The Hand of Mercy (A Porter Brown Journey) (3 page)

To assuage the concerns of El Jefe, Porter
decided a more detailed explanation of his work was in order. “I don’t like to see people getting abused, especially little girls. I travel a lot and when I do, I look for trouble and can usually find it quickly.  When I was in Oklahoma City visiting some friends, I checked around for young girls in trouble.  A pimp told me a guy in Enid catered to those who liked their girls barely legal, if at all.”

“I found
the farm he was using and staked it out.  I wasn’t there an hour when I saw Renata being led from the trailer to the outhouse and then back in.  I thought she was the only one in there, but honestly I didn’t know.”  Porter slowed his response, realizing that he was puking out information.  “Really Mr. Peréz, I have never killed anyone,” Porter said earnestly.  “I don’t really know what came over me.  I just saw those guys go into that trailer where your daughter was and I had to stop them.”  Porter collected his thoughts and then sighed, “I never intended to kill them.” 

“I am grateful that you did
.  Although I would have preferred to talk to them here and show them how a father reacts to his daughter’s molesters,” Mario said, as he paused to consider that discussion. “But dead is good.  And Renata says you have brought them with you.”

“
Yes, sir,” answered Porter.

“
May I see them?” 

“Sure
,” came Porter’s quick response as he opened the door to get out.  “I have them in the trunk.”

“Please,” said Mario with a hand m
otion telling Porter to wait, “Let my men take your car up to the house.  I will view them away from my wife and daughters.”  Mario placed a reassuring hand on Porter’s shoulder and said, “You may ride with my family up to the house.” 

Displaying a wide smile and turning with arms outstretched to collect all the beauty the worl
d had to offer, the Don said, “You must join us to celebrate Renata’s return.” 

Porter’s face display
ed his earnest appreciation, but he countered, “Thank you for the invitation sir, but I should probably just let you and your family have your time with Renata.  I certainly don’t want to impose.”

With a slightly offended huff, Mario questioned, “Impose?  Mr. Brown, without you there is no reunion.  You will be
,” Mario emphasized, “The guest of honor at our celebration tomorrow.  We will have a fiesta bigger than when the Hijo Perdido came home to his father.” 

Porter translated Lost Son in his head and then replied, “Oh, the Prodigal Son.” 
Thinking it unwise to refuse the Don's hospitality again, Porter replied, “Thank you sir.  I will be happy to join the celebration.”

*****

The following night seemed to Porter as though all of Mazatlan had come to Don Mario’s estate for the celebration.  Priests, paupers, and all manner of those hoping to ingratiate themselves to the Peréz family were present.  A party this grand, with such short notice, could only be accomplished by one with considerable power and enormous wealth, thus removing any lingering doubts Porter had about Mario’s profession. 

Porter
excused himself to no one and walked a few hundred yards to the edge of the front lawn to observe the valley below and the thousands of acres that comprised the Peréz estate.  After ten minutes of breathing in the grandeur, Porter turned to rejoin the party and came face to face with Mario.

"Do you enjoy the
solitude of nature?" asked Mario.

"Very much," answered Porter.  "Too much
concrete and steel isn't good for me."

"Me either
," said Mario.  "And yet you have chosen to live in the heart of Chicago.  Doesn't all that city noise bother you?"

Shocked
that Mario knew he about his home town, Porter searched his deeply lined face for what he was trying to communicate.  "It does," said Porter hesitantly.  "But how..."

"How did I know you were from Chicago?"
he asked triumphantly.

"
Yeah," Porter answered quickly, hoping for a reassuring response.

"T
he men who took Renata are monstrously evil and I had to insure that your returning her was not a trap.  So, I had my associates search to see who this Porter Brown is.  But you are quite a short read.”

"Am I?" asked Porter,
his face displaying a proud smile.

"Yes, quite
.  My men were able to determine your occupation as a commodity trader, that you maintain a penthouse residence on Michigan Avenue, you are not a registered voter, and that you only have a high school diploma."

"That's me," Porter said, still
smiling.

"None of that helps
remove my suspicion that you are an informant of some kind," said Mario sternly.  "Those without even as much as a speeding ticket or an overdue library book are perfect candidates for ones leading a double life."

