The Mexican Connection: Ted Higuera Series Book 3

by Pendelton Wallace

  Before anyone could move, the jaguar leapt. Time stood still. The big cat hung suspended in air. The gunman spun around, raising his rifle. He didn’t have a chance to get off a shot. The cat landed on him and knocked him to the ground. The rifle went flying.

  The gunman screamed and tried to catch the cat’s claws, but it was hopeless. In an instant, the cat grabbed the man’s neck in his jaws and clamped down. Ted could hear a cracking sound, then the gunman went limp.

  Ted and Chris were frozen. What should we do? They couldn’t out run the cat.

  The cat shook the man a couple of times, then dropped him. It looked up at Ted with brilliant yellow eyes and for just an instant, Ted thought that he could read the big cat’s thoughts.

  You’re safe now, Ted, the cat seemed to be saying. It licked its lips, then turned and sprang over the eight-foot-high wall.

  “Holy crap,” Chris exhaled a large breath. “Did I just see what I think I saw?”

  “We must be dreamin’,” Ted said. “Let’s get out of here.”

  Chris picked up the rifle and together the two men eased their way along the wall.

  The firing had died down to a sporadic shot every now and then. They heard shouts and then the firing started again.

  The courtyard came into view. They could see gunmen with red cloths tied around their biceps climbing back into the pickups. Some stayed on the ground and peppered the buildings with gunfire. Two men dragged Angela and Carmen to the trucks. The girls were passed up kicking and screaming. Once the girls were loaded, the men on the ground resumed firing. After several minutes they all climbed into the vehicles and took off.

  As they passed through the gate a couple of men dashed into the courtyard and fired after them, but it was useless, they were gone.

  Everywhere Ted looked, he saw bodies. A few had red bandanas tied around their arms, but most were from the compound.

  “Let’s get out of here,” Chris said.

  “What about the girls?” Ted asked.

  “They’re gone.” Chris jumped into the passenger seat of the Jeep. “There’s nothing we can do for them. Let’s report this to Lazaro.”

  Ted started the Jeep and pulled out of the compound.

  ****

  Juarez, Mexico

  It wasn’t a good part of town.

  Catrina called the number Rico Caglione had given her five times before someone finally answered. After a brief conversation, the man gave her instructions to meet him. And it wasn’t in a good part of town.

  Dust blew freely from the dirt streets. The buildings were run down and dilapidated. Stucco peeled from the walls, revealing the concrete blocks underneath. It was hard to determine what color the buildings had originally been painted; the blazing sun bleached them all to a uniform dun color.

  A pack of dogs roamed the streets. Catrina didn’t know whether to be afraid or feel sorry for the skinny looking mutts. They were of no discernible breeds, just what she called “Mexican street dogs.”

  Beat up pickup trucks blaring loud ranchero music cruised up and down the street. Most of them had from one or two to six or ten men in the back. The men were all dressed as obrerros, workers, probably being transported to some job or another.

  Catrina stood in front of Super Mini Jalisco as instructed. A super mini was the Mexican equivalent of a convenience store. The lot across the street was covered in garbage. Old mattresses, discarded refrigerators and piles of black plastic garbage bags littered the lot. Apparently an empty lot was fair game for any kind of dumping.

  I wonder how many bodies have been dumped in places like this? Catrina thought.

  The man on the phone told her to come by herself. She usually didn’t fear for her safety, but she was without a firearm. However, she still had her expanding police baton strapped to her forearm. A flick of the wrist would put the weapon in her hand. She wasn’t worried about hand to hand combat, but she didn’t want to take her police baton to a gun fight.

  This was a different world, drive by shootings were the norm. Bodies were dumped on city streets, beheaded and hung from bridges or just disappeared.

  She was on the trail of a drug smuggler in the world capital of drug smuggling. Did anyone know why she was here yet? What would they do when they found out?

  She had to move fast. She had to find James Adams before the cartels knew that she was after him. She had to get him over the border before anyone had time to react.

