'Here’s the money, here’s the money'.
The thief, transfixed by the sight of the bag, like a predator fixed on wounded pray, he could not take his eyes off it. Not until his peripheral vision took in the approach of the Glock 9mm in Leroy’s right hand and which Leroy was moving towards the thief's head. The thief swings his gun wildly toward Leroy, but too late. Leroy finishes the robber’s life of crime with a single shot to the head. As Leroy covers the thief on the ground, and knowing that the thief's life is ebbing away he whispers to him.
'You could have taken the money asshole; I would have given you the money. But you had to hit the old lady didn’t you…………now you ain’t gonna hit anyone else, ever.'
18:19 06 November [00:19 07 November GMT]
Banks Jewellers, Av Presidente Masaryk, Polanco District, Mexico City.
The Mexican police were quickly on the scene. They had left when the silent alarm had alerted them that a jewellery store in the very upmarket Polanco district was being robbed. The two officers entered the store, weapons drawn, the second covering the entry of the first. Six occupants, he counted to himself, two down. Of the four standing, two are male and two female. The women, are quite young and undoubtedly in the early stages of shock. They have name badges marking them out as sales assistants. The policeman turned his attention to the two men, still keeping the whole room covered from the entrance. One male is white, a local by the look of him, again the name badge, possibly the store manager. That left the black male. The black male is well-dressed, tall, around six feet, bald with a moustache that meets under his chin, a kind of mini-goatee. Fit and probably late thirties. The most important feature to the officer was that he was stood close to the people on the floor and closer still to a mean looking handgun, a nine-millimetre if he was correct. Keeping his eyes alert he looked at the two people on the floor.
One an elderly female with what appeared to be a head wound; the other...the other he recognised even with most of the back of his head missing. It was Ricardo Gonzales; he had arrested him just a few months ago for drug dealing and weapons offences. He should have been coming to trial in a week or so. Probably trying to raise the money for a lawyer.
'You' the officer said in Spanish to the store manager, pointing with his gun. 'Tell me who you are and what happened here.'
The store manager stood perfectly still, very aware of the gun pointed at him. The second that day, he reflected.
'I am Rafael Hernandez, the store manager. These ' he said waving his right hand towards the two sales assistants, 'are Catarina and Maria they work for me.'
He stopped instantly; the policeman's gun had moved to target the store manager's heart region in response to his waving his right arm. The store manager slowly relaxed his right arm to his side and went back to standing perfectly still.
'To my left' the store manager continued, making sure he didn't even nod in that direction, 'is Mr Banks, he owns this store, and he shot the robber, who is lying on the floor. The robber hit the old woman.’ He added, by way of explanation.
The policeman called to his partner, who came around his right side, making sure not to get in his line of sight, the second officer approached Leroy, crouched down bending his knees not his back, and reached for the handgun on the floor. All the time keeping his eyes fixed on Leroy. Leroy didn't move at all but kept his gaze on the first officer, aware of the second with his peripheral vision, he was taking great care not to “eye ball” the officer as that would only increase the tension in the room. Once the second officer had retrieved the handgun from the floor in front of Leroy, and retreated to the side of his colleague, Leroy ventured into speaking.
'Thank you for getting here so quickly.’ He said, clean simple words; he hoped their English was good.
'You're welcome.' The first officer said, in English.
Everyone in the room relaxed a little more. A second police car arrived with two more officers, shortly followed by an ambulance crew. They checked the two people on the floor and finding the male with a large proportion of his brain missing, they worked on the elderly female, her blood-pressure was low but stable, they moved her into the ambulance and left.
The two sales assistants were allowed seats as they were definitely in shock now; trembling, shaking, crying they weren't making much sense either. One of the other officers knew the store manager, who in turn again vouched for Leroy. Despite this, Leroy was handcuffed and taken to the police station.
18:50 06 November [00:50 07 November GMT]
Central Police Station, Mexico City, Mexico.
The drive from his store to the police station was not a pleasurable one for Leroy. Handcuffed in the back of the police car, with a large metal grill between him and the officers in the front he couldn't pretend that he was taking a taxi to the hotel or being chauffeured to the airport.
His time at the police station made him feel immediately nostalgic for the drive in the police car. Fingerprinting, being photographed, DNA swabbed and then locked in a cell with criminals; Leroy's heart sank lower with each activity. His cellmates didn't speak English, and he didn't speak Spanish. He sat in silence and started to wonder at the number of things that had had to happen, in sequence, to bring him to this point. He could have visited his Mexico store on another day, or had been visiting another store. He could have left the cashing up to his staff and left for his hotel before the arrival of the thief. The thief could have picked a different day, time or store. He could have left the elderly woman alone and lived. Leroy could have been unarmed or he could have chosen to let the robber hurt someone else. Random chance, he thought to himself. I end up here just because of random chance.
It was two hours before Leroy was finally called forth as his lawyer had arrived. He had no way of knowing, as he was no longer in possession of his watch or his phone. His lawyer, it turned out, was one of the best in the city, called by his store manager as soon as he had seen Leroy arrested. The lawyer had come on recommendation from the firm's corporate law firm. Expensive, but then the best usually are however; the store manager had warranted that his boss would expect nothing less.
