No Room for Mercy (2 page)

The crew from Saint Charles was unknowingly up against a major player
aiming to take back the drug trade in the city of Saint Louis
entirely. The city was Carmella’s biggest money making set and
she wasn’t willing to share. Coban Benito and Humphrey Gaggi,
counterparts to Mendoza Cernigliaro and the rest of the Chicago Gang,
were now on the Lapiente` Cartel’s radar.

Carmella and her crew piled into the Hummers and headed for an old
warehouse a few miles to the north just inside the city limits of
Valle Hermoso. As Carmella rode in the back seat, she scanned the
town scenery. Valle Hermoso hadn’t changed much in her eyes.
Rundown homes bordered by rusted chain link fences or rotting wood
reminded her of some of the poorest sections of Saint Louis where she
ran her dope houses. And the town still seemed weighted down by
corrupt government officials and drug traffickers who used its
citizens to do their bidding before discarding them back onto the
streets, back into abject poverty in order to prey on their own.
Carmella was no different, but there was a method to her madness that
the town’s people could appreciate.

“Who’s the major player here in Valle Hermoso, DeAngelo?”
Carmella asked from the back seat.

“These guys that work for a dealer from Venezuela moved in when
we grew weak here. Nine guys on the north side of town are
controlling traffic.”

“They must be removed. Before Toodie and Phoebe leave for
America I want them taken care of. Only one cartel will move cocaine
through Valle Hermoso from now on.”

DeAngelo paused for a minute, and thought. He was about to speak out
in protest, but he decided against it for the moment. “Si,
Carmella,” he said lowly as he stared out the window in deep
thought.

After a short drive through the southeast portion of town, the
warehouse the Lapiente` family owned came into view. The main
building to
The Valle Hermoso Tomato Company
sat off in the
distance with three black jaguars parked out front in the dirt
parking lot and two container trailers that were backed into the dock
with their doors open. A soldier walked over and unlocked the gate
and Carmella was taken into the tomato factory, which was actually a
cocaine packaging plant, where she greeted a few workers and was
brought up to date by DeAngelo.

“From our supplier,” DeAngelo said as Carmella walked
alongside him eyeing the pristine facility, “from our supplier
the cocaine will be flown to a small airstrip outside of Mexico City.
It will be unloaded, trucked here and repackaged inside this
warehouse for transport to America. Our driver will drop it inside
the port of entry in the city of Brownsville, Texas, and another
driver will take it to our warehouse over in Houston, Texas to be
distributed.”

“How will we hide it?” Carmella asked as she listened
intently to DeAngelo.

DeAngelo led Carmella, Toodie and Phoebe through the 50,000 square
foot warehouse with its numerous tomato bins that were filled with
the freshest tomatoes in northeastern Mexico, along with its high
tech conveyor belts, labeling machines and packaging processors,
towards a pristine room about half the size of an NBA basketball
court that was filled with stainless steel tables stacked with shiny
tin cans.

“Here,” DeAngelo said as he picked up an empty container,
“here inside this room the cocaine will be placed inside one of
these tin cans and loaded onto pallets.” DeAngelo then led the
crew back out into the warehouse where the machines were and stood at
the foot of a slow moving conveyor belt. He stuffed a two and a half
pound bag of wrapped sugar inside the tin can he held and placed a
sunken tin cap on top and sat the can down and the crew began walking
beside the conveyor until they approached a large spicket. A pile of
tomato sauce was released and the can moved down the line where a
vacuum sealed lid was clamped down. The can moved further down the
conveyor belt and was wrapped with colorful labeling with
The
Valle Hermoso Tomato Company
in small lettering across the top
side.

DeAngelo went and grabbed the can as it approached the end of the
line and held it out before Carmella. “A pallet and two loaders
will be here,” he said as he pointed to floor. “Eight
kilograms on each pallet, but it all depends on how much we move. The
entire pallet is then wrapped in plastic and loaded inside the
containers. Then we fill the rest with actual cans of tomato sauce
all the way to fill out the trailer.”

“How much are we paying per kilogram?”

“Eight thousand dollars.”