  To do that, she had to be armed. The cartels were armed better than the police. They had legions of soldiers. It had been an all-out war between the cartels and the Army. With all of the American weapons and training, the Army was barely holding their own.

  A midnight blue 1963 Cadillac Sedan de Ville pulled up to the curb. A thin man with a pencil thin mustache and a 1940’s style suit got out. “Stand against the wall, por favor,” he said.

  Catrina took a look at him. He had a fresh scar running from this right eye down his cheek, a hell of a shiner and a bandage around his left hand. I’d like to see the other guy, she thought.

  “Por favor,” the man said again.

  Catrina assumed the pose, leaning against the wall with her feet spread. He patted her down, taking too much time checking out her breasts.

  “I hope you will forgive me, señora,” he said. “One can’t be too careful.”

  He felt her arms, under her bush shirt, and found her police baton.

  “What is thees?”

  “Police baton.” She flipped her wrist and the metal rod magically appeared in her hand. She handed it to him.

  He studied it for a minute, then held down the button and flicked it open. “An interesting toy. Most ingenious.” He handed it back to her. “I don’t think that I need to worry about this.” He patted the bulge under his jacket.

  “Get in the car.” He opened the passenger door.

  Catrina slid in. The white leather interior smelled and felt new.

  The man walked around to the driver’s side and got in. He started the car, and then spoke.

  “Allow me to introduce myself,” he said. “I am José Ruiz. I dabble in a little of this and a little of that. Your Señor Caglione, he contacted me. He said you needed an introduction.” Ruiz pulled the Cadillac away from the curb and cruised slowly down the street.

  Catrina just sat and looked at the man.

  “He said you were looking for guns.” Ruiz turned and smiled at Catrina. “I don’t know what such a beautiful lady as you needs with guns. I can find you silks and perfumes, no?”

  “Keep your eyes on the road,” Catrina said. “And get me the introduction.”

  “But why, I ask myself. Why does a lovely señora like you need guns? Surely you know that possessing firearms is illegal. So what is this lovely lady doing that she needs illegal firearms?”

  He drove on in silence for a few minutes.

  “José, I tell myself, this lady, she is preparing to play rough. Who plays rough in this town? The drug cartels. Surely she can’t be planning anything against the drug cartels. She is not that stupid.”

  “How stupid I am is none of your concern.”

  “Yes, but your stupidity puts me at risk. I must have adequate compensation for that risk, sí? Surely you cannot expect me to take risk purely on the basis of a phone call from an American gangster, even for such a pretty lady as you.”

  Catrina’s steel gray eyes burned into Ruiz for a moment. “What do you want?”

  Ruiz pulled over to the curb. “Well, naturally, I would love your company. A nice dinner, maybe a weekend at a beach villa, but no, I am a practical man. You are here on a mission. You do not have time for affairs of the heart. That leaves only one thing, money, of course.”

  “How much?” Catrina asked.

  “Five thousand dollars. I think for five thousand US dollars, I can put you in touch with the man you seek.”

  “How do I know that this man can help me?”

  “He supplies guns to the cartels; he is t
he only one who can help you. There is a steady flow of weapons into Mexico and they all pass through his hands. He is like the narcos. He doesn’t let anyone else cut into his business. If you try to bring in guns and sell them, you will disappear. Muy pronto.”

  Catrina put her hand on the door handle. “I don’t think you can help me. I think you’re just setting me up.”

  “No, señora. He is the only one. Señor Muerte, Mr. Death. He will not talk to you. You will never find him without me.”

  “Okay.” Catrina reached into her fanny pack. “I’ll give you half now. You get the other twenty-five hundred when I have the contact.”

  “To show you how much I trust you,” Ruiz said, “I will set up the meeting. You can pay me the other half after you meet Señor Muerte.

