With Her Fists

Chapter IV

Chapter IVBiloxi, Mississippi

March 21, 2010

Main Street in Biloxi was a curious mix of life. The buildings of the numerous businesses were in as many variations of shapes, colors and sizes as the people that populated the area. A real potpourri of humanity. But there were clear distinctions between two elements, unmistakable patterns that contrasted one class from the other.

There were the legit folks, mostly overweight whites with some older blacks, Asians, and a few Latinos. They drove nice cars and wore nice clothes, walked and talked in a manner that proclaimed them as law-abiding citizens. The suspect crowd, mostly blacks, with groups of young Asians, Latinos and whites disseminated throughout the area, drove old hoopties that branded them as probable d**g users, or rode in customized bling rides that screamed illicit gain. Their fashion tastes favored sports jerseys or tank tops to show off tattoos, sagging, baggy pants and huge boots with loose shoe strings, or basketball shoes in loud colors.

The legits waved, nodded, or were oblivious to the police cars that drove by, confident in their citizenship and showing no concern at being observed by law enforcement. The suspects pretended to be oblivious, mostly unsuccessfully, by suddenly finding something to make them look busy or show they had a completely legal purpose for their present actions. Behavior that suggested the potential to break rules and a lot of guilt on their collective conscience.

“Look at that guy over there,” Jimmy said, pointing at a young black man that had obviously been up all night. The teenager's pants were dropped below his butt, showing red boxers and a Tommy Hilfiger logo. The hustler saw the cop car and automatically pulled up his pants, an unconscious response that was nearly instinctual among street thugs because it made them a target for the boys in blue. “Jerkoff could at least wear clean drawers, you know? I mean, look at his a*s. It looks like a f*****g bruised apple. Who wants to see that?”

“I don't get it either,” Hector replied, chuckling. “Personally, I don't mind the saggy thing. Makes them easier to catch.” They shared a laugh. “One time, I chased an Asian kid through his house and into his backyard. He made it about fifty feet before his pants fell around his ankles and tripped him. Dummy busted himself.”

“Oh, yeah! I remember that.” The car swelled with loud belly laughter. They pointed out more suspects with bloopers potential as they prowled the dawning neighborhood. Some of the people were so obviously up to no good that they panicked and fled at first glimpse of the patrol. The guffaws continued, with wheezing, coughs and tear-welled eyes.

“Hey, Jimmy. They are like little raccoons with their robbers' masks, right?” Hector choked out between laughs.

“We caught them with their paws in the trash and they ran back into the woods! Yeah!” Jimmy exclaimed, wheezing and executing a few unplanned swerves.

The street light timers sensed the presence of the sun, blinking off the lights and erasing that eerie yellow-orange color that dominate the night in cities. A glare in the eyes that made the sky and buildings less distinguishable, and hid most of the ugliness of concrete and people alike. It was morning. The illuminating glow of the rising sun chased away the cloaking shadows to reveal the true nature of the area in all its glory: Filthy. Ugly. With random symmetry and appeal. Wrinkles, cracks, and dirt became more visible on the faces of stores and the people that walked into them.

“He should have called by now,” Jimmy said, switching into the left lane without the courtesy of a blinker.

“Who, El Maestro?” Hector asked.

“Yeah, who else? I thought you said he would call by now.”

“He said he would text. And to be on Main Street at sunup. We're here. I don't know what to tell you, Jimmy.”

“Great. Just f*****g great. What kind of an organized crime boss is he, huh? Can't keep a f*****g appointment with his security team. I swear, these greaser —”

“Wait a minute, Jimmy. Just got a text.” Hector's phone finished its chime as he took it from a compartment on his g*n belt. He flipped open the purple Samsung, read the message. “It's him. He says to pull over the green Chevy Cruze in front of us.”

“What the hell?” Jimmy leaned forward with his head over the steering wheel, squinting ahead into the shadowed traffic, searching through the people hurrying to work or school. He spotted the car and maneuvered to get behind it. Hit the lights for a routine traffic stop. “Is this him?”

“I think so.”

“Be ready for anything.”

“I know.” Hector unsnapped his g*n.

The Cruze pulled over to the right side of the road, stopping in front of a dress shop with mannequins in the windows displaying wedding gowns. The driver parked and waited without movement, both hands on top of the wheel.

Jimmy got out, blasts of wind from passing cars tugged at the door, assaulting his nose and lungs with smog particulates. He coughed and wheezed. Unsnapped and drew his g*n. Held it against his leg as he approached the back of the green Cruze. Horns honked at an intersection nearby. Tiny rocks tinkled against the police cruiser from churning tires as a duo of dump trucks rumbled by. Hector approached the car from the passenger side.

