Other methods of violence include use of confinement, extortion, blackmail, assault, robbery, physical and sexual violence, torture, amputation, and even individual and collective executions calculated to intimidate others.
Our only way to stop this plague is to band together in our local communities, such as Cabo, and say, ‘No’.”
Finally, a frail older woman tottered up to the podium, her iron-grey hair swept back and pinned, her face lined with age, heavy toil, and sadness. She wore the simple clothes of a peasant, a traditional cotton spun blouse with faint embroidery, and a black skirt.
“I am Juana Pena. I represent the Caravans of Mothers. We travel all over Mexico looking for clues to finding our lost loved ones. Ours is a heroic, tireless and sad struggle, journeying thousands of miles from Mexico’s southern border along the migration routes looking for the lost, or their remains. We are supported in each place by local organizations, church personnel, and their migrant houses. We look for evidence of our missing children through interviews with local inhabitants, and search along train lines and caravan routes. We try to expose the violence that befalls the poor migrants who enter your country.
Tens of thousands of migrants have disappeared across Mexico, some buried in the mass graves we’ve discovered. Many migrants have simply fallen off the overcrowded train heading north, known as La Bestia, The Beast, and have their body parts strewn over the desert. Others are buried as unknown indigents in potter’s field graves throughout Mexico.”
Stepping to the podium again, the Judge opened the meeting to questions. Surprisingly, no one seemed interested in the sinking of the sloop; all the questions were directed to his compadres who had spoken. He wondered if he’d just stepped from the pan into the fire. Time would tell.
After the press conference was concluded, the Judge walked Christina across the lobby from her perch in a chair on its far side, and introduced her to Leticia Vargas. The two settled into a quiet corner of the lobby to talk. Cristina was defensive and nervous, but watching them from across the lobby, the Judge could see her begin to relax, gradually easing back in her leather seat as they chatted. Leticia did more listening than talking, building trust by listening to Christina’s story, rather than trying to fill up with the importance of Casa del Jardín. He left them like that, satisfied he’d done the best he could for Cristina.
He was in his room again, settling atop his maid-made bed, air-conditioning going full tilt, hoping for a short nap, when the phone rang.
“Hi, Judge. This is Luis Cervantes. Nice press conference. The directors all watched it. ASAM is going to do its part. We’ll get to the bottom of the forced labor issues you discovered at our Todos Sandos plant. We’ll stomp it out. The individuals involved will be fired and prosecuted. Any forced labor workers will be fairly compensated for their past work, and given options to return to their home or continue under new, freely negotiated employment terms which will be fully honored. And I’m personally donating money to each of the organizations that presented at your news conference. We’re going to put an end to trafficking in Baja once and for all.”
“I’m glad to hear that, Luis. It’s the right thing to do.”
“It is. But there’s another matter I wanted to discuss.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. We’ve entered into negotiations to acquire a large San Diego fruit packer and have executed a non-binding letter of intent. It will fit nicely with our agricultural businesses. But we need U.S. legal help to assist us in negotiating the definitive terms for purchase. Would you be available to represent us in this matter? Come aboard as our U.S. lawyer?”
The Judge perked up. Clients were always hard to find. ASAM was a big company with solid cash flow. They could afford his rates and could pay. If they were expanding into U.S. operations, they could be a great client. Plus, representation might lead to other Mexican businesses needing similar U.S. work.
“I’d be most interested to discuss the possibility,” said the Judge.
“Great. I’ve called a special dinner meeting of the board of directors for this evening, at eight p.m. Might you be available to join us and discuss such a representation further?”
The Judge was staring at the likelihood of eating alone, which he detested. It was an easy decision.
“Sure, Luis. Tell me where.”
“We’re meeting at my favorite Chinese restaurant. I’m thinking rice and beans may be wearing a little thin with you in any event. Here, let me give you the address.”
The Judge scribbled down the address of Mr. Wu’s Golden Dragon Cuisine.
