Hidalgo woke up in the drunk tank at the Bernalillo County Sheriffs’ Department. Laying there, realizing that he was in jail, the first thing that came into focus that he recognized was the square hole in the middle of the floor, a place to vomit. His upper lip was split open. He had no idea what it looked like. He was covered in vomit and he reeked of whisky. The smell of the sweat, whiskey and blood caused him to go into a spasm of dry heaves. It was painful. He vaguely remembered the toe of the boot that kicked him in the face had a silver skull on it and he thought he could remember later being turned over when a pair of handcuffs was put on him. Then he had blacked out again.
It had all happened way too fast; the three of them had done a very professional job on him. With Hidalgo unable to move, the cock rooster had enjoyed himself. The rooster was proud of his ability to inflect pain as he kicked Hidalgo in the chest and face with his boots, the boots with the silver skulls. He was a martial artist, undoubtedly well paid and extremely arrogant.
Hidalgo was mad at himself. He had been entirely too casual, allowing himself to be totally blindsided. As he began to question himself, he concluded he had no one to blame but himself.
Hidalgo knew he was in trouble instantly. As he tried to roll over he discovered that he couldn’t breathe; instantly aware that he had a cracked rib. He started to black out again but fought it. He barely remembered one of the men taking out a bottle of whisky and forcing some of it into his mouth, then pouring the rest of the bottle all over him as he slipped in and out of consciousness. Very efficiently they had performed their job, professionally; then they disappeared.
After an hour or so the door of the cell opened and a uniformed jail guard stood over him looking down at him with a disgusted look on his face. “Why can’t you Navajos hold your liquor?” He had asked the question not expecting an answer. But Hidalgo had one. “I have not had anything to drink. I never drink alcoholic drinks.”
“I can smell you all the way out here in the hall; don’t tell me you’re not stone drunk.”
“I’m hurt,” said Hidalgo in a feeble voice.
“You might be, but that is not really my concern right now,” said the jail guard. Besides that’s not what the folks who called us said. They said you came into their restaurant hog drunk, made a mess and then left without paying for your meal. When you got out into the parking lot you picked a fight with a couple of patrons, wanted money so you could buy more whiskey. They settled it. You lost.”
“Who filed the report,” ask Hidalgo?
“The owner of the restaurant found you; consider yourself lucky, the owner didn’t even press charges when you failed to pay for your meal,” explained the policeman with a disgusted look on his face. Hidalgo reached inside his shirt pocket for the receipt he always kept but discovered that he didn’t even have a pocket, it had been torn off.
Hidalgo asked, “Who called the police?
“The owner of the café, as well as the other people you attacked. They left.
“You don’t know who they are,” asked Hidalgo?
“The café owner signed the complaint,” answered the guard.
“I want a blood alcohol test,” demanded Hidalgo.
“Sure said the guard; in fact; we insisted. The judge would like to know just how much you had to drink. You were immediately shackled and taken to Presbyterian hospital where blood was drawn from your arm. As soon as the test was over, you were brought back here. We’ll let you know how the test came out. By the way, you have been charged with public intoxication and disorderly conduct.”
“Can I at least get a shower,” asked Hidalgo?
“Sure, in two and a half hours. You have to stay in here for at least four hours. Can you make bail?” Hidalgo had no idea where his wallet was, and it contained all those important phone numbers he would need to make bail.
“No,” Hidalgo answered.
“I didn’t think so, you don’t have a job, do you, just came in from the reservation?” The prison guard definitely had some preconceived ideas, probably based upon years of experience, but he was right, like many people a few Navajos subject themselves to this sort of indignation on a regular basis.
Hidalgo had no answers for him; he knew he wouldn’t be believed. It would be a waste of time to say anything, much less to argue with the guard, besides it hurt too much. It was a slow night and several hours later Hidalgo was led to a room where he finally got to take off his filthy cloths and take a shower. He was then issued standard prison wear, consisting of striped pajamas with cheap shower slippers, and taken to a community workhouse cell where he spent the next three days sleeping on a cot and doing his best to eat prison food.
Nothing seemed to happen, not even a date with a judge occurred. Then finally early in the morning of his fourth day in jail a policeman came into the community cell and asked Hidalgo to come with him. They went into an office where Hidalgo was directed to take a seat. The policeman’s name tag which dangled below his pocket identified him as Sergeant Ron Sedillo. Sergeant Sedillo said, “You used to be a Sergeant with the La Plata police department, didn’t you?
Hidalgo looked up, “Yes” he answered, “I worked there for about five years, I now work for Ken Anderson at a ranch down in south central New Mexico known as Serpiente, but the bottom line is I was beaten up by three men whom I have never seen before and I’m not sure why they beat me up.”
“What happened,” ask Sergeant Sedillo?
“All I know is that I went in for a meal and was beaten up on the way out, and I’m darn sure I hadn’t had any alcoholic drinks that day or any other day. I never touch the stuff; I have seen what it does to my people.”
The sergeant cut into his explanation. “I know,” answered the Sergeant, “Your alcohol blood test came back negative. They found nothing in your blood.” After a pause he added, “You realize that we have people come in here every day that look just like you did.”
