A Quiet Street in El Paso

by Jim Daddio

“Mat’s going to give you a briefing and you can assemble a team and go from there.”

  Mat turned and walked toward the door. He didn’t look back as Betty hesitated and then followed him out the door. Mat called out without turning his head. “You have a desk?”

  “Yes. Upstairs.”

  “Upstairs? That’s good. Quieter up there. Let’s go up and I’ll fill you in.”

  Seven

  Mat sat in the driver seat looking over at Betty. They had parked the car a short distance from the company they were about to penetrate. They had driven from the station in silence.

  Betty said, “You know this isn’t standard procedure as outlined in the—”

  Mat raised his hand. “Stop. I know. But we don’t need S.W.A. T. We don’t need to smash down the door and go inside in attack mode. I’ve done hundreds of these.”

  “Then enlighten me. I have this picture of people running everywhere; diving through windows and fleeing.”

  “In cases like this, the owner is usually inside. He’ll line up the workers; we’ll check for green cards and work visas. Then we’ll move the illegal workers into the bus and drive them back to Mexico. If they have families here, they’ll either work their way back to them or their families will join them in Juarez.”

  “And no arrests are to be made?”

  “You know, it just doesn’t make sense to put them in jail. We’ll give the owner the time to call his attorney. We’ll arrest him, take him downtown and the lawyer will be there waiting. He’ll be arraigned, post bond and be back here by noon. And in a few days, he’ll have a whole new group of illegal workers.”

  “Isn’t there anything we can do? It would make more sense to throw them in jail and send a message.”

  “The jail is full of them. Mostly from drug arrests. I’m sorry, but the drug problem is more important than people sneaking across the border to find work. As far as I’m concerned, the immigration laws we have in this country are poorly written, outdated and don’t apply to the problem we have today. They were written at the turn of the nineteenth century with only minor changes over the years.”

  “Well, listen to you. Political, are we?”

  “Hardly. Just my opinion.”

  “You think Arizona has the right idea?”

  “Maybe, but the new law needs some changes to make it work. And I don’t want to go into what those changes are. Maybe later. For now, we need to get this over with.”

  Betty followed Mat toward the building as a small team of border guards waited on the bus in the alley facing the back door. She whispered, “I hope you’re right about this. If not, I’ll have a lot of explaining to do.”

  Mat stopped and looked up at the sign. ‘J.B. Industries.’ He opened the door and motioned for Betty to walk in. They approached a young lady sitting behind a counter. Mat asked, “Is John Baldwin in?”

  “Who is asking?”

  Mat flashed his badge. “Mat Watkins. El Paso County Police…and Betty Vasquez, Homeland Security.”

  The young lady grabbed the phone. She said, “John, the police are here.” She looked up at Mat. “He’ll be out in a second.”

  Betty leaned over, “Jesus, Mat, what the hell. He could be ushering the workers out the back…never mind. The team is there.”

  “He’ll be here.”

  Within a few minutes, the door opened, and a man walked in. He announced, “I’m John Baldwin.”

  Mat replied, “Picture ID please.”

  The man held up a badge from around his neck. Mat slid closer, read it and nodded. He showed him his badge and said, “John, it has come to the attention of the El Paso Police and the Department of Homeland Security you may have illegal immigrants working for you. We have a warrant and an order to expedite this investigation. I would appreciate if we could go into your shop and check the green cards and work visas of your employees.”

  “You know, this is getting a little tiresome. I have a small business. I make tee-shirts and hats and other types of clothing for a few customers. You know how hard it is trying to make a living competing against the foreign companies from India, China and everywhere fucki…sorry…ah.”

  Betty chimed in, “Mister Baldwin. I appreciate your dilemma. But hiring illegal immigrants to work for you is, well, against the law.”

  “Yeah, well, it puts me in a tough situation. If I don’t use them to assemble my clothes and our country doesn’t do something to help me out and quit buying everything from foreign countries, I can’t sell my clothes at a competitive price. I can’t make a living.”

  “What can I say, Mister Baldwin? You may have a story to tell, but for now you’re under arrest,” Mat said, “Let’s get this over with.”

  Mat and Betty watched as the thirty-some workers lined up. After checking their identifications, they arrested fourteen illegal aliens and escorted them to the bus. They walked John to the car and maneuvered him into the back seat. He said, “Thanks for not arresting them.”

  Betty nodded and looked over at Mat. He didn’t respond as he opened the back door and Baldwin slid inside. Mat moved into the driver’s seat. He looked over at Betty and said, “After we sign him in, let’s grab some lunch. How about Italian?”

  She smiled. “Anything but Mexican.”

  Eight

  The man they called ‘Fat Baby’ sat in his limo outside of a small house on the west side of El Paso. The street, filled with debris and garbage, was lined with older run-down homes, a few of them were boarded up and empty. Fat Baby was the man in charge of the manufacturing and selling of crystal methamphetamine. It was the number one selling illegal drug, cheap, readily available and popular with college and high school students. It was also the drug of choice among the poor as well as the rich. Its ingredients included several over-the-counter medicines, hydrogen peroxide and methanol plus a few chemicals.

