“Just like Papa used to tell me. Mexican Justice, for sale to the highest bidder.”
****
East Los Angeles
Hope, dressed in white shorts, a red and white striped T-shirt and tennis shoes, was sitting on the hood of the burgundy Explorer when Catrina and Jeff came out of their motel room. Her oversized purse and backpack sat on the pavement next to the front tire.
Pretty as a picture, Catrina thought.
“Good morning,” Hope said. “Ready?” She pushed her sunglasses back up on her head.
“You’re damned perky this morning,” Catrina said, she hadn’t had coffee yet. “We’ve got a long way to go; you might as well climb in.”
Hope got in the back seat, fastened her seat belt and stowed her belongings. Cat started the Explorer up and pulled out of the parking lot.
“Okay, kiddo,” Catrina said. “We’re going to be together for a long time here. Why don’t you tell us your story?”
“What story?” Hope asked.
“Well for starters,” Jeff said, “how come a good looking Latina chick like you is taking self-defense and gun handling classes?”
“I close up the restaurant late at night.” Hope met Catrina’s eyes in the rear-view mirror. “At three in the morning, you don’t know who you might run into in the parking lot. I carry the deposits to the bank. I decided I should be able to protect myself.”
Jeff nodded.
“I talked to Papa about it. He said I shouldn’t discuss it with Mama. He took me to the shooting range and got me signed up for safe gun handling classes. I never told Ted about it either. He is so down on guns.”
“What about the self-defense?” Catrina asked.
“In my freshman year, they had a rape-prevention seminar. One of the guys there suggested that we could take the self-defense class as a PE credit.”
“We teach self-defense classes for women back in Seattle,” Catrina said. “Poor Jeff, he gets to be the attacker and gets beat up all the time.”
”I really liked it,” Hope said. “So I signed up for a kick-boxing class. I won my weight division for the school.”
“What’s that, all of ninety-eight pounds?” Jeff asked smiling at her.
Catrina pulled into a Starbucks parking lot. “We need fuel to get our engines started.”
Time flew by as the three chatted and got to know each other. Hope decided she liked Ted’s friends. Catrina was strong and smart, and not afraid of anything. Jeff was the coolest dude she’d ever met.
“Aren’t you a little scared?” Hope asked when they got back on the road after a gas stop. “I mean going into Mexico where the drug wars are?”
“Aren’t you?” Catrina replied.
“I guess so.” Hope fidgeted with a nail file.
“The only reason you’re not scared stiff,” Catrina said, “is that you don’t know what you’re getting into. Jeff and I both used to be police officers. We’ve dealt with this kind of stuff before. I’m scared shitless, you should be too.”
“But I mean, I don’t have a choice” Hope said. “I’ve got two brothers I’ve got to find.”
“It’s kind of the same for us,” Jeff said. “We have a client who’s in big trouble. Her only hope is that we find her husband and haul his ass back to Seattle. If we don’t, she’s going to jail for a really long time.”
“Tell me about your case.”
Jeff started in. “We’re looking for a James Adams. He’s a drug dealer, skipped the country leaving his wife holding the bag. We know he crossed the border into Canada. His car was found at the Vancouver Airport.”
“So why are you heading for Mexico?” Hope asked.
“We figured that if he was mixed up with dealing large amounts of coke he probably has a Mexican connection. Abeba checked the flight manifest for single males traveling to Mexico out of Vancouver.”
“Abeba?”
“She’s our receptionist,” Catrina said. “She’s a lot more too. Before Ted left us, he taught her a few things about hacking. She’s become rather proficient at it.”
“Anyway,” Jeff continued. “She found this Pete Gibson flying from Vancouver to Juarez by himself. She ran Gibson’s Canadian passport through the census database. Our good friend Pete died in a car wreck near Whistler BC in 2001.”
“Wow!”
“We know that James has access to fake IDs.” Catrina watched Hope in the rear-view mirror as she drove.
Day faded into night and Jeff took a turn at the wheel, then Hope.