“Not a bad price. Who will supply us?” Carmella asked as
she eyed the trailer being loaded, impressed with the overall
process.

“We have a guy out of the state of Sinaloa supplying us our
product, boss.”

“Sinaloa? That arrangement places everything here in Mexico
where we’re the strongest. There’s nothing in our way
down here, DeAngelo.” Carmella calmly spoke as she and DeAngelo
resumed walking through the pristine facility.

“Now would be a good time to grasp power in Valle Hermoso,”
DeAngelo remarked as he and Carmella emerged onto the loading dock,
“but the things is, if we kill those nine guys on the north
side of town? That will agitate their supplier. He operates out of
the Margarita Islands in Venezuela and he has friends in high places
there and friends in America as well.”

“What is this supplier’s name?”

“His name is Rafael Gacha.”

“Oh, that guy.” Carmella sighed as she and DeAngelo
walked down a flight of stairs where the two began walking amongst
the three luxurious Jaguars that were out front. “The guy that
killed my brothers is an American. His name is Benjamin Holland and
he’s locked away in Florence, Colorado is what you told me,
right, DeAngelo?”

“Si.”

“So we can’t touch him right now,” Carmella
remarked casually as she walked around the three 2002 Jaguars wiping
dust off the windows and inspecting the insides of the cars. “My
Ma-Ma and my brothers all went and asked Rafael could they kill
Mister Holland for shooting me long before he was captured and Rafael
denied their request. Did you know that, DeAngelo?” Carmella
asked as she opened the back door of one of the bullet proof Jaguars
and sat in the back seat and began fumbling through the console.

“Of course, Carmella. I was there in New Orleans on that day
and was a part of the hit. Your brothers wanted to split up after
that job. I drove back to Houston, they caught a flight.”

“I know that, DeAngelo, but somebody must have tipped Mister
Holland off. No way would he just risk running into an airport and
kill my brothers if he weren’t certain they were going to be
there.”

“The men that tipped Mister Holland off are two ex-narcotics
agents that worked for him down in New Orleans once upon a time. They
are wanted in America now and are on the run.” DeAngelo
remarked as he went and sat in the driver's seat.

“I now understand why Rafael didn’t allow my brothers to
kill the guy. He was a major player in the business we once shared.
But if Gacha has said fuck my family? I say the same, about him, and
anybody that is affiliated with him. These nine guys here in town
work for Gacha, right?” Carmella reconfirmed as she picked up a
finger nail file and began filing her nails.

“Si, boss.”

“Good. Being that I can’t touch Rafael Gacha or Benjamin
Holland right now, these nine guys that work for Gacha will have to
suffice.” Carmella stated as she moved the file back and forth
over her nails. “Mexico City isn’t going to work either,”
she then added. “Our pilot has a plane that can fly from
Sinaloa straight here to Valle Hermoso. This is my gift to them for
supplying us so cheaply—I will guarantee delivery from Sinaloa
all the way to America after I am allowed to eliminate Gacha’s
crew here.”

“We will anger a lot of people, boss.”

“Not a lot of people, just Gacha,” Carmella smirked as
she blew dust from her nails. “He is our only competition here
in town. This hit will work.”

“What makes you so certain there won't be any retaliation from
Gacha?” DeAngelo wondered as he turned around and stared at
Carmella.

“Gacha will surely want to avenge the hit, but he can’t
leave Venezuela unless the DEA pluck him up from the streets. That I
know is for certain. He can try and send his body guards here to get
me, but I will smell them coming long before they arrive. The hit on
Gacha’s men still stands and the Sinaloas will back me without
fail.”

“What about the American border? We cut out Mexico City we lose
our connections with the politicians who have ties to the U.S. Border
Patrol.”

“Politicians in Mexico City won’t interfere in our plans.
Their water’s just been cut off that’s all, they'll
understand. And to get our shipments into America, we’ll just
do here what we did there in Mexico City. Nearly everyone in
government in this town has somebody on the payroll inside the U.S.
Border Patrol. People we can make do our bidding.”

“Si, boss. Who do you want us to kidnap?”

