****
Juarez, Mexico
Rudi pulled up in front of the tall marble column with a bronze statue of Benito Juarez on top at precisely five o’clock. Ted and Chris were waiting for him.
They climbed into Rudi’s red Seat Ibiza and sped away. Driving in Mexico could qualify as an extreme sport. There were lanes painted on the road, but no one seemed to pay any attention to them. Stopping at a stop sign was almost sure to get them rear-ended.
Rudi plunged in and out of traffic in the sporty little car. They turned onto a one-way street only to see two cars coming at them in their lane.
“One way signs are more of a suggestion in Mexico,” Rudi quipped.
Somehow they managed to survive. He drove to 16 de Septiembre and, to the wonderment of all, found a parking place in front of the public market.
“Hey, you’ve got good parking karma,” Ted said.
“We’ll see how well the rest of my karma is working,” Rudi replied.
The public market was an imposing structure, its pink walls enclosing most of the block. Rudi led them inside through a warren of stalls. Finally they arrived at a leather goods booth.
A little old man got up off of his stool to greet them.
“Buenos tardes, amigos,” the old man said.
“Buenos tardes,” Rudi said. “We’re friends of Señor Miranda.”
The bent old man, who was only about chest high to Ted, checked out the three men very carefully, then made his decision.
“Bueno, Come with me.” The old man turned to a teenage boy in the back of the stall. “Chico, close up the shop.” He limped out of the stall on tired knees.
He led the trio through the maze of shops, through back hallways and finally to a door that opened to an alley. Ted’s Spidey sense was going nuts.
Once in the alley, the old man looked carefully both ways, searching for anyone watching. Eventually he was satisfied and took a key out of his pocket. “Come.” He unlocked an unmarked door on the other side of the alley and stepped in.
The old man fumbled around in the darkness to find the string attached to a bare bulb hanging from the ceiling. He pulled the string to turn on the light.
The room was dank and dusty. A rustic table sat in the center of the room. Boxes were stacked along the walls. The scent of leather permeated the room.
“You are looking for pistolas, no?” The old man said.
“Sí,” Ted said.
The old man dug through the boxes until he found the one he was looking for.
“Here. I have two .38 specials.” He opened the box and laid two ancient looking snub nosed .38s on the table.
Ted reached for one. “These things are old. They look like something out of Dragnet.”
Chris picked up the other pistol. “Man, Ted, what do you think?”
“I dunno.” He flipped out the cylinder and spun it, then flipped it closed. He pulled the trigger and watched the hammer fall. “They look like they might work.”
”Sí. Señor, they work,” the old man said. He reached in the box and pulled out a box of ammunition. “They come weeth the bullets,” he said.
“How much?” Ted asked.
“Two thousand Yanqui dollars each.”
“Two thousand dollars? That’s highway robbery. I could get these in LA for less than five hundred bucks each. And that’s on the black market.”
“Well, theen I suggest you go back to LA,” the old man said.
Ted pulled up his T-shirt and reached into his money belt. He counted out forty hundred dollar bills.
The old man took the money and smiled a gap-toothed smile. “Here, you might need thees.” He rummaged through another box and pulled out two tooled clip-on leather holsters. “The best of luck my friends.”
Ted, Chris and Rudi emerged from the dark alley into the light of day. There were sidewalk cafes with people sipping coffee and eating antojitos. People walked up and down the streets without a care in the world, oblivious to the drama happening right under their noses.
How could everything seem so normal when their world had gone so crazy?
Chapter 19
The Senora Dessert, Mexico
The burgundy Explorer bounced and jostled over the almost non-existent dirt road. Catrina cursed every time they hit another pothole.
“Shit. I hope this thing holds together long enough to get us there.”
Jeff and Hope had long since given up talking with their smoldering leader. She’d been in a foul mood ever since returning from her meeting with Ruiz.
After what seemed an eternity, the airstrip came into view. Actually, airstrip was a generous term. It was merely a long, flat space in the desert with a windsock in the middle. There were no buildings, no planes tied down.