“So what’s the plan?” Hope asked as she eased out of the rest stop. How are we going to find this James character?”
“Good old-fashioned police work,” Catrina replied. Jeff was asleep in the luxurious tan leather back seat. “We’ll hit all of the hotels and bars. The hotels shouldn’t be too hard, but we may have a few problems getting them to talk to us in the bars.”
“I can help.” Hope pulled her T-shirt away from her stomach. “I’m his pregnant girlfriend looking for my baby daddy.”
“I like it.” Catrina smiled and dozed off to sleep.
Chapter 15
Juarez, Mexico
The old man said to meet him in the zocalo. Late… Was ten o’clock late enough?
Ted and Chris entered the town square. A good meal of chiles rellenos for Ted and chile verde for Chris and a couple of Margaritas in the bar had them in good spirits.
“You see the old coot?” Ted asked.
“Nope… Keep looking.” Chris started walking the park’s perimeter.
The zocalo was covered in cobblestones. An empty white gazebo sat in the center, Ted could envision it with a mariachi band, music blaring through the square.
Wrought iron benches every few feet provided convenient places for old folks to rest and lovers to cuddle. The warm evening brought out a crowd.
Maybe Jefe Lazaro was right. Maybe the police were starting to take back control of Juarez¸ maybe the people were beginning to get their streets back.
Ted’s spider sense went wacky. “Chris, trouble.” He looked around. He didn’t know why he was suddenly so antsy, but something was wrong.
For some reason he pictured himself as an eight-year-old Spiderman. Papa had taken him to a lucha libre match, Mexican wrestling. He begged and pleaded until Papa bought him a Spiderman mask. He already had Spiderman pajamas.
As soon as he got home, he donned his mask and PJs and scotch taped teaspoons to his wrists as web shooters. He was ready to take on all the evil that the world had to offer.
He felt that evil now, creeping up on him. His skin tingled at the back of his neck and his head itched.
“What is it?” Chris went up on the balls of his feet, looked around.
“I don’t know. I feel it. Something’s wrong.”
“Well, keep a sharp eye out,” Chris said. “You’ve never been wrong before.”
“There,” Ted pointed. “By those trash cans. Those two dudes. Aren’t they the guys that were following us?”
“Don’t know,” Chris said and turned away. “But let’s get the hell out of here anyway.”
They hadn’t taken more than ten steps when Ted heard the sound of running feet. He spun to see one of the men pull a switchblade from his pocket.
“CHRIS!”
He didn’t have time to think. The man was on him, rushing towards him with the blade gleaming in the street lights.
Ted juked. He was on the football field again and a big linebacker was closing in on him. He dodged left, the knife-wielding man fell for it, then he moved to his right. The knife passed so close to his face that he could feel the air shift.
He grabbed with his left hand and caught the man’s wrist. With his right hand, he grabbed the man’s crotch and, using his momentum, lifted him over his head and slammed him down on the pavement.
The man shouted and the knife went clattering across the cobblestones.
“Dude, you should know better than to mess with Spidey,” Ted said. H
e took a quick step forward and stomped on the man’s wrist. The man screamed in pain. Ted pulled his leg back and landed a kick on the side of the man’s head. His head snapped back and he lay on the pavement out cold.
Ted spun to face the other attacker.
“You can’t be serious?” Chris asked the little man flicking a knife back and forth from hand to hand.
The Mexican man just grinned.
“You’re what?” Chris said as he crouched to meet the attack. “Five six? Maybe a hundred and thirty-five pounds?”
The knifeman ignored Chris’s comments.
“I’m eight inches taller, I outweigh you by nearly a hundred pounds. Put your toy away and go home, little man.”
The knifeman stuck with lightning speed. He stepped in and stabbed with his deadly blade.
But Chris was faster. He caught the man’s wrist. Lifted his arm over his head and brought it smashing down on his knee. There was the sound of a brittle twig snapping, the knife went flying to the ground and the man screamed.
Chris planted a roundhouse right on the man’s jaw and he dropped to the pavement.
