Smugglers 2 The Sheriff: Sex, Meth & Murder; The Cartel from Tucson to the Florida Keys (3 page)

CHAPTER 6

I had to meet with Tiburon as I now needed to find a replacement for my distributor in Phoenix. I heard a week or so later that the boss was found dead in the box from a heart attack, most likely from fright, but in any case, he was found cold.

Tiburon wanted me to move to Rocky Point and run things coming to the U.S. He was going to pay me a lot of money, and I wouldn’t have to deal with finding a new distributor or the tittie bar people. We made a deal, so I packed up and left, met Tiburon’s people and got the lay of the land.

The first plane was supposed to land at a ranch outside of town that weekend and pick up some kilos in duffel bags. These were for air drops back in Tucson. They landed and then took off without a hitch, except one. The head
Federale
wanted twenty thousand more the next trip. When I saw Tiburon, I told him, and he didn’t say much except that he would take care of it.

A week later I heard the
Federale’s
family, his wife and three kids, were found shot to death, and he was found torched and headless. This was too much even for me. This was my hill to die on now. I needed to find a way out of this deal, or I would go down with the ship, or even worse I would turn into another Tiburon.

My saviors came, at least temporarily, in the form of a bigger cartel called The Garcia Brothers of Mexico. They killed Tiburon and eight of his men and took over his dealership. When they got around to me they just told me what and when to do things. They never asked; they just told me what to do, and they were worse than Tiburon. Their favorite saying was, ‘Everyone wants to go to heaven, but not today. Are you ready to go today?’ Every deal came with strings attached.

After about five or six months of doing the “Brothers” bidding, I finally had my fill of them and their ways. I decided to get out, disappear, so I went back to Tucson to make ready for my escape. 

It was for the best because sooner or later I would be totally out there and in big trouble. Too many people knew me, so I needed to get pick up my cash and decide where I should go next. The only thing I would miss in Tucson was Elena. I could not take her as she would attract too much attention, and she would want to keep in contact with her mother, and this would lead the Cartel to us. I would leave her fifty thousand which would help her get situated and forget about me.

My pilot who brings the kilos from Rocky Point also takes the cash back to Mexico, which is about one million per trip. He is a bag man as well as a smuggler. I needed to find out everything I could about his activities, because I intended to take the cash from him, as this was the last trip for me. To that effect, I bought a half dozen cheap pocket watches to set under his rear tire, so I would be able to tell when he left a place. When he would pull out his rear tires would crush the pocket watch, stopping it, so when I would go back and check it, I would know the time he pulled out. I also had a GPS put on his plane, so I would know if he left for Mexico without me.

Over the next couple of weeks I found out that he was making trips without me, and he was meeting with the lead man in Tucson without me, also. He had to know that there was no way out for him or his family but to disappear.

Everything was set in Tucson, and all I had to do was hit the road. I had hidden my money in the window wells of my car, and they were packed full. I just needed to say goodbye to Elena and give her the fifty grand.

I drove my car to Rocky Point and got set up for the trip. I found out the day before I was leaving that I had a stash of guns and grenades to pick up. As usual, I didn’t know where he was going to land until one day before the actual landing. I was set up on the gravel road with two men from the Cartel and five hundred kilos to load quickly, so he could take off with me onboard to drop the duffel bags. We would drop them near Tucson, and then he could land with me as the camera man. When he landed and got the money out, I pulled my pistol out and disarmed the two men that met us.

I told him if I heard the engine turn over, I would shoot him. I tied the two men together and left them and the yahoo there. I also disarmed their truck, knowing it would take two or three hours for them to walk to town to look for me. The pilot and I flew straight to the Tucson airport without a hitch, and I instructed the pilot to tell the tower that the camera was broke, and he would have to make the trip later or the next day. I went straight to my car after listening to the pilot scold me about stealing the Cartel’s money.

When I arrived home, I set up some traps at the back gate and both front and back doors. I used a trick I learned from an old Vietnam veteran. You pull the pin on a hand grenade and put it in an empty can above the door and tie the can down. Next, you put a string on the grenade and attach it to the door, so when someone opens the door, it pulls the grenade out of the can, and it detonates.