The driver rolled down both windows simultaneously. “Hector. Jimmy. I think I would feel more pleasure from seeing you if you weren't holding drawn guns,” greeted El Maestro. Clean and trim in a blue Nautica button-up with gold sailboats all over it, his light brown skin and black chin beard looked deceptively young on a man in his late sixties. The short dark hair on top with specks of gray, bald spot showing through, were the only indications of his age. He smiled, showing teeth as bright as his watch and rings.

“Good to see you, El Maestro,” Hector said, holstering his g*n.

“Yeah, as always,” Jimmy agreed, still holding his g*n and glancing in all directions.

El Maestro looked down at the weapon, back to Jimmy's nervous face. He said, “You seem overly anxious. Do you not trust me anymore? Or have you a guilty conscience about something?”

“It's not that.” Jimmy allowed his anger to show, masking the paranoia. “We're a security team. I'd prefer to stay ready for anything.”

“So you've heard, then.”

“Yeah. We heard about Jose,” Hector said. “Big news at the station yesterday.”

El Maestro turned to Hector. “A victory for law enforcement, certainly. Jose was a warrior with status, and has been wanted for over a decade now. He will be remembered for his loyalty to La Familia and his sacrifices for his countrymen,” he said, voice beginning to break with emotion. He cleared his throat. “I want you to investigate his death. Find out who did this and you will be rewarded.”

“Any idea who did it?” Jimmy inquired, staring El Maestro in the face without blinking.

He didn't respond right away. Looked down to gather himself. Turned to the right, locking eyes with Hector. “Traitors,” El Maestro growled. Hector flinched. Jimmy brought his g*n up and pointed it at the back of El Maestro's head. “It was traitors,” he continued, unaware of the instrument of death aimed at his cranium. “Somebody from inside the organization. Either La Familia or one of the associates or security teams,” he told Hector, his stare watery and smoldering at once.

Jimmy lowered the g*n. Glanced around to see if anyone was gawking. There wasn't. A wheeze slithered through his gritted teeth.

“Traitors?” Hector tilted his head. “Who? Who do we investigate?”

“If I knew, you wouldn't be investigating. It happened in your district. There are only so many people linked to us that could have arranged a meeting with Jose. Find out the `who' and eliminate them. If you need reinforcements, you know where to find me,” he said, looking back to Jimmy.

“We'll take care of it. As soon as we know anything Hector will text you,” Jimmy assured him.

“Excellent. We must show our enemies we don't let transgressions go unpunished.” He looked over at Hector. “And we must show our family that vengeance will be pursued. Pronto.”

Hector just stood there, dark hair cut clean over haggard features.

“El Maestro,” Jimmy said, calling his attention away from the look of guilt controlling his partner's face. “You said we would have a detail today. Where are the mules? Let's take care of business.”

“You are right, of course,” he replied, taking a phone from his pocket. He texted a quick note, pressed Send. “Let us not waste time chatting of unimportant matters.”

“El Maestro, I don't think he meant –” Hector began, but was silenced by an upraised hand.

“I know what he meant. And we are wasting time. That car,” he said, pointing at a late-model white Pontiac GTO that had pulled over to the opposite side of the road fifty yards ahead of them, “is your security assignment. Instead of the usual switch-off in Gulfport, I had the Hancock County team escort them here. All switch points will be changed randomly from now on. Follow them north and you will receive a text with the next switch point.” He opened the center console, removed a gray Nokia cell phone and handed it to Hector. “Your new phone. I now have a GPS app that shows me where all my security teams are, so coordination will be more efficient.”

“Okay, still business as usual. We'll take care of it,” Jimmy said.

Dammit, he thought. I'll have to figure out a way around this tracking and random switch point s**t now.

He holstered his g*n, grimacing, walked back to the patrol car.

El Maestro turned to Hector. “Find the person who is behind this betrayal, Hector. Kill them. I will personally make sure your family in Juarez benefits from your dedication to La Familia. Good deeds earn great honor, hermano.”

Hector didn't reply, just stared after the green sedan as it pulled into traffic and turned its lights off, the morning air brightening.

Seagulls cawed overhead, grabbing Hector's attention, the sound like an omen of consequence. He stared up at the scavengers, eyes glazing, mystified.

His heart quickened.