“Is this it?” Catrina asked. “I’ve seen some real shit-hole airports in my time, but this doesn’t even make the list.”
Catrina climbed out of the air-conditioned Explorer to feel the heat hit her, like a physical force so strong her lungs burned with each breath.
“I’ve heard of the middle of nowhere before,” Hope said, “but this is ridiculous. It isn’t even the middle. It’s more like the arm pit.”
Jeff gazed up into the pale blue sky. The sun was so intense that even his Ray-Bans didn’t protect his eyes. He raised a hand to shield his eyes. “Don’t see anything yet.”
Time froze. The three stood around the SUV, then sat in what little shade it provided. Hope drained a bottle of water and went to the ice chest for another.
“I’d take it easy on that if I was you,” Catrina said. “We don’t know how long we’ll be out here.”
“It’s not like it’s a matter of survival,” Hope rejoined. “We’ve got a car. We’ll just drive out of here when we run out.”
More time passed. What was it about Mexico? Didn’t anyone ever show up when they said they would?
“Look.” Hope pointed towards the sky.
Catrina looked up and saw nothing.
“What?”
“There, a tiny white dot. Is that a plane?”
“If it is, it’s awfully high to be landing here,” Jeff said.
Him too? Could everyone but Catrina see it? Had her once sharp vision really deteriorated that badly? Not for the first time, she felt her age.
They watched the sky as the tiny dot got bigger. It was high above the godforsaken airstrip. It circled for a few minutes, then, like a wounded dove, it went into a spiral and fell towards the ground.
Catrina could make out the tiny airplane better now. It was a jet, no doubt about that, but it was the smallest jet she’d ever seen. It looked more the size of a Piper Cherokee than a bizjet.
The small white plane spun down towards the earth. It fell through thousands of feet, then a few hundred feet above the ground, it broke out of the spiral and leveled off.
The plane slowed, lowered its flaps and dropped its landing gear. It lined up with the “runway” and settled into a gentle descent.
When the plane finally kissed the ground it was almost anti-climactic. After such a dramatic approach, the landing was fluff.
The plane rolled to a stop, then turned and taxied back to where Catrina, Jeff and Hope waited. The hatch opened and a small, trim man climbed out of the cockpit.
He turned back to the plane and spoke in French to the pilot. He was an inch or two shorter than Catrina’s five-foot-nine-inches. He wore white slacks, an expensive looking chambray shirt and highly polished loafers. There was an aura of power about him with the way he moved with fluid, unhurried motions. From the left side, he was devilishly handsome with a full head of brown hair only slightly touched with streaks of gray.
When he turned to face them, Catrina gasped. The right side of his face looked like melted candle wax with red scars. His right eye was covered by a black patch and he was missing his right ear. The hair on the right side of his head was completely white.
He reached back in the plane and produced a white Panama
hat. He smoothly plopped the hat on his head at a slight angle.
“Madam Flaherty, I presume?”
He had a heavy French accent. Catrina couldn’t help but think how sexy it sounded. The fact that every few minutes he stopped to wipe the incessant stream of drool from the right side of his mouth with a silk handkerchief ruined the image.
“I’m Cat Flaherty,” Catrina extended her hand. “This is Jeff and Hope. Mr. Caglione spoke very highly of you.”
“Ah yes, my good friend Rico. In this business one has to be very careful with whom one does business. It would be very unhealthy to cross me. Rico has vouched for you.”
“He owed me a favor,” Cat wiped the sweat from her brow.
Jeff looked towards the small airplane. “What do you have for us? That toy couldn’t carry that much, could it?” Jeff asked.
“It is sufficient for my needs.” The Frenchman turned back to the plane, “Madame Trufaunt, would you like to come meet our new friends?”
A tiny woman appeared in the plane’s hatch. With a sharp nose and hard brown eyes, she could have been any French housewife, except for her left hand, or where her left hand had once been. She had a mechanical hook in its place. She climbed clumsily out onto the wing and dropped onto the ground, making it obvious that she had an artificial leg as well.