“I’ll see you at eight, Luis, and thanks for thinking of me.” Perhaps this vacation wouldn’t be a total loss after all.
CHAPTER 42
Luis met the Judge at the door of the restaurant, ushering him, the little bell tinkling away at the top of the door as it closed. The place was empty, but still smelled of cooking oil, fish, and garlic, reminiscent of Chinese restaurants over the world. Luis led the Judge to a smaller dining area at the back of the restaurant, partially cordoned off at its entrance by thick curtains swagged to either side, and to a small table where they settled, facing each other across an opened wine bottle.
“Where’s everyone else, Luis. I thought this was a board meeting?”
Luis spread his hand depreciatingly, smiling, relaxed. “María and Ana are dead, as is poor Alan Clark. Miguel is in custody for the murders of María and Ana. Old Pablo isn’t feeling well. And Rosa couldn’t be bothered. She had a date. So, I guess you just get me, Judge. Would you like some wine? It’s Mexican, but quite good.”
The Judge nodded. “Great. Tell me about your planned expansion into U.S. operations. It sounds exciting. Is there an urgent issue in the negotiations which needs to be addressed?”
“Yes.”
“What’s the issue about, Luis?”
“It’s about you, Judge.”
“Me?” The Judge looked up at Luis, then focused on Luis’s left hand, which had been settled in his lap, but was now up and out, pointing a Beretta 360 semi-automatic at the Judge’s chest.
“I don’t understand.”
“Sure, you do, Judge. Once you start thinking about it, isn’t it obvious? My partners in my enterprise were very specific. Your head or mine.”
“The cartel!”
“Yes. See, I knew you’d get it. I’m the one who instituted the ‘forced’ labor in our plants. Set things up so we could lower our cost per hour. When you don’t pay half your work force, except for a little rice and beans daily, you’d be surprised how easy it is to compete with China and Southeast Asia. Miguel couldn’t understand how my costs could be so low. He has no imagination. Once a bean counter, always a bean counter.”
“It was your people on the boat, trying to throw us overboard.”
“Yes. You’re a quick study once someone takes you by the nose and turns you in the right direction.”
“But why now, Luis? I’m about to leave Mexico. Katy is long gone, back in the States. We can’t do you any harm now.”
“You’ve stirred up a hornet’s nest, Judge. Mexico prosecutors flying in. The U.S. State Department all over my partners’ collective ass. Outcry from the press, and the United Nations. And now the unions are out in force, proclaiming illegal workplace pay and unfair work rules. You’ve created a regular shit-storm here.”
“The damage is done, Luis. Disposing of me won’t change any of that. You just dig your hole deeper.”
“That’s a rational argument, Judge. I respect it. And I might even buy into it, as I pride myself on not holding a grudge. But my partners….” Luis shook his head. “My partners are more primitive. Everything is emotional for them. Your actions are seen as an assault on their pride. They say there must be consequences for you. It’s necessary to keep everyone in line.
So you see, Judge, there’s no free pass. You must disappear in a semi-public sort of way. So everyone kind of knows what happened. Hears about it; knows how dang
erous it is to disrespect our organization. I’m sure you understand. We must keep up the appearance of consequences, and invincibility. Regrettably, I’ve now been personally tasked with this unpleasant duty, because I allowed Alan Clark and inadvertently you into one of our plants. They hold me accountable for starting the whole chain of unfortunate events.”
The Judge had allowed his hands to settle in his lap as Luis talked. He turned them palms up under the table. It was the only thing he could think of.
“This is a public place. You can’t just shoot someone here.”
“Foremost, this is Mexico, Judge. And I can. In fact, a cartel owns this joint. And the staff was quite happy to go home early. Closed for a private meeting. I must admit, I’m enjoying watching you squirm more than I thought I would. You’ve been such a pain in my ass since you arrived.”
