ROLL CALL ~ A Prison List (True Prison Story) (4 page)

El Diablo looked at the cartel heads at his table and realized that suspicions were so high that nobody was saying a word. It looked like everyone suspected the others of infringing on or wanting their business. El Diablo’s position of power to call this meeting was made possible for two reasons. The first was, he was the longest standing pioneer for getting American dollars into Mexico for their drugs. The second and more important reason was he had the most influence and the furthest reach into both the Mexican and the U.S. governments. He was so far into the U.S. government that he was involved indirectly with the highest up U.S. officials who decided on how much money Mexico would get from the U.S.in aid for fighting the War on Drugs. He also had the Mexican government so far in his pocket that the Mexican military escorted some of his most massive loads of drugs into California along the remote Imperial and Coachella valley.

After a few tense minutes El Diablo decided it was time to get the conversation started.

“Thank you all for taking the time to come to this gathering. As always I send my regards and respects to your loved ones and countrymen. I established this meeting and look forward to others so we may pool our resources for our collective gain as Mexicans and to settle any problems that arise in our locales. The bottom line is we shouldn’t fight against each other. I’m going to give up the floor for you, my guests, to represent your interests.”

Not surprisingly nobody spoke. El Diablo calmly looked at the cartel leaders and waited them out for a few more minutes. When the silence got a little uncomfortable he smashed his fist against the table and knocked a few cups over.

He took on a passionate tone and said, “My fellow Mexicans, we have to look at each other as comrades in this together! Our country is poor and hungry… With some of our relatives and countrymen starving! While in the United States they have so much money and food that they are like a spoiled fat cat! Those Americans think they are better than us, smarter than us and feel they deserve more than us!” El Diablo noticed the cartel leaders nodding their heads in collective Mexican honor.

El Diablo threw out more string with, “I have a master plan I am willing to share with you. In showing you how I run my operation please recognize and remember this sharing so we don’t become greedy over the gringo money… What I do with my smuggling operation is I send leaders that I use as spies into the dense cities in California. Our Pisano’s are hard workers who get jobs at restaurants and construction sites. Some of them will sell my drugs to supplement their meager income because their dream is to buy a house in California and bring the rest of their families out of Mexico to the dream. Another way I have my spies recruit our countrymen who have migrated to California is to hang out at stores that wire money to Mexico. The temptation to make faster and larger amounts of money combined with the power that comes with being a supplier of the party materials is too much. The women, the toys and the prestige pull them into the business and we are tapped into their networks and under my control.”

El Diablo studied his guest at the table and realized they all had similar strategies in place. He was hoping his sharing would inspire them to offer some details, anything. The stoic faces that stared back at him proved otherwise. In the silence that hung in the air Felipe Nevarrez decided he could play the same game of rallying the troops.

“Men, In the Bible…” He crossed himself before continuing. “Adam and Eve were told not to eat of the forbidden fruit and the snake tempted them by telling them, ‘HE DOESN’T WANT YOU TO EAT IT BECAUSE YOU’LL BE AS SMART AS HIM’. It is like that with the Americans, we offer them the forbidden fruit their government makes it so hard to get. You see men, we are not the devil or the snake, we’re just people who are already familiar with the forbidden fruit.”

CHAPTER 6

A week later in Michoacán, Mexico

Felipe Nevarrez met his uncle Ernesto at his restaurant, Ernie’s Tacos. It wasn’t open for business, just for this meeting. Workers loyal to the cartel were making a feast and serving beer for the two leaders. Three other loyal members stood at the doors with A.K.47’s to maintain security.

Ernie’s Tacos sat on an isolated desert road that wound from the mountainous region of Hidaka all the way to the border. This passage was known as snake eyes because of all of the dead rattle snakes and other reptiles that littered the dirt. There were also hundreds of hastily made tombstones for the people who didn’t make the trek. Snakes, scorpions and lizards that ran with their tails in the air to avoid the heat could be seen moving through all of the cactus and rocks.

