The Buzz

The sun has set on this hellish high desert. There is enough light to see our surroundings, but that is of little help and even less reassuring. Our backs are to the wall of the building we emerged from... a farm house or equipment barn or something. Off in the distance is a much larger structure, beyond which I am assuming is Abigail and the air strip.

Whomever was ahead of us, leading us out of the basement, is nowhere in sight. It is just me and Lou. He takes a knee, his good arm touching down to give him support.

"Lou, you okay?"
"This from a man with eight digits and a broken back."
"Yeah, funny... huh? I feel better than I look."
I put my good hand on his shoulder.
"Are you okay?"
"Fine... just feel a little light headed."
"You lost a lot of blood back there."
He looks at me in the shadowing darkness, "You are losing blood right now, Nancy."

I look at my hand for the first time. I have been avoiding it up until now. Just dealing with the numbed fire of pain. Shouldn't have looked.

I feel the ground at my back... it knocks the wind from me.
"Come on, Nancy."
I feel a pretty hefty slap on the side of my face. I open my good eye.
"What happened?"
"You fainted... like a school girl."

He has torn off the lower part of my shirt and wrapped my hand with it. I feel a little better... bleeding has stopped, but...
"You look like a pansy with that half shirt on."
"Thanks."

We hear footsteps, more than one person. It is now that we realize we are unarmed and fairly helpless. Lou holds up a finger in my direction and we near the corner of the building. When the shadowy figure emerges from the corner Lou snatches him with his good arm and before he knows it the little man is on the ground with a knee in his back.

"Soy su amigo... SOY SU AMIGO."

He is just a boy, maybe twelve or thirteen.

Lou takes his knee out of the boy's back as Taylor rounds the corner with two old shotguns in hand.
"He is one of ours, Lou. We need him to help us out of here."

"Sorry, Amigo." The boy is helped up and he winces with pain. He pulls something out of his front pocket and drops it to the ground at his feet. Even in the darkness we can see it is a grenade.

"WATCH IT."

We dive away, except for the boy. He bends over and picks up the grenade and holds it out in his hand.
"Es un peso de papel."

Lou tips his head and repeats back to him what he just told us. The boy nods.
"It's a paper weight. Not a real grenade."
"No shit... it sure looks real."

Before we move another step, Lou takes the boy aside and he and Taylor listen and ask questions. I, on the other hand, am content to take the translated version from Lou when they are finished.

Turns out the boy was the grandson of the man that had owned this farm. Because of the airstrip and its relative proximity to Nuevo Laredo, the Sinaloa cartel decided it was of value to their trafficking operations. Joseph Guzman, an escapee from the Mexico Federal prison system and head of the Sinaloa cartel, decided to make an offer to this boy's grandfather that he couldn't refuse. But the grandfather was a good sort, the kind of man a grandson can look up to, and refused to allow the take-over of his property.

Even outlaws feel the need for legalities, especially when it comes to deeds and sale of land. One by one the grandfather's workers were tortured in front of him. At first they used the high speed and electrocution that I had endured. Then they started a sort of crucifixion where they were nailing parts of the workers bodies to the sides of the barn and letting them hang there. But when this wasn't effective, they brought in a Pozolero to convince him... and it did.

Pozole is a tasty stew made with corn and beef and a few other ingredients. It is a Tijuana specialty that had taken on quite a different recipe when it comes to the Cartels. In this case, a Pozolero would dip his victims in a vat of acid... commonly and in this particular case lye, and boil them to death. The torment would last for mere moments, but the terror of watching someone dissolve before your eyes was quite a motivator. He signed the papers and then he himself was dissolved. The only person to survive was the grandson, this young man in front of us. He bore witness to cruelty that no man should have to witness.

Lou takes the grenade from the boy and examines it.
"World War II era... I've seen cigarette lighters made out of old grenades."

Voices, shouting coming from behind the larger structure. Lou pockets the paperweight and grabs a shotgun from Taylor.
"There are eight men around the plane." Taylor reports as he ejects the shells from the pump shotgun. Only four rounds. Lou's is a double barrel. He cracks it and finds both shells unfired.
"You better give me one of those rounds, then we each have three."
Taylor tosses on his way and then loads the other three. He still has the pistol he used to rescue me tucked in his belt, but it is empty. I motion for it.

