It was six hours of flight time from Laredo to Ciudad Isla and the airstrip at the Ranchero Villalobos. I was met by Raul, a man about my age, perhaps five foot eight and two hundred pounds. He picked me up in a newer Ford truck and asked where I needed to go. We were about forty minutes early getting to the carwash, so I suggested we stop somewhere for beer or bread, Raul liked the idea and knew just the place. We were both drinking Tecates as we pulled into the parking lot of the carwash; Raul recognized Chief Reyes and pointed him out to me as he parked the truck.
I was getting out of the Ford when another truck, a green Chevy, drove into the parking lot. There were three men in the bed of that truck, each holding an M-16. As it crossed the sidewalk the driver down shifted and slowed, the roar of the engine seemed to drown out all the other noise, until the men in the truck started shooting at Ricardo Reyes. I could see the rounds impacting the police chief; three times he was hit, in the left shoulder, low on the left side of his torso and once in the left leg. Reyes went down, spinning to his left as he did. The truck then sped off, jumping the curb and fleeing the scene.
Three of the people who had been standing near Chief Reyes had also been hit, two of them were on the ground, it seemed like we were in a war zone, right there at the carwash. I ran towards the Chief while Raul started the truck and drove next to where the men were down on the ground. Reyes was in the worse shape of the four, bleeding profusely from the wound in his torso. I did what I could to staunch the flow, applying direct pressure to the entry wound, while Raul dropped the tailgate of the Ford. We loaded the four wounded men into the truck and Raul climbed back behind the steering wheel, stomped on the gas and headed to the hospital. The three civilians made it there and were tended to by the medics, Chief Reyes was not so fortunate, he bled out in the back of Raul’s truck.
While we were in the emergency room Raul was on the phone, he ended the call and came over to where I was standing, my hands and chest covered with Chief Reyes’s blood. Raul said he had called his daughter, Regina, who would be there soon, I should go and wash up, Regina would bring a clean shirt and it would be best for all of us if I was not around for the investigation. I had to agree with his assessment of the situation; nothing good could be the result, for either Raul or me, if I spoke to the investigators. Raul looked at me with an expression of real concern, it was time to fly.
Regina arrived before the police did, I got into her Nissan Sentra and we beat a hasty exit from the city, driving back to the ranchero I was in a state of shock, bordering on disbelief. The Chief of Police had just been gunned down, in broad daylight, in the middle of his jurisdiction. Even after hearing the stories of the violence that had become endemic, the reality of the situation was just then beginning to make an impact on my rattled brain.
Regina took me to the Skymaster where I grabbed the bag with my clothes, then we went to the house where I was able to shower and change clothes. Then she took me back to the plane, and I was wheels up and on my way to the airport in Veracruz within forty minutes of the murder of Ricardo Reyes. I landed in Veracruz, cleared customs without incident, and then had the plane fueled. There is a new Camino Real hotel in Veracruz, I loved the service at the hotel they had managed in Manzanillo, Las Hadas. It was the hotel where the film ‘10’ starring Bo Derek had been produced. So I went to their new hotel in Veracruz, it was quite nice.
As I was settling into the room I made a call to Ricardo Gonzalez, he answered straight away.
“Hola, Jack, were you able to learn anything from Chief Reyes, he told me that he had some good information that he wanted to share, was it helpful?”
“Ricardo, the Chief was shot down and killed at a carwash in Ciudad Isla, right before I was able to talk to him; he bled out in the back of a truck on the way to the hospital.”
“Bled out? What do you mean by that, Jack?”
“Chief Reyes is dead, Ricardo, shot three times.”
“Oh my God! When did this happen?”
“About three hours ago, Ricardo. Just before I was able to talk to him a truck with three shooters drove up and assassinated him, while he was having his car washed. Three other people that had been standing near him were wounded in the attack. I was twenty meters away, maybe less, when it happened.”
“He was the Chief of Police, this is unbelievable!”
“Believe it, Ricardo, I was there and saw it happen. right in front of my eyes. Then Chief Reyes died in my arms, on the way to the hospital. It was broad daylight, in the middle of the city. I’ve never seen anything quite like it.”
“Were you hurt? Where are you now? Who is in charge of the investigation?”
“I’m fine, Ricardo, another minute later, though and I’d have been standing right next to him, right in their field of fire. Right now I am in Veracruz, at the Camino Real. As to the investigators, I did not wait around Ciudad Isla to talk to them; there was nothing to be gained, as I was not the only witness to the assassination. I think we need to meet, this is getting serious.”
“Serious? I agree it is serious, people are being killed all around us, Jack, it does not get more serious than that, does it?”
Ricardo said he could be in Veracruz by the next afternoon, unless I wanted to meet in Mexico City. There are way too many people in that metroplex to suit me, so I said I’d rather meet in Veracruz, as that was where the current chapter to the story had started, with the murder of Noel Lopez. Ricardo agreed, saying he would be at the Camino Real that next evening.
