The Mexican Connection: Ted Higuera Series Book 3 Page 17

  “Who?”

  “The old guy. The one we’ve been looking for.”

  Ted was across the lobby in a flash, getting between the old man and the door before the old man knew he was there.

  “Ah, señores Ted and Chrees. I thought I would find you here.” The old man’s smile beamed on his face.

  “We’ve been looking all over for you,” Ted said.

  “Es okay. You only find me when I want to be found. Come, let’s talk.” The old man turned and headed for the door.

  “Wait a minute, old timer,” Chris stepped in front of him. “Let’s talk in here, where it’s safe.”

  “No, amigo, let’s go outside. For me, eet ees much more safer in the streets.” The ancient one pushed past Chris into the street.

  Is it a trap? Ted looked at Chris. He seemed to be thinking the same thing.

  “He’s our only lead,” Chris said and turned to follow the old man.

  It wasn’t hard to catch up with the old man’s arthritic pace. He shuffled down the street and around the corner.

  “Okay, viejo,” Ted grabbed the old man’s arm. “It’s time to talk.”

  “No here. Come with me.” The old man turned into an alley between a taqueria and a pottery shop. “Just a little further.”

  Ted’s Spidey sense was tingling. He felt his back to make sure the .38 special was still there.

  The old man ducked around a couple of trash cans and a pile of trash bags and sat on a worn stool. “Now, we are safe. No one will see us here.”

  “What’s all this cloak and dagger about?” Chris asked.

  “Eet ees very dangerous for you here.” The old man gulped air to catch his breath. “El Lobo, he has a contract out on you. He wants you captured, alive. But what he weel do weeth you after he captures you, I don’t want to theenk about.”

  “A contract?” Ted’s hand rubbed the back of his head. “Why? What have we done to him? We didn’t have anything to do with the raid on his rancho.”

  “I don’t know, señor. I only know that everyone on the street is looking for you. I theenk it is not safe for you to stay here anymore.”

  “We’re not leaving yet. We haven’t found my brother.”

  “What about Ruiz?” Chris asked. “You said you could find Ruiz.”

  “Sí,” the old man said. “That ees why I come to see you. I find Don José. He is moving around the town a little now. He is still in hiding. He hides in old restaurant. In colonia Hidalgo. Eet is called El Coyote.”

  “Thank you, viejo,” Ted said and shoved a hundred dollar bill into the old man’s hand. “You’ve given us a place to start looking again.”

  The old man handed the bill back to Ted. “No, señor. I did not do this for money. I do not need this.”

  “What?” Ted shook his head. “Then why?”

  “Eduardo, your papa, he was a good man.”

  Ted stared at the old man.

  “I worked with him many years ago. At El Chaparral in Los Angeles, before I was deported back to Mejico. I was a busboy, he was a cook. He was good to me. He helped me to learn the English. He helped me to save money for mi familia. What I do, I do for Eduardo.”

  Ted brushed the tears from his eyes. “Here, take this anyway.” He folded the bill and gently placed it in the old man’s shirt pocket. “Papa would want you to have this. He would want me to help you. Old friend.”

  ****

  Juarez, Mexico

  Catrina and Hope waited under the shade of the awning of a small grocery store. Displays of fresh fruit and vegetables filled the sidewalk. It was blisteringly hot in the sun, just marginally less so in the shade.

  “I’ve never felt heat like this before,” Hope said as she wiped her brow. “I’ve sweat all the way through my blouse.”

  “This is as close to hell as I ever want to get,” Catrina replied. “Here comes Jeff.”

  Jeff, dressed in jungle cargo pants and a white T-shirt came around the corner as though he hadn’t even broken into a sweat.

  “Back door. No windows on the sides of the building. The only ways in are the front door and the back.”

  “Okay,” Catrina said. “You take the back. Hope and I will waltz in the front door like we know what we’re doing.”

  Jeff slipped around the corner again.

  “Let’s give him a few minutes to get in place,” Catrina said. She felt under her belt to make sure the Glock was still nestled in the small of her back.

  “Okay, let’s go. Stay behind me.”

