointment with Rico Caglione, now the rest was up to her.

  The Dirty Bird’s windows were all sealed off. Black silhouettes of naked women adorned the buff-colored walls. The large sign read “Girls, Girls, Girls” with a giant arrow pointing to the building. A neon sign flashed “50 beautiful girls and 2 ugly ones.”

  The main entrance, in the back of the building, was shielded from the street. Anyone entering or leaving would be unseen by passersby.

  On a Friday night, the parking lot was full of cars. Pickup trucks and Toyotas mixed with muscle cars, BMW’s and Mercedes.

  A beautiful redhead in a black leather bustier met Catrina at the door. She had to be at least six-feet tall. Normally, with Catrina’s three-inch heeled boots, they would have been eye to eye, but the redhead wore six-inch stilettos, so she towered over Catrina.

  Hmm . . . L’Oreal. Catrina noticed Red’s nail polish. Copper Red I’d guess.

  Her eyes adjusted as she looked around the room. The walls and ceiling were painted black. A moldy smell wafted up from the cheap shag carpet under her feet. The aromas of beer, tobacco and vomit assaulted her nose. This is worse than a diaper bucket, she thought.

  A stage with four stripper poles dominated the room, circled by a bar and chairs.

  A gaggle of patrons sat at the bar, salivating over the skinny blonde in platform stilettos that strutted naked on the stage to The Killers. They passed dollar bills up to her and she gyrated over to their side of the bar. Catrina took a look at the girl and thought; the drapes don’t match the carpet.

  The rest of the room held tables and chairs. A few men sat at the tables, usually accompanied by young women in lingerie. A slightly plump woman with enormous breasts twirled tassels in her customer’s face. Catrina watched as she held her hands over her head and flexed her muscles. Her giant breasts bobbled and the red tassels rotated first to the right, then to the left. Then she got them going in opposite directions. Great muscle control, Catrina thought.

  “What can I do for you, honey?” The redhead asked in a catty tone.

  “I’m here to see Mr. Caglione,” Catrina said. “I have an appointment.”

  The tall redhead just stared at her for a moment, then turned and said, “This way.”

  She can’t really see me as a rival can she? Catrina thought, feeling more than a little flattered.

  “Mr. Caglione,” Red said as she opened a heavy steel door, “someone to see you.”

  Caglione’s office was the height of good taste. Carpeted, with dark wood paneled walls and walnut furniture, the walls covered with English hunting pictures like an expensive gentlemen’s club, Caglione had spent a lot of money on an interior designer.

  “You must be Mrs. Flaherty, nice to meet you.” The silver-haired man wearing a diamond pinky ring and a three-thousand-dollar suit stepped forward and extended his hand. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

  “All good I hope.”

  “For such a beautiful lady, yes of course, all good.” Caglione led Catrina into his office. “Here, have a seat.” He held the chair for her.

  Catrina sat in a comfortable leather chair opposite the big desk. “Mr. Caglione . . .”

  “Rico. Please, call me Rico.”

  “Okay,” she gave him her sexiest smile. “Rico. I need a favor. I don’t know how much Ted told you about what I need . . .”

  Caglione turned to the credenza behind him and poured two glasses of Scotch. “He said you were going to Mexico.” He turned back and handed Catrina a drink.

  “On a man hunt. I’m searching for a drug dealer who’s holed up down there. He may be hiding under the protection of one of the drug lords.”

  “Mrs. Flaherty, or can I call you Cat?”

  “Cat’s Okay. That’s what all my friends call me.” She gave him another seductive smile. She wasn’t afraid of turning on her sex appeal when it would help her cause.

  “Cat, that’s bad news. My advice is to stay away from Mexico. They don’t mess around down there.”

  “I don’t have a choice. I’m going, but I can’t carry any weapons across the border, so I need your help with a contact in Mexico that can fit me out.”

  Caglione sipped at his Scotch. “What did you have in mind? I can probably find you a peashooter, but anything bigger may be a problem.”

  Catrina fingered the collar of her blouse. “We’re going to need to go in heavy. The gangs down there are pretty well armed. I’m not looking for a confrontation, but if they won’t do a cash trade, then I’ll have to extract him. For that we need to match their firepower.”

  “You’re askin’ a lot. I know a g
uy that knows a guy, but these kinds of recommendations don’t come cheap. I’m gonna have to give up something pretty big to get you an intro.”

