by Don Easton
“Are you kidding?” replied Adams, sounding exasperated. “We’re not even allowed to say hello to a mailman, without going in front of a grand jury and getting a warrant.”
“I’m not talking about opening the mail, just seeing the name on the envelope.”
“I know what you’re saying, but we have privacy laws here that are strictly enforced. Two years ago a postman showed a policeman a name on an envelope. Not only did the mailman lose his job, he was also sentenced to three months in jail.”
Jack grimaced. The idea of an innocent person going to jail for helping the police sickened him. “But for this … can’t you get a warrant?”
“No, I already tried. Despite what happened, having souped-up cars does not mean someone is a drug trafficker and I have no right to infringe on their civil rights.”
“Bet the mailman would help if he thought the situation deserved it.”
“Don’t know what it’s like in Canada, but take a look at that guy. Also take a look at this neighbourhood, which is likely where he lives. Do you really think he is police-friendly?”
“What if he showed me the mail and I passed it on to you. Could you list me as your CI in your application for a warrant and that way honestly deny that you received it from a postman?”
“Underhanded … but yeah, that would work, except he won’t give it to you.”
“Let’s try.”
Adams sighed. “Yeah, okay, I’ll show you what it’s like down here.”
A moment later, Adams and Jack approached the mailman as he stopped in front of the house and retrieved a large handful of mail from his bag.
Adams flashed his badge and said, “I am hoping you can tell me who lives in this place. Any names on the —”
“You all got a warrant?” asked the mailman.
“No,” admitted Adams.
The mailman’s face darkened in anger as he clenched the wad of mail against his chest, purposely hiding the front of the envelopes from any prying eyes. “Then you all should know better than to be askin’,” he snarled. “Get away from me! I don’t even wanna be seen talkin’ to you all.”
Adams looked at Jack as if to say I told you so.
“That’s okay, sir,” said Jack. “We knew it was wrong to ask. It’s my fault. I was hoping … well, never mind. Have a nice day.” Jack then turned as if to walk away and said to Adams, “I just feel so damn sorry for all those poor little black kids.”
“What?” said the mailman. “What did you just say?”
Jack turned around and said, “Oh, uh … I probably shouldn’t be telling you, but what the hell, I think they’re gone, anyway. Have you ever heard of snuff films? Where people are sexually tortured and killed so the film can be sold to perverts to watch and get their kicks?”
“Is that what they’re doing in there?” roared the mailman.
Jack lowered his head and muttered, “I knew I shouldn’t have told you, but we couldn’t get a warrant.”
“Here, take it,” the mailman said, shoving the mail into Jack’s hand.
“Are you sure? I don’t want —”
“Take it!” he ordered.
Jack handed the mail to Adams, who took out his notebook and started writing.
“You all might like to know that three houses down the back alley from this house … on the other side of the alley, there is a policeman living there,” continued the mailman. “In case you need a place to watch it from or somethin’.”
“Thanks,” said Jack, “but we think the people in this house are moving someplace else, which is what we are hoping to find.”
“If they leave a forwarding address, I’ll give it to you all,” said the mailman. “Just swing by in a day or two about this time and I’ll be here.”
“Appreciate that,” replied Jack.
“I never would of thought,” said the mailman, looking at the house.
“Yeah, people make you sick sometimes,” said Jack. “We think they’re also into dope.”
“Oh yeah, for sure. I figured that, what with the cars they got.”
“Here,” said Adams holding out the mail. “Uh …” he then handed the mail back to Jack.
“Keep it,” said the mailman. “I don’t care if I never see it again!”
Jack glanced at Adams, who shook his head. “I guess we have what we need,” said Jack, handing the mail back.
The mailman reluctantly accepted it and Jack and Adams walked back to the car.
“God, that was something,” said Adams. “I never would have believed it.”
“I think most people are basically good,” replied Jack. “Sometimes the law screws up what should be common sense. Make sure you always protect that mailman. I feel crappy for giving him a line like that.”
“It worked.”
“Yes, but if word of it ever leaked, sometime someone will be working on snuff films and they’ll have a door slammed in their face. In this case I weighed what happened to your partner and decided that what I did was acceptable. Rotten, maybe, but acceptable enough for me to live with it.”
When they got back in the car, Adams hesitated before putting it in drive and said, “I think you and I would be good partners. Wish we were.”
“I’ve got a feeling we would be, too. Guess we are for a few days.”
“Mind if we skip lunch? I’d like to go back to the office and check out some of these names. On the way I’ll swing past a nightspot in El Paso that’s popular with both Mexicans and gringos. I could see you ending up there.”
“Good idea. Maybe grab a burger and eat as we drive.”
A short time later, between popping French fries in his mouth, Adams pointed out the nightspot he had spoken about. It was a huge building and was appropriately named The Old Warehouse. Adams said inside was a massive dance floor with a high platform built on each of the four corners of the dance floor. At night, they played country music and dance instructors were on each platform showing people the moves. The outside of the dance floor was surrounded by tables for the patrons to drink.
Adams told him that on some nights women from Juarez would come over to compete in a beauty pageant. He said the place often attracted a couple of thousand people at night.
