The Cartel Strikes Back: The Ted Higuera Series, Book 5

by Pendelton Wallace

  “Yeah, if we can get it out of there, toss it in the bay, and get home alive.”

  “You always such a pessimist?”

  “Does a bear shit in the woods?” Chris replied.

  Ted climbed down the ladder. When his feet touched the deck, he reached in his pocket and pulled out a small Mag-Lite flashlight. He flicked it on and looked around.

  Ted’s light rested on an old cargo net. “Hey, Chris,” he whispered up to the deck. “I can put the boxes in the net and you can haul them up on deck.”

  “Okay, little buddy, but hurry. We don’t know when those fuckers are coming back.”

  Ted put a box in the net and tossed the rope attached to the net up to Chris. Chris pulled up the bundle and dropped the net back to Ted.

  By the time Ted was ready with another load, Chris was back at the hatch.

  “Tide’s on the ebb. These boxes are going to float up the bay, maybe even out to sea, by morning.” Chris grabbed at the rope and hauled another box up.

  It took slightly less time to haul the cargo up and toss it in the water than it did to load it. Both Ted and Chris were motivated.

  The last box went over and Ted climbed to the deck.

  “Let’s replace the hatch so no one will know that we were here,” Chris said.

  “That ship has sailed, bro.” Ted pointed to the dock where four men staggered along.

  One of the Mexicans shouted and the stagger became a run as the men charged up the dock.

  “Oh shit!” Chris gasped.

  “The fun’s just beginnin’.” Ted always slipped into his barrio accent when danger threatened. “Them fuckers are so out of it, we’ll toss them into the bay too.”

  It wasn’t as easy as Ted imagined.

  The four men climbed on board with alacrity. They surrounded the pair.

  “Whatcha doin’ on my ship?” the older of the four asked.

  “Just practicin’ a civics lesson, dude.” Ted replied.

  Ted and Chris were back to back.

  One of the men produced a knife and lunged at Ted. He reckoned without Ted’s speed.

  Ted slipped to one side and grabbed for the man’s hand. He missed. The man swung the knife back in an arc towards Ted. He cut deep into Ted’s leg.

  “Shit!” Ted cried. “Now you’re makin’ me mad, cabrón.” Ted lunged at the man and managed to get under his guard.

  The two crashed to the deck. Ted was substantially heavier and much stronger than the wiry little man. Ted threw a couple punches to his face and his eyes glazed over. Ted leapt to his feet, pulled the little man up, and threw him overboard.

  “Vaya con dios, amigo.” Ted turned to see how Chris was doing.

  Chris had two men holding his arms. A tall, thin man with a scar on his face came in and landed a punch in Chris’s stomach. He reacted by pulling up his legs and kicking the man. The man toppled over backwards and the two men holding his arms staggered back and tripped over a line.

  Chris stood to face his tormentors.

  He looks like a giant, Ted thought. Chris was at least six inches taller than his attackers and outweighed any of them by fifty pounds.

  Scarface came to his feet and reached to the rail to pluck out a belaying pin.

  “Uh-uh,” Ted shouted. “No you don’t.” He charged him and sent him sprawling.

  Ted got to his feet first and kicked the man in the jaw. His eyes rolled up in his head. Ted tossed him overboard.

  Chris had one man on the ground and his arms around the other’s throat. Ted grabbed the unconscious man and rolled him overboard.

  “Well, well. We got one left.” Ted walked up to the man Chris held captive. “You think he wants to talk to us.”

  “Let’s take him below,” Chris said.

  Ted found a coil of old rope on deck as his friend dragged the helpless man into the cabin. Chris sat him down in a chair and Ted tied him up.

  Ted looked around. There was an old wood stove in the galley.

  “You think we should make a fire, Chris?” he asked as he broke up some locker doors for fuel.

  He laid the fire, then went on a search for matches. There was a box of wooden matches on a shelf to the left of the stove.

  Ted stood in front of the terrified man and lit a match. “You like fire, cabrón?” He waved the match until the fire went out. Turning to the stove, Ted lit the fire with a new match.