  “I understand. I will owe you.”

  “Nah, you won’t owe me anything. I already owe Higuera. I figure I’m just settling a debt. You sit tight and I’ll get you a name. I’ll call you in a couple of days.”

  Chapter 11

  Juarez, Mexico

  Richardo Lazaro, the chief of police for Juarez, was a tall, good looking, well-muscled man. He had the erect bearing of a military man. Ted sized him up instantly. He was a man used to wielding power, one who was used to being obeyed.

  “Señor Higuera,” he said. “I am sorry for your loss.”

  “Thank you.” Ted shook his hand. “I’m Ted, this is Chris Hardwick.”

  Chris extended his hand and Lazaro took it.

  “Please, come into my office, sit down.”

  The centuries old building off the zocalo (town square) in the center of Juarez had tall ceilings, at least twelve feet high. Lazy ceiling fans made a valiant, if unsuccessful, effort to circulate the scorching air. Lazaro’s desk looked like it might have been used by Cortez himself. Other extremely old furniture included book cases, tables and chairs. The bare walls looked like they might have been made from stones taken from some Aztec temple.

  “Sit, sit, please.” Lazaro pulled out two brightly painted high-backed wooden chairs with wicker seats from the table. “May I get you anything to drink?”

  “I’m mighty dry,” Ted said. “Do you have water?”

  “Sargento, trigame tres botellas de aqua,” Lazaro shouted to the sergeant to bring three bottles of water.

  Instantly a uniformed police officer appeared with a tray with three glasses full of ice and three bottles of water.

  “Muchas gracias,” Lazaro said to the officer.

  “De nada, mi jefe,” the sergeant said, backing out of the room.

  “Now, how may I help you?” Lazaro’s English was impeccable, much better than Ted’s Spanish.

  “I think you know why we’re here,” Ted said. He twisted the top off of his water bottle and poured it over the ice. “We want to know what happened to my father. We want to find my brother.”

  “Once again, I am sorry about what has happened to your family.” Lazaro really looked sincere. “It is the tragedy of Juarez. We are considered the most violent town in the world. Thousands of families here have met the same fate. Fathers, brothers, mothers, sisters, entire families, all gone. Many murdered, many just disappeared.”

  “What are you doing about Ted’s father?” Chris asked.

  “We have assigned it to the Investigative Police. Comandante Ortega is in charge of your case. Of course he has many, many other cases. He will do what he can.”

  “I know that this happens a lot in Juarez,” Ted said. ”But it doesn’t happen a lot to us. We need to know what happened. We want justice for Papa. We need to find my brother, to take him home.”

  Lazaro spread his hands. “I understand your concern, your pain. I have seen it over and over, both here and in Tijuana. When I first came to this town, I couldn’t even trust my deputies. I’ve fired over eight hundred officers who I couldn’t depend on. Progress is slow, but rest assured, we will do everything we can to find your father’s killers.”

  “What if it’s the cartel?” Ted could feel his face turning red. “How will you catch them? How will you punish them?”

  “Every day we take gang members off of the streets. We have hunted down, captured or killed dozens of the cartels’ leaders. Trust me, we are winning this fight, but it all takes time. Eventually, we will clean up this town. Eventually we will bring the criminals to justice.”

  “Eventually isn’t good enough.” Ted felt the veins throbbing in his head. “We need to know what happened now.”

  “I have already told the El Paso police. Your father showed up here, met with a local pimp, drove away with him and was not seen again. I have a dragnet out for the pimp, but we’ve not been able to find him yet.”

  Chris sat forward in his chair. The damned things were beastly uncomfortable. “What about Guillermo. What do you know about him?”

  “There was a massacre at Adelita’s. Unfortunately, this is not an unusual kind of thing. A bar or a whorehouse owned by one gang is attacked by another. They are marking their territory like dogs. They are sending the message to customers not to do business with the rival cartel.”

  “So Guillermo just got caught in the crossfire?” Ted asked.

  “At this time, that is the best that we can surmise. We have found the bodies of the two boys that were with him at the time of the attack. However another of his friends is still missing. We haven’t heard any demands for ransom so far, and we haven’t found any body dumps.”

  Ted rocked back and forth in his chair. “Doesn’t anyone know anything down here?”

  “Señor Higuera. You have my entire department at your disposal. Anything we can do to help, we will. I have personally informed Comandante Ortega that he is to assist you in any way possible.” Lazaro handed Ted and Chris each a business card. “Here is my card with my personal cell number. Call me anytime, day or night. I am at your disposal. No one wants to find your brother more than I do.”