I left for Las Vegas and then the unknown. I took a cheap furnished apartment under an assumed name that matched the name the car was registered under. I spent the next several days in the apartment. After this I called the pilot on my Trac phone and told him I was in L. A. and asked him what was going on. He told me the Cartel was looking for me and the eight hundred thousand I stole, and that two of the Cartel’s men died at my house from an explosion.

Then he told me something that brought tears to my eyes. They killed Elena in the process of trying to find me. I could not speak; all I could think of was Elena and why they had to screw with her as she had nothing to do with this. As I was hanging up I heard him say they will do the same to you and your family.

I opened a bottle of Jack and spent the next day and night deciding what to do next. I made up my mind to go back and kill them all.

CHAPTER 7

The Cartel has it all over the American jurist prudence system, because they can and will kill everyone you know to find you, whether it’s your family, friends or neighbors. As you know, the law prohibits cops in the US from even cursing at you, unlike the Cartel where it is okay to just kill you.

I moved back to Phoenix and got hooked up with an illegal gun dealer, from whom I bought several guns, grenades and RPG’s. I also grew a beard. I found out that the heads of the Cartel, the Garcia brothers, Jose and Carlos, never left Mexico.

I knew I must hit them in the pocketbook first.  It was several weeks later when I found out that a shipment of cocaine was to be going to the bikers in Tucson for future distribution. I decided to set up on a hill overlooking the highway going into Tucson.

When the truck came into view, I shot the radiator from a half mile away.  When the two men got out, I shot and killed them. I watched the Highway Patrol looking at the scene and saw them find the coke.

On a whim I drove to the Oyster Bar where I saw six or seven bikes out front. Two of the bikers were inside talking to a Mexican; four others were at the bar. Upon entering the place, I walked up and pulled out my Big Clip 9mm, shot the first two men in their heads and shot the other two in their torsos as they were trying to pull their pistols out.

As this was going on, shots coming from the three men at the table crashed into the bar, the bartender, bottles and mirrors. One of the Mexicans tipped over the table and started firing from behind it, so I shot straight through it and killed him. The other biker at the table was shooting at me from the hall outside the men’s room.

My first shot and the next hit the wall next to him. My third shot hit him in the shoulder, spinning him around, and the forth hit him in the back. As I left, one of the bikers was moaning on the floor, so I killed him with a shot to the head.

On the way back to Phoenix, I listened to the radio which was full of news about the gun fight, the five people found dead and the wounded bartender at the Oyster Bar.

Now that I had taken care of the connections in Tucson, I had to get to “The Brothers” in Mexico. 

After stashing my guns in my car, I crossed the border at Lukeville, drove on to Rocky Point and rented a house on the beach. After establishing a new identity as “the retired railroad gringo,” I started hanging out at local bars to gather information on “The Brothers”.

I found out that one of them lived in a large gated compound on the beach in Las Conchas with nine foot walls and about twenty armed guards at the main gate. The other brother lived outside of town on an even larger estate. It was on a thousand acres, with a mile long driveway that led to the main gate.

I thought the easiest one to take would be the one on the beach in Las Conchas, so I set up there. It was next to impossible to come in from the ocean at night, so I got set up in a vacant house with an MI Grand. It had a homemade muffler attached to it to keep the noise down. You can make a silencer/muffler out of any twenty ounce plastic soda bottle. You simply fill the empty bottle with tin foil balls and steel wool, take an ice pick and make several holes in the bottle for air and attach it to your gun with an airplane clamp so it will not blow off. The MI Grand range to kill is over a mile, and it is very accurate.

I set up a table facing the main gate, and within an hour, the gate opened and the brother’s car exited. I shot the driver two times and the radiator three times and both front tires. After changing the stripper clip, I starting shooting the bodyguards as they came running and screaming helter-skelter. Before two minutes passed, I had killed several men. His machine gun toting bodyguards gathered around the back door of his car, and “The Brother” got out and crouched down out of view.

As they started to walk to the gate I shot at them, hoping to get a clearer shot at The Brother. I wasn’t able to get a clear shot, so I did the next best thing.  I shot him in the bottom of his spine which I was hoping would put him in a wheelchair for the rest of his life if he survived the hit.

I packed up my shit and went home to listen to the accounts of the shootings on TV. They were many accounts reported over the next few weeks of the bodies found. “The Brother” did survive, but I was happy to hear that he would be in a wheelchair the rest of his days shitting on himself.