The Judge moved then, shoving his hands up against the underside of the table on his side with all his might., tilting the table up and over, slamming it down on top of Luis. The gun went off, and a slug buried itself in the ceiling above the Judge’s head. The table crashed over on Luis, sending him backward in his chair and over onto his back, the table crashing down on top of him, propelled with all the Judge’s bulk crashing down on top of the table’s now exposed underside. The chair splintered into kindling, flattening Luis under the table as the gun went flying from his grasp.
The Judge grabbed the wine bottle where it had fallen to the side on the floor, and, throwing himself further out on top of the upended table, pinning Luis underneath as he struggled to free himself, swung the bottle with all his might in a roundhouse blow, smacking the side of Luis’s head. The bottle broke with a satisfying crunch, showering shards of glass everywhere. Luis’s eyes went blank.
The Judge picked himself up from the table, snatched up the gun from where it had fallen, and dragged Luis out from under the wreckage of the table and chair.
The Judge turned to the curtains separating their smaller dining area from the rest of the restaurant, and grabbing the cord swagging one curtain to the side wall, twisted it away. He rolled Luis onto his stomach and used the cord to tie Luis’s hands behind him, and then his feet, hogtie style. He felt for a pulse. It was there, but Luis was still out, dazed, quiet.
The Judge moved to the front door of the restaurant, peeking out its front window. There was a car across the street, two men in it, just sitting, waiting. They didn’t feel right. Luis’s help no doubt. The Judge locked the front door, then found his way to the back, through the kitchen, and checked a rear door. It was already locked.
CHAPTER 43
The Judge fished out his cell phone and called Chief Inspector Garcia, hoping Garcia was the right person to call. It was hard to know in this crazy town.
Garcia’s gruff voice answered on the first ring. The Judge explained his situation.
“Where’s Gonzales?” asked Garcia.
“I wish I knew. You said he’d have my back, but I’ve seen no sign of him.”
“Shit. Lazy bastard.”
“And there’s a car parked across the street with two unsavory looking guys in it.”
“Okay, I’m coming over. Just sit tight until I get there.”
“What if these guys across the street come charging in before you get here?”
“Then… how do your American comrades say? You’re toast! I’m leaving now.”
Garcia hung up before the Judge could respond.
The Judge turned, hearing commotion behind him. It turned out to be Luis, conscious now, struggling to slip from his bindings. But the Judge was a sailor, or had been. He’d tied the knots in seaman fashion. Luis had a small abrasion on his forehead where the table had hit him. And a bruise on the side of his head, wine bottle size. A little blood was trickling down the side of his face, but he looked like he’d live.
The Judge pulled up a chair next to Luis’s prone body and sat down. Luis glared hatred at the Judge from the floor. They sat like that for about twenty minutes, the Judge tired, looking at Luis. Luis mad and damaged, glaring at the Judge. Finally, there was a knock at the front door of the restaurant. The Judge peeked around through the blinds and saw Garcia standing outside, looking impatient, Gonzales in tow behind. The car with the thugs across the street was gone.
The Judge opened the front door and the two policemen stepped in.
“Where is he?” asked Garcia.
“In the back, on the floor. Tied up.”
“Let me have a peek.”
“Sure. He’s all yours.”
Garcia stepped around the corner, bent down, and spoke in Spanish to Luis on the floor. Luis responded in kind, a flood of vindictive-sounding Spanish spilling out. Garcia shook his head, and waved a pointed finger under Luis’s nose. Then he hauled Luis to his feet, undid the knots with some difficulty, took him by the arm so he couldn’t run, and walked him over to Gonzales.
“Take him out and lock him in the back seat, Gonzales. Give me a few minutes here, then we’ll take him to a hospital for a checkup.”
The Judge handed Luis’s pistol over to Garcia, as though washing his hands of the whole mess.
“Sit down, Judge. Let’s talk this over a bit.”
“Sure.”