Felipe ran down every detail of his visit with El Diablo at his ranch in Mexico City in such a minute degree that it was as visual for his uncle as it had been for him. He included every word that was spoken, every detail of the ranch, the pictures of his family on the walls, the familiarity El Diablo had with the chief of police and their security and all of the body language he could interpret from all who were present.

Ernesto took it all in and sipped on his Tecate. “Do you think El Diablo has all of the Mexican government in his pocket?”

Felipe nodded his head and said, “Yeah… It’s like we thought.”

Now that the summit meeting was over Felipe was thinking about their next drug run. This one was going to be a culmination of a year’s worth of smaller ones. Profits from their contacts in Southern California had added up considerably. The plan this time was for Felipe to bring his cousin on a run for the first time to meet some of the associates in the Inland Empire and Los Angeles. Ernie had labeled this trip as the Monarch run as it was their biggest one yet.

Felipe asked, “Are the Monarchs ready?”

Ernie thought about why he named it. The monarch butterflies migrated from Michoacán Mexico to the U.S. every year. He was using the term as a code word for their packaged drug clavos. The drugs were packaged up in the mountainous hillside and wrapped in plastic with a Monarch butterfly stamped on them. There was speed, heroin and cocaine loaded up and ready to go.

Ernie answered, “The Monarchs are ready! Our eighteen wheeler is up the road with your cousin Javier in it waiting for you to give him the green light from the border. The call from the border just came in before you got here telling me you’re clear to cross. I still want you to spend ten minutes studying the border agent to make sure he doesn’t have any company looking over his shoulder. You’re going to drive the same Ford Festiva as last time and Jefe will be following the eighteen wheeler in the Honda to keep an eye on the rear.” Ernie slid a pack of Camel cigarettes across the table and said, “There’s some speed in there to keep you vigilant for your long drive. Call me at the border if anything looks fishy… Stay in touch with your cousin Javier constantly to let him know you’ve got his front scoped out and to keep him calm during the drive. I want you to help him catch on to our operation as fast as possible so you can both go on separate runs pretty soon. I love your life and will be praying for you all. Vaya con dios.”

CHAPTER 7

Felipe pulled the Ford Festiva over to the side of the road to watch the border agents like Ernesto said. He felt a freaky, sketchy adrenaline high flood through his veins knowing he was about to cross the border with over four hundred pounds of narcotics. Felipe remembered how Ernesto had found the best border guard to have in the palm of his hand at this corridor into the U.S…. That was five years ago. Felipe thought about how he married the agent’s daughter and they had a daughter of their own now. Felipe remembered how as soon as he saw an opportunity to help her father when financial problems arose, he seized it. All it took was a little finesse from there. Ricardo the agent was just like most people, he worshipped money. Ricardo was a lot more cunning then the rest of the naive agents he worked with and had the most clout so it was a good match.

Felipe studied Ricardo and he didn’t look any different than normal, none of the other agents did either, so he made the call to get the caravan started. A couple minutes later he pulled the Festiva into traffic, just ahead of the eighteen wheeler and the Honda. It was six p.m., right before shift change. Ernesto had it planned that way figuring the border agents would be less prone to be as vigilant since they wanted to leave—Human nature. Felipe inched toward the checkpoint and stayed calm thinking about how low his profile was in the little blue car. The border agent pretended to scrutinize Felipe for the appropriate amount of time and waved him through. The same thing happened for Javier in the eighteen wheeler and then Jefe in the Honda—The American dream.

Felipe lined up some speed to snort already on the edge of his seat. He loved speed ever since they’d learned how to cook the product from the biker gang. Felipe snorted a healthy portion and checked his nose in the mirror and felt like a movie star. This life was meant for a movie. As the speed made its way to his brain Felipe told himself what he always did about speed. That it wasn’t bad, people were. The drug brought out in you what was already there… further. If you could handle it you could get a lot of stuff done in a short time but your true colors would show through to the sagacious eye.