"You may believe what you w
ill," answered Porter defiantly. "But my actions speak for me.  I certainly admit to living a double life.  I have a day job that society accepts and I also hunt evil when I can.  But I do it for no one but myself.  And you'll find nothing because there is nothing."

His agitation rising, Porter continued, "
Remember, I asked to leave yesterday and you asked me to stay.  If I was a mole, why would I do that?  But like I thought, I should leave.  My motives are pure.  I saw a girl in distress, did my best to get her safe, and now you suspect me of collaborating with the guys I put in the trunk.  You're obviously protecting something here that a mole could uncover.  Given where we are on the globe, I'm guessing its narcotics and I don't want a thing to do with that world."

"
Calm yourself," said Mario attempting to wrest control of the conversation.  "I meant no offense.  It is my duty to protect my family.  I failed by letting Renata suffer.  I will not make that mistake again.  For that reason, I must insure those around me have no ulterior motives."  Extending his hand as a sign of good faith, Mario said, "I believe you.  I have no reference for someone doing all that you have to save a stranger.  But you did and I will trust your word.  Please don't make me regret my trust."

*****

A few hours into the festivities, as dusk was setting in, Don Mario ascended the stage assembled at the edge of the mountain overlooking his vast property below.  Without asking for quiet, the crowd hushed to hear El Jefe speak.  His speech was what one would expect from a father whose lost daughter had been restored to him.  This powerful, larger-than-life figure held Renata under his arm as he and his guests shed tears of joy and anguish.  After ten minutes, Mario called Porter to join them on stage.  Reluctantly, Porter complied.

“Ladies and gentlemen, this is
Mr. Porter Brown; the man responsible for the safe return of our sweet Renata,” he said in joyful Spanish.  The crowd of thousands erupted in joy.  Most already knew that the only gringo in their midst was the rescuer, and like all small towns across the globe, the gossip lines had provided many of the details of her rescue.  Mario continued with a line that seemed suited for a courtroom and not a fiesta. “Mr. Brown, you do not know our family or Renata, correct?”

“That’s correct
,” was Porter’s Spanish reply. 

“This brave man has explained to me that he found our daughter because he had heard of evil men who were taking advantage of young g
irls and he went to stop them...by himself,” the Don emphasized as the crowd roared.  Anxious to continue, Mario spoke over his guests as they still celebrated.  “And he has no training for this.  He is not in the military or a police officer.  But he could not bear the thought of my child, any child, being violated by such evil men.  As you all know, I am familiar with many courageous men.  I tell you honestly, that very few in this world will show the valor Mr. Brown displayed to rescue a stranger.  But like our Savior Jesus Christ," in unison the crowd crossed themselves, as Mario continued, “Mr. Brown reached down into the depths of depravity and saved a soul from Hell.”  As if this celebration had turned into a Mexican version of a tent revival, the crowd exploded into shouts of praise and thanksgiving to the Virgin Mary and Jesus.

When the praises subsided, Mario continued, “Although I
can never repay my debt to this man, as a small token of my appreciation, I welcome him in to my family.  And to make sure he knows he is a part of our family, beginning tomorrow we will begin construction of a home for him on my property.” 

The noise inside Porter’s head was more deafening tha
n that of the guests’ cheers. 
Family of a Mexican drug lord
?

But his thoughts were interrupted by Mario again.  “And to bring him back to his Mexican home as often as possible, I would like to present him with this
small gift.”  Mario motioned to a black Land Rover at the back of the crowd.  Porter stood dumbfounded.  With the crowd in full celebration, Mario leaned into Porter and whispered in English, “I hope you will accept this.  Your car and the men in its trunk are two miles offshore at the bottom of the Pacific.  I thought it best to leave no trail for anyone to follow.”

Without hesitation
Porter said, “I am honored to accept your gift,” certain that Don Mario had great experience in cleaning up the unseemly side of his business.  “Honored,” Porter said again audibly. 
Shit
, was his inaudible response.