"Give me the pistol. I might be able to convince someone that I mean business."
"Not a good idea, Jake."
"I know, I know... don't point a weapon unless you mean to kill someone with it. Well, I do mean to kill someone. I'll just have to beat the hell out of them with it."

Taylor gives us the buzz... tells us what he saw and what had happened before we arrived. Apparently two days ago Jerry's brother Mike came aboard in Mascoala when they on-loaded the product... six hundred kilo's of cocaine. As soon as he said that I knew that we were not dealing with our Jerry, not any more. This Jerry is more reckless. They picked up armed escort at their next stop, the planes that we had shot down upon our arrival. They would keep the cargo safe until its arrival in Anahuac, then patrol for any DEA or like authorities.

Once they had landed, there was supposed to be a simple off-load and payment. They made Jerry, Taylor, Mike and his two body guards all get off of Abigail under the pretense of having a couple of cold ones with the cartel boss Guzman. It all seemed friendly enough.

After introductions Mike and Guzman left the room. Mike's boys were not allowed to follow. Their guns were taken and they were removed to another room. We never saw them again. A short time later we heard a plane take off. When we tried to go outside...see what was going on, but that was not to be. We where held at gunpoint, prisoners.

Guzman didn't return and his men were getting a little nervous. It seems they were instructed to off-load the cargo and keep the payment as well. Whatever Guzman and Mike were doing was not known to his men. They still wanted the payment and the coke. They had other plans than just letting this plane fly out of here.

"We managed to overpower the two guys that were guarding us. Jerry stuck them both with a knife he took off of one of their sides. Once we had their weapons we thought we might be able to make it to the plane." Taylor shakes his head.
"I really don't know what Jerry was thinking. There was still the matter of those two armed escort planes."
"Taylor... where is Jerry?" I was getting impatient.

He told us that Jerry had a plan. Taylor would take his weapon and head to the other side of the barn and create a distraction. If it cleared the guys away from Abigail, then Jerry would fire it up and get ready for take-off while Taylor circled back around. Even this Jerry new to park his plane in a way that would promote a fast departure.

But the plan didn't work. Even though Taylor's sporadic gunfire and a small explosion and fire courtesy of a couple of old gas cans drew the men away from the plane, they managed to thwart the escape attempt.

"I never made it back to the plane. As soon as they heard the engines start, they returned to the plane and pulled Jerry from the cockpit. They beat him senseless before taking him inside."

"Where?" Lou asks him.
"The main house. I was on my way there when I ran into the boy here. He was like an animal, fought me with everything he had until he realized that I wasn't going to harm him."
Taylor reaches out and tousles the boy's hair.
"He showed me a pretty good hiding place and then told me what had happened to his family. We tried to go in after dark to find Jerry, but they had the place sewn up tight."

"So he is still in there?"
"We heard screaming, the nasty high pitched kind coming from a room in the back. The boy says it is his grandfathers storage room... no windows. They think he has the money. They weren't privy to the fact that no payment took place and their boss and Mike had left the area."

"It doesn't make sense," I shake my head. "You would think they would want Jerry to make dozens of runs for them. It just doesn't make sense to do it this way."

Taylor nods, "I know what you mean. I think it has more to do with the fact that Guzman was here... that we saw him. He is a very guarded man. He came here to make this spot his, to set up camp for his operations. I don't believe he meant to be here when this all went down. It was easier to keep the payment, kill the crew and torch the plane."

"Torch the plane?"
Taylor sighs, "I managed to get a quick look inside when these guys were chasing after you... you know, right before they shot you down. There are seven drums of gasoline loaded into the cargo bay. I think they mean to shoot her full of holes until she blows."

Well, there you have it. Our pal Jerry is either dead or near dead at the hands of these guys. The only hope for escape is loaded with enough gasoline to make it turn to dust after the explosion. And we are three men and a boy with six rounds and a paperweight. I hate to say it, but I have seen worse.