  Catrina crossed the street with Hope close behind. They got to the door of the abandoned restaurant and tried it.

  “Locked.” Catrina pulled a set of lock pick tools from her pocket. “This will only take a minute.”

  Sure enough, the lock opened right up.

  Cat quietly pushed the door open and the women slipped inside. The dirty windows allowed filtered sunlight to enter the dining room. Catrina carefully surveyed the premises. No sign of life.

  They moved stealthily through the dining room to the kitchen. Old stoves, refrigerators, mixers and steam tables sat unused, food still crusted on them from long ago business. They looked around. No sound, no movement.

  The back door opened. Jeff stood silhouetted in the sunlight. He quickly slipped inside and closed the door.

  “Nothing so far. All clear,” Catrina whispered.

  Jeff nodded.

  They moved towards the office door.

  The door swung open and the bright light inside temporarily blinded them.

  “Ah, Señora Flaherty. I see you have brought friends this time.” José Ruiz smiled at them. “Welcome. Come in. Come in.”

  He stepped aside with a flourish and waved his hand towards the office.

  The office consisted of a desk against the wall, two folding chairs and a table littered with old papers. Old guest receipts were stacked on the desk. Dust covered everything.

  “I’m sorry I can’t offer you better accommodations,” Ruiz said. “This is what I’m reduced to. Two gringos have shown up in town and turned everything upside down. I must outlast them. I think soon they will give up and go home.”

  “Two gringos?” Hope asked. “What do they want?”

  Ruiz cleared a space on the table and leaned a cheek on it. “Oh nothing important. They are looking for a brother. They will be gone soon and everything will be back to normal.”

  Hope’s breath caught in her throat. She stopped and calmed herself down. She had to play it cool.

  “These guys, where are they? Why are you hiding from them?”

  “They are unimportant. How can I help you today?”

  “We’re looking for a man, a gringo.” Catrina said. “His name is James Adams. We think he works for one of the drug cartels.”

  “Señora, you continue to play a dangerous game. These cartels, the narcos¸ they don’t give a care whether you live or die. They would not think twice about killing you.”

  “Let us worry about that,” Catrina said. “Can you help us? Can you find him?”

  “I have heard of your Señor Adams. He was with Los Norteños when Los Conquistadores raided their rancho. I haven’t heard about him since. Why do you need him?”

  Catrina was silent.

  “We’re working for his wife,” Jeff said. “She’s trying to locate him.”

  “Ah, yes, the esposa. Always they worry, no? Well, I have not heard of your Señor Adams since the raid. I don’t know if he lived or died. Have you contacted the police?”

  “We talked to a Comandante Ortega,” Catrina said. “He was of no help. He didn’t know if any of the victims were American or not. He didn’t even know if they found all of the victims.”

  “But he told you that if he had more resources, he could find you answers, no?”

  Catrina smiled. “Yes. He made the most blatant demand for a bribe that I’ve ever seen.”

  “Ees Mejico.” Ruiz said. “That is the way things work here. You have to grease the wheels,
but no, Ortega won’t be able to help you. All information from him goes one way. He tells the cartels what the policia are up to, but they tell him nothing.”

  “So how about this Adams?” Jeff asked. “Can you help us find him?”

  “I might. No one knows what happened to him. Maybe El Posolero has him. If that is so, it will be very bad for him. I can find him, but it will take time, and as you know, time is expensive.”

  “How much?” Jeff asked.

  “I am not like the policia. I don’t have another income. This is all I do. This is how I feed my family.”

  “Just give it to us.” Jeff was losing his cool. Catrina put a hand on his arm.

  “Let’s say, five thousand dollars. US. That worked so well last time. The same arrangement, sí? Half now and half when I find him?”

  “Four thousand,” Jeff said.

  “Señor, I have a daughter in college. I can’t afford to work for frijoles.”

  “All right,” Catrina conceded. “But you better deliver.”

  “Did I not deliver Señor Muerte for you? I will deliver. Meet me back here at six o’clock tonight. I will have something for you by then.”