  “We’re gonna have a little chat, you and me. If you don’t have the right answers, it’s gonna go very bad for you.”

  The man visibly shook. “I do not know anything. I just load and unload the boat.”

  “We will see about that.”

  “Ted, can I have a word?” Chris asked and turned to the cabin door.

  As they stepped out on deck, Chris addressed Ted. “You really aren’t going to torture him are you?”

  “That depends on him.”

  “Are you out of your mind? Ted, look at me.” Chris stepped right in his friend’s face. “You can’t do this. You know better. We don’t do this kind of thing.”

  “We’re in a war here. They have Maria. I’ll do anything I have to in order get her back.”

  “Listen to yourself. You sound like every petty dictator who ever fouled this planet. We’re not that kind of people.”

  “Bullshit.” Ted turned and walked back into the cabin.

  “Is the fire hot yet, cabrón?” Ted walked over to the stove and felt the top. It was hot.

  He grabbed a hot cast iron frying pan from the stove and slammed it into the man’s head. The man yelled, then sobbed.

  “I want to know where El Pozolero is. Where does he hang out? Where is he holding the girl?”

  “Señor, I do not know.” Tears rolled down the little man’s cheeks. “My cousin, Miguel, he tells me when to come down. I take boxes from the other boat and hand them down the hatch. On another day, I unload the boxes into a truck. That is all.”

  Ted slowly walked back to the galley stove. He lifted the steel lid with an iron handle and spit on the lid. It sizzled.

  “Okay, amigo, things are going to get a little harder for you.” He walked back to the man and waved the lid in his face.

  The man felt the heat and shrunk back. “No, señor. I swear. I know nothing. If I did, I would tell you.” The crotch of his pants darkened as he lost control.

  “Where is the girl?” Ted inched the plate closer to the man’s face.

  “NO!” Chris grabbed Ted’s arm and dragged the steel plate away. “You can’t do this. Ted, listen to me. This isn’t you.”

  “Let me go, mother fucker.” Ted struggled to get free.

  “There’s got to be another way. We don’t do this.”

  Ted broke free and planted a haymaker on Chris’s jaw. Chris staggered back, hit the bulkhead and slowly slid down.

  Ted reached down to pick up the steel plate.

  “Don’t touch it, Ted. I’m serious. You do this, and I’m through with you.”

  Ted stood, holding the plate and looked at this friend, then looked at the prisoner. He looked back to Chris and stood frozen. Tears formed in his eyes.

  “Chris, I . . . I . . . have to. I have to find Maria. That tiny cocked son of a bitch can’t beat me.” He dropped the plate to the deck.

  Chris lifted himself back up. “C’mon. Let’s blow this pop stand.”

  “What about our amigo here?”

  “Leave him. He can tell his bosses what happened.”

  Ted turned to his erstwhile victim. “You speak English? You heard what we said?”

  The man shook his head. “No Ingles.”

  “Okay. You tell El Pozolero that Ted Higuera was here,” Ted said in Spanish. “Tell him this is just the start. Until I get Maria back, he ain’t doin’ no business. Got that?”

  Chapter 34

  Catrina pulled her Explorer into the parking lot in front of the police station. The station looked like some auto repair shop with covered drive-throughs and whitewash over conc
rete blocks.

  They entered the building into a large waiting area. Benches lined the walls and a curved desk with bulletproof glass dominated the center of the room.

  “Okay, Hope, you take the lead here. You speak Spanish.”

  Hope walked up to an open window.

  “¿Sí, puedo ayudarle?” a thirty-something woman asked.

  “We need to talk to El Jefe,” Hope answered.

  “No one can walk in here and talk to the chief,” the woman said.

  Hope leaned on the counter, bringing her mouth as close to the speaking hole as she could. “I think he will want to see us. This is Catrina Flaherty, she’s a famous private detective from America.” Hope passed one of Catrina’s business cards through the cut out in the glass.

  “I don’t care who she is; the chief isn’t seeing anyone.” The woman started to turn away.

  “Can you tell him it’s about Maria Gonzales?” Hope asked.