“Perfect,” said Jack. “Let’s get to your office.” Jack liked The Old Warehouse. Not for being fun, although he was sure it would be, but if he had to use it as a ruse to lose a cover team it would be easy.
Adams and Jack entered the main office and Adams immediately went to his desk. Davidson was in his office talking to Weber and the other two bosses. He saw Jack and gave him a warm smile and waved him in. As Jack entered, Weber gave him a friendly pat on the back.
Conversation was light, with friendly bantering back and forth about the snow in Canada and what Jack must think of the spicy Mexican food.
When Jack noticed Adams stand up from his desk and give him a nod, he knew it was time to go.
“Anything you need, just ask,” said Davidson as Jack left.
Once Jack and Adams left the office, Davidson received a telephone call. “It’s the D.A,” he said to the others. “Close the door.”
Weber complied as Davidson talked to White.
“The profilers are hitting it right on,” said Davidson. “An hour ago the two of them were wishing they could be permanent partners. Adams was also telling the Mountie about some military operations.”
“Perfect,” replied White.
“I’ve kept the profilers apprised. They say what Adams has told the Mountie so far is like foreplay for what he really wants to talk about. The Mountie couldn’t have responded better than if he was working for us. They say Adams will definitely confess to him soon. Maybe even today.”
“Make sure he does it where we want him to do it.”
“We’re on top of it. Adams is an experienced investigator. He’ll do it when he feels there is nobody around but the two of them. Just like a Catholic going to confession.”
“You said building
stress was the key. Putting them in a situation where they feel it is them against the world type of thing. Have you done that yet?”
“Not yet, but if Adams doesn’t spill his guts today, we can do it tomorrow when the Mountie goes undercover. Mind you, it may not be necessary. They’re putting enough stress on themselves by going into Mexico.”
“Going into Mexico?”
“Adams is taking him there right now to meet a CI. I think they are already under enough stress, but if need be, we’ll ramp up the pressure tomorrow. Delay allowing the Mountie to go to the Armadillo by saying we’re busy and can’t spare the backup team. Tell him he’ll have to wait an extra hour or so. Not a big deal, but with their personalities it will increase their stress load. If it doesn’t, we’ll come up with something else.”
“I wouldn’t have thought they would have clicked as partners so soon.”
“They really are birds of a feather. It will be a shame to break up their little partnership, but hey, they can become penpals,” said Davidson with a smile.
chapter twenty-six
* * *
Adams drove Jack across The Bridge of the Americas and they stopped at the Mexican Customs booth.
“Taking my amigo to show him how to drink tequila,” said Adams.
The customs officer grunted and waved them through.
It was quarter to three when Adams parked the car and the two of them cautiously made their way to an alley.
Jose Rubalcava arrived in the alley a moment later, approaching on foot from the other end. “I see you have brought a friend,” he said.
“He can be trusted,” said Adams.
“I know, otherwise you would not have brought him.” Rubalcava smiled. “And how have you been, John? I have been worried about you, amigo.”
Jack caught the subtle glance Rubalcava gave him when he spoke to Adams. There is something Rubalcava does not want to speak about in front of me. His face looks like there is serious justification for his concern …
“I’m okay,” Adams replied, giving Rubalcava a hard look. “Let me introduce you.”
Introductions were made and Jack explained to Rubalcava why he had come to El Paso and told him he was in Mexico against orders.
“For you as a policeman to come to Mexico is extremely dangerous,” said Rubalcava, “but for you to come here as an undercover agent … I would not classify it as dangerous.”
“You wouldn’t?” asked Jack.
“No. I would classify it as suicidal. It is for good reason your government does not want you here.”
“I know it is dangerous,” sighed Jack, not wanting to dwell on the matter. “Do you have any thoughts or ideas on something I could do to entice Tio into the U.S.? Is there a popular attraction in El Paso I could offer to treat him to?”
“No, from what you say, I suspect Tio is wanted in the U.S., otherwise he would not hesitate to go there,” said Rubalcava.
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” admitted Jack.
“We have photos of two men taken by the apartment security camera in Canada for you to see,” said Adams, handing the photos to Rubalcava. “The picture of the guy sneering at the camera is good, but all we have of the other guy is that he is missing his left earlobe.”
Rubalcava studied the pictures briefly. “I do not recognize the man who is sneering, but the man who is missing an earlobe might be Eduardo Cortez. He is an enforcer for the Guajardo cartel. A very dangerous man who was hired from the military. Several years ago, he got in a fight with his brother over a woman and his brother bit his earlobe off.”
“Nice brother,” said Jack.
Rubalcava shrugged. “Eduardo shot and killed him for it the next day.” He handed the photos back to Adams.
“Our Canadian friend took me to an interesting place yesterday,” said Adams, who then told Rubalcava about the place they had found in the desert.
“The area you were in indicates it is the Guajardo cartel you are dealing with,” said Rubalcava. “The Sinaloa cartel does not operate in that vicinity. They also haven’t been here long enough yet to have that sophisticated of an operation. Maybe in a few years they will, but not now.”