“I want you to kidnap the mayor’s youngest child the same
night we hit Gacha’s men. When you do, you give the mayor a
message from Carmella Lapiente`. Tell the mayor that if he refuses to
give me access to those agents on the U.S. side of the border and let
me do my thing, I will personally kill everyone in his family one at
a time before his very eyes and then I will cut off his head.”
Carmella said before exiting the car.

“Si, boss,” DeAngelo followed.

*******

After spending a little more time with her soldiers, Carmella headed
to town; but before she left, she was presented with a gold-plated
.50 caliber handgun by one of her truck drivers and it was love at
first sight.

“Your brother Damenga, he was planning on giving this very gun
to you upon the day of your arrival back here in Mexico. Of course he
and Alphonso aren’t here to do so, so we held on to it because
we always knew you would return, Carmella,” the old Mexican
driver said proudly.

“
Gracias, viejo leal.”
(
Thank
you, loyal old man.) Carmella said as she eyed the weapon. “
Voy
a matar a mi primer Italiano con esta arma.”
(
I
will kill my first Italian with this gun.) she told him before
hopping into one of the Jaguars and she and her crew drove to her
neighborhood.

Word had spread quickly that Carmella was back in town. People in her
neighborhood had deep affection for her and her family because when
business was good for the Lapiente` family, nearly every other family
in the neighborhood did well. Before the Jaguars could stop
completely, people were surrounding the vehicles, looking through the
dark tinted glass trying to figure out which vehicle held Carmella.
When she’d finally exited the third car, Carmella was holding
onto a stack of hundred dollar bills over six inches thick. A crowd
of at least thirty people swarmed her and began telling her their
problems. A sick child, eviction deadlines, car troubles. Carmella
walked amongst the people from her old neighborhood where she grew up
dirt poor, and asked each of them how much money they needed after
hearing their problems. A couple of thousand here, a few hundred
there; it was like a holiday as many people from the neighborhood
received the monies needed to have their problems rectified.

One woman approached Carmella with a child about age ten or eleven
and asked for a very special favor. “Miss Lapiente`,” she
said, tugging on Carmella’s tight-fitting beige tank top, “this
is my daughter, Peppi Vargas. She needs a simple operation for a
heart murmur. I have money to pay for her surgery in America, but I
can’t afford to pay someone to take me there. Can you help?”

“We can get you and your daughter to America,” Carmella
said as she eyed the little girl. “But I will be here for some
days. Is she real sick?”

“No, ma’am. And she isn’t any trouble.”

“Most children aren’t. When I leave I’ll come for
you both. Be looking for me at this house.”

“Gracias, Carmella.”

“Sure,” Carmella responded as she patiently listened to
the problems of several more people from her neighborhood.

After an hour or so of mingling with the people, Carmella climbed
back into her Jaguar and she and left the area. “Time to see my
Ma-Ma, DeAngelo,” Carmella remarked. “Take me home.”

The Lapiente` family’s home sat on six hundred acres of land
south of the airport where Carmella had landed earlier. Tomatoes were
grown and cattle were raised here along with the grooming of horses.
The land was lush and pristine, a far cry from the rundown
neighborhood where Carmella had grown up when she was a toddler. Upon
reaching the family’s nine thousand square foot two story
villa, Carmella was waved through a brick overhang by a soldier
holding an AK-47 in his arms. There were at least a score of
bodyguards along the dirt road leading up to the villa. Some men sat
inside pick-up trucks, others rode horses across the land off in the
distance.

Carmella exited the car and walked under the breezeway, looking
through the windows on the first floor into the luxurious interior of
the home as she strolled by. The home was empty, except for a couple
of maids who were dusting the furniture. Nearing the center of the
villa, Carmella emerged from under the breezeway and entered the
courtyard and the open garden area which featured a huge water
fountain surrounded by colorful flowers in the center of the garden.
A single goat was gorging itself on the grass in the square that was
surrounded by the home, and several dogs lay relaxing under a shade
tree.

Carmella walked past the fountain and stood before a stone bench that
was tucked in a corner of the garden and somewhat hidden by a large
rose bush. She stomped down into the grass and heard a hollow sound.
“
Ma-Ma still has it here,”
she said to herself as
she looked around, making sure she was alone in the garden.