  Chapter 22

  Ejido Franciso I. Madero, Chihuahua, Mexico

  The camouflage-colored Humvee and the canopy-covered Army truck roared through the village. Dust and dirt flew everywhere in their wake.

  Ejido Francisco I. Madero sat far out in the Senora Dessert, nestled against the Sierra Madre Mountains. Water from a spring sustained the crops and provided for the small collection of families that lived there.

  Like other ejidos, or collective farms, in Mexico, the farmers and their families lived in a small village. The communally owned fields were apportioned out to the farmers by the village council. Although the field usually stayed in the family and was passed from father to son, the village council could legally reassign it at any time.

  Jorge Rodriquez, known to the world as El Posolero, grew up here. He was a local folk hero. He paid for the school and the clinic here, all children from the ejido got full scholarships to the universities of their choice, and old people never suffered. They all collected pensions from El Posolero. Despite his brutal reputation, the locals considered him a modern-day Robin Hood.

  El Posolero sat on the tailgate of a Ford F-350 pickup, slowly swilling a cerveza. He eyed the approaching Army caravan with little concern.

  The Humvee and truck pulled to a stop in front of the F-350. Armed soldiers poured out of the truck with weapons at the ready. The soldier at the M-30 machine gun mounted on the Humvee turned his weapon towards El Posolero. El Posolero and his men merely watched.

  The sergeant surveyed the area, then walked up to the Humvee. He said something into the open window and the door swung open. An Army captain emerged and walked over to El Posolero.

  “Are you ready?” the captain asked in Spanish. “Do you have the boy?”

  “Let me see the guns first,” El Posolero responded. “Then I will give you the boy.”

  The captain turned to the Humvee and nodded. The backdoor opened and Yves Bouhier stepped out. Dressed in a white linen suit and Panama hat, he was the picture of style. The shade from the brim of his hat covered his ruined face.

  Madame Trufaunt dropped softly to the ground from the other side of the Humvee. Both approached El Posolero.

  “Finally,” Yves said. “I get the boy.”

  “If you brought the guns,” El Posolero replied.

  Yves waved to the sergeant at the back of the truck. The sergeant barked commands and the soldiers unloaded six wooden crates.

  El Posolero and his lieutenants strolled over to the boxes. He waved his hand and one of his men pried the lid off the first crate. He reached in and retrieved a shiny new M16 assault rifle, holding it up for inspection.

  “Nice,” El Posolero said as he cradled the weapon. “With these, Los Norteños will be no match for us.” He held the rifle to his shoulder and sighted down the barrel.

  “The sights.” He turned to Yves. “You said they would come with laser sights.”

  “The boy, my friend,” Yves said. “You show me the boy and I’ll show you the sights.”

  “Come with me,” El Posolero said and turned to walk away. “Only a short walk.”

  They walked about three blocks up the dirt road. Dust devils swirled in their wake. El Posolero stopped in front of an unpainted house with a tin roof.

  “Bring me the boy,” he said.

  Two of his men rushed into the house and emerged with Guillermo in tow.

  “So, this is the boy?” Yves walked around Guillermo. “He doesn’t look like much. Did he give you any trouble?”

  “Not after I shot his friend,” El Posolero said. “Meek as a mouse.”

  Yves took Guillermo’s chin in his hand. “Do you know why you are here, boy?” he asked.

  Guillermo shook his head violently to free himself from Yves touch.

  “Still defiant, I see,” Yves said to El Posolero. “I thought you tamed him. Madame . . .”

  Madame Trufaunt stepped up to Guillermo and grabbed his stomach with her metal claw, then twisted.

  “Yeouw!” Guillermo yelled and fell to his knees.

  “Maybe now you will answer me.” Yves stood over him. “Do you know why you are here?”

  “No,” Guillermo spat.

  “Well, you might want to learn a little lesson. After all, I believe everyone should know why they are dying.”

  Guillermo got to his feet and stared defiantly into Yves’s eyes.

  “Your brother. Ted Higuera. He did this to me.” Yves whipped off his Panama hat fully revealing his ruined face.

  Horror showed in Guillermo’s eyes.