“Sort of what I thought,” replied Adams.
“You said it looked like they were clearing out?” asked Rubalcava.
“Half the trailers looked empty,” said Adams. “I also saw men taking furniture out of one of the other trailers.”
Rubalcava nodded thoughtfully. “Rumours have circulated the Guajardo cartel is creating a new smuggling route. A man, who had been drinking too much, bragged in a cantina about making a lot of money. He said he was put in the back of a truck he could not see out of, and that he, along with many other men, were taken to work building a tunnel. He was murdered an hour later, but the rumour is out.”
“Any idea who murdered him?” asked Jack, wondering if it was the same men who murdered Porter.
“I think it was one of my men,” replied Rubalcava, “but I cannot be sure which one.”
Jack inwardly cringed at the comment and the danger Rubalcava endured, yet the man talked in a friendly tone like old friends talking about sports. Except this game was deadly.
“Jack, perhaps I could discover the tunnel if you could identify some of the mules being used?” continued Rubalcava.
“I’ll do my best,” replied Jack.
“What do you think the chances are of following Slater’s truck once it is taken from the motel?” asked Adams. “Do you think they will use the tunnel, or rely on the hiding spot in the truck and cross the border normally?”
“I think they will cross the border normally,” said Rubalcava. “They have much less to fear from our customs than they did when they entered the U.S. from Canada.”
“I bet you’re right,” agreed Adams.
“I also have some business addresses in Juarez that Earl Porter and Clive Slater have invested with,” said Jack, flipping through his notebook. “We asked our liaison officer in Mexico City to make inquiries and he passed it on to the federales. They said the addresses were legitimate companies. The one for Porter apparently makes tourist trinkets and the one for Slater is a fruit company.” He showed Rubalcava his notebook. “Do you want to write them down?”
“I don’t need to,” Rubalcava replied. “I know it. The two streets are separated by the same building, which is owned by the Guajardo cartel. They do run a fruit company from the building, but I suspect for Porter and Slater it was only an excuse for them to explain their trips to Customs.”
Adams’s eyes picked up someone who peered at them from around a corner at the end of the alley. “Don’t look now,” he said. “It’s probably nothing, but someone stuck their head out from around the corner at the end of the alley. Keep talking while I walk in the opposite direction and go around the block and come back on him.”
Jack looked at Rubalcava. His eyes never even flickered and he maintained his friendly composure while taking to Jack. One very cool guy …
“So … Canada, there is lots of snow there, yes?” Rubalcava asked, as Adams walked away.
“Not at the moment,” replied Jack. “It’s a big country. Some places get very cold in the winter, but only the most northern places have snow this time of year.”
“I have never been there. Last year my family and I were given a holiday to go to Israel. It was nice there.”
“I see,” said Jack. Given a holiday? Guess that explains who helped the Israelis with the PLO’s drugs- for-weapons initiative … “I think I know why you were treated so nicely by the Israelis,” he added.
“Oh?”
“A small matter of five mansions in the desert?”
Rubalcava smiled and said, “I wondered how long it would take the Americans to figure it out. I wondered if John had told you.”
“You hadn’t told him?”
“It wasn’t his business, but I am pleased they were smart enough to figure it out.”
“Aren’t you worried abo
ut the other cartels finding out?”
“They were happy to get rid of the competition. They think I did them a favour.”
“Sounds like it worked out.”
“Except the two remaining cartels will become even more powerful,” brooded Rubalcava.
“Yes, but at the same time, with your limited resources, it gives you one less organization to focus on.”
“True.”
“Still, you really do put yourself at risk,” said Jack. “Why do you do it?”
Rubalcava sighed and said, “This is not the Mexico it is supposed to be. Here in Juarez … with the Guajardo cartel and the Sinaloa cartel, the greed and lust for power will mean the violence will only get worse.”
“I’ve heard they are killing each other. Maybe not such a bad thing.”
“It is not only each other,” said Rubalcava. “Many innocent people are being murdered. The cartels have no reason to fear anyone. Many honest policemen, judges, and prosecutors have been murdered. And it’s not just people connected to the judiciary. Our citizens are also being murdered. They often kidnap our women right off the street. Sometimes the drug couriers take them to a stash house and use them for several days to entertain themselves while they are waiting for deliveries. Some of the bodies that have been found were terribly mutilated.”
“How can you stand living in Juarez?” asked Jack, watching as Adams turned the far corner in the alley before turning back to face Rubalcava.
“Because it is my country,” replied Rubalcava, sounding indignant. “I am determined to stop men like Guajardo, or the jackals who work for him, like the Carrillo Fuentes brothers, from doing what they are doing. If they are not stopped, this plague will reach far beyond Juarez. You know yourself it has already touched Canada.”
“You have to be the bravest man I’ve ever met,” said Jack.
Rubalcava smiled and said, “I am not that brave. I am just afraid to break a promise to my wife. I promised her I would do my best to make Mexico a better place for our two sons. Someday I hope to see it.”
“Meeting us here … this might not be good,” said Jack, with a slight movement of his head to indicate the alley behind him.