*****

Porter spent the better part of the next week enjoying the hospitality of the Peréz family.  He observed sincere gentleness and love between Mario and Ines, and their seven children, especially their youngest Renata.  He offered his input to Mario’s architect on the details of his future home.  He rode along with third son Rodolfo in the early mornings to tend to the cattle herds.  The afternoons were typically consumed by leisure trips to the Pacific for surfing, which Porter found much more difficult than he had first imagined.  Dinners alternated between grand feasts at Mario’s estate and fish tacos from Renata’s favorite restaurant on the coast.  The Don introduced Porter to a few of the most beautiful and eligible senoritas in the area who were more than eager to serve him in any way he liked.  Porter respectfully declined these advances with a variation of the line, “It is a pleasure to meet you.  I would be honored to get to know you when I return.”  By the sixth day, Porter knew he was a member of the family and felt as if he could stay on Mario’s estate indefinitely.  He also knew Connie would worry if he did not return home quickly. 

As Porter was preparing for his return trip, Don Mario assigned two escorts of four guards each to accompany him across the country.  “Now that
news has traveled that you are family, there are many of my competitors who would love nothing more than to take you from me as they did Renata,” said Mario.  “Your safety is now of great importance to me…as important as any of my other children.”  Porter sensed Mario meant what he said and accepted his embrace.  “When you return, and I hope it will be soon, I would like to discuss your methods for finding and disposing of the evil we have in our world.  With the extensive drug problem we have here in Mexico, it would be helpful to get your thoughts on how to eliminate those associated with that business.” 

Porter tried to mask the hu
mor he found in this request as he thought Mario was either playing coy or he truly believed Porter did not know the lifestyle he enjoyed came from more than just cattle and crops. “Certainly Mario,” said Porter.  “I'll be glad to talk to you about that.” 

“Thank you Porter," Mario added.
  "Also, when you get to Nuevo Laredo, would you please deliver this to the border guard who helped you bring Renata home?”

“With pleasure
,” said Porter as he strained to put the brown leather satchel in his backseat.  He would not view the contents of the gift but presumed the clanging metal he heard had a yellow hue.  For those who acted generously towards the godfather of the Sinaloa cartel, the Don rewarded them handsomely.  Porter smiled again and said, “With pleasure.”

Chapter 3

Killer Bonding

January 2002

Each return visit to Mazatlan made Porter long less and less for the United States.  His first return
to Mexico came three months after he first crossed the Rio Grande.  As promised, Mario welcomed Porter as family.  When he entered his new home on the Peréz estate, the remaining family members were waiting inside to greet him.  Renata purposefully placed herself at the end of the procession line to embrace Porter for as long as she wanted.  Her appearance was relaxed and serene.  The darkness in her eyes which Porter first noticed in her bedroom prison was now replaced by a soft, bright sparkle.

T
he welcoming meal was enjoyed at the main residence of the compound in the formal dining room which was normally reserved only for meals with state officials or members of Mario's executive team.  After the flan and coffee were consumed, a post-dinner tradition with the Peréz family, Mario asked Porter to his spacious office. 

Porter had seen these same offices while
working at the Chicago Board of Exchange.  Porter surmised that executives across the globe must use the same interior decorator, as their offices all have the same surge of power, punctuated with oversized cherry wood furniture, and the smell of leather. 

“How did the border guard r
eact when you approached him?” asked Mario.  This first question surprised Porter and he did not immediately respond, so Mario continued.  “Describe that scene to me.  I find great pleasure in helping others, especially those who help me.”

“Well, when I approached the guard
,” Porter paused trying to recall the guard’s name, “Raul something.”

“Vargas
,” added Mario.

“Right, Vargas.  So, when we came to the
border crossing, the other SUVs you provided as my escort drew some attention.  One of your men went to the border patrol office and asked for Raul.  When he exited, I could tell he was reluctant to come to the vehicles and be seen with what he assumed were drug lords.  But he came over anyway.”

Mario gave a slight chuckle at this.  “He thought you and my men were in the drug trade?  Did he ask that, or did you presume that’s what he thought
?” asked Mario, his gaze firmly fixed upon Porter.

Understandi
ng Mario's real question, Porter answered quickly, “No, he didn't ask anything.  It was my presumption only.  I mean he was really nervous and to be honest, the guys you sent with me looked like either FBI agents or those who guard a narco king.”  Porter said, emphasizing the last two words.  “Raul didn’t recognize my face at first so I reminded him of his conversation with Renata and who you were.  At that he immediately remembered our previous interaction.” 

