by James Samuel
“It’s called interrogation.”
“Rosher isn’t a threat. This is a grown man who just pissed himself all over the backseat of your car. He’s not going to put up any resistance.”
James re-entered the bordello and unlocked the door of the governor’s prison. Rosher really did look like a pig, enormously obese with a tailored suit hugged tight around his fatty figure. His wife looked like a supermodel, with sculpted eyebrows and an imported designer dress. He found them in each other’s arms, propping themselves up on the bed with the wall at their backs. Yes, the reality of their situation had set in. They were terrified. They would squeal just to get out of here.
“You’re Rosher, the governor of Guanajuato, correct?” said James.
Rosher nodded. “Look, this has all been just a misunderstanding. I haven’t done anything to betray your friend Diego. I just decided to change our business arrangement. I wanted to move in another direction.”
“And didn’t have the balls to say something to my face,” Diego snarled behind James.
James put out a hand to stop Diego from blowing up again. “I didn’t bring you here to talk about you and Diego. I came to ask for information.”
Rosher looked surprised and released his wife. Scooting forward across the mattress, he leaned on his knees.
“You know the two cartels that dominate Guanajuato. Santa Maria and La Familia, right?”
He nodded.
“Do you know anything about the recent kidnap of Jessi Montoya, one of the sisters of Montoya Rodriguez?”
“I’ve heard about it, but we haven’t done anything about it. We don’t interfere in the wars between the cartels. What do we care if they want to tear each other to pieces?”
Diego stepped forward. “You’ve worked with them before, haven’t you, Alfredo?”
Rosher stopped at that. His lips moved but nothing came out.
“Haven’t you?”
“Yes, okay, yes. I have in the past. I’ve helped them when they needed something. In exchange, they’d hamstring the opposition during election campaigns. It was good business, nothing more than that.”
James sighed. Was there no end to the corruption in this country?
“Who bought you?” Diego pressed the attack. “I know how these things work. You didn’t suddenly decide that you didn’t like me anymore. Someone else paid you more than I did, and now you work for them.”
“It was a special job,” said Rosher. “Quezada approached me –”
“There we go.” Diego cut him off. “You’d sell your own mother if the price were high enough. So now you’re working with Quezada. What was he going to give you?”
Rosher gulped. “He made it clear he would support me in the next election. In exchange, I give him some of the police to work for him. Yes, he said he was planning on kidnapping one of Montoya’s sisters. Jessi just happened to be the one he got first.”
James nodded. “Why would he want Jessi Montoya so much? Is it really because he wants to keep Montoya pinned back?”
“Partly.” Rosher stopped himself. “Look, I can’t help you. If he finds out I’ve talked, he’ll kill me.”
“Relax,” said James. “I can put you and your wife under our protection for as long as this lasts. But if you want me to protect you, you need to cooperate fully.”
“And it’s more than you deserve,” said Diego.
James’ eyelid twitched in annoyance.
“Quezada wants to marry Jessi, either to himself or one of his brothers. He has two brothers. That way, if the Quezada and Montoya families marry, Montoya will have to come to the negotiating table. Either that or risk splitting his own family.”
“Interesting. But why wouldn’t Montoya just ignore it? He has other sisters and Jessi isn’t part of the cartel. It wouldn’t be a loss to him.”
“Honour. Narcos will kill anyone, even children, but their families mean everything. Montoya wouldn’t touch Jessi. If she married one of Quezada’s brothers, it would force Montoya to back down and accept Quezada controlling much of the state. And the dishonour it would bring on Montoya. It would be the end of his reign. Someone would kill him. It would be too embarrassing for La Familia.”
James looked to Diego for confirmation. He didn’t understand the way of thinking or the culture of Mexico enough to know if Rosher’s story made sense.
“That’s how it works.” Diego folded his arms. “It wouldn’t make any sense to you, but cartel leaders have an image to uphold. Humiliate them and they become a target within their own cartels. Machismo is an important concept in Mexican culture.”
James nodded. He’d heard the term machismo before amongst Mexicans. It referred to a strong and aggressive masculine pride. Unfortunately, it usually meant pointless violence against both men and women.
“What would Quezada need to marry Jessi?” asked James. “Who said he hasn’t already done it?”
Diego ran a hand over his head. “You can’t drag a woman into a church here and force her to marry, even if you hold the priest at gunpoint. Quezada will keep her until she agrees. He’ll make all sorts of promises and torture her in the meantime. It’s only a matter of time before she gives in.”
“We would have heard already if it had happened,” said Rosher.
James considered the situation. He felt sorry for the girl, but the fall of La Familia Celaya and the union of both families would effectively end the brutal war between the two cartels. Like many other cartels that had taken over control of their smaller rivals, it would bring an end to the violence. Was stopping this the right thing to do?
“Where did he take her?” asked Diego.
“I don’t know. I knew it was going to happen, but I never met Quezada in person. I met his lieutenant, a man called Alex Parejo. He’s the man responsible for the assassination of Luna Carrea in Mexico City. A real nasty man.”
“And where would we find Parejo?” said James.
