rivaled the most brazen and vicious in Mexico. The town was divided up into the equivalent of fiefdoms where the local warlords reigned supreme, with the most dangerous to Aranas’ Sinaloa group run by ‘Chacho’ Morenos, one of the most influential power players in the region, having forged a coalition with Aranas’ sworn enemies in the Zetas cartel.
None of which particularly bothered the young man, who was himself one of the earth’s most dangerous predators. El Rey had spent ten days in Juarez so far, plying the street criminals with cash to gain their confidence, buying drugs and a few weapons, which were both in plentiful supply. He’d maintained an aura of the underworld by claiming to be a high-end male prostitute for rich gringos, which his new movie-star features lent credence to, as did his choice of clothing, deliberately selected to maximize his flamboyant cover. He knew from experience that prostitutes were largely invisible in criminal circles, and so quickly had entre to many establishments that would have immediately questioned a young, fit male who wasn’t in the cartel game.
He’d learned that the second in command of the Familia Morenos liked to let off steam in the bar across the street, which was flanked by cars filled with armed sentries, as well as several police cars. Juarez was a city where money bought influence, including police guards to diminish the appeal of an assault. El Rey knew that there were thousands of soldiers in the town chartered with keeping the peace, but until recently they’d been strangely unable to locate the Sinaloa cartel’s outposts. That had all changed when the new regime had come into the government, and now Sinaloa was on the run, forced to keep a low profile. This had helped the Morenos solidify power in what would have been an impossible way just six short months earlier, when Sinaloa had maintained a stranglehold on the streets. Now the Juarez situation was in flux, and the Morenos’ ascent had emboldened other groups to come to town and challenge one and all for a piece of territory.
El Rey understood why this was an impossible circumstance for Aranas — it called into question his authority and created competitors in what had been a relatively stable corridor. The entire situation had been exacerbated by the armed forces cracking down on his group, telegraphing the message that it was open season on Sinaloa. In the delicate world of cartel power, any hint of disequilibrium invited in rivals, which was exactly what had happened. Aranas made five million dollars every evening in Juarez alone, so El Rey completely understood the reasoning of wanting his Morenos problem taken care of while he was available.
A dark green Escalade rolled up to the bar and stopped in front. Five men got out, all wearing cowboy hats and windbreakers, which hardly concealed their weapons. The smallest of the group was his objective for the evening — the number two man in the Morenos organization, Paco Aceviere. He would know where Chacho was hiding out, which would have to be nearby. You didn’t try to take over one of the gateways for narcotics smuggling into the U.S. on a remote basis. He had to be close by, so all that remained was to find out where and come up with a plan to exterminate him — a chore El Rey was more than confident he could undertake in short order.
He’d been watching the coming and going at the bar, and now that he had visual confirmation that the Familia Morenos’ captain was going in for a drink or three, it was just a matter of time and patience until the man led him to his boss. He toyed with the key fob in his shirt pocket and glanced down the block at the brown Ford Taurus he’d parked there hours ago. At least nobody had stolen his ride — that was a plus.
El Rey flipped the paper over to the sports section and began reading the coverage of the hotly contested soccer matches that were the nation’s fascination. It was a warm evening, and he had all night. Nobody gave him a second glance, other than an occasional older man curious about his wares. If you only knew, my friend, he thought to himself and smiled. It was going to be another long evening, he could tell, but the end was in sight.
Don Aranas answered the small cell phone the following afternoon and listened impassively as El Rey requested several items. He snapped his fingers and gestured, and one of his guards hurried to his side with a pen and sheet of paper. Aranas carefully wrote down the unfamiliar combination of letters, and then agreed that he would call back as soon as he had arranged for the desired items. Aranas lived in a world where anything could be had, for a price, no matter how exotic or esoteric. Still, after he hung up, he studied his note and shook his head.
This wouldn’t be easy. Then again, it was only money. The sooner he located the goods, the sooner one of his big headaches would be over.
He considered the errand and then placed another call, to the man who supplied his troops with whatever they needed. He would know where to acquire the assassin’s necessary tools. Of that, Aranas was sure. After a few minutes of back and forth, he disconnected. Nothing in life worth doing was cheap, and this had been no exception.
The estimated delivery time was three days, allowing for transatlantic shipment.
Aranas called El Rey back and relayed the news. They would arrange for pick up at one of his facilities in Juarez.
When Aranas hung up, it was with a sense of satisfaction. His nemesis would cease to exist before the week was done.
Five million was a bargain.
Music boomed from the patio of the expansive ranch house sixteen miles from the outskirts of Ciudad Juarez. A seven-foot-high wall encircled the large central compound, which held a dozen SUVs, a stable, a trio of guest casitas, and the seven thousand square foot central hacienda. Dusk had transitioned inevitably to night, lending the surrounding desert a balmy tranquility after the sun had baked it relentlessly throughout the day.
Armed guards patrolled the perimeter, which was equipped with the latest motion sensing technology, along with pressure sensors and powerful spotlights that could illuminate the area around the ranch for two hundred yards in every direction. It would be impossible to creep up on the location without being detected, if not by the sophisticated electronics, then certainly by the armed police who guarded the road from town as a paid courtesy to the ranch’s owner.
The men were more relaxed than usual, their ongoing war against their enemy, the Sinaloa cartel, having taken a turn for the better. Sinaloa had been devastated by a series of clashes with the army over the last week and were licking their wounds. Still, nobody put down their weapons, and the guards held their guns at the ready. While it was unlikely that an attack was imminent, one never knew.
High pitched squeals of drunken female laughter mingled with the festive tune emanating from the house; the nearest sentries exchanged knowing glances. Their boss enjoyed a party as much as anyone, and tonight looked to be another late one. A car with four of the freshest local girls had rolled up an hour earlier, and their patron, Chacho, had inspected the talent with approval as they’d strutted towards the house following a cursory frisking by the security detail. The head of the Morenos cartel was renowned for his appetites, and his appreciation for the finer things in life had only increased as he’d gotten older.
Tonight he had reason for celebration. The army units in the area had seized another shipment of Sinaloa cartel methamphetamines bound for the border, delivering another black eye to his competitor, as well as costing it sixteen of its best men in a rout that had ended with all the cartel personnel dead or wounded. At this rate, even the seemingly infinitely powerful Aranas would have to give some ground, enabling Chacho to solidify his claim on Juarez and use it as a leverage to further his ambitions in the states to the south. He, better than most, knew you were either eating, or being eaten, and he was determined to emerge as one of the top leaders in the cartels that effectively ruled Mexico.
Chacho playfully spanked one of the young women on the bottom as she squeezed past him into the house. It was good to be king, he thought, taking a swig on the five hundred dollar bottle of