“I’ll take Luis to the hospital, and then back to the station. But the Chief will release him.”
“What? He tried to kill me. He admitted he’s the head of human trafficking in Baja California for the cartels. He’s the one who gave the order to kidnap Katy. He’s the one that arranged for Katy and me to drown on the sunset cruise. He needs to be charged, convicted, and put away for a long time.”
“Yes, I know, Judge, but this is Mexico.”
“So?”
“So, Luis’ mother is married to my Chief’s uncle. The Chief will let him go.”
“But… but… but there must be something that can be done.”
“Let me whisper a suggestion in your ear, Judge, but again you didn’t get this from me.”
“Alright.”
“As soon as I pull out of here, call these numbers.” Garcia scribbled three phone numbers on a scrap of paper, and handed it to the Judge. “The Cabo San Lucas Daily News, the Los Cabos News, and the Gringo Gazette, our primary papers here. Tell each them of this arrest and how Luis is the kingpin for the cartel-led human trafficking in Baja California. And this is very important. Have them send their photographers to the police station to take pictures of Luis as we arrive, bringing him in. We’ll time it to get out of the car in front of the station in an hour from now.”
“I can do all that. But how does it help?”
“Luis is a high-profile person in Cabo. Well known, if a bit flashy, throws money around, contributes to charities and schools. He runs with community leaders and high society.”
“So?”
“The paper will print your complete story, your charges against Luis, your suspicions. There will be unflattering pictures of Luis hauled up the steps into the police station in cuffs, with his bandaged head. Gossip will spread like wildfire. Luis will be dropped from all the parties and social goings on in Cabo as an unwelcome guest.”
“And that helps us?”
“It may well serve justice, Judge. Without his social credentials, isolated from the cartels, the myth of cartel protection vanished, Luis will be vulnerable. Then his enemies, and he likely has many, may come to call without fear of reprisal.”
“That’s all? That’s all you can suggest? No trial? No due process? No marshalling and presenting of evidence, no clear conviction of guilt, no prison sentence, no nothing?”
“It’s the best we can do under the circumstances, Judge. Hardly anyone gets prosecuted under our human trafficking laws right now. Particularly if they have influence. Besides, we have no proof he was behind your ill-fated sailing cruise, or responsible for your wife’s kidnapping. Look at his condition when I walked in here. Your discussion with him and any admissions he made tonight would be considered admissions made under duress. T
hey’d be thrown out by a Mexican court as not presentable evidence. I believe it’s the same in your country… no?”
The Judge nodded, shaking his head in frustration as he spread his hands to protest. “But in an investigation, a thorough investigation, it’d all come out. Unexplained cash, bank records, offshore funds, questioning and flipping of subordinates, rolling up the whole network, you could put the entire cartel out of business.”
Garcia gave a sad smile.
“If Luis were a nobody, Judge, he might well be prosecuted. But he’s not. As I’ve said, my best guess is it will not happen. As to the cartel he works with, if the Mexican cartels were actually within our reach, what do you think would happen? They’d no longer exist, right? But unfortunately, they’re not.
They exist because there is so much money in what they do, money provided by you Americans consuming their products, and because they liberally grease the wheels of justice in this country to look the other way, and because they operate ruthlessly to stamp out all perceived threats, and because everyone is afraid.”
“But isn’t the war on the cartels by the army slowly driving them underground?”
“No, señor. I only wish it was so simple. The cartels are organized like a well-established business. It is not just a bunch of crazy men with guns who sell drugs and kill their competitors. It is more a para-military organization with similarities to a multinational company. There is a well-defined structure, rules and policies, a finance department, an HR department, a supplies department, operations, legal, security, and executive officers.
The cartel hires young men to sell drugs, and to clean up after violence. These people are the lowest rank in their organizations. Or they may use trafficked slaves caught up in their network and forced to work for the cartel. They also hire violent gangs to enforce their will within their territory.
Cabo Page 24