“He likes to spend time in León. At a restaurant called La Espadaña. Whenever the narcos walk in they shut the whole place down until they’re finished eating. It’s the only thing I know about him.”
“Thank you, Rosher.”
James turned and left the room to talk it over with Diego. Hostages would often say anything to get them out of a bad situation. They couldn’t risk Rosher sending them in the wrong direction. The longer Jessi remained a hostage the stronger Quezada’s position grew.
“What do you think?” said James to Diego.
Diego glanced in the direction of the Rosher’s room. “The logic is right. Whether I believe him, that’s another thing. It all depends on whether he’s more scared of us or more scared of Quezada. That was smart of you to offer him protection.”
“Sinclair could manage it without too many problems. He could even keep him here under the protection of Montoya.”
“Just as long as they never find out he cut a deal with Quezada. If they find that out, they’ll kill him and his wife on the spot. Speaking of his wife…”
“What about her?”
Diego nodded. “You know… she’s a loose end. She’s no use to us and she could talk. If she screams at the wrong time… she could cost us Rosher.”
James thought about it. What Diego said had merit, but he didn’t agree with killing women on a ‘just in case’ basis. Diego might not understand that sort of thinking, but James still had principles.
“Keep her alive,” said James. “I don’t want to give the governor a reason to think about betraying us. A desperate man doesn’t think straight.”
“Whatever you say, Winchester.”
Chapter Sixteen
Pompano Beach, Florida, United States of America
In the quiet town of Pompano Beach, George Black walked past the Atlantic Fountain, with its spitting streams of water. His security detail hung back searching for threats. Much of George’s support came from the northern areas of Florida. He wasn’t a popular man in the Miami-Fort Lauderdale districts
. Nevertheless, he kept his head down outside of election years, so most people didn’t recognise him.
“Jack, has Romero done what we said?” asked George.
“As far as I know. The number of guns and drug shipments flowing through Florida’s ports has taken a hit. He seems to be cooperating.”
George flicked his eyebrows. “Surprising. I didn’t think Romero would cooperate with us. I was half expecting to have to get in touch with Rasgado and have him start up the contingency plan. Those beaners usually don’t know what’s good for them, especially this new money crowd.”
They came to a stop outside a little ice cream shop on the central street of Pompano Beach. The streets were quiet, as was common in this town. Tropical plants and a bright blue gazebo dominated the nearby pedestrianised plaza.
“Go and get me an ice cream, chocolate,” George said to his bodyguards. “What do you want, Jack?”
“Strawberry.”
“Strawberry,” George said back to the expressionless detail.
George sat down on the bench at a round table and crossed one leg over the other underneath the red-and-white-striped shelter. He’d chosen Pompano Beach as the meeting place because it was quiet. South Beach or Downtown Miami would draw too much attention. The ravenous media stalked the streets of Florida’s biggest city, always searching for a scandal.
“George, you know which side Rasgado is on?”
George grunted, only half listening as he watched through the window at the kid scooping his ice cream into a glass bowl.
“We know that Rasgado has cut a deal with the Santa Maria de Guadalupe cartel.”
“What?” George leaned forwards. “What’s he done that for? He’s meant to be neutral.”
“We have no concrete reason –”
“Money?”
“Could be, but it’s well-known that he’s had an eye on the secretariat job. He wants to be the Secretary of Defence for Mexico. If not money, it’s the only other conceivable reason.”
George slammed the plastic table with his fist. “Are you kidding me? This is a joke. What a sad world we live in, a world where people like me have to work with people like that to get ahead.”
The security detail returned with their ice creams as George seethed. They placed the glass bowls in front of them, sprinkles dusting the top, and a silver spoon stuck in the side. One of them mumbled something, but George wasn’t listening as they retreated to watch their charge from afar.
“What are we supposed to do now?” George checked his gold Armani watch. “We’ve got fifteen minutes before Governor Newton arrives. He will be expecting results. Now our plan has gone to hell.”
Jack didn’t immediately reply as he spooned some of his ice cream into his mouth.
“We need another contact in Mexico, someone with power,” said George.
“I know. Look, Romero doesn’t care who he ships to. He’s one of the few neutral drug and arms import exporters. Most of the cartels use him as a contact on the eastern seaboard. That means we don’t have to be picky about who we work with.”
“I know that, Jack,” George said impatiently. “The problem is simple.” He jabbed at the air with his spoon. “We need someone in government, not a relationship with a cartel. Those bastards have no honour, and they’d sell us down the river as soon as they got a chance. Do we have any contacts, other than Rasgado?”
Jack shrugged. “Not strictly speaking. But we can make them.”
“That’s not going to help us when Governor Newton arrives, Jack. We need something we can hang our hats on. If not, he’s going to lose faith in us. He’s retiring next cycle and he wants a good pension plan.”
George attacked his rapidly melting ice cream like he was stabbing Rasgado in the head. Without Rasgado, they were cut off from Mexico. If Romero ever found out they didn’t have a Plan B, he would have them by the balls, and then any deal would be their only option.
Jack clicked his fingers. “Emilio Lopez Cazalla.” He licked his lips and gave a self-satisfied smile. “The Secretary of Foreign Affairs for Mexico.”