Chris turned to smile at Ted, wiping his hands. “Not too bad for a couple of gringos, eh?”
“Who are these guys?” Ted asked. He scooped the knives up and tossed one to Chris. “It looks like we might need these.”
Chris rifled through the men’s pockets. “Nothing. No ID, no money, no keys. Nada.”
“What do we do now? Call the cops?”
“I don’t think so,” Chris said, rubbing the knuckles of his right hand. “It would just get us into more trouble. Let’s just get out of here.”
Ted glanced around to see if anyone had called the police yet. The zocalo was deserted. When the violence started, all the people fled. I guess that’s just survival instinct in this town, Ted thought.
“Well, the old man isn’t here anyway,” Ted said. “Let’s head back to Chili Pete’s in case he’s hanging around there again.”
****
Chili Pete’s hadn’t changed. Still the same concrete walls and polished bar, still the same giant economy-sized bartender. However, at this time of night, it was packed.
The pigskin tables were all full. Couples gyrated on the dance floor to loud ranchero music. The band ended a song and began a narco-corrido.
“Esto es un corridor de El Posolero . . . .” the song began.
“God, I hate that,” Ted said.
“What? What do you hate?” Chris asked.
“Narco-corridos. They’re songs that glorify the drug cartels. This one is about a drug lord named El Posolero who boils his enemies alive.”
“Shit! And people like this stuff?”
“It’s the hottest music going. I read somewhere that one singer was killed by the cartel because they didn’t like the songs he was writing about them.”
Ted and Chris found empty stools at the bar. The bartender flashed them an ugly look, then ignored them.
“You know, dude,” Ted said. “I get the distinct impression that we’re not welcome here.”
“Naw,” Chris replied. “Pedro here is glad to see us. That’s how he shows happiness.”
Most of the patrons of the bar were Mexican. Ted blended in, but Christ stood out like a black sheep.
Ted plopped a two-hundred peso bill on the counter. “Dos cervezas, por favor.”
The bartender glowered at him, then placed two Coronas on the bar.
“Now that’s better,” Chris said. “Service with a smile, that’s what I like to see.”
“Hey, gringo,” the slender middle aged man sitting next to Chris said. “Eet’s not too healthy to hang around here. El Lobo, he doesn’t like strangers.”
Chris looked at the man as he took a pull on his beer. “Who is this El Lobo anyway? We keep hearing his name.”
The man looked around. He met eyes with the bartender, then turned to Ted. “El Lobo, ees the jefe de Los Norteños. He own thees town. You don’t wan’ to pees heem off.”
“Do you think he had anything to do with the massacre at Adelita’s” Ted asked.
The man’s face when white.
“El Lobo, he own Adelita’s. Everyone know it is El Posolero, Los Conquistadores who shoot up Adelita’s.”
“Hmmm,” Ted said. “I’m not sure the police know. At least they’re not saying so.”
The man got up and left without a word. The two men on Ted’s side got up and left too.
“You know, bro,” Chris said. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think it was something we said.”
“Hey, big boy, buy a girl a drink?”
Chris felt a hand running along his shoulder. He turned to see a vision in a tight red cocktail dress standing next to him. She was short, maybe five-two, with curly black hair, dark eyes and an hour-glass figure.
“Uh . . . sure.” There it was again. Every time he met a good looking woman, Chris’s brain checked out. Now, if he could just keep his mouth shut.
“I’m Carmen,” the girl in red said. She motioned towards Ted, “That’s Angela.”
Angela waved at Chris and sat on the stool next to Ted. She was taller than Carmen, with long dark hair. Her tight blue dress revealed a good sized rear end and a small chest.
“We know why you’re here,” Angela whispered. “Buy us a drink so we can talk.”
“Amigo,” Ted waved to the bartender, “dos mas cervezas.”
“Let’s find a table,” Carmen said.
The four picked up their beers and wandered to the far corner of the bar.
“You might look like you’re enjoying this,” Angela nibbled at Ted’s ear. “It looks less suspicious that way.”
