Trail of the Chupacabra: An Avery Bartholomew Pendleton Misadventure (The Chupacabra Trilogy - Book 2)

by Randel Stephen

“Depends on whether or not I had any cornmeal handy.”

  “Personally,” Private Foxtrot added, “I like cracker crumbs myself. Oh, wait a minute…let’s stop talking about food.” The private grabbed at his gurgling stomach.

  “Knock it off, men,” the General said. “We’re on an official mission here. We will act according to the rules of the Geneva Convention, which is very clear on the prohibition of cooking prisoners. Even in beer batter, which, for the record, is the best way.”

  “Thank you, General. I appreciate your support in this matter. Now, if I’m right, and I usually am, we are in a perfect location to detect a suitable specimen.”

  “How come?” asked Private Tango.

  “Elementary. Plenty of dry cover and a local source of water.” Avery pointed to a small stream a few hundred yards away. “Over that rise about a mile away is a large farm.” He pointed in the other direction. “They more than likely have a varied collection of livestock that may attract the chupacabra. Plus, I’m almost positive I spotted a group of three traveling through this area last week when using my ultra-sensitive high-altitude satellite monitoring system.”

  “What?” General X-Ray asked.

  “Like, Google Earth, dude,” said Ziggy, returning with a struggling iguana under his arm.

  “I need to get one of those,” the General said enviously.

  “We’ll set up a honey pot on the other side of that rise and watch for activity. In the meantime, we’ll start looking for signs of recent activity. Namely, footprints and scat.”

  “What?” asked Private Tango.

  “Poo. Look for evil-smelling poo.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Hard Bargain

  In the desert, a black limousine drove along a rutted dirt road. Inside the vehicle, Colonel Cesar Beltrán sat in the back with two armed guards. Up front, another gunman accompanied the driver. The car began to slow as it approached a white fence surrounding a large compound. To the left, a yellow farmhouse sat across from a massive red barn. The back of the compound contained a series of low black buildings that appeared to be some kind of barracks. A sentry at the gate said something into a radio and then waved them through. When they pulled up outside the farmhouse, an attractive young woman greeted Cesar as he climbed out of the limousine.

  “The Padre is expecting you in his office. Please follow me.” The woman turned and led Cesar inside. On the main floor, toward the back of the house, they approached a set of heavy wooden doors ornately painted with bright murals of Mexican laborers toiling in vast fields of marijuana. Depictions of men holding AK-47s surrounded the fields as they supervised the work. The woman knocked softly on one of the doors.

  “Come in,” a voice called out from behind it.

  “Please enter,” the woman said as she pushed open the heavy doors.

  “Have a seat, Colonel,” the Padre said as he sat at his desk on the far side of the room. His immaculate black boots were kicked out across the edge of the desk. Cesar surveyed the room as he entered. The office was filled with the spoils and mementos of a lifetime spent as a drug kingpin. Large, ornate display cases with glass doors showcased collections of rare and valuable weapons. Antique firearms were juxtaposed next to modern handguns and assault rifles. The modern guns were all gold- or silver-plated, and several were encrusted with jewels. Collections of ancient Spanish swords and suits of armor as well as pre-Columbian Mayan stone daggers and Aztec war clubs and spears were displayed around the room. In one corner, a large stuffed peacock spread its colorful tail feathers. Only its doll-like black eyes gave away the fact that it was no longer alive. On the wall, directly behind the Padre, hung a portrait of Jesus Malverde, or San Malverde, the patron saint of thieves and drug dealers. Cesar sat down in a leather chair directly across from the Padre.

  “An amazing collection.” Cesar motioned around the room.

  “Thank you. Examples of the tools used throughout the centuries to, one might say…master this country.”

  “Master, indeed. You have a beautiful home here.”

  “Just one of many, but I do enjoy the quiet of the desert, especially at night. May I have something brought in for you?” The Padre removed his feet from the desk and closed the case of the silver laptop computer in front of him. “Coffee, maybe?”