A premonition sneaked its way into his thoughts, like a diseased mouse squeezing through a tight c***k and entering a room that had never before been invaded by an infectious entity. The realization that he was a traitor as well as a dirty cop did not sit well in his mind. Uncoordinated from looking up, he stumbled to the side. Looked down at the concrete and his boots. To the left at the patrol car.

Jimmy stuck his head out of the driver's side window. “What the f**k are you doing? Let's go, let's go!” he yelled, pointing at the Pontiac up the street like Hector was a deaf dummy that needed blunt, elementary gestures to comprehend his meaning.

Hector hurried to the car, got in, and they pulled into traffic. Made a U-turn to get behind the GTO and followed them to the interstate.

“What the hell was that all about? What did El Maestro say?” Jimmy wanted to know. He divided his attention between driving and trying to analyze his friend.

“He just said he would take care of my family if we found the traitor.” He shrugged.

“And what did you say?”

“Nothing.”

“You didn't say anything?”

“I just said I didn't. What's your problem?” Hector folded his arms.

“Nothing, nothing. I'm sorry. I'm just a little stressed. I almost shot El Maestro a few minutes ago. Look, forget it, okay? Let's focus on the job. You know those guys?” he asked, indicating the two men in the GTO.

“No. Don't think so.”

“Wonder how much product is stashed in that car. Probably a million worth, at least.” They drove in silence until they reached the on-ramp to Interstate-10 West, which would take them to Highway 49 North. Jimmy tapped his meaty hands on the steering wheel. “Hey, how'd he get the name the Teacher, anyway.”

“He really is a teacher.” Hector watched the woods that lined the side of the interstate. He didn't look at his partner, hoping Jimmy would take the hint that he didn't feel like talking.

He didn't catch on. “No s**t? From where?”

“University in Juarez. Economics and commerce professor.”

“Commerce, huh? Yeah, that makes sense. No wonder that guy's like a f*****g secret agent or something. Controlling a d**g commerce relay race by using our government's own security structure to facilitate it. That GTO is the baton, and we are the runners that have to pass it off to the next runner.”

“It's brilliant, ese.” Barely audible, his words sounded like they were dragged out of him. “No cop would think to pull over a car another cop is already following. And buying a cop or two in every county on the route is cheaper than losing shipments and drivers to law enforcement. It's nearly foolproof.”

“Nearly,” Jimmy agreed. “But I don't plan on passing these f*****g batons much longer, brilliant or otherwise. I've done my tour of duty, Hector.” He patted the badge on his chest. “For both sides of the fence.”

They fell silent again. Another mile passed and the GTO pulled over to the side in the emergency lane, hazard lights flashing.

“What the f**k?” Jimmy roared, slowing and pulling in behind them. “Be ready.” He unsnapped his g*n. Shifted into Park and opened his door.

A slim Latino of medium height in his early forties stepped out of the Pontiac, loose fitting white pants and peach pastel shirt fluttering like flags as cars sped by. He shouted back at the patrol car. “Something's wrong with the coche!” he hollered over the din.

“What's the matter?” Jimmy yelled back. Stuck a fist to his mouth, coughed several times.

“The dash lights are going loco! And the car is losing power! No se,” he said.

Jimmy stuck his head back in the car. “Hector you know more about cars than me. Check it out while I cover you.”

“I'll take a look,” he said, sighing. He opened the door, got out and walked to the white sports car. Asked the driver to step aside, sat in the seat and turned the key on.

Jimmy stood behind his door, hand on g*n, watching the trees lining the side of the interstate and the cars approaching that may suddenly stop and sprout enemy targets. His energy abruptly failed him, dipping so low his knees nearly buckled and dropped him where he stood. Tiny dark spots appeared in his vision, little black holes that sucked in the light and matter in their vicinity. He leaned on the door, scowling viciously as he recovered.

All this damn greaser stress, he thought. Motherfuckers are determined to put me in the ground before I get a chance to get out. I'll have to get stronger blood pressure meds this week.

Fuck!

Hector trotted back to the cruiser. He and his partner ducked into their sides, closed the doors. “I don't know what the problem is, maybe something electrical. It will still drive, though. I gave them directions to a shop in Woolmarket. Only one exit away.”

“You're talking about Custom Ace, right? Good idea. They're fast.”

“Hopefully, it's only a minor problem and we'll be back on the road before lunch.”

“Has anybody replaced Jose?”

“Don't think so. El Maestro mentioned that new GPS app, so I think he's running the show until someone gets promoted to lieutenant.”

“So we report this directly to El Maestro. Text him a report. We'll park down the road from Custom Ace and stay on point.”

“Sounds good, Jimmy.” Hector took the Nokia out of his belt.