“We might as well get this over with,” the Frenchman said. “My name is Yves Bouhier. This is my assistant, pilot and right hand, Madame Trufaunt. You wonder about our injuries, no?”
Hope couldn’t contain herself. “Yes.”
“Well, we had a little accident at sea. My yacht had a small explosion. We managed to make it to a life raft.”
The story sounded vaguely familiar to Catrina.
“We were picked up by a Portuguese fishing boat. They were operating somewhat, how you say . . . around the law. They didn’t want to call the Coast Guard to pick us up because they fished where they were not supposed to be. You know my business. We were just as glad not to have to talk to the authorities anyway.”
“But surely you needed medical attention?” Hope asked.
“Oui, mademoiselle, but we have been in this business for a very long time.” Yves dabbed at the drool on his left lip. “It is sometimes necessary to provide your own medical skills. After a firefight in the jungles, there are no doctors for the wounded.”
Madame Trufaunt continued to stand next to the airplane. Catrina noticed a holstered Glock 9mm on her belt.
“So, now that your curiosity has been satisfied, we have business to transact, no?”
“What do you have for us?” Jeff asked.
“As ordered.” Yves nodded to the tiny woman. She opened the cargo hatch in the back of the plane. “Two M16s with ammunition and rocket propelled grenades; Two Glock nine mils, plus ammunition. The C-4 explosives, they were a little harder to come by. Therefore, they are a little more expensive.”
“How much?” Catrina asked.
“I can let you have the whole lot for, say, fifty thousand.”
Jeff looked at Catrina in panic. “That’s outrageous. We agreed . . .”
“We’ll take it,” Catrina said.
“Show me your money,” Yves said.
“No problem.” Catrina went to the back of the Explorer and pulled up the carpet. She removed the spare tire and turned a nut in the empty well. She heard a soft click and a piece of the floor board in the cargo compartment came loose. She opened the gym bag in the compartment and withdrew five bundles of bills.
“Let’s see your guns,” she said.
Yves nodded to Madame Trufaunt. She opened a box and tossed an assault rifle to Catrina. Catrina handed it to Jeff who immediately field stripped it.
“Looks good,” he said. “Let’s see the other.”
After examining each of the weapons, Jeff gave Catrina a nod.
“Here you go, Mr. Bouhier,” Catrina said as she handed over the money.
“It has been my pleasure doing business with you, Madame.” Yves nodded to his pilot and she closed the cargo hatch and climbed back into the plane. “We will now be on our way.”
Jeff, who had been loading the semi-automatic pistols, handed a Glock to Catrina.
She secured it in the waistband of her pants.
“I felt naked running around down here without a weapon,” she said. “Now I feel like I’m finally fully dressed again.”
Yves climbed up onto the wing of the small aircraft. “Best of luck to you.” He lowered himself into the cockpit and closed the door.
The jet engine spun up and the plane taxied to the end of the runway. It sat for a moment, its engine revving to full speed, then began its takeoff roll. It was amazing how fast it picked up speed, then exploded from the ground and shot up like a homesick angel. In a moment, it was nothing but a speck in the sky.
“Let’s get loaded up,” Catrina said. She turned the nut in the wheel well the other way and opened another compartment on the other side of the spare tire. “I think it’s best if we hide the big guns for now.”
****
Juarez, Mexico
Ted couldn’t get used to the feel of the pistol against his back. He had to forsake his ever present T-shirt for a colorful Hawaiian shirt to conceal the gun and holster.
After leaving Rudi, they planned on making the rounds of the bars on Calle Juarez, to search for the elusive José Ruiz.
They came out of the first dive empty handed, but not disappointed.
“I didn’t expect to hit pay dirt first time around,” Chris said.
“Yeah, but as soon as we walked in, the whole bar clammed up. We must have ‘gringo’ stamped on our foreheads.”