  “No, thank you, Padre. I’m fine.”

  “Very well, then, I’ll get right to business. Colonel, you and your men did an exceptional job bringing your former commander to me.”

  “Is he dead?”

  “Barquero? No. Not yet, anyway. His body will turn up on the side of a highway or hanging from a bridge once Carnicero is finished playing with him. I haven’t decided yet. It might take several more days. He’s as strong as a bull.”

  “And dangerous as a snake. I can’t emphasize enough how important it is to watch him at all times, Padre.”

  “I agree completely. As I was saying, I’m indebted to you and impressed with your work. I’m glad you accepted my proposal for a meeting on such short notice. I was hoping you would consider another proposition from me.”

  “I’ll certainly listen.”

  “How much do you know about my organization?”

  “Considering that my unit has been trying to stop you and a dozen other cartels for the past decade, I think I understand it fairly well.”

  “Stop me? More like chasing my shadow. Any success that you may have had was because I wanted you to have it. It’s important to throw a bone to my informants in the government from time to time so they get their names in the paper as heroes in the war against the cartels.”

  “Of course.”

  “What the army may not know about my organization is that I don’t consider myself a drug lord. On the contrary, I consider myself to be a businessman in charge of leading an organization that, if it were listed on the Mexican stock exchange, would be one of the largest and certainly most profitable. Like all corporate executives, from time to time I find it essential to reevaluate the structure of the organization and its business lines. I credit the success of my business to the fact that in the early days I abhorred delegation. I supervised every part of the business. As we have grown, I’ve had to empower others to manage different segments of the business, sometimes with great success, and sometimes not. It was hard to give up the day-to-day control, but look at my empire now. Looking forward, I also realize that several things need to change if I’m going to continue to grow the business.”

  “Like what?”

  “Various things. For example, I’ve recently decided to deemphasize one of our oldest and most profitable product lines.”

  “Which one?”

  “Marijuana.”

  “Why?”

  “Colonel, do you follow American politics?”

  “Fairly closely.”

  “Then you have noticed that numerous U.S. states either have or are currently considering legalizing marijuana. Several states have even begun to put the wheels in motion. Others are sure to follow suit soon. Obviously, legal access to drugs can be a very troubling thing for a business that supplies the same product illegally. What sense does that make? Spending billions to stop me at the border for importing something that is legal on the other side. Americans,” he said with disgust. “Even their own President admits he’s smoked it.” The Padre opened up his laptop and typed in a password. “If this trend in the United States continues, I calculate that I may lose up to thirty percent of my marijuana sales in the next two years.” He turned the laptop toward Cesar and showed him a graphic illustrating the point. “What to do?”

  “Reduce your focus on marijuana and redeploy assets to more lucrative markets like cocaine and heroin.”

  “Exactly, but don’t underestimate methamphetamine, Colonel. The profit margins are excellent.”

  “Of course.”

  “Additionally, it’s important for the leader of a corporation to understand where the main business and strength of the organization is. It’s like
a corporation that builds its success manufacturing trucks and then one day ends up selling ladies’ hats because someone thought it was a good idea. Sooner or later you have to bring in bankers and consultants, and pay them ridiculous amounts of money to tell you what you already know. You shouldn’t be selling ladies’ hats. The core competency of my business is the manufacture and distribution of narcotics. You see, I’m not a soldier, but unfortunately a growing portion of my time is being spent on wars with the other cartels and the authorities, at least the ones not on my payroll. At first I thought procuring more powerful weapons was the answer. That is how Barquero came to work for me. Now I understand that giving bigger guns to my men only means a bigger mess to clean up. They aren’t trained soldiers like you and your unit. I want to outsource this problem. You’ve spent ten years trying to stop me, and you’re always outgunned in the fight or double-crossed by some government official who works for me. Besides, I hear the Mexican Army isn’t exactly always on time making its payroll. I pay much better and always on time.”

  “I see.”