Hidalgo pointed out, “You mean Navajos or some other Indian.”
“No, I mean people that look like you when you showed up here. Would you like a lawyer?” Hidalgo was fuming; he knew it would do no good to sue the police department despite the fact that he had obviously been a victim.
“No” answered Hidalgo, “Apparently the people who beat me up knows how the system works. Someone must have set me up pretty well knowing that I would wind up here. My guess is they didn’t want me to get too cozy with you fellows; they wanted me to be alone. Well, I just want to get out of here. I have done nothing wrong and resent having to spend my time here.”
The sergeant looked down at Hidalgo and said, “Actually you are free to go, however I would appreciate it if you would tell me exactly how you got into this predicament.” Hidalgo related to the policeman his previous encounter at Lorenzo’s the Mexican Restaurant. The police sergeant continued with his questions, “Do you have any idea why those men jumped you?”
“Maybe,” answered Hidalgo, I was trying to track down the men who are promoting the fights that are going on with young people here in Albuquerque.
The sergeant blinked at this statement. “You have made some enemies, but for what it is worth, you have also made some friends here. My son was propositioned to get into the fight game. When he declined he was badly beaten up. Anyway, how can I help you?”
Hidalgo answered, “A snake can only die if the head is cut off.”
The sergeant thought about this for a moment then answered, “A snake like that enjoys some protection from arrest. Perhaps we can share some information and if you promise you will work with me, I’m sure I can be of some help to you. We cannot protect you unless you are working with us.”
“I have told you all that I know; what else do you want?” asked Hidalgo.
“First of all, there is a lot more to this than a few fight tournaments!” Sergeant Sedillo looked down at Hidalgo and realized that he himself was caught up in the moment, after a pause he continued. “I know that most of the recent activity is
located down in the Los Padillas area. Kids are taken to a warehouse and the fights occur in front of a small dedicated crowd of people who must pay a large fee to see the fights. They are sworn to secrecy. We have been trying to bust the whole crowd for several months now but have had little luck. It would appear that they are being told when the police are scheduled to show up. We have a mole among us. As you know from your experiences in Colorado, not all policemen are good policemen, but not all policemen are bad either.”
Hidalgo answered, “In Colorado it was not the policemen that were crooked; it was the judicial system. The judge that was involved is still being pursued by the state department. Unfortunately once they are out of the country, it is hard to get an extradition order. Many of the tiny islands out there have no extradition agreement with the United States.”
“Yes,” answered officer Sedillo, “And they take full advantage of it.”
It took Hidalgo all day to get his Jeep Cherokee out of the impound lot. It had been stolen and completely trashed. The rear window was broken out and of course all of his camping gear had disappeared. He had discovered that his wallet was gone as soon as the cuffs were removed from him in jail, which was why posting bail had been out of the question. Now he had his Jeep but no way to move it. Walking around the impound lot he was surprised when Sergeant Sedillo showed up and offered him twenty dollars for gas money.
Hidalgo had to hot wire his Jeep, naturally no one had any idea where his keys had disappeared to. He put twenty dollars’ worth of gas in the empty gas tank and made it to within forty miles of the ranch house. He knew he had to walk the rest of the way into Serpiente.
He started walking, but after a couple of miles he discovered a car had pulled up behind him. Stepping aside he discovered that I was driving the car.
“Would you like a ride or do you still insist upon doing everything by yourself?” I asked him. He never said a word, he was too tired. Hidalgo simply slid into the passenger seat and closed his eyes. The walk created a number of new blisters that all had to be taken care of. Hidalgo took the next few days off in order to recover from his beating and the long walk. Needless to say, the whole ordeal had left him in a sour mood. Fortunately for him he was home. June and I nursed him back to health.
Silver Skulls
Somehow the characters who were doing the fight game were on to Hidalgo, his cover had been blown, but how? The only people he had confided in were Richard Holliday and his friends. There of course was Arturo Jaramillo and then there were the three boys who were with him. One of them must have been a mole who informed on Hidalgo.
Someone was working with the fight game promoters, and Hidalgo was mad at himself for his own stupidity. He had always trusted young kids, thinking that they were innocent. But Hidalgo’s world was changing. Most of the real crime in the world was currently being promoted by the naiveté or stupidity, and arrogance of young kids. He was becoming cynical beyond his years. He was no longer a kid himself, being almost thirty-two years old.
He confided the situation to Richard and Arturo, and then watched to see what would happen as Richard arranged a meeting with the boys again, but this time Hidalgo carefully choose what he said. He lied, something he normally would never do but this was necessary to set a trap. He told them that the police knew who the perpetrators were and that a major bust was coming down, that evening.
One of the three boys was nervous and sure enough as soon as possible, Magnelena excused himself from the group and Hidalgo followed him. Soon Magnelena found a phone and started a heated conversation with someone. At least now Hidalgo knew who he couldn’t trust and why he had received a beating at the Mexican restaurant known as Lorenzo’s.
