blood vendetta. The
plazas
split into factions of a civil war, just as cocaine consumption drastically declined in the U.S. and the
plazas
found themselves fighting over a smaller pie.
And the Baja Cartel was taken over by Alvarado’s nephews, the Lauter brothers, after they broke away from its original patron in the revolution. The AFs were very smart businessmen. Originally from Sinaloa, they came to Tijuana and infiltrated the cream of Baja society. Basically, they seduced a group known as the Juniors, the sons of doctors, lawyers, and Indian
jefes
, and gave them opportunities as drug smugglers. They also came across into San Diego and recruited the local Mexican gangs as enforcers.
From the mid to late nineties, the Lauters and the Baja Cartel
were
the Mexican drug trade. They co-opted the president’s office itself, they had control over the Baja State Police and the local
federales
, they probably assassinated a Mexican presidential candidate and certainly gunned down a Catholic cardinal who publicly protested the drug trade, and got away with it.
Pride cometh before a fall. They pushed it too far. DC leaned all over the Mexicans to go after the Baja Cartel. Their patron, Benjamin, is now in the federal lockup in Dago; their chief enforcer, his brother Ramon, was gunned down in Puerto Vallarta by Mexican police.
Since then, it’s been chaos.
Where once you had three
plazas
—“cartel” is a rough equivalent—now you have at least seven fighting for dominance. The Baja Cartel itself, after pretty much a free-for-all, seems to have devolved into tworival factions:
“El Azul,” a former Lauter lieutenant, is backed by the Sinaloa Cartel, probably now the most powerful cartel. El Azul, thusly glossed because of his deep blue eyes, is a particularly charming guy who likes to drown his enemies in barrels of acid.
The remnants of the Lauter family, run by a nephew, Hernan, are allied with a group called Los Zetas, originally an elite counter-narcotics squad that went to the dark side and now work as enforcers for the Baja Cartel. Their particular party trip is lopping people’s heads off.
“We saw the video,” Ben says.
“Hence your presence here today,” Dennis says. “You want my advice, boys? And girl? I’ll miss you, I’ll miss your money, but run.”
Run far and fast.
51
Ben wants peace.
Give peace a chance, imagine there’s no countries. Yeah, imagine there’s no Mark David Chapman, either, see what that gets you. But it’s Ben’s business so they get out the lappie and find the return e-address on the Seven Dwarfs video.
Eighteen e-mails later they’ve set a meeting with the BC for the next day at the Montage.
Ben reserves a 2K-a-day suite.
When that’s done, O smiles at her boys and asks, “Can we go out? The three of us?
Really
go out?”
They know what she means by “really.” The “really” means do it right—get dressed up, hit the best places, drop a bundle, paint the town,do it.
We can go out is the answer.
Why not go out the night we
go
out? Ben thinks. Do it right. Celebrate the end of a successful business that’s been good to us.
Embrace the change.
“Tomorrow night,” Ben says. “Dress up.”
“I’ll have to go shopping,” O answers.
52
When O gets home, Eleanor is pulling out of the driveway again.
Seems like that chick is always pulling
out
of driveways.
When O goes into the house, Paqu sits her down in the living room for a
Serious Talk.
“Darling girl,” she says, “we need to have a serious talk.”
Which for O is like
Uh-oh.
“Are you breaking up with me?” she asks, sitting on the sofa cushion where Paqu has patted her hand to indicate that she should sit.
Paqu doesn’t get it. She leans closer to O, her eyes get all soft and misty, she takes a deep breath and says, “Darling, I need to tell you that Steve and I have decided to pursue our separate destinies.”
“Who’s Steve?”
Paqu takes O’s hand and squeezes
plazas
split into factions of a civil war, just as cocaine consumption drastically declined in the U.S. and the
plazas
found themselves fighting over a smaller pie.
And the Baja Cartel was taken over by Alvarado’s nephews, the Lauter brothers, after they broke away from its original patron in the revolution. The AFs were very smart businessmen. Originally from Sinaloa, they came to Tijuana and infiltrated the cream of Baja society. Basically, they seduced a group known as the Juniors, the sons of doctors, lawyers, and Indian
jefes
, and gave them opportunities as drug smugglers. They also came across into San Diego and recruited the local Mexican gangs as enforcers.
From the mid to late nineties, the Lauters and the Baja Cartel
were
the Mexican drug trade. They co-opted the president’s office itself, they had control over the Baja State Police and the local
federales
, they probably assassinated a Mexican presidential candidate and certainly gunned down a Catholic cardinal who publicly protested the drug trade, and got away with it.
Pride cometh before a fall. They pushed it too far. DC leaned all over the Mexicans to go after the Baja Cartel. Their patron, Benjamin, is now in the federal lockup in Dago; their chief enforcer, his brother Ramon, was gunned down in Puerto Vallarta by Mexican police.
Since then, it’s been chaos.
Where once you had three
plazas
—“cartel” is a rough equivalent—now you have at least seven fighting for dominance. The Baja Cartel itself, after pretty much a free-for-all, seems to have devolved into tworival factions:
“El Azul,” a former Lauter lieutenant, is backed by the Sinaloa Cartel, probably now the most powerful cartel. El Azul, thusly glossed because of his deep blue eyes, is a particularly charming guy who likes to drown his enemies in barrels of acid.
The remnants of the Lauter family, run by a nephew, Hernan, are allied with a group called Los Zetas, originally an elite counter-narcotics squad that went to the dark side and now work as enforcers for the Baja Cartel. Their particular party trip is lopping people’s heads off.
“We saw the video,” Ben says.
“Hence your presence here today,” Dennis says. “You want my advice, boys? And girl? I’ll miss you, I’ll miss your money, but run.”
Run far and fast.
51
Ben wants peace.
Give peace a chance, imagine there’s no countries. Yeah, imagine there’s no Mark David Chapman, either, see what that gets you. But it’s Ben’s business so they get out the lappie and find the return e-address on the Seven Dwarfs video.
Eighteen e-mails later they’ve set a meeting with the BC for the next day at the Montage.
Ben reserves a 2K-a-day suite.
When that’s done, O smiles at her boys and asks, “Can we go out? The three of us?
Really
go out?”
They know what she means by “really.” The “really” means do it right—get dressed up, hit the best places, drop a bundle, paint the town,do it.
We can go out is the answer.
Why not go out the night we
go
out? Ben thinks. Do it right. Celebrate the end of a successful business that’s been good to us.
Embrace the change.
“Tomorrow night,” Ben says. “Dress up.”
“I’ll have to go shopping,” O answers.
52
When O gets home, Eleanor is pulling out of the driveway again.
Seems like that chick is always pulling
out
of driveways.
When O goes into the house, Paqu sits her down in the living room for a
Serious Talk.
“Darling girl,” she says, “we need to have a serious talk.”
Which for O is like
Uh-oh.
“Are you breaking up with me?” she asks, sitting on the sofa cushion where Paqu has patted her hand to indicate that she should sit.
Paqu doesn’t get it. She leans closer to O, her eyes get all soft and misty, she takes a deep breath and says, “Darling, I need to tell you that Steve and I have decided to pursue our separate destinies.”
“Who’s Steve?”
Paqu takes O’s hand and squeezes
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