  ****

  Juarez, Mexico

  Ted and Chris spent the night at the police station; Colonel Lazaro dispatched an army unit to the rancho. They flew in helicopters to find it deserted. The place was strewn with bodies. According to Lazaro, there were fourteen gang members and fifty-eight immigrants gunned down.

  Ted and Chris provided all the information that they could, both being interviewed separately by several different police and Army officers. Finally, as the sun poked above the horizon, they were released.

  They drove in silence back to the Hotel Benito Juarez. Once in their room, Chris finally spoke.

  “Don’t you think it all seems a bit coincidental? That the girls took us to Los Norteños’ ranch and Los Conquistadores raided it, while we were there.”

  Ted was so tired he couldn’t think. “What do you mean? You think the girls are working for Los Conquistadores?”

  “I don’t know who they’re working for.” Chris walked into the bathroom and reached for his toothbrush. “It’s just odd that they know El Lobo and got us into his compound. Then suddenly the other guys come in with guns blazing. What about the kid that was killed by the panther? He seemed rather pleased to have found us. Do you think they were after us in the first place?”

  “I’ve got a real bad feeling about this.” Ted flipped the rebellious lock of hair that always fell into his left eye back. “My gut tells me that they were after us, but why would they want us? If they’re holding Guillermo for ransom, they’re going to need us free to get the money.”

  “None of this makes any sense,” Chris said.

  Ted sat on his bed and took off his shoes. “And what about that panther? Have you ever seen anything like that before?” Ted rolled over and stretched out on his bed. “The cat kills the kid who had the drop on us, then just disappears. It’s like something out of a science-fiction novel.”

  “This is all too much for me. I’m going to bed.” Chris started brushing his teeth.

  Ted didn’t even bother to undress. He just fell asleep on top of the covers in his dirty clothes.

  Sometime later, Ted’s smart phone played “Like a Virgin,” Maribel’s ring tone.

  “Huh? Oh God,” Ted said as he rolled over and reached for his phone. “Yeah?”

  “Ted, it’s Maribel. I have bad news for you.”

  “Huh? Do you know what time it is?”

  “Yeah, it’s 10 am. I waited until I was sure you’d be up.”

  “We had a hell of a night.” Ted sat up. “We didn’t get to bed until after sunrise.”

  “Sounds like party time in Mejico. I hope the girls were pretty.”

  “It’s not like that.” Ted tried to shake the cobwebs out of his head. “We got involved in a gun fight. We spent the night at the police station.”

  “Shit, Ted. Are you all right?”

  “Yeah, just dead tired.”

  “You be careful.”

  “So, what’s the bad news?”

  “Oh, it’s Oscar . . .”

  “Oscar?”

  “He’s disappeared. I’ve looked for him everywhere. I swear all the doors and windows were closed. I don’t know how he got out.”

  Chapter 18

  Juarez, Mexico

  A quick call brought Rudi Trujillo running. The ace reporter met Ted and Chris in the restaurant at Hotel Benito Juarez.

  “It sounds like you had quite a night,” Rudi said as he sat down. “The media is having a field day with the battle at the rancho.” Rudi gestured to the waiter for coffee. “This may be the single biggest massacre yet in this horrid war.”

  “We need your help,” Ted said. He sipped his coffee and made a face. “This shit is terrible.”

  “One hand washes the other,” the tall reporter said. “I help you, you help me.”

  “What can we do to help you?” Chris asked.

  “You’re part of the biggest story of the year. I want to hear everything that happened.”

  “We can’t tell you much,” Chris said. “We were too busy keeping our heads down, we didn’t see a lot.”

  The waiter arrived with Rudi’s coffee.

  “Still, you were there. I doubt any other reporter has ever had the opportunity to interview survivors of such an event.”

  “We need guns,” Ted changed the subject. “You must know someone who can help us.”

  “Indeed. I have a few contacts. Let me make a couple of calls. In the meantime, you have a story to tell me.”

  Ted looked at Chris who nodded his head in Rudi’s direction.