Spending the evening at the Camino Real was by no means a hardship, the restaurants are all excellent. Their spot on the beach is nice, but the beach sand was less that desirable for running. Too muddy for my taste, but Veracruz being the largest commercial port in Mexico is not really a resort location, is it.
The next morning on the news there was a report of a prison break in Nuevo Laredo. Five of the guards had just up and left their posts, which allowed for fifty-nine inmates to walk out. Not all of the inmates cleared the fence line, seven died in their attempt to escape. The reporter said that Federal authorities had arrived and taken control at the Nuevo Laredo Detention Center (CEDES).
The facility houses over twelve hundred inmates. This was the second major break out of the year, seems that one hundred forty had walked out of the place in December. Simply amazing, I was listening to the Federal Minister on the news, he was calling it another example of a local government failing it’s duties to the community.
"The absence of effective measures of control and oversight by local authorities is deplorable, and has generated frequent escapes from prisons, putting the safety of communities at risk."
The jailbreak was another factor in my thinking; it exemplified how precariously thin the veneer of civilization really is. Mexico seemed to be sliding into an abyss of violence and mayhem, the effects of which would surely be finding its way north of the border.
At breakfast I noticed the shirt the maître de was wearing was of a style I really enjoy wearing, but cannot ever find at Walmart. The guayabera, or ‘wedding shirt’ is comfortable and I think kind of stylish. The guayabera style is said to have originated in Veracruz, or the Yucatan, so perhaps I would be able to get a dozen while I was here. I spoke with the maître de and then with the concierge, both recommended the same shop, over in the Villa del Mar district of Veracruz.
The Villa del Mar area is in the old city, right along the shore line, just a few miles north of the Camino Real, go along the Boulevard Miguel Aleman and then when it ‘T’-bones at Boulevard Avila Camacho go left. Do not get off at the first Boulevard Avila Camacho exit. If you do get off at the first Avila Camacho exit, then go right, the road will take you right along the coast, but it’s further and the traffic is normally much slower.
Boulevard Avila Camacho takes you right to the Villa del Mar district and the family-run store, Guayaberas Fina Cab. They have real nice, high-quality hand-stitched shirts. It is an easy store front to locate, if you happen to be
visiting Veracruz, right there between Calles Arista and Serdán. I was coming out of the store with a dozen new shirts when I heard the sound of gunfire, coming from the north.
Looking that way I saw a mid-size SUV, a Nissan maybe, it was white there’s no doubt of that, coming towards me, straight up the main drive. There was no missing them, two men in the back seat of the SUV had their upper bodies out of the windows and they were firing AK-47 style assault rifles back in the direction they were fleeing from. It did not take a genius to realize their target was the black pick-up truck with four soldiers standing in its bed.
It was obvious that I would soon be in the middle of gun battle that was rolling through the streets of Villa del Mar, Veracruz. It looked like Naval Marines were going against members of the criminal element, in a combination high speed pursuit and shoot out. Each side exchanging volleys of fire from the back of the vehicles, as people were running for cover in their wake. Between my position in front of Guayaberas Fina Cab and the white SUV there was a family walking on the sidewalk, a man and a woman with two small children, a boy and a girl. The kids looked to be about five or six years old, they were well in hand.
The distance between me and the lead SUV was shrinking fast, the shooters in the back had their attention riveted on the Marines that were in pursuit. The driver appeared confident, he was easy to see through the windshield and the man in the front on the passenger side of the was sitting calmly. There was nothing to take cover behind, so going into a low crouch as they came past, I kept my attention on the two gunmen in the back. The driver’s side shooter had the AK-47 style weapons to his shoulder, trying to steady his aim in the bouncing vehicle being no easy feat. The passenger side man had his weapon hanging by a sling over his shoulder, it looked like he was tossing two green balls out of truck, underhand just as they sped by ...
I heard myself shouting “GRENADE!”
I turned away from the prospective blast, and fell forward, pushing myself even further from where I thought the little green balls were going to roll in the four or five seconds since the safety spoons went flying.
Those little green balls were two M67 grenades rolling aimlessly on the ground. Each sphere consisted of a two and a half inch diameter steel body that contained six and a half ounces of composition B explosive. The fuse assembly and the surrounding steel body made up the balance of the M67’s total weight of fourteen ounces. The fuse delays the grenades’ detonation between four or five seconds after the pin is pulled and the spoon is released. When it explodes the steel fragmenting out of the grenade body spread to produce an injury radius of approximately fifteen meters, with a fatality radius of 5 meters.
After the two blasts, which came almost simultaneously, the family of four was down, the woman screaming, the children crying, blood was everywhere. I hustled over towards the children, both were wounded, but only superficially, their scars would be more emotional than bodily.
