by Frank Perry
haven’t moved yet, so I bet they’ve got squat.”
Hunter knew something about the California drug trade from his experience and training with the Border Patrol. “Peña’s got a lot of money and covers his tracks.”
She added, “Yeah. José always said he was the most dangerous guy on the west coast and the most difficult to catch.”
“Look, Claire. John said he would ask you to get me moved back to Sacramento.”
“You want to come? We might all feel a little safer if you came back.”
“I dunno, sis. Peña wants me for something, and I think it’s in Washington. I better stay here for a while.
“Look. I want to call Laurie, so kiss Sue Ann for me and tell her I’ll call her in a day or so.”
“Be careful, Hunter.”
“You too, sis. Have John come by and double check your security at the house. I think you better keep close track of your kids, too.”
“Now you’re really scaring me.”
“Sorry, Claire. I just want to be cautious until someone nails this maniac.”
Competition
Victor Cabrillo Meléndez didn’t like being ordered around like some peasant. He gave orders, not the other way around. He was the biggest Mexican drug smuggler in Jaurez after assassinating his boss Enzo Amador Perea. Meléndez was called "El Señor de Los pájaros" (Lord of the Birds) because of his fleet of jets used to transport drugs. The U.S. Drug Enforcement Administration described Meléndez as the most ruthless drug trafficker in Northern Mexico. In only two years, he went from being an illiterate enforcer to drug lord in the region, leaving behind a bloody trail.
With his new wealth, Melendez moved his family north of the border into El Paso, where their security was easier to manage and his children could attend American schools. He was popular with the city government, providing multi-million dollar gifts for various projects. He was always under the watchful eye of local law enforcement, but he was careful to keep his illegal activities below the border.
Meléndez was sitting on his patio in the shade, enjoying a Margarita in the late afternoon warmth. It had been a day of relaxation with his lieutenants controlling things in Juarez, preparing for his next big drug shipment. He dozed on and off all afternoon enjoying the sweet desert smell carried by the gentle breeze. The sky was deep blue, without any pollution. It was an ideal day in west Texas!
Then his phone rang. It was the El Paso County Sherriff. Something went wrong with security for his son, Miguel, who was twelve years old. According to the deputy that called from the scene, the boy’s car was hijacked coming home from a soccer game. The driver and bodyguard were both gunned down and the boy taken with the car. Meléndez would not have involved the police in Mexico, preferring to use his own resources to find the boy, but this wasn’t Mexico. The American authorities came to his house asking questions, treating the hijacking as a planned kidnapping for ransom. Meléndez cooperated, but knew it would be resolved privately.
Luciano Peña didn’t know how close Meléndez was to his only son. From birth, Miguel was shielded from any knowledge of his father’s “business.” Meléndez murdered people in cold blood, sometimes torturing them for information or as a deterrent to others. He grew up surrounded by violence and used it as his only tradecraft. But when Miguel was born, he made a pact with his wife to never disclose his real profession. Since taking over the cartel and moving to El Paso, he lived behind a façade of respectability. Miguel would learn the truth soon enough, but not yet. Melendez was enraged that his boy was exposed to the drug-trade violence by Luciano Peña, who didn’t respect him as a peer. Just because Meléndez fought through the ranks to get the cartel, didn’t make him any less of a “Jefe” (boss). But taking Miguel went too far. Miguel was only a child, small for his age and deliberately naive. That Peña would make him a pawn in their world was unforgivable. As evil as their business was, the families were off limits.
That evening, Meléndez received a text message telling him to look for instructions in his mailbox. He sent one of his guards to the end of his private gated drive for the envelope. Neither Meléndez nor his family ever opened the mail box.
Without using any names, Peña gave instructions to meet for discussion of a possible collaboration. If Meléndez agreed, he would get his son back, unharmed. He must come to the Holiday Inn on Mission Avenue, room 2011, at eight o’clock that night. In drug-speak, this was an ultimatum, and he had no choice.