  “He and his tall blond friend. They did this. They foiled my project up in Canada several years ago. They put the Canadian Forces on me. It was their fault that the Canadians attached my yacht. It was their fault that they destroyed my face.”

  Yves backhanded Guillermo. Guillermo staggered back at the unexpected blow.

  “They must die for this, but first they must suffer. Do you know how they will suffer? ”

  Guillermo shook his head.

  “No. Of course you can’t imagine it. Well, I can. We’re in Mexico, home of the Aztecs. You and your brother call this your ancestral home. I think it only appropriate that you suffer an Aztec fate.”

  Yves grabbed Guillermo by the shirt and pulled his face close to his. “I will cut your heart out and eat it while it still beats, and your loving brother and his friend will have to watch. Only when I have made them suffer will I release them from their agony by killing them too.”

  ****

  Juarez, Mexico

  Catrina, Jeff and Hope repeated their careful entry into the abandoned El Coyote restaurant. They returned at 6 pm as instructed.

  They went straight to the office where they talked with Ruiz before, they found it deserted. They checked the kitchen and the dining room. No one there.

  “Well,” Catrina said. “I guess we wait.” She pulled a chair off of a table, put it on the floor and sat down.

  Hope and Jeff followed suit. The chairs were covered in dust; the tables had a layer of grease under the dust, making everything grimy to touch.

  “I wonder how long this place has been abandoned.” Hope asked.

  “No way to tell,” Jeff said, wiping his hand on his pants. “It looks like the last customer they served though was Pancho Villa.”

  Hope gasped. “Look.” She pointed to the corner where an underfed mouse eyed them from a hole in the base of the wall. “It looks like he hasn’t had a decent meal in a while.”

  “Poor as the proverbial church mouse” Catrina said.

  They waited for half an hour. Jeff grew increasingly anxious.

  As the sun sank low in the sky, dust particles floated hypnotically in the air, highlighting rays of light through the dirty stained windows. .

  “Let’s get out of here.” Jeff rose
from his chair. “He’s not going to show.”

  “Take it easy,” Catrina said. “This is Mexico, after all. We’ll wait a little longer.”

  Hope couldn’t contain her nervous energy any longer and had to move around.

  She walked back behind the service counter and began fooling with the glasses and China. “Look, cool Margarita glasses.”

  She held up a blown glass that looked like an upside down sombrero on a stem.

  After another half hour passed, Jeff asked, “Are you ready to leave yet?”

  Catrina rocked her chair back on two legs. “Let’s give it another fifteen minutes.”

  It took ten.

  The back door creaked and Jeff was out of his seat like a rocket.

  He stopped at the kitchen door, gun drawn. In the light from outside, he discerned Ruiz’s slim silhouette.

  “It’s about time,” He said.

  “Hey, ees Mejico,” Ruiz shrugged his shoulders and headed for the office.

  In the office, Ruiz took the worn swivel chair in front of the desk. “The man you are looking for, Señor Adams, he is alive. My contacts say his is not with El Posolero as I suspected. He is at El Lobo’s rancho in Baja California Sur.”

  “Baja California Sur?” Catrina asked.

  “Yes, Baja, it is divided into two states. The norte and the sur. El Lobo, he has a rancho outside of La Paz, the state capital. He is good friends with the governor and the military commander, they don’t bother him.”

  “More Mexican graft, I suppose,” Jeff said.

  “No, it is more like good business.” While Ruiz spoke, his hands never rested. They flew around in gesture after gesture. “Baja Sur is like a DMZ, a demilitarized zone. The cartels, they don’t do business there and the gobierno, it doesn’t bother them there. They bring lots of money into the state. They launder it through their hotels, restaurants and bars. It’s good for business, it creates lots of taxes. La Paz, it is the richest city in all of Mejico. There is no poverty there, everyone works. It is a good deal for the cartels, it is a good deal for the gobierno.”

  “Shit, this is worse than Chicago in the Roaring Twenties,” Jeff said.

  “More like Cartagena in the eighties.” Catrina leaned against the paper-strewn table. “How do we find the rancho?”