Over the next two months, I continued my part as the “retired gringo” and hung out at all the local bars. After things settled down, I started to look into the other “Brother”. He never left the compound, which had forty guards there day and night. I did figure out a way to pass the gate and knew that from there I would have to play it by ear.

I noticed that they thoroughly searched every truck or car that entered the compound, and that two armed guards went with the driver at all times. The only one that got a cursory search was the old yard man who came in a really old truck.

I took pictures of him and purchased what I needed to make myself up to look like him. I also obtained a silenced, fully automatic 9mm Calico with four 50 round magazines, 10 grenades and a RPG with six warheads.  I knew that if I got past one magazine, I would be lucky.

The day I planned for it all to go down came.  I went out and kidnapped the old man and tied him up at my place, giving him an injection that would keep him asleep for six to eight hours. I put the rest of the drug away for later.

After putting on my disguise and tattered clothes, I stashed the guns, ammo and grenades in the back of the old pick up and drove off to the compound. At the first gate, I had no problem, but at the second gate by the main house, there were twice as many guards, all carrying machine guns. After some questions and a brief look in the cuttings in the back of the truck, they let me pass.

As I drove to the main house, I went past guard after guard, and when I came to a stop, I unloaded the truck of trimmers, blowers and guns. There were always two men nearby with full automatic machine guns. There was no sign of the boss, but knew I had to make a move or go back and kill the old man and think of another way. I figured I was in and may never be this close again, so I took the silenced Calico and shot the two guards who were standing near me. They had been talking to each other and paying no attention to me. I was hoping that their guns would not fire when they hit the ground, and they didn’t.

I ran to the house and entered some type of office, and to my surprise I saw the boss and two guards. I sprayed the guards before they could even get their machine guns off their shoulders.

There was a moment of silence as the boss opened the middle drawer of his desk. We looked at each other, me with my Calico, and he with his gold plated 9mm. It was a Mexican standoff.

I stepped closer to him and said, “Put the gun back in the drawer.”

As we just stood looking at each other, I pulled out a grenade and pulled the pin, saying, “Even if you kill me, I’ll drop the grenade, and you will die, too.” He put the gun back in the drawer, and as he did, I put the pin back in the grenade and gave him an injection in his neck which put him into a semi-conscious state  He was out cold by the time I loaded him into the truck.

About that time the truck guards had found the two men I had shot, and about twenty guards were running toward the house.  I stood by the door of the pickup truck and fired the first RPG at the largest group and then quickly reloaded and repeated this for the next group.

I shot the main gate by the house and blew it wide open. I had left a note on one of the guards I had killed back at the house, explaining that I had the boss and would call with ransom demands, hoping that this would keep them from shooting at me and the truck in fear of killing him.  It did not work.

I started spraying the guards with the Calico as I drove out of what was left of the gate. The truck was riddled with bullets as I went through the gate. Behind me there were cars and trucks full of men, but they were not shooting. I pulled over and loaded the RPG and blew up the lead car and kicked out the front window of the truck which had been riddled with bullets. I loaded the RPG again and sped off for the next gate, stopping just short to put the RPG on target and shoot the guard house, which killed the occupants and opened the last gate. I had to make a quick decision about whether I would let the old man live.

I decided to let him live and put his limp, body in his old truck and left him there.

Back at my house, I loaded the unconscious and wired tied “Brother” into my car along with two guns and left for the border. I stopped on the American side and dumped him on the road and told the Border Patrol that he was Carlos Garcia, the head man of the Cocaine Cartel that they had been trying to extradite for the last two years. I drove off, leaving him on the road for the Border Patrol to deal with.

On the way back to Phoenix, I was feeling quite satisfied with what I had accomplished but knew I would always miss Elena, as I had loved her very much. 

I watched the news, and for days they spoke about how the Feds had captured the head of the Cartel and how now it was falling apart. I decided to stay in Phoenix. I had eight hundred thousand dollars to spend and no one trying to kill me at the moment.  I just needed to stay away from Rocky Point.

I found a house to rent in a middle class neighborhood, furnished it, filled my wine cellar with the best and stashed the kilo of blow I had kept for personal use.