  He was called Fat Baby because he was over six feet tall and weighed in at 300 pounds. He was black, educated and ran his drug trade like a corporation.

  He was a graduate of North Texas State where he played football and received a degree in marketing. He never used drugs but realized the money that was being made selling illegal drugs. He learned the art of making meth and it wasn’t long before he had developed a network of manufacturing and distributing the drug. He ran his operation with a management team overseeing all the facets of his business. The company was divided into two groups: manufacturing and selling.

  Although he ran every aspect of the operation, his main responsibility was managing the finances. He spent most of his time making sure all sales were accounted for, people were paid on time and everybody who worked for him made a good living. He moved the manufacturing frequently from house to house and was always on the lookout for new places to make the drug. Nobody knew where he lived and very few people in his organization ever saw him. On occasion, he would make a visit to one of the meth houses, check out the operation and then leave. He was invisible. The narcotics bureau of the El Paso Police Department knew he was the man in charge but had never been able to get to him. He had been never been arrested. He made millions, had a team of lawyers and a network of sellers and buyers.

  Fat Baby lived in a large ornate house on the El Paso Country Club. His house was surrounded by a large gated security fence and was secluded in the back by a pond on the tenth tee. There wasn’t a house on either side. He bought both lots when he bought the house. It was protected by the newest and most sophisticated security system available. It was the kind of neighborhood where nobody paid attention to who lived next store or around the corner. He was never seen on the streets. If he left the compound, he would be in an oversized limo with dark windows. No one knew who lived in the house and nobody cared.

  He had few, if any, competitors making and selling meth. El Paso was his territory. The other drug dealers who pushed cocaine and marijuana, let him run his operation without interference. Several new drug dealers were introducing a cheap heroin product, NS, and he knew he
had to work harder to keep the meth business solid.

  He was making a rare visit to one of the houses. His guards gave him a signal and he got out of the limo, walked inside and checked the area. He talked to the few members of his team and was satisfied with the work they were doing.

  Fat Baby exited the meth house and slipped into the back seat of the limo. In an hour, he would be sitting in his office in his secure palace.

  It was from his large office that he ran the operation. As he sat behind a large mahogany desk reviewing an Excel spread sheet on his computer, a man walked into the dark room.

  “You glued to that computer screen all the time, Fat Baby, you gonna’ fuck up your eyeballs, man.”

  “Only way I can keep up with the business. We be growin’ every day.”

  “How many houses we got makin’ the shit?”

  “Ten. We got to be movin’ too. I found a few new houses we can move into. You know I read that in the USA, California had over five thousand meth houses. Florida had several thousand. Texas has thousands, too. We got ten. We need more. We need more chemicals. Get Manny and tell him to come here.”

  “I will, boss. But I got to tell you what I be hearin’ on the street.”

  Fat Baby looked up from the screen. He reached over and turned on a table lamp.

  The man continued. “I be hearin’ that a Mexican dude, Juan, he be wantin’ a meetin’ with you. The word is some big-time money people want a piece of our action. There’s a new drug called Black Tar Mexican. It’s heroin in a simple form. All they have to do is mix it with an over-the-counter cold medicine and bam, high as hell.”

  Fat Baby stood and rolled his large body away from the desk.

  “You hear where these people are from?”

  “No. Just Juan wants a sitdown. I bet that Mexican knows.”

  “Find out when and where. We need to act quickly on this. I don’t want nobody trying to cut in on our business. Not now. We are fucking rollin’ and don’t need a war. That brings the law out. That’s one thing we do not want. And let me know more about it.”

  Nine

  The people who spend long hours using chemicals, common drugs and formulas to manufacture crystal methamphetamine worked quietly in a dark and boarded up garage. Carl Westbrook, a registered pharmacist, who was recently laid off, and two young college students, went about their business. The art of combining the ingredients to make the drug wasn’t difficult but did require a procedure which was tedious and time consuming.

  The men were working late into the night. The chemist was fast asleep. The two students sported head phones and were listening to music. The two men did not hear the sound of the door crashing to the floor. They didn’t have time to react as three men dressed in black with masks covering their faces began shooting with automatic weapons and spraying the men and the room with a blast of bullets. The men twisted and turned as the rounds smashed into their bodies until they fell dead on the floor. The men continued to fire their weapons as glass and fixtures shattered. The chemist stood. It was a mistake. More bullets found him and his body tumbled to the floor.

  One of the men quickly spread gasoline around the room as the other two swiftly exited the room. The lone man walked out the door, turned and again fired into the garage. They watched as it exploded and flames raged wildly. The murderous raid only took a total of five minutes. The intruders left the three dead men on the floor and hurried out of the house, having destroyed the meth manufacturing room.

  ~ * ~

  Fat Baby sat quietly watching a late-night basketball game on TV. He looked down to see one of his three cell phones buzzing. He reached for it and pressed the talk button. The deep voice announced, “We’ve been hit.”

  “Where?”

  “The garage on West Street.”

  “Damages?”

  “Three dead and everything destroyed.”

  Fat Baby sat silent. He breathed deeply. He said softly, “That was a very secure facility. I have to believe someone on our team gave away the place.”