  The woman stopped and turned back to Hope. “What about señorita Gonzales?”

  “Sorry. We can only tell the chief.”

  The clerk looked at Catrina’s business card again, hesitated a moment and said, “Wait here. I’ll ask if he can see you.” She walked off, through a heavy door in the cage and to an equally heavy door in the wall. She punched in a code, opened the door and disappeared into the bowels of the building.

  “What did she say?” Catrina asked.

  Hope explained the conversation. “I don’t know how long we’ll have to wait, but the longer he makes us wait, the more important he feels.”

  While they waited, Catrina people-watched. As was her way, she made up little stories about each of the people she saw.

  An American couple was at the next window. They were arguing in broken Spanish and mostly English with the clerk behind the glass. Apparently they got a ticket for parking in a handicapped zone. The fine was five hundred dollars.

  A young mother with three children in tow and one in her arms, argued with another clerk about her car getting impounded.

  The clerk emerged from the door marked “Solamente Empleados” and returned to her cage.

  “He will see you when he has time. You can wait here until you are called.”

  After Hope translated, Catrina took that as a victory.

  She and Hope found plastic chairs along the wall and waited.

  Time passed. As the lunch hour approached, the lobby cleared.

  Hope got up and went to the clerk’s window again. “How much longer is it going to be?”

  The clerk gave her a weary look. “He just went to lunch. He’ll be back in a couple of hours.”

  Catrina looked at the wall clock. Two PM.

  Christ, he won’t be back until around four.

  They sat and waited.

  Hunger began to gnaw at Catrina’s insides.

  The minute hand on the wall clock appeared to be frozen in place.

  Hope found a vending machine and brought them back a couple bottles of water and a bag of sobritos.

  People began to filter back into the police station lobby.

  The clock on the wall said four thirty.

  “Señora Flat . . . Flattery, El Jefe will see you now.” A middle-aged policeman with a bulging belly stood holding the steel door open.

  Catrina and Hope jumped to their feet and charged the door.

  “Muchas gracias,” Hope said to the officer.

  The pudgy cop led them through a warren of hallways towards the back of the building. He opened another heavy steel door and announced, “Señora Flattery and señorita . . . ?”

  “Ezperanza Higuera.” Hope used her Mexican name.

  “Señoras, welcome. Come in. Sit down.” The jefe made a sweeping motion with his hand. “I am Comandante Emiliano Infante, the chief of municipal police in this humble town. May I offer you some refreshment?”

  “No, thank you.” Catrina took a chair in front of the chief’s desk.

  “Now, what can I help you with?” The heavy man sucked at his teeth. “I hear you have news about señorita Gonzales, sí?” His English was passable.

  “We’re looking for information about Miss Gonzales,” Catrina said. “We’re her friends from Seattle. We came down to spend a week with her, and she isn’t anywhere.”

  The chief stared at Hope’s chest while talking to Catrina. “Surely you must understand that these kinds of things happen.” He picked up his coffee cup and took a drink. “She is engaged to an Americano, no? They probably just had a misunderstanding. Lovers’ quarrels often end up with the girl taking off. I’m sure she will return soon.”

  “Not good enough.” Fire flashed in Catrina’s eyes. “They didn’t have a lovers’ quarrel. El Pozolero kidnapped her. I want to know what you are going to do about it.”

  The chief was visibly shaken. “If you insist, I will write the report personally.” He reached in his lower desk drawer and withdrew a form. “You can be sure it will get our utmost attention.”

  Hope nearly came out of her chair. “You’re going to file a report? That’s it? She’s being held by the most vicious drug lord in Mexico and you’re going to file a report?”

  “Señorita, you have to understand. I have limited resources. We are a poor agency. I don’t have the manpower to cover all the ground necessary to find your friend.”

  Hope crossed her legs and the chief almost dropped his coffee cup. “How much? How much would it cost to get the necessary resources?” She knew how the game was played in Mexico.

  “Ah . . .” The chief’s attention wandered back and forth from Catrina’s long legs to Hope’s bosom. “This could be a very expensive investigation. Let’s say, fifty thousand dollars. US. That should get things started. Of course, there may be other expenses.”