A black Ford Explorer pulled onto the curb in front of them. Two men in suits jumped out.
“Geet in the car,” one said.
Ted started to reach behind his back, when the second man leveled a semi-automatic pistol at him. “Get in the car.”
Ted and Chris meekly climbed into the back seat.
The two men drove off without another word.
Ted looked over at Chris; they didn’t need words. They instinctively knew what the other was thinking as their eyes met.
Stay cool, compadre. Let’s see how this plays out.
The Explorer pulled up in front of the police station.
“El Jefe, he wants to talk to you,” one of the men said.
The man on the passenger side got out and opened the door. Chris looked at Ted, then climbed out.
“You sure have a quaint way of extending invitations,” Chris said as they were led into the Colonel’s office.
“I apologize my friends. Sometimes my subordinates can get a little enthusiastic.”
A Hispanic looking man in a blue suit stood behind Lazaro’s desk.
“I want to introduce you to someone. Please, come in, sit down.” Lazaro waved Ted and Chris in. “Sargento, bring water please.”
The man behind the desk held out his hand. “Charlie Mendoza, DEA.”
Ted looked at Chris. “The Drug Enforcement Administration?” he said, then took Mendoza’s hand.
The American agent flashed a badge for Ted and Chris to see.
“I’m in charge of the West Texas Domestic Field Division. I think you two can help me with a little problem.”
The sergeant entered the office and handed out glasses of ice water. He put the tray with a pitcher on the side board.
“How can we help you?” Ted asked.
“I have two agents missing. You were the last people to see them.”
Chris looked at Ted. “We don’t know any DEA agents.”
“I think you do. Angela Jimenez and Carmen Delores. Two of my top people. I haven’t heard from them since your little episode out at Los Norteños ranch.”
“DEA agents?” Ted looked at Chris. “That’s why they seemed so funny.”
“Funny?” Mendoza asked.
“Yeah,” Chris said. “They were just like any other bar girls in the bar, then as soo
n as we got outside, they were all business.”
“And their language,” Ted said. “They spoke really good English for a couple of Mexican hookers.”
“We recruited them out of UCLA,” Mendoza said. “They grew up in LA, but can pass for Mexicans. They were working on tracking down the headquarters and warehouses for the two cartels in the area.”
“Well, obviously, they found Los Norteños,” Ted said.
“You told Chief Lazaro that the girls were taken by the Los Conquistadores gunmen.”
Chris nodded.
“We haven’t heard from them since.”
“That’s not good news,” Chris said. “How can we help you?”
“Anything you can tell us. Did the girls mention anything that might give you a clue as to where Los Conquistadores are?”
“I can’t think of anything.” Chris looked at Ted.
Ted shook his head.
“The girls had GPS units in the heels of their boots. We found their boots out in the middle of the dessert.” Mendoza’s expression hardened. “I’m pretty sure that their cover is blown.”
“El Posolero does not like American DEA agents,” Lazaro said.
Chapter 20
Seattle
“Mrs. Adams, come in, sit down.”
Anthony Petrocelli, assistant DA, beckoned Lisa into the interview room. She took one look at him and smelled trouble.
“Why are you here?” she asked. “I shouldn’t be talking to you without my attorney.”
Lisa looked around the interview room; she’d seen plenty of it in her time in jail. Plain white walls, a Formica-topped table and chrome stacking chairs with fabric seats were all there was. Along with an ever-present big mirror that Lisa knew allowed people on the other side to watch her.
Petrocelli got up from the table and pulled out a chair for Lisa.
“Mrs. Adams, there’s no need for hostility. I’m here to help you. I have an offer that I think you might find interesting.”
Lisa sat down in the chair and just stared at him.
“I have news of your daughter,” Petrocelli said as he seated himself. “She’s doing quite well in school. She seems to be settling in nicely with her foster family. It’s too bad you can’t be there with her, but she seems to be adjusting to her new life very easily.”
The Mexican Connection: Ted Higuera Series Book 3 Page 15