Ballistic(67)
“Where do we go?”
“I’m open to suggestions,” admitted Court.
Neither of the federales spoke.
Court was tired, frustrated beyond belief, and completely without a plan, and his frustration manifested itself in his next comment. “So, other than yourselves, you are saying there is not one motherfucking trustworthy Mexican in Mexico?”
The accusation hung in the air for a moment.
Ramses Cienfuegos answered back finally, with the unmistakable tinge of anger in his voice. “I know lots of trustworthy people. Soldiers, cops, civilians, government employees. There are many of my fellow countrymen who can and do die fighting against the narcotraficantes . But involving them in this will put them at risk. Corruption exists in all levels of every institution in this country, thanks to the sixty billion dollars you gringos spend each year to fuel that corruption.”
Court shrugged. “Don’t blame us for your civil war.”
“Like you Americans would never have a civil war yourselves, right?”
Court ignored the comment, but Ramses was not finished.
“If there was no demand, amigo, de la Rocha and men like him would have to become wheat farmers or some shit. Talk to your fucking drug addicts in the United States; they bear much of the responsibility for all this death and murder. More of my countrymen would be trustworthy if only more of your countrymen weren’t worthless sons of bitches who break your own laws and, by doing so, destabilize our nation!”
Court nodded in the dark. He got the message, and the message was that he was being a dick. “Sorry, dude. I’m just pissed off.”
After a moment, Ramses said, “It’s okay. We all are.”
The three men fingered their weapons and looked into the night.
They heard the sounds of Ignacio trying to crank the engine of the truck in the barn, fifty yards off to their left. Eddie’s alcoholic brother had the starter spinning up, but so far the machine would not turn over.
Court sighed. If they couldn’t get the truck running, they were fucked. Even if they could, he had no idea where they could escape to here in Mexico. He wasn’t from around—
Wait. An idea entered his head. “That’s it.”
“What’s it?” asked Ramses.
“You said the U.S. needed to take some responsibility. What if we could get Elena and her family into the U.S.? De la Rocha doesn’t own the institutions up there.”
“No, he doesn’t.”
“It can’t be that hard to get into the USA. Your countrymen manage to do it all day long.”
Ramses nodded. “Last year I was in Mexico City, attached to the AFI, the federal detective force. It’s like the FBI in los Estados Unidos. We discovered a gringo who worked in the U.S. Embassy’s consular office who was selling papers to get into the States. We had everything we needed to arrest this gringo and stop it, but the operation was shut down. We didn’t even tell the Americans what we learned.”
“Why not?”
“Why do you think? Mexico makes a ton of money from people going over the border. There was no reason to stop this guy. I figured we would probably try to help him.”
“Okay. So, you guys are shitty neighbors. How does that help us in our—”
“I know who this guy is. You can buy visas for the Gamboas, get them up into the USA.”
Court thought it over for a moment. “What if we don’t have any money?”
“I have money.” It was Laura. She’d entered the mirador from the second-floor hallway, sat down behind them, listening to three men she did not know forty-eight hours earlier now discuss the fate of her family.
Court turned to her. “You do?”
“There is an army pension for Guillermo, my late husband. I am given a little money every year. I can take it all out at once if I want to, although there is a penalty.”
“How much can you get?”
“Five hundred thousand pesos.”
Court did the math in his head. “Sixty grand?” He looked to Ramses. “Is that enough?”
The federale shrugged. “For eight people? No idea. But I’m sure it’s enough to get the embassy man’s attention.”
Court looked back to Laura. “You would do this? You would give up all that money for Elena and your parents and—”
“Of course I would.” She seemed offended. “This is my family. I would do anything for them.”
“And you’d go to the U.S.?”
She shook her head. “They should go. My mom and dad, Elena and Diego. But not me. My home is Mexico. I do not want to leave.”
“Why not?” Court asked, incredulously.
“I just can’t pick up and leave everything behind.”