Meléndez kissed his wife, whispering a long goodbye and then drove away inside a large Expedition truck with blackened windows. There were five guards with him. He lived outside of town, close to the airport on a private ranch. The trip into town took half an hour. When they arrived at the hotel, one of his guards that could speak passible English went into the lobby for a room map of the old two-story motel. The rooms were all open to the outside with uncovered walkways. They drove around the east side, reading the numbers on the second-floor doors. The room overlooked the parking lot. Meléndez arrived early to observe whoever went into the room, but there were already two guards standing by the door.
He instructed the driver to park two rows back in the lot, facing the hotel. The two large men standing beside the room door could see the truck and remained stationary. After ten minutes, it was eight o’clock, and no one had entered the room. Truck doors opened, and two mean-looking men walked through the lot and up the outdoor stairs to the walkway along the second floor. Meléndez stayed hidden from view.
Words were spoken between Meléndez’s men and the door guards, which could not be heard in the truck. The guards made a gesture and the Meléndez men stepped back to the rail, opening their coats. They did not give up their guns. Peña’s man, a head taller than all others, waived one of the Meléndez men farther away letting the other one approach the door, which they opened and closed quickly. After some further unheard dialogue, Peña’s men resumed their positions, and the others returned to the truck.
Melendez watched everything. He knew it was a trap of some sort and told his men to be alert. His man confirmed that he saw the boy inside and was told that Peña would show himself after Meléndez freed the boy. No other Meléndez men would be allowed in the room.
He hesitated, but had no choice. Miguel was alive, and terrified. He was sitting alone in the dark on the edge of a bed, facing the door. Meléndez’s only protection inside the room would be weapons concealed under his sport coat. They had been used to kill many times and he was sure that Peña himself was no match if he came alone. Peña was a California college kid, not someone raised in the gangs of Juarez. When Meléndez freed his son, he would enjoy killing Peña slowly with a knife, once the boy was safely out of earshot.
One of his guards opened the truck’s rear door and Meléndez stepped out slowly, buttoning his sport coat. As a former drug lord enforcer, he was a big dark man with poor teeth and a large scar on the right side of his face. Muscle had turned to fat, but his size would intimidate most men. Still, one of Peña’s guards was much larger and didn’t look fat. Meléndez looked in all directions instinctively before moving away from his armored car, not wishing to be shot by a sniper, walking to the hotel room. He signaled his most trusted guard to walk with him and instructed the others to stand outside the truck, ready to shoot Peña’s men. He walked quickly to the stairs, skipping steps, climbing to the second floor. He wasn’t an easy target.
As he approached the room, the giant guard stepped in front, blocking the way to the door. Meléndez would enter alone. When he agreed, the guard backed away, and Meléndez was allowed to pass.
The door was partially opened, but the single front window curtain was pulled closed, blocking any outside light. There were no interior lights on. Meléndez pressed his hand against his coat, feeling the reassuring metallic bulge under his arm. He stood in the doorframe and pushed the door completely open. As the last shards of dying sunlight filled the room, he saw
his son. His boy was sitting upright on the edge of the bed facing him. His legs and arms were bound with tape and his mouth was covered. When he saw his father, Miguel tried to say something, but nothing could be understood under the tape. He was shivering and tears flowed freely, and he had wet himself. Meléndez was enraged that his son was treated this way. Peña would pay with his life! Miguel’s eyes pleaded to his father, who moved to free the boy.
Outside the room, the men were at the stairs when the explosion blew out the window in room 2011. There was not going to be any collaboration between Peña and Meléndez.
Ramon had a brief discussion with the Meléndez man before they separated. The gang was now under Peña’s control if he could hold it together from far away. Ramon sent a text message to his boss, “Se hace” (it is done).
For Luciano Peña, it was another day at the office.
Sue Ann
Sue Ann Flannigan was the daughter of Hunter’s (and Claire’s) mother’s brother, Bob Flannigan, a first cousin. The Flannigans had always lived in San Jose, where Bob was an Engineer at NASA Aymes Research Center. Sue Ann loved an active California lifestyle including mountain biking and rock climbing. She was tall and muscular with short brown hair, so she could