Smoking a Camel wide cigarette Felipe thought about his mother in heaven. She had raised him Catholic, God rest her soul. She loved everyone, saw the good in people well before others pointed out the bad and was very compassionate. All of that didn’t help her avoid poverty, getting beat up and raped by his father though. After he killed him Ernesto pulled him into the just starting cartel. Felipe looked at his uncle like a hero who took on the world to bring money to their poverty stricken town of dirt and heat. Songs were made and sung by the mariachis as a tribute to how much he helped out the town and his countrymen. The message was clear in Felipe’s mind when he philosophized on it. The Americans thought they were God. They created laws faster than good sense could catch up along with passing judgment like they were without sin. It was poetic justice that the Americans created the demand for drugs and made their kid’s want to experiment with them more for making them so taboo! The more the U.S, raved about the war on drugs the more kids rebelled by using them. It was like a challenge. It created an unstoppable underground culture and the wave Felipe was happy to ride. Felipe continued to study the road for cops but didn’t see the magnificent eagle flying high above him.

From up there, you could see Felipe in his small blue Ford Festiva with three conspicuously placed antennas a half a mile ahead of Javier in the eighteen wheeler, looking a lot more rugged than the more regulated California ones, and, then Jorge in the back in the blue Honda with another three conspicuous antennas on an otherwise deserted freeway as dusk approached.

CHAPTER 8

Felipe drove the speed limit and daydreamed about how much money this shipment was going to bring in. Most of the business they had been doing over the years had been with Mexicans residing in Southern California. There had been a representative from Pomona, one from Norwalk and one from Fontana until a man who went by Topo made his presence felt and changed all of that. He had come to Felipe with the Norwalk representative and explained that he was the problem solver for most of the drug business for the Mexicans for most of the Inland Empire and Los Angeles. Ever since that day Felipe couldn’t get a hold of the other reps, only Topo. When Felipe inquired about this phenomenon to Topo, he shrugged his shoulders and said, “This way there won’t be any problems to solve.”

After that run Felipe remembered how he and Ernie scratched their heads trying to understand what had happened to the other reps and why they wouldn’t return their calls for continued business. Ernie did as much homework on Topo as possible and came up with some understanding. They had found out that Topo’s reputation preceded him with the widest regard throughout Southern California and the authorities considered him mafia even though there wasn’t any proof to substantiate the claim. Ernie didn’t mind losing the other business contacts because Topo coordinated more business anyway. Ernie decided that the other contacts were still getting their product, just through Topo now. Felipe thought about how Topo changed the rules subtly in that he fought for lower prices and didn’t pay for the product upon arrival. He had his associate pay once it was liquidated and the next shipment arrived. Topo explained that the cartel had to take that risk so his operation had money to problem solve. If one of his reps got busted and he provided bona fide proof in police reports and court documents the cartel would have to eat the loss. Felipe understood that Topo was a shot caller and learned from and respected his style. In East L.A., Topo’s backyard, he had the speed dyed a color of his choosing to keep track of who wasn’t selling his dope. He had his heroin and cocaine packaged a certain way for the same reasons.

Felipe drove and thought. He and Ernesto preferred the business they did with the biker gangs in San Fernando and San Bernardino. They paid almost double what Topo paid and they paid in full up front.

Three miles away from the initial destination on the Indian reservation Felipe got a call from Jefe in the trail car. Jefe rapidly explained that he spotted a police cruiser come out of hiding behind him. Felipe called Javier in the eighteen wheeler and told him to get ahead of him and to floor it to the reservation. As Javier passed, Felipe changed lanes so he and Jefe in the Honda were in both lanes to throw a block so Javier could reach the reservation. Felipe watched the police cruiser race up to the rear of both he and Jefe’s bumpers.