  “Besides the men you used to help capture Barquero, who I assume are completely loyal to you, what kind of additional assets can you deliver?”

  “Maybe twelve men. That would be as many as I can trust and who would be interested.”

  “Is twelve enough?”

  “More than enough, Padre. My unit is the most elite group of commandos in the entire Mexican Army. We’ve been trained by the best of the best from around the world, including the Americans, Germans, and Israelis. But my men aren’t bodyguards.”

  “I wouldn’t expect them to be. Carnicero will continue to organize my personal protection. I expect your men to serve as the commandos they are. You will become the leader of a secret group designed to eliminate my occasional problems.”

  “A hit squad?”

  “If that is how you wish to look at it. I’ve done my research on you, Cesar. You’re very intelligent. I want to make a place for you on my management team. I don’t just need advice from lawyers, accountants, and politicians. I need to know what is happening on the front lines when I make decisions. Does my offer interest you?”

  “I’m intrigued, and you’re not the kind of man to decline a generous offer to. There’s no doubt my men are sick of fighting an unwinnable war. Sick of watching their friends and colleagues die. But I need to talk to them first to be sure. Individually. It may take some time.”

  “Of course. While you continue to consider my offer, I want you to spend the night here, Colonel. I’m throwing a birthday party tonight for the chief of police from Nuevo Laredo. He’s a talented young man that I’m grooming for political office. I’d like you to meet him. I can envision the two of you working together in the future. A number of my top lieutenants will be present as well.”

  “As you wish, Padre.”

  “Excellent,” the Padre said as he rose to lead them out of the office. “I’ll have a room set up for you. In the meantime, I’ll show you around the complex. I want you to examine some of the armaments Barquero acquired for me before we had our little falling out. I think you’ll be suitably impressed. I believe it will help make your decision easier. Later, you can clean up and relax before dinner.”

  “Thank you, Padre.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  The Honey Pot

  Private Zulu wiped his sweaty and dusty brow with a dirty bandanna before sticking it in his back pocket and examining his handiwork. He cocked his head sideways and stared at the excavated plot of soil and rocks in the middle of the desert.

  “That’s a honey pot?”

  “It will be once it’s baited,” replied Avery.

  “I don’t much reckon. Just looks like a sorry hole in the ground to me.” Private Zulu stuck his entrenching tool into the dry soil and spit into the shallow pit.

  “Trust me Private…Ziggy! Quit pushing the dirt back in!”

  “Like, I’m just squaring off the, like, edges, man,” Ziggy said as he worked his way around the perimeter of the dig site with his entrenching tool. “Finished, man!” Ziggy flashed a double peace sign.

  “Well dug,” said the General. “Now get in to check it for size.”

  “For what?”

  “Size.” The General pushed Private Zulu into the hole.

  “Like, why all the, like, hostility, man?”

  “You’re next, you good-for-nothing, skinny-ass hippy.” Avery kicked Ziggy into the pit next to Private Zulu. Avery fell over in the process.

  “Like, why are you always insulting me, dude?”

  “I’m not insulting you,” Avery said as he picked himself up and dusted off his tracksuit. “I’m describing you. There’s a difference.”

  “Well, at least I’m not, like, fat, and stuff.”

  “I don’t need to be thin. God gave me awesome hair. Back in your hole!” Avery kicked his foot out at Ziggy, who was trying to climb out of the pit. “Back in your hole!”

  “I want out,” said Private Zulu.

  “Close your eyes and cover your mouths.” Avery pulled a small plastic squeeze bottle from his fanny pack. “Trust me on this one.” Avery squirted the men with a long stream of foul-smelling dark yellow liquid. Private Zulu and Ziggy howled in disgust. Zulu coughed and gagged, while Ziggy threw up in his mouth before choking it back down. Avery squirted them again for good measure. “That should do it.”

  “What in the name of sweet Jesus was that?” Private Zulu asked while wiping off his mouth with the back of his hand.