“What about him?”
“Cazalla is dripping with corruption. If it weren’t for his relationship with the president, he would have been kicked out of politics years ago. Did you know he was once caught with suspected slave labourers on his land?”
“Really?”
“They were immigrants from El Salvador and Honduras. He offered them passage through Mexico then took their passports and forced them to work for him for practically nothing. It was a journalist who found out about it then made it go national.”
“And what happened?”
“The journalist disappeared. They never found the body. Cazalla kept a low profile then returned to government. Barely anybody raised a stink about it, and here we are. He’s a man who would work with us.”
George did the calculations in his head. The Secretary of Foreign Affairs wielded much power in Mexico, perhaps more than the defence secretary. If they could win Cazalla to their cause, they would have more influence in Mexico than Rasgado could ever give them.
“Good, get in touch with him.” George checked his watch again. “Okay, Governor Newton should be arriving any minute. When he arrives, act like we’ve already won him over. He’ll want us to look decisive.”
“Yes, George.”
They continued eating their ice cream when a black car parked up on the opposite side of the road to the ice cream shop. His security detail opened their doors and stepped around the back of the car. A grey-haired man in an equally grey suit emerged with a face that betrayed his love for plastic surgery. His artificial tan gave off the radiance of a Florida orange.
George and Jack stood to greet the Florida governor with warm handshakes and smiles all round.
“It’s about damn time we made this meeting happen,” said Newton. “I only have around two years left of my term. You should see the god-awful pension plan I have. What, am I supposed to live like one of those hicks in an Orlando trailer park in my retirement?”
George withheld the twitch threatening to lift his lips into a smile. Governor Newton came from Orlando himself. If anyone did their research, they would know Newton had grown up in a trailer park as one of eight children. Unlike George, Newton had no air of southern gentry about him.
“We have something for you,” said George. “I think it’s important to mention this now as I have to go up to Washington next week.”
“I’m all ears, George.”
“We made contact with a man named Emilio Lopez Cazalla, the main man in foreign policy in Mexico. He’s willing to work with us. And you can’t get much higher up than that without having dinner with the president himself.”
Governor Newton smiled, his plastic-like face barely wrinkling. “So, what are you going to need from me?”
“Nothing for now. Everything is under control. With our friend Mr. Romero cooperating, it gives us control of the supply of both drugs and firearms in Florida. You just need to keep law enforcement off our backs. Meanwhile, I’ll be in Washington, making sure people are talking about something else.”
Newton laughed. “Wonderful. That should do just fine. So, we’ll have the cooperation of the Mexican government?”
“Their full cooperation. We can flood the country with firearms, keep the drug war going, and rake a sweet little profit from the whole thing. The best part is we never have to get our hands dirty. You get those wetback types who can do all the work for us and take all the risk.”
“My, you have been busy. Very busy.”
Jack leaned back in his chair, stretched his legs out, and put his hands in his trouser pockets. He switched off the little recorder hidden underneath his clothes.
Chapter Seventeen
León, Guanajuato, Mexico
León and Guanajuato City constantly fought each other for supremacy of the state. Guanajuato claimed the historical connection and León the modern, industrial powerhouse. Even today, the st
ate governor split his time between León and Guanajuato to appease both sides.
James and Diego made the thirty-minute drive straight down the highway to León. La Espadaña sat close to the central plaza. James took out the police mugshot of Alex that Sinclair had kindly lifted from the Federal police computers. He agreed with Rosher, Alex looked like a nasty man. The tattoos on his neck resembled chains wrapping around his windpipe.
“Have you ever heard of this man?” James placed the mugshot on the dashboard.
“Not really. Santa Maria de Guadalupe is new in the area. They’re just one of the cartels that split off from bigger ones. Still, I don’t think Parejo will be a difficult man to find.” Diego flicked a finger at the mugshot. “I mean, look at him.”
The central plaza of León had many similarities with that of Guanajuato’s. Colourful buildings ringed the plaza and an enormous gazebo sat in the centre. Mexicans young and old lounged on the green metal benches, smoking, chatting, and watching the world go by. Diego pulled up outside of a café and parked the car.
“Are you sure you can park here?” asked James. “I don’t want any trouble if we need to run.”
“The police know my car. They won’t touch it if they want a job when the sun rises.”
James and Diego hitched up their pants and walked into the early evening air toward La Espadaña a few blocks away. The sun released its final blaze of heat, warming the backs of their necks. A few people eyed the expensive car, but a quick glare from Diego turned them away.
An enormous stone gate topped with a single lion marked the entrance to the city’s historical centre. They waited for a break in the traffic, as a couple of tourists posed in front of the memorial arc, the symbol of León.
“Rosher better be right about this,” said James as they crossed the street side by side. “I showed him mercy because I felt sorry for the man, but if he lied to us then I’m not giving him a second chance.”
“You’ll have to get in line for that. I considered beating him when we kidnapped him.” Diego raised his hand to stop an oncoming car. “Either way, we can’t hold him for too long. The whole state is searching for Rosher. His face is in all the papers. Sooner or later, they’ll find out where he is.”