Porter paused to study Mario’s face.  “When I told him I had a gift from you to thank him for his assistance, his face beamed.  He told me that a gift was not necessary and that he was happy to help out
Don Mario.  When I underscored that the gift was from you personally, he accepted it with pleasure.  I didn’t think that handing him a heavy bag to take back to the guard station was a good idea.  So, he gave me the address of his family and I told him your men would deliver it...after I crossed the border, of course.”  Porter’s face then changed as he realized what Mario was doing.  “Your men already told you all of this didn’t they?”

“
Sí,” said Mario flatly.  “Let us address this squarely Porter,” began Mario.  “My businesses are numerous and very complex.  My cattle operation has over 20,000 head of cattle.  I grow soy beans on 100,000 acres.  My fruit and palm trees stretch for more than 30,000 acres.  I have a shipping operation off the coast that processes more ships than any other port besides Acapulco.”  At this Mario sat back and offered Porter a cigar.  As he lit the Maduro, he said without emotion, “However, your presumption was correct.  My most profitable business is the export of marijuana to the United States.”

Porter assessed Mario's admission as if he was listening to a quarterly earnings report from any of the hundreds of faceless public companies in which he had invested.

“Does this change our relationship?” asked Mario.

Firmly, and without hesitation Porter answered
, “That depends.  I do not personally find pot any different than alcohol production and have no issue with your distribution of it.  The consequences of its prohibition are the same as when alcohol was banned in the 1920s.  The gangland deaths were and are numerous, and the killings atrocious. But the product itself is no more destructive than booze.  In fact, I would much prefer a stoned driver to a drunk driver.”  Porter deepened the conviction in his tone and said, “However, if your intention is to use my skills against your competitors, then yes, our relationship will change.”

“I respect that Porter
,” answered Mario.  “But before we discuss this any further, let me first compliment you.  The bravery you showed when rescuing Renata is impressive and uncommon today.  Even more uncommon is the insight you have displayed since then.  And, I must say, I find it refreshing that you are not intimidated by me.  So many of my men are completely overwhelmed by who I am, and in truth, they should be.  I have done many things in my pursuit of commercial success that the moral world does not smile upon.  But my aura, if you will, retards the ability of my men to be honest with me when I need to know I have incorrectly assessed a situation. It is a welcomed change to have someone near me with excellent judgment and little if any fear of man, especially this man.”  Mario said pointing his cigar at himself.  After a series of inhalations to maintain the burn, he asked.  “Why is that?"

"Because I don't care if I live,
" said Porter.

"Or die
," Mario said, attempting to finish Porter's thought.

"No.
I mean I don't care if I live.  It may seem like a subtle nuance, but where most say they are scared of dying, I think that is untrue.  All humanity hates the unknown; fears it.  Therefore, they want to preserve what they currently know...life.  Not me, my existence for the last ten years has been filled with grief and debilitating guilt.  So maintaining that state is of no importance to me.  I may not know exactly what awaits me after life, but I certainly am not going to respect or fear another just because of what they've done...or could do to me.  I've been living in Hell.  Continuing that in another dimension will be no change."

Mario held Porter's ga
ze for a moment before he asked,  "So, this devilish past drives all that you do?

"Yes
," Porter said without emotion.

"But why
do you feel you must pronounce judgment and deliver justice to violent, abusive men?  I have known many who eliminate others to improve their own lives, but never one who pursues the victimizer solely on behalf of the victim.  Is this a penance? Are you atoning for something?”

Having only
shared that harrowing event with Connie and Father Ryan, Porter stalled for time to decide what story to divulge.  “Probably," he said.  "And I will tell you that, but first, how did you come to speak English so well?”

A proud smile illuminated
Mario’s face as he answered.  “Thank you.  I try very hard to speak English as if I was a native.  But, I was born right here in Mazatlan.  From the age of six, I spent half the year in San Diego when my parents would cross over to harvest the crops.   I attended the schools there and made many gringo friends, and I mean no disrespect when I say gringo.  It is just a term of description."

"No offense taken
," said Porter.

"Good," said
Mario as he continued. "My parents were very supportive of me learning English as they knew it offered the best hope of a better future for all our family.  From age 14, I stayed in San Diego with a cousin until I finished high school.  After that I attended UCLA where I majored in history.”  Motioning behind him at his extensive library, Mario said, “As you see from my collection, I am quite interested in learning from the successes and mistakes of the world's greatest leaders.  Sadly, I find few exemplary leaders today.  But who am I to talk?  Would I really want exemplary leaders?" Mario said with a laugh.