  “Such as?” Catrina leaned forward in her chair.

  “Well . . . If we come up with some solid leads, then I would need to put extra men on it. It could cost as much as a hundred thousand dollars to get her back. If we have to mount a raid on one of El Pozolero’s facilities, it could be much more expensive.”

  “Make it happen.”

  She knew damned well that the money wouldn’t buy her anything. The police were probably collaborators in the kidnapping.

  Catrina got up from her chair.

  Hope followed.

  “Let me see you out.” Infante couldn’t keep his eyes off of Catrina’s legs.

  He led them through the police station, keeping up a constant chatter of suggestive small talk.

  I guess we were asking for that, Catrina thought.

  “I can’t believe that men still fall for this stuff,” she whispered to Hope.

  ****

  El Comandante walked the women to Catrina’s car. He opened the driver’s side door and waited for Catrina to enter.

  She slid into her seat and alarms went off in her head.

  A black SUV rounded the corner with tires squealing. Automatic weapon fire rang out. Bullets splatted against the windshield and open door, but didn’t penetrate.

  Instinctively, Catrina dug her Glock out of her purse and returned fire, crouching down behind the door.

  The SUV squealed around the corner and disappeared.

  Catrina took a breath and looked around. The chief lay on the pavement, his head exploded and blood and brains oozing out.

  She couldn’t see Hope. Hope had been waiting for her to unlock the passenger door. Catrina dashed around the vehicle to see Hope in a pool of blood by the front tire.

  Blood flowed from three holes in her chest. Shaking, Catrina dropped to her knees to feel for a pulse. She felt nothing.

  “Wooooo . . .” She let out a cry of pain. She took Hope’s head in her arms and cradled her to her chest.

  “Oh God . . . Hope. Ted. Oh my God, what will I tell Ted?”

  The parking lot burst into a frenzy of activity. Police vehicles roared out of the lot with sirens screaming. Men in SWAT uniforms piled into the backs of pickups and dashed away.r />
  More men in combat fatigues with automatic weapons formed a perimeter around the station.

  Where were you five minutes ago?

  She cradled Hope’s limp body in her arms and rocked back and forth.

  Uniformed officers flowed from the building. Two men in suits ran up to their fallen chief.

  “Madre de Dios,” one exclaimed. There was no reason to look for a pulse. The top of his head was missing.

  The second man, a short dark man in a brown suit, came around the Explorer to where Catrina sat holding Hope.

  “Is she . . .?”

  “She’s gone.” Catrina sobbed.

  “Come, señora.” He reached down and took Catrina’s upper arms. “You must leave her be. The crime scene people will be here shortly.”

  An aid car came screaming into the parking lot, siren blaring. Two uniformed men jumped out before it quite came to a stop. One man ran to the chief while the other pulled a bag out of the back of the truck.

  The man with the bag rushed to the chief’s side. The first man just shook his head.

  “Come, señora, we must go inside. I must take your statement.” The brown suit led Catrina towards the building.

  She was like a zombie. Her feet moved, but her brain wasn’t working. She was numb, felt nothing.

  This was some sort of surreal wonderland. She saw people in the hallways, but couldn’t see their faces. Funny, everything was in black and white. The detective led her to an interview room with a huge mirror on one wall.

  Catrina saw a middle-aged slut in the mirror. Her heavily applied makeup ran down her face, making her look like some crazed killer from a horror movie.

  She tried to turn away, but couldn’t

  The door opened and she saw a pale Hope with blood dripping from her wounds come in and stand behind her. She sat frozen, staring at the mirror.

  “You did this to me,” Hope said. Her skin color was changing from white to blue.

  “Hope . . .” Catrina could hardly move her mouth.

  “You made Ted into a monster, now you killed me. Curse your soul. I hope you spend eternity in hell.”

  Catrina managed to gain a little movement in her neck. She turned to the specter.

  “No, Hope, wait . . .” Hope disappeared. “Come back. It’s not my fault.”