“Who are you?” Ted asked.
“Friends,” Carmen seated herself next to Chris. “We know about you. Everyone knows all about you. Your papa was killed. Your brother is missing.”
Ted looked at Chris. Chris was enjoying himself a little too much. “Where do you get your information?”
“Like I said,” Carmen ran her fingers through Chris’s long blond locks, “Everybody knows about you.”
Chris took Carmen’s hand in his and looked into her eyes.
“Dude, we’re here to find Guillermo,” Ted said. “Not get laid.”
“Does the one have to exclude the other?” Chris asked, smiling at the lovely Latina.
“So what do you guys know about Adelita’s” Ted asked.
“Adelita’s is owned by El Lobo. He sends all of his best customers there.” Angela talked freely. “Los Norteños and Los Conquistadores are fighting for control of Juarez. Juarez is the best, richest route to smuggle drugs into the States. Whoever controls Juarez controls all of the drugs in the north.”
“Okay, we got that,” Ted said.
Angela pulled her hair back and ran her fingers through it. “Everyone knows Los Conquistadores hit Adelita’s. It was a warning: don’t do business with Los Norteños.”
“So what about my brother?”
“It’s very interesting,” Angela said. “Why wasn’t he killed? Everyone else at Adelita’s was killed, except your brother and one other boy. Why did they take them?”
“So?’ Ted was getting impatient.
“No one knows.” Carmen ran her hand up Chris’s thigh.
“But maybe we can help,” Angela said. “We know people. We have friends who have friends. I think we can get you in to see El Lobo. Maybe he can help you figure this out.”
“El Lobo?” Chris said. “Do we really want to do that, bro?”
There it was again. Chris’s thoughts flashed through Ted’s mind. Maybe they can help us. Let’s use these girls.
“Hell yes,” Ted replied. “At least we’re making progress.”
****
Juarez, Mexico
They rolled into the city late at night. The Explorer had proven to be a comfortable vehicle for a road trip, but the twelve straight hours of driving was getting to everybody.
Catrina found a Quality I
nn close to the center of town and pulled in. It was a typical hotel that could be in any city in North America, absolutely nothing distinctly Mexican about it. It did offer covered parking and big, comfortable beds.
“Only one room?” Hope asked as they carried their bags to the elevator.
“We’re on a budget,’ Catrina said. “We don’t want to spend all of Lisa’s money on a hotel, then have nothing left to buy guns or ransom James.”
The room had two queen-size beds. “You can have that bed,” Catrina pointed. “Jeff and I’ll share this one.”
“You and Jeff?” Hope’s interest peaked. “I thought Jeff . . . “
“We’re big boys and girls, honey.” Catrina threw her bag down on the bed and kicked off her shoes. “I think we can sleep in the same bed and keep our hands to ourselves.”
“You wouldn’t believe some of the places we’ve slept,” Jeff said.
He sat on the bed and untied his sneakers. Catrina grabbed a small bag and headed for the bathroom. They acted like they shared a bed every night.
Hope sat on her bed and wondered what to do next.
Jeff pulled off his shirt, revealing bulging biceps and ripped abs. What a waste Hope thought.
Catrina came out of the bathroom in a night gown and pulled back the sheets. “I’m beat. Don’t bother waking me up in the morning.”
Jeff brushed his teeth, pulled off his trousers and climbed into bed with Catrina.
Oh well, when in Rome . . .
Hope brushed her teeth, combed out her long hair and pulled on a T-shirt and boxers, then climbed into her bed.
It had been a long trip. She was beat.
What would tomorrow bring?
Chapter 16
Juarez, Mexico
Carmen and Angela were so friendly; Ted fully expected them to go back to the hotel with them. As soon as they were out of the bar, the girls were all business. They exchanged phone numbers and agreed to meet tomorrow, then were gone.
“What do you make of that?” Ted asked as they walked back towards their hotel.
The Mexican Connection: Ted Higuera Series Book 3 Page 12