Leroy sat in a private interview room alone with his lawyer. He took him through the events of that afternoon. His lawyer made him go through it again, twice more, to check his story for consistency. He had learned this from his mentor years before, there is nothing worse than changing your story, even slightly, in front of the police, or heaven forbid, a courtroom.
Leroy finished his third telling of the day and was then questioned intently by his lawyer. He knew the truth when he heard it, and it seemed to him that Leroy was both telling the truth and holding nothing back. Finally, the lawyer gave his opinion.
'Well,' he began, 'it is good that I was called because you are in a great deal more trouble than you realise.'
Leroy's face fell at this, he felt bad at being arrested, of being held in a cell, but he knew he had done nothing wrong; he had protected people, probably saved lives. Leroy began to think that his lawyer was exaggerating to justify a big fee, fine, he thought to himself, let him charge what he wants I just want to get out of here.
'Firstly, and most crucially,' the lawyer began, 'is the issue of your gun. Unlike the United States gun ownership is illegal in Mexico. The fact that the gun was illegal means that the shooting must also be illegal; this means that you will be charged with murder. You will undoubtedly be found guilty at your trial as it would be unthinkable if it were to happen any other way.'
He saw Leroy's face fall even further at this news, his shoulders slumping too, he carried on, believing it was best to get all of the bad news out in front.
'Our best hope, only hope really, is to appeal it as far as we can, my country is not big on case law, but it can happen, we will have to build such a case that a senior judge is persuaded to make us a precedent. That is a huge deal here.'
'I just want to get out of here.'
'I know.' The lawyer responded, actually feel
ing for his client. ‘However the fact that you are a foreigner, with business interests abroad and considerable available funds facing a murder charge makes you a flight risk. Bail for you will be most unlikely, but I will push for it. Finally…'
There had to be a finally, Leroy thought.
'…with local elections around the corner,' the lawyer continued. 'you might be made an example of, which could go one way or another. I will arrange some positive media coverage to try to push things our way.'
'What…what’s going to happen to me?'
'Well, the police will interview you. But don't worry I will guide you through it, just stick to the truth. Then you will be formally charged and taken to prison. Your case will be given over to the agente, that's the district attorney's office, this will be state, rather than federal as homicide is a state crime. It will probably take around a year before you go to trial to be found guilty, and then we can start the appeals process.'
'A year.' Leroy said, incredulously, 'A year? I will have to be in prison for a year?'
'Longer probably. At least a year I would estimate, maybe two or more depending on how the appeals process goes.'
'What will I do?'
'Well there are practical matters that need to be addressed, such as who will run your business in your absence. In addition, our prisons are not like yours. You will be charged rent on your cell, and for your food and other things. The food also is not great, it would be best if you arranged for your food to be brought in to you. I will give you the name of someone who is familiar with all this and they will make the arrangements. Also, you should start to learn Spanish; those guards who do speak English are often limited in their vocabulary. Now, we should prepare ourselves for the interview, just remember, stick to the truth, and leave nothing out.'
07:23 06 November [13:23 06 November GMT]
Penthouse Suite, W. Jefferson Av., Detroit, Michigan.
Chuck Holford reclined on his huge leather sofa with his cat Trouble purring contentedly on his lap. He looked out at the panoramic view of the Detroit River. The view stretched as far as the eye could see. Drinking a Corona straight from the bottle he reflected on the events that had led him to be here.
His mind cast back more than ten years into the past to the night the first domino fell. He was just finishing his shift on production line number three. A car worker all his life he had met many people and disliked most of them, Blacks, Hispanics, Asians and Management, he pretty much hated them all. Chuck would use much stronger language, often to their faces.
Chuck had a simple outlook on life, he was right and you’re wrong or “Fuck you” as Chuck so eloquently put it. A part of Chuck always nagged at him though, his life feeling somewhat empty, his friendships unsatisfying and his words, whilst offensive to others, often lacked conviction in his own mind. Chuck took these doubts with him as he left the plant, clocking out as he did every weeknight and heading to a bar before continuing on his way home to be received by cold food and even colder company. The several beers he would have, and the chat with the other assorted barflies passed for what Chuck claimed as his life. An intelligent man, a thoughtful man, he had never received the education he could have, would have loved. If life had treated Chuck badly, and it had, he had at some point stubbornly decided to treat it, and everyone he meet, worse.
That evening however was different. His supervisor stopped by the bar to celebrate his latest promotion with some of the guys from the shift. Chuck avoided the group, took his beer, and headed for the back of the bar, where it was darkest. One of his co-workers spotted him and called out to him.
'Hey Chuck, come on over Winston is buying the drinks! He is going to be our new Night-shift Manager.'
'I buy my own drinks thanks.’ Chuck replied with a low growl delivered out of the corner of his mouth. Chuck continued walking towards the back of the room.
'Hey come on, don't be a chicken shit, come and have a drink.'
'I ain't drinking with him.’ Chuck nodded in the direction of Winston. Winston, as far as Chuck was concerned, now had two strikes against him, Black and a Manager.
The co-worker didn't let it go.