  “Genuine goat urine, gentlemen,” Avery replied. “I couldn’t come to an agreeable price with that unscrupulous goat farmer for an actual animal. Now think goat thoughts.”

  “Like, goat thoughts, man?”

  “Kind of like lamb thoughts, just not as cute.”

  “Like, I want Nancy, man.” Ziggy reached out and pulled the large iguana into the pit and cuddled the squirming creature in his arms.

  “General, where are the rest of your troops?”

  “Back over the rise looking for gold…I mean scat.”

  “Well, we’d better go get them and set up a perimeter above this location.”

  “Aren’t we going to wait for dark?” the General asked.

  “Dark? And potentially miss the opportunity to spot one of those nefarious bastards? No, we set up shop now.”

  “I was under the impression the enemy was nocturnal.”

  “Mostly. However, they know that I know that, so they’ll think I won’t think that they would know their best opportunity for migration would be when I wouldn’t think it was the same time they were thinking it would be. I think.”

  “Naturally.”

  • • •

  Inside the Padre’s compound, Cesar followed Carnicero and the Padre toward a large red barn. Inside, the Padre led the two men to a large delivery truck parked in the cavernous room. Opening the back of the truck, the Padre motioned for Cesar to climb in.

  “What do you think, Colonel?”

  Cesar examined the crates of military-grade weapons and explosives. “U.S. military ordnance?”

  “Precisely. Your men will have the best of everything.”

  “These are my favorites,” Carnicero said, tapping on one of the crates before lifting the lid. Inside was a portable ground-to-air missile launcher.

  “Impressive,” said Cesar. “Do you have more?”

  “Of course,” the Padre replied. “I have many similar caches, although one lies at the bottom of a harbor. Barquero is paying the price for it.”

  “Padre,” a shirtless man called out as he entered the barn.

  “What is it?”

  “Reports of some men on the property. About a mile to the west.”

  “Are they police?”

  “I don’t think so, Padre.”

  “Army?”

  “Impossible,” said Cesar. “I would know if there was an operation near this location. Probably just some people who stumbled into the area.”
<
br />   “They picked the wrong place to stumble into. Carnicero, take some men and go after them.”

  “Yes, Padre,” Carnicero said as he pulled a pistol from his waistband. “Kill them?”

  “Not unless you have to. I want to know who they are. Bring them to me. I want to know who would trespass so close to my property. The locals know better.”

  “Yes, Padre.”

  “Cesar, come with me. It’s time for lunch.”

  • • •

  Private Foxtrot navigated his metal detector along the bank of the shallow stream as the rest of men poked their entrenching tools into the muddy flats along the edges of the water.

  “This is useless,” said Fire Team Leader Alpha. “I don’t even have a clue what we are looking for.”

  “If the General says there is gold out here, then there must be,” said Private Foxtrot.

  “I’ve known the General a long time, and he don’t exactly always get the facts just right.”

  “Wait, I’ve got something!”

  “What?”

  “It’s big!”

  “How big?”

  “The size of a Cadillac.”

  “Great, an old car.”

  “No, it’s something else. Something else. Holy mama!”

  “Watch it, here comes the boss.”

  “Attention, battalion!” the General announced as he and Avery approached the men. “Gather up!” The men of STRAC-BOM came together in a circle around the General. “Now look here,” the General said as he began drawing in the mud with the business end of his riding crop. “Over that rise, Private Zulu and one of our civilians, the skinny one, are positioned in a prime location for reconnaissance, according to our fat civilian. No offense.” General X-Ray looked at Avery. Avery bit his lip. He was close to his goal, and now was the time for discretion, even though it didn’t sit with him very well. “We’ll take position here at the top of the ridge.” The General pointed with his riding crop. “When the enemy reveals its location, on my command, Fire Teams Alpha and Bravo will execute a modified reverse echelon and advance on the target while Fire Team Leader Alpha, the civilian, and myself will establish a staggered skirmisher line in the rear.”