  “Yeah, but who?”

  “I have to believe it has to do with what our Mexican friend told us. A rival gang wants to move in. They sent us a message.”

  “What now?”

  “Call that Mexican prick and have him set up a meeting. We may have to give a little. We can’t have a war. We have worked too hard in keeping the authorities off our back. Now, well, because of this, we should close down a few houses until we meet these murderers.”

  “I’ll be in touch.”

  Ten

  There was a certain buzz in the crowded county police station as Mat walked in. He could feel the energy. He knew something big had happened. He spotted several homicide detectives he knew talking to a couple detectives from the narcotics team. They hurried down the hall. Mat called out, “What the hell happened?”

  One of the men shouted, “Bad massacre early this morning. Three dead. Shot and burned to a crisp.”

  “Where?”

  “On the west side. One of Fat Baby’s meth houses. Somebody paid a visit and tore up the place.”

  Mat caught up with the two detectives. He walked briskly with them down the long hallway. “What’s your thoughts?”

  “Somebody’s sent a message to the fat man.”

  “You know, I just can’t understand why you don’t just arrest the asshole and put a dent into his operation. All I hear about is this creature they call Fat Baby.”

  The two men stopped. “It’s hard to explain. We can’t seem to get to him. Everybody knows he runs the meth business in this town, but for Christ sake, nobody’s seen the fucker.”

  “You’re kidding…right?”

  “We’ve been after this jack-off for over two years. Yeah, we’ve made a few arrests. But only a few of his sellers. Hell, they’ve never even seen the dude. And each time we raid one of his houses, he moves to another. I bet the fucker has ten houses going right now.”

  “You’ll get him. He’ll fuck up.”

  “The pressure is on. We’re getting heat from above. We’re going all out to get this guy. And the weird thing is his problem is a small part of what’s going on in El Paso. Weed is coming in from across the border in record numbers. If you hear anything, let us know.”

  Mat nodded as the men arrived at one of the cubicles that lined the hallway. One turned toward him and said, “I saw you a few days ago with some hot lady. She new?”

  “Homeland Security…my new partner. Not my style.”

  “Nice. Very nice. You tap it?

  The other man smiled. “Never knew you had a style. I heard if it was female and breathing, you’d be wackin’ it.”

  “My partner…remember? Working with her is going to be hard enough as it is. Tryin’ to hit it would make it worse.”

  “Well, if she makes a move, send her over here. We’ll show her how homicide dicks do their thing.”

  Mat smiled and walked away.

  Mat found Betty sitting in her office. He had to laugh as he approached the door. He and the rest of the officers have cubicles and she gets her own office. He put his head in the door and smiled. “Morning. Ready to go?”

  “Hi…coffee first.”

  “Rough night, eh?” Mat said.

  “I’m trying to find a place. I’m looking for a decent apartment with a short-term lease. Furnished or unfurnished. It’s not easy.”

  “If you want I can help. I know a few people who can get you a place.”

  “A nice place?”

  “Sure.”

  “Then do it. So, what is up today?”

  “Let’s take a ride down to the border. I know a few guards down there…on both sides. Maybe they got something they can share with us.”

  “And that works?”

  “Come on and see. We’ll stop at a little place I know and grab a coffee and something to eat. Like a hot burrito to get you going.”

  Betty stood and smiled. “I wonder if you know I’m Latina.”

  �
��No! I thought for sure you were Irish. You know, with that dark black hair and those deep brown eyes…and not to mention that lily white complexion.”

  They walked out the door and to the car. Mat turned and said, “So…Mexican, Spanish…what?”

  “Cuban,” Betty replied with a strong accent.

  “Really. Never met anyone from Cuba.”

  “I am not from there. I was born in the States. My parents came over from Cuba and settled in Miami. Dad was a banker and Mom was a school-teacher. I went to the U. That would be the University of Miami. Joined the metro police right out of college. Then applied for the FBI and then, well, here I am.”

  “Sounds good.”

  “And you?”

  “Finished high school in Houston. Went right into the Marines. Four years later I became a cop and, well, here I am.”

  “Married?”

  “Twice. Both divorces. I have a daughter somewhere in Houston. I see her a few times a year. Her mother doesn’t think she should get too close to me. I represent violence and stuff. Whatever. I just roll along.”

  Mat looked over at her. She smiled. He laughed. “What a jerk I am. Like you don’t already know all this.”

  “Doesn’t hurt to hear it from you. It’s different from reading it.”

  “So, you probably know I’ve been in my share of trouble around here lately.”

  “I don’t care much about that. I just look at your record. You may be a little off center, but your arrest record and commendations are top notch. I think I can learn from you…if you let me.”

  Mat smiled and drove out of the parking lot. He looked over at her and for the first time noticed she was very attractive. Her smile was genuine, and her attitude seemed sincere. He thought, for a cop she’s pretty nice looking. For a lady, she’s hot stuff.

  Eleven

  Fat Baby sat across from a tall and mean looking Mexican. He introduced himself as Juan…just Juan. He sat between two very large men. They were all dressed in black and each man had dark black hair and sported a thick mustache. Fat Baby had brought two of his men and he also sat between them.