  “We’re staying at the Hotel Benito Juarez,” Ted rose from his chair. He took a notepad from his pocket and wrote down two numbers. “Here are our numbers, please call if you have anything further.” He handed Lazaro the sheet and turned to leave.

  Chris got up and headed towards the door.

  Ted stopped and turned around. “Just one more thing. Do you know where I can get a gun?”

  “WHAT!” Chris sputtered. “A gun? Ted, are you out of your mind? You hate guns.”

  “Señor Higuera,” Lazaro said. “It is illegal for foreigners to have guns in Mexico. You can only own a gun if you are licensed.”

  “So, how do you get a license?” Ted asked.

  “Even if you were a Mexican citizen, you would still have to go to your Army district headquarters and apply. You have to have a good reason. There is much paperwork and it takes a long time to process the application. When you do get the license, there is only one gun store in Mexico where you can legally buy a gun. It is in Mexico City. You would have to travel to Mexico City to get it.” Lazaro shook his head. “It does not matter though, you are a visitor. You do not want a gun.”

  “Everyone keeps telling me that these are nasty people we’re dealing with. I don’t want to walk in naked.”

  “Mr. Higuera. Ted. You do not want to walk in at all. Go back to your hotel. Let us handle the investigation.”

  ****

  Chihuahua, Mexico

  Guillermo awoke on the cold stone floor of an empty room. It could have been a basement, a house, a stable or a dungeon. There were no windows and no furniture. A brass chamber pot was the only furnishing.

  How long had he been here? He’d lost track of the days. All he knew was that he and Chapo were still alive. He assumed Chapo was still alive. They had been brought here together.

  He remembered waking up with a hell of a headache in the back of a pickup truck, trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey. A half a dozen hooded men with automatic weapons rode in the back with them. He could only see the sky, whenever he raised his head to see the arid landscape, he was shoved roughly back down. He only felt the incessant bumps in the road and the shouts from the men as they held on to the steel cage in the bed of the truck.

  After what seemed an eternity, Guillermo and Chapo were pulled from the truck and dumped on a stone pavement. They were dragged into a room where they were brought before a short, square, powerful looking man with a couple of days’ worth growth on his stern face.

  “Theese are the boys?” the bearded man asked.

  “Sí, mi jefe.” One of the pistoleros agreed. “They each matched the description, so we brought them both.”

  Guillermo looked at Chapo. I guess he kind
a looks like me. Chapo was much shorter than Guillermo’s five foot eight. Chapo meant “shorty” in Spanish. Both were slender with dark, curly hair and dark eyes. I’m much better looking though, he thought. Chapo had a long, hooked nose that used to get him teased in grade school.

  “Take them away,” the leader said. “I will deal with them later.”

  How many days ago was that? He had no way of telling time. One of the banditos had relieved him of his Kenneth Cole wrist watch. There was no window in his little cell, only a bare bulb hanging from the ceiling.

  A couple of times a day his door was opened and a plate of beans and tortillas set on the floor. Once a day (was it really a day?) someone came in and took the chamber pot. Anytime someone opened the door, a man with a machine gun was always with them.

  Guillermo sat with his back against the wall opposite the door. He was going out of his mind. He had nothing to help pass the time.

  What did these people want? Money? Surely Papa would pay them whatever they asked. Why hadn’t Papa come to get him yet?

  He heard voices in the hall outside his door. His pulse quickened. He heard a key in the lock.

  The door swung in. Two men with Uzis stepped into the room.

  “Geet up,” one said. “On your feet.”

  Guillermo rose.

  The second man grabbed him, turned him around and bound his hands behind his back.

  The first gunman shoved his shoulder. “Move.”

  Guillermo followed the first man and was trailed by the second. They emerged from a hallway into a huge barn. He was led through the barn to a cobbled courtyard with a huge oak tree in the center. Under the shade of the oak tree, the powerful looking man sat on a tiled fountain. This time, he was clean shaven.

  “Do you know who I am?” the man asked.

  “No,” Guillermo replied.

  “You will.”

  Guillermo heard a shuffling and turned to see Chapo being led to the courtyard.

  “Which one of you is Higuera?” The man asked. He got up and walked around the two boys. A very large revolver hung in a shoulder holster at his side.