For that first year, the cartels started fighting each other again. The truce they had agreed upon was over. It was an outright war, with gangs attacking other gangs in towns and cities, leaving hundreds of civilians much like Gabriela’s own parents dead in the cross fire.
The cartel leaders began hiding their wives and children. Some even sent them off to hide away in various countries. They were all convinced their families were next. That the Devil would come for their wives and children and burn them alive.
The cartels didn’t like the press attention, though. They threatened many of the major newspapers from publishing stories about the Devil. They didn’t like the idea that somebody—one person, if that was to be believed—had managed to do so much damage to them. So it became the task of La Baliza and other news hubs to make sure they learned as soon as possible when the Devil struck again. And when he did, they made sure to get the news out there for the country to see.
Gabriela pauses her story, looking at me closely.
“From what I heard there’s a reward for the Devil. Several of the cartels have vowed to put in 30 million pesos each. Combined, the bounty is up over ten million dollars US.”
“Dead or alive?”
“They want him alive. That’s the only way they will know for sure the person brought to them is really the Devil.”
“And let me guess—they’re going to torture the shit out of him.”
Gabriela doesn’t answer, at least not verbally. She looks away from me, her face becoming all at once troubled.
I ask, “What’s wrong?”
“When I first realized that there was somebody out there doing this, I was happy. It sounds terrible of me, I know, but the cartels in this country are vicious. They kill people as if they are nothing. They rape women and children. Sometimes they even keep women and children as sex slaves. They’re awful people, and the idea that somebody was coming at them, attacking them that way, was in a strange way … uplifting.”
Gabriela frowns at me.
“But he’s killing children. They may be the children of the drug lords, may one day take after their fathers, but they’re still children. It’s … tragic and deserved at the same time. Like I said, it sounds terrible of me.”
I shake my head and say, “No, it doesn’t.”
“Yes, it does. I know it does. But sometimes … sometimes I don’t care.”
There’s a silence then, both of us sitting in her bedroom, staring at one another.
I ask, “Was Ernesto Diaz considered part of the cartel?”
Her frown deepens.
“How do you know his name?”
I say nothing.
Her eyes narrow.
“What are you really doing here?”
“I told you, I’m on vacation.”
“Yes, and I don’t believe you.”
The computer on the desk chimes. The screensaver has come up, and Gabriela moves the mouse to make the screensaver disappear.
I ask, “What is it?”
“An email came through from La Baliza.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“I only use one email address to communicate with them.”
She moves the mouse around again and opens a window. There isn’t much text in the email.
“That’s weird.”
I stand up from the bed and step closer to the computer.
“What’s weird?”
“He says he needed to make a change to my story.”
“Who says?”
“The publisher.”
“What did he change?”
“Almost everything. He took out all reference to the Devil.”
“Why would he do that?”
Gabriela shakes her head, frustrated, and types back an angry response asking why this change was needed as the murders were obviously done by the Devil.
A response comes back a minute later.
Until we have more evidence, we do not know for sure the Devil is responsible. Don’t let it get you down. You did great work.
Gabriela doesn’t move for several long seconds, staring at the screen, and then she speaks between clenched teeth.
“This is fucking bullshit.”
I say nothing.
Gabriela smacks the mouse to delete the email and stands up from the chair, begins pacing around the room.
“Such bullshit.”
I watch her for a while, letting her vent, and then ask another question.
“How did you even know about the murders?”
She pauses, glancing at me with startled surprise.
“What?”
“The murders. How did you know?”
“I told you, there’s a website where people can leave tips. Today I received a tip about the murders and then how the call had been placed to that motel. It would have taken me too long to go to the murder scene, so I went to the motel and waited. I figured if after an hour nobody showed up, it would have been a crank tip. Sometimes those come through, and we need to be careful of traps. But then Ramon and Carlos showed up.”
“You know their names?”
She nods.
“I know almost all of the police officers around the area, at least the ones with authority. It’s the same with local politicians. I usually write about the corruption in the city, so of course I need to know who these people are.”
I step over to the window and look out through the shades. The sun is starting to set. I turn back to her.
“Gabriela, I don’t know you very well, but you are one brave senorita.”
She smiles.
“I think I could say the same thing about you.”
Her cell phone vibrates on the desk. Gabriela picks it up, looks at the screen. She stares for a long moment, and then little by little her face starts to fall.
I ask, “What’s wrong?”
“A new tip came in. Gunmen just killed over twenty people at a wedding in La Miserias.”
She pauses and looks up at me, her voice cracking as she says the rest.
“The person who sent the tip says the police believe it’s in retaliation for what happened last night to Ernesto Diaz.”
Twenty-Five
La Miserias was located about an hour south of Culiacán.
They took two vehicles—Ramon and Carlos in the pickup, the PFM agents trailing them in a rental car. Ramon