The mother was in worse shape, but there were other people around her tending to the bleeding. I stood and looked around, a half dozen people had cell phones to their ears, the ambulances should be arriving soon I hoped. I looked to the father, but he was gone. From the appearance of the scene it was not hard to surmise that as the grenade was rolling towards his wife and kids, he dove on it, smothering the blast with his own body.
The ambulances were soon there to load up the fella’s wife and kids.
I gathered up my shirts and headed off; walking towards the south, in the general direction of the Camino Real, but that was not my destination, I was not thinking that far ahead. Here I had come to protect a journalist as he investigated a ‘Mexican Watergate’ and all I’d been doing, all that had been accomplished, was watching as one person after another died, almost every day.
The bodies were mounting up, the magazine editor, Miguel Angel, his wife and son. Those three died the night I arrived, so while I was not witness to it, it did affect the principle client, Ricardo Gonzalez. Those murders were the driving force behind his decision not to go forward with the investigation. When I had gone to see Chief Reyes, he was shot down in a fusillade of bullets, in the minute prior to when I would have been standing with him. Then, just today a total stranger, the father of Christopher and Joselyn Sanchez Bonilla, had died in front of me. Those kids, just five and six years old, were nothing but innocent victims, their lives would never be the same again.
I had walked about a kilometer when I noticed a crowd of people gathered by a white SUV on the side of the road, it looked like the Marine’s black truck from the chase was parked there, too. It did not take long to reach the crowd; and out of curiosity I worked my way to the front of the people standing there, just for the opportunity to see the
four dead ‘evil doers’.
The talk was that the men in the vehicle had been involved in a shootout earlier in the day, when someone had ambushed three buses full of Marines, in the Boca del Rio district. They had orphaned those two kids, for nothin’, dying like this was too easy thing for scum like them. I could feel the rage building deep down in the bottom of my gut, I’d felt it before, the results of which are not found in Ms. Manners hand book for gracious and pleasant living.
I waited on Ricardo before going to dinner, I figured he’d likely be running on standard Mexican time, meaning a late dinner, and I was correct. We went to the patio restaurant, La Vela, and had the ‘Special’
Ricardo was confident that NenaDLorado had a solid lead on the leadership of Los Zetas, he had communicated with her earlier and was excited by what she had said. I asked him, then, at the height of his enthusiasm, I asked.
“What’s the objective, Ricardo?”
“The objective, I don’t understand, Jack, what do you mean?”
“Meaning what is the objective, the goal, what are we trying to obtain? If we do not know the objective, how do we know when we’ve obtained it? An endless pursuit of ghosts, with no objective other than to be in the chase, I have no need for that. But if we can hurt these sons of bitches, and get paid to do it, all at the same time, that Ricardo is a game I’d play in. How about you, what do you want from this?”
“I had thought at the start this, when I contacted you, that we could obtain justice for Noel if we could write his story. Expose the corruption, but now I think that even if we do that, it will have no meaning. With all the death surrounding us, staring in our faces, the proofs required to write this story, they will never be gained. Can you hurt them, Jack, the force of their evil seems insurmountable.”
“Ricardo, these fellas are bullies, they’re big on breaking down doors in the middle of the night and then shooting unarmed folks, women and children. With my own eyes I’ve watched them run like rabbits when the Marines were chasin’ them. No, these boys aren’t insurmountable, they are nothin’ but bluster. We find out where their head shed is, we can take ‘em down. We can strike when the targets the US government has the bounties on are in the house.”
“You mean to kidnap the leaders of Los Zetas?!?!”
“No, Ricardo, I mean to capture and then proceed to turn those leaders over to the legal authorities that will pay the bounty offered. There are millions of dollars on the table.”
“That’s insane, Jack, those men are killers!”
“They’re not the only people around with that skill set, Ricardo, in fact from what I’ve seen; they are not skilled at all. If we can find them, we can take them.”
“Not me, Jack Hawkins, I am not going out with you to catch Zetas, you may be crazy but I am not!”
“Not to worry, Ricardo, you won’t have to be near the Zetas, we just need to be able to track them down. Fix them in time and space; why even the second tier people have bounties of a million dollars or more on their heads. You don’t write about finding them, until after we turn them over to the police, Army or DEA, if you ever write the story at all.”
“You’re looking for a private intelligence network, of your own?”<
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“I’m thinking that reporters should report. If their reports are timely, we can take direct action against the mala gente. You know, Ricardo, there are warrants for almost all of these people in both the US and Mexico, big rewards offered by each government. We cannot provide every reporter a body guard, even if the Sheikh of Araby would pay for it. Even if he would pay and then we did provide the reporters body guards, the Zetas would just kill the guards along with the targets. They kill police chiefs, what chance would a reporter have? These bastards have declared war, Ricardo, your people have to answer in kind.”
“Millions of dollars? You are sure about that, it is not an urban legend, these multi million dollar bounties on criminals?”
“If we can find ‘em, Ricardo, we can collect on ‘em, guaranteed.”