'Hey what the fuck? What you got against Winston? He's always been on the level with us.'
He just doesn't get it, Chuck thought, he just doesn't understand. People like Winston get all the help and advantages and guys like me get screwed.
'Fuck you and fuck him.’ Chuck said, having had enough and ending the conversation.
'Why you little ...' the co-worker made a move for Chuck, but Winston who had been listening but ignoring the exchange moved to intercept.
'Look Joe,’ Winston said into the face of the co-worker, 'just leave it, if Chuck wants to be on his own that's his choice.'
Chuck drew himself to his full height behind Winston. 'I don't need you looking out for me; I can take care of myself.'
Winston turned his head in Chuck's direction.
'Look Chuck everything is cool OK, let's just leave it there.'
Chuck had had enough. Enough of people telling him what to do. Enough of getting constantly screwed over at work. Enough of life. He threw a punch to Winston's right kidney, sending him collapsing to the floor. Before anyone could intervene, he managed to kick him twice in the back and once in the head. Joe leapt on him, swiftly followed by two of his co-workers.
Trouble dug her claws into Chuck's lap, sensing his tension. Chuck was brought back to the present and took a long pull on his beer. His mind wandered back to the events that followed.
Chuck was summoned to the Plant Manager's office the next day. A senior member of HR was there, plus a guy from security. They didn't take their time. He was dismissed on the spot for gross-misconduct and as such was not entitled to any severance. Chuck was escorted from the premises by the security guard and told never to come back.
Chuck spent the rest of the day in the bar. When he got home he was fully loaded and in a mean mood. He shouted at his kids, threw his dinner against the wall, and finally lost it with his frigid wife. She never told the police. At least, Chuck was never questioned about it, which amounted to the same thing. She was gone when he woke in the morning, the children gone with her. The next two years were a bit of a blur. Chuck knew he was using during this period and he knew he started dealing to support his habit. It was almost two years to the day after the fight in the bar with Winston when he saw him again. Chuck was in the park. Dressed no better than a vagrant. He knew he smelt funky, and hadn't been eating at all well. His stomach hurt. He was wasted almost all of the time now. This time was no exception, there in the park taking the mainline to freedom, was when he saw Winston with his family. He was fit, healthy and very happy looking, he had a great looking family too. Chuck looked down at himself. He felt ashamed. He felt guilty. He felt alone.
That was the start of his coming off junk. It took a year. A year and he was clean. He never stopped the dealing though. The better he became, the more he dealt. He was starting to save as well. He made a buy, cut it himself at home, and then dealt it. He made a bigger buy. Soon he was buying from the importers and had his own network of distributors and dealers. That was when he discovered how much cheaper it would be to buy direct and import it himself. Dangerous, but worth it.
In the seven years following him getting clean, Chuck had established his own, large network of importers, distributors, and dealers. He had also found a novel way of laundering all his money, but he wouldn't tell anyone what it was.
Now, ten years after he lost his autoworkers job, his wife, and his children, here he was a successful businessman with an exclusive penthouse suite in the best part of town. The penthouse also came with a mooring, and in his was moored his pride and joy, his sports yacht “Penthouse”, he named it both after his home and the magazine.
Trouble took her cue, stretching out she climbed off Chuck’s lap and curled up on the sofa instead. Chuck stood and placed his empty bottle in the recycling. He picked up his overni
ght bag and checked he had all the right documents with him. Leaving his apartment suite, he placed a key under the mat for his neighbour Mrs Grainger to let herself in to feed Trouble while he was away. He was only planning on one night, and he knew he shouldn’t really need to be going at all but his Mexican connection was complaining about something to do with payment and his lieutenant hadn’t been able to resolve it. So he was headed to San Antonio, there to hire a car and drive across the border to Monterrey.
20:11 06 November [02:11 07 November GMT]
Restaurant La Caliente, Paseo del Campestre, Monterrey, Mexico.
Chuck took the I35 out of San Antonio, crossing the border at Laredo and continuing on the Mexican 85 down into Monterrey. Chuck switched on the navigation system, which took him around the west side of town on the orbital road, down the long stretch of the Avenue General Lázaro Cárdenas, before finally turning off at Camino al Mirador. The meeting venue was a restaurant to the south of Monterrey, Restaurants, thought Chuck to himself, are particularly useful for meetings, they are generally busy and noisy, they have car parks for exchanging goods and you get fed as well.
The thought of food, particularly spicy Mexican food, was making Chuck hungry. He increased speed slightly, and took turns sharper than he otherwise would, unaware that hunger was now interfering with his judgement. The restaurant was a big, upmarket affair, obviously very popular with the Monterrey scene. His lieutenant was at the far end of the restaurant, with his back to the wall, sitting opposite him was the Mexican connection and his lieutenant. He noticed two other heavy set Mexican's at the next table. So, Chuck thought, they decided to bring some muscle. No problem, I don't want any trouble, just fix the problem, eat and be on my way...maybe eat first, the food smells great.
After the greetings, Chuck ordered the Grande Burrito with a side of rice and refried beans. Chuck was satisfied to wait for his meal, quietly listening to the Mexican and sipping on his Corona.
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