  “You make the calls, then we’ll tell you everything we know.” Ted ran his thumb and forefinger over his mustache.

  “What kind of guns are you interested in?” Rudi pulled his cell phone from his pocket.

  “We want something simple. Something that won’t get jammed up on us and is easy to use,” Ted said. He took a deep breath.

  Rudi nodded and started dialing his cell. He got up and walked out to the pool while he talked. He made two or three calls.

  “If we’re gonna tell him about the massacre, I think we better leave out the part about the panther,” Ted said.

  “I’m with you there, compadre,” Chris said. “No one would believe us. They’d probably lock us up in the nut house.”

  After a few minutes, Rudi came back to the table.

  “We’ll meet in front of the Juarez monument at five, just before closing.” Rudi took out his notebook. “Now, tell me about what happened at the rancho.”

  Ted and Chris spent the next hour recounting the story. Rudi took copious notes.

  “Thank you, amigos,” Rudi said when they completed their narrative. “This will make one of the most sensational stories of the year.”

  Rudi put away his notebook and stood. “I’ll meet you at five then.” He turned and walked away.

  ****

  Seattle

  “Lisa Adams,” the prison guard said, “Your attorney’s here.”

  Lisa looked up from her book. She’d found solace in the jail’s library. She could hide from her problems by burying herself in a book. She absorbed book after book about the drug war in Mexico.

  “Okay.” She closed her copy of Midnight in Mexico and followed the guard out the door.

  She was surprised to see Abe Weinstein in the conference room.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Adams,” Abe said, extending his hand.

  Lisa shook his hand tentatively. “What are you doing here? I thought I fired you.”

  “I have news from your husband.” Abe sat back down at the table.

  “Jimmy? What does he say?”

  “Mrs. Adams, even though you fired me, we still have attorney/client privilege for our previous conversations. What we say here today is not covered. Do you understand that?”

  Lisa nodded her head. “Un-huh.”

  “All right then. What I am about to tell you, I never said. If you repeat this to anyone, I will deny it. The only reason I’m here today is to clear up some questions about billing. Are we straight?”

  Lisa looked at the little man. What was he talking about? Why was he being so obtuse?

  “You know that I represent your husband and his employers, yes?” We
instein stopped and stared into her eyes.

  “Yes. That’s what you’ve told me.”

  “His employers are very powerful people. They are not necessarily people that you would invite over for afternoon tea. Do I make myself clear?”

  Silence hung in the air.

  “What are you trying to tell me?” Lisa asked.

  “I’m not trying to tell you anything. I just want you to understand who you’re dealing with. These people have a very long reach. No one and nothing is safe from them. They have associates here in the county jail. They have people in the State Prison. They can get to you any time they want.”

  Lisa felt her heart beating in her throat.

  “They know where Kayla is. They know what school she goes to and they know about her dance classes. Here, I have something to show you.”

  Weinstein pulled his brief case unto the table. He deliberately went about opening the latches and removing a manila envelope. He took a stack of pictures out of the envelope.

  “My employers thought you might want to see some snapshots of your daughter. To see how she is doing in her new environment.”

  Lisa grabbed the photos. They were pictures of Kayla, going into school, leaving school, playing in the yard of her foster home, at her dance class, in the shopping mall.

  Oh my God! Who are these people?

  “Wha . . . what do you want?” Lisa got the message.

  “You will not fight this indictment; you will not talk to the DA; you will confess to the charge of distributing illegal drugs from your home. You will explain that your husband knew nothing about it and finally you will go to prison and serve out your term quietly. Do you understand?”

  “Y . . . yes.”

  “Good. If you do these things, then everything will be all right. When Kayla graduates from high school, she will have adequate credit in the GET program to pay for her college education. If you don’t cooperate, well, I can’t tell you what might happen.”

  “You bastard!”

  “Hey, don’t shoot the messenger. I’m just trying to help all parties involved reach an amicable agreement.”