"Probably not
," said Porter joining him in laughter.  "They might curtail your lavish lifestyle."

"They certainly would
," added Mario, "and we can't have that."

"I'm sure you would find a way to survive. 
You've been doing it since junior high right?"

"Essentially
," answered Mario.

"Then we share several things
in common."

"
Do we?" asked Mario.

“
Yes.  I devour history and politics, and I too left home at 14.”

“Is that right
?”

“Yeah
,” said Porter, “But not to better myself as you did.  Mine was pure cowardice."

"
So you ran away?"

"Oh yea
h.  I ran like I was on fire.  Which, looking back, my mind was on fire."  Porter paused, now ready to provide his story.  "My family was attending this cult-like church in West Virginia.  Our pastor, Orin Hill, manipulated the congregation into doing whatever he wanted.  He would say the Spirit of God had told him this or that and would find Scripture to support his edicts.  If someone challenged him, the next Sunday he would preach a sermon about how God’s anointed leaders were never to be questioned. ”

"
So Hill took James 1:27 where it says to look after widows and orphans.  Do you know that passage?"  Porter asked.

"Very well
," said Mario.  "A great deal of my largess goes directly to widows and orphans."

Porter considered
Mario's line of work and fully understood his meaning.

"Continue please
," urged Mario.

"Ok, so
Hill manipulated three divorced female parishioners into believing that when the Scriptures said ‘to look after orphans and widows in their distress’, it really meant the church was to care for all their needs as they had obviously been ‘widowed’ by their ex-husbands.  But his twist was that the church members were to care for their physical needs while Hill would attend to their sexual needs.

A lot of people
in the community suspected that he was having affairs with women in the church but he had never been caught.  That is until he listened to God too much, and completely ignored Congreve’s advice that..."

"T
hat ‘hell hath no fury like a woman scorned’," Mario said, finishing Porter's sentence.

"Exactly
," said Porter.  "The way it went down, though, was straight out of Hollywood.  On a warm Sunday morning in May of 1991, Hill voluntarily removed himself from leadership, or as some saw it, fled.  While the 400 or so of us members were filling our seats for the morning worship, Hill’s secretary Sally, one of the ‘widows’ for whom he was caring, went back to her office to retrieve her purse.  Hill’s door was closed as usual while he prepared for the service.  But the noises she heard come through the door were more moans of pleasure than prayers for guidance.  Certain she had heard this from Hill before, Sally kicked his office door in to confirm her suspicions.  Finding another ‘widow’ kneeling to do more than pray, Sally exploded in a momentary rage of expletives.

Quickly recovering from her unholy behavior, Sally walked back to her desk and pushed the intercom button which broadcast
throughout the entire church and said, 'Brothers and sisters of Teays Valley Followers of Christ, if anyone would like to see Pastor Hill’s small dick, you can come to his office.  But you may have to wait a bit as it’s currently in Maureen Smith’s mouth.”

Mario howled with laughter.  "She really said that?"

"I can hear her words in my head now as plainly as when she spoke them.  I mean I was only 14 and sex was always on my mind.  But to hear that broadcast publicly was better than sneaking a peek of my neighbor's girlie mags."

Porter continued, "So,
Hill sprinted to his car, in the opposite direction of Sally of course, and did not stop until he reached Boise, Idaho.  Over the next few weeks, the true followers, or as I came to understand, the totally manipulated, sought out Hill and begged him to continue his leadership, even if that meant they had to go to him.  They believed that if God's anointing could remain on David after he had an affair with Bethsheba, or on Solomon despite his hundreds of pagan wives, then Hill too should remain their spiritual leader.  Sadly, my mother was one of those followers.  Her calculation was that it was better to abandon her family and follow this man of God than to risk Hell's lake of fire.  So she left."

"That must have been an awfu
l time for you and your family," said Mario earnestly.

"It was,
" added Porter.  "My journey into the dark began then."

"And that is why you pursue abuser
s?" asked Mario, his face showing confusion.  "That was certainly an awful event for you, but it seems unlikely to be your motivation to eliminate others."

"No, you're right Mario
," said Porter.  "That by itself didn't do it.  It just dug the foundation.  It took another event to complete the home."