Hidalgo thought to himself, I can use him like a tool to get to the men with the silver skulls on their boots. In his mind, there were several loose ends to tie up, particularly with Lorenzo, the owner of the restaurant. Hidalgo wanted to close him down. He had no use for a restaurant that catered to the Mexican mafia despite the great food that they served. Hidalgo wanted to return for a third time to the café and confront the owner, but he guessed that the owner was being intimidated into cooperating with the enforcers. Instead, Hidalgo contacted Sergeant Sedillo. Sedillo was anxious to help and wanted to find the mole within the Bernalillo Sheriff’s Department. Somehow they would need to set a trap for the mole, but this time it would need to be far more complicated than dealing with some young kids.
Sergeant Sedillo did have one morsel of information that would help. Word on the street was that a tournament would occur next Saturday morning at a warehouse in Albuquerque’s north valley. The problem was, if they put out word that the tournament would be raided the promoters would just move it to another place in another barrio of Albuquerque.
Hidalgo finally made a suggestion, “What if we put out a false raid. Tell everyone that we are going to raid a warehouse in the South Valley, let’s send them on a wild goose chase.”
What good would that do?” asked Sedillo.
“Simple, answered Hidalgo, if all the police show up in the South Valley, the fight promoters will think they are safe. What we need is a way of getting our agents into that tournament; some honest agents.”
“That’s the problem,” answered Sergeant Sedillo.” We know that at least one officer that works with us is not honest. How will we know which one he is?”
“Maybe we won’t need to know,” answered Hidalgo.
Planning a Sting
Hidalgo did everything he could do to change his appearance and attended the tournament. Putting grey in his hair and donning a Mexican serape did the job. Laughing at himself in the mirror he liked what he saw. Arriving at the tournament, Hidalgo hid himself in the crowd, wearing clothes that made him a stranger to himself, clothes that he normally would never wear. He also had been to a barber and had his long hair cut in a close cropped style that made him look more Spanish than Indian. He wanted to blend in, to be anonymous. Paying the twenty dollar entrance fee, he passed through the door just as he spotted the two men with the silver skulls on the tips of their boots leaning against a wall. They appeared to be disinterested in the tournament, carrying on an animated conversation among each other.
Hidalgo watched indifferently as several fights occurred usually with one of the contestants being knocked out and bloodied. The winners did not seem to be happy about winning, rather they appeared glad to have survived the ordeal. Then it was all over and people began to empty the small arena. Hidalgo watched the two men carefully then realizing he also had to leave he walked out to his truck and watched the remainder saunter out. After watching the door for about thirty minutes the two men with skulls on their boots finally appeared.
The two enforcers finally went over to a black sedan that was parked at the edge of the parking lot and drove away with Hidalgo keeping a discreet distance behind them. It was a difficult job following them without being spotted but fortunately for him they apparently were still arguing among themselves and never noticed the old farm truck that was several cars behind them.
Hidalgo followed them all the way to the Corrales area of Albuquerque, finally they turned into an upscale hacienda style house that was hidden behind a large adobe wall and locked gate. Driving past the gate he now knew where they were staying and his mind immediately began hatching a plan that would entrap the two enforcers.
It was all too personal to Hidalgo. He knew that he could only put a small dent in the cartel operation but he wanted to do his part. Two items played on his thinking. One, he wanted to put a stop to the insidious fight games that were being conducted against the most vulnerable members of our society; our children. Two, he had a personal grudge against the two enforcers who had given him a beating and sent him to the drunk tank. He admitted to himself that he wouldn’t be satisfied with merely having them arrested. He knew they would be out on bail in only a few hours. He wanted vengeance, he wanted to hurt them.
He turned south again traveling to Albuque
rque’s South Valley to the Holliday home on Valley Road. He shared his new information with Richard after swearing him to secrecy. There he would also make a phone call to Sergeant Sedillo and set up a meeting. He knew that Sergeant Sedillo was the only person he could trust because of the danger of tipping off the moles he had already run into. A lot of time and effort would be wasted and the two enforcers could easily return to Mexico to escape prosecution if he played his cards wrong.
Talking on the phone, Sergeant Sedillo wanted Hidalgo to meet him in person immediately to discuss a sting operation. They met in Old Town at the Placita Restaurant where they could find a discreet corner to disappear into.
When Hidalgo arrived Sedillo was already there along with another policeman who had a personal grudge against the enforcers. Sedillo introduced the stranger as Emilio Blanco whose son had competed in a tournament. Blanco explained that his son had fought in two tournaments until his jaw was broken then he was discarded like so much refuse. It seems that he was goaded into fighting when the two enforcers informed him that they knew who his father was, where he patrolled, and how they could easily kill him if he refused to cooperate or even let his father know what was going on. They spent about an hour discussing a fight game of their own.
The Sting
They all loaded into Sedillo’s private car and traveled the route to the hacienda styled house in Corralles. There, they parked a full block away from the house in an obscure place where they would not draw attention to themselves and watched. Returning each day in a different car they kept track of the patterns that the enforcers demonstrated. They realized shortly that the only time the two men left the hacienda house was when they had business to take care of during the day but every night they ventured into the night life of Albuquerque returning to the house by 1:00 AM.
The Family at Serpiente Page 48
