Of course, there was the fact that I never really had a choice. That I could not have said no to Salvador. But as my mother said, we always have choices. And I was starting to think that in the grand scheme of things, perhaps I had made the wrong one.

The lesser of two evils was actually the greatest.

Javier

“So finally I meet the Javier Bernal.” The man sat down across from me, a cigarette bobbing out of his lazy mouth. I wasted no time in snapping it out of his lips and breaking it in half, tossing it to the ground beside us.

He stared at me, dumbfounded for only a second, which I appreciated. A man who can get over things quickly is a man you want on your side.

“No smoking,” I said, my eyes boring into his as I jerked my chin at the sign on the wall. The bar couldn’t give two shits if people smoked or not, the sign was only there for legal reasons. But that wasn’t the point. The man needed to know the score. I’d heard a lot about this Juanito, though there was no point in committing his name to memory. I only needed him for his intel, and the less I had to know, the better.

He nodded, that easy smile still there, if not faltering. That was good too. You needed to bounce back, but you also needed to stay afraid of the ones in charge.

He needed to stay afraid of me.

“Can I still drink?” he asked, raising his bottle of beer.

Ah, and he had a sense of humor. This made him easier to deal with, even like—too bad a sense of humor wouldn’t save him in the end. I’ve killed some of the funniest fuckers I’ve ever met. They had me laughing even with their heads on the ground.

“Of course,” I said to him and raised my glass of tequila. “To new beginnings.”

We drank as some ballad from a Mexican pop idol played in the background. This bar was one of the few bars in the area where I could go and relax and not have to worry about watered down booze or uncouth patrons. The owners were paid handsomely by me, as were all law officials in the town and the state of Durango. I had no fear of a rival cartel coming in and blowing my head off, and I had no fear of the Mexican Attorney General coming in and trying to take me away. As much as I hated to admit it, without siphoning Salvador Reyes’ Ephedra shipping lane and adding more routes for opium, cocaine, and marijuana, I really wasn’t the guy they were after. Naturally, with more power and influence came the danger of being public enemy number one. Right now, Salvador Reyes was the most wanted criminal and drug lord in the country. Not that the police or anyone were doing anything to stop him.

As for me, I had more to fear from rivals than from authorities. I wasn’t clean by any means—I couldn’t ever step foot in the United States again, for example. The last time I was there, I was arrested for drug trafficking. It was a minor mix-up, I wasn’t actually trafficking any drugs, just trying to trade a hostage to get ahead, but there was bloodshed and the feds got involved. Apparently they have nothing better to do up there than to worry about us Mexicans.

However, having enough money and knowing enough people who work for the DEA gets you a free ride in the states, so long as you promise to send them information on your enemies from time to time and swear to never set foot in the country again. And so that’s what I did. Paid the right people and made my promises, and I was free to go, three months later.

Those three months though (while Esteban was taking care of my affairs and the cartel I had taken from Travis Raines) had cost me a lot. I should have been on my home soil and expanding; instead I was behind bars. The prisons in America were nothing like the ones in Mexico. It could have been a vacation for some, though perhaps I was treated so well because my dollar went further in the cells. There is so much power and influence in money and drugs that it makes me wonder why anyone would bother going straight. To save face? No, that is ludicrous. Your face never looks better than when you’ve got a gun in your hand and money under your ass.

I suppose I should have been grateful that I was only in prison for such a short time and I walked away unharmed with only a new smoking habit to add to my regrets.

At that thought, I fished a cigarette from my slim gold case and placed it in my mouth.

Juanito frowned at me. “The rules…” he said feebly.

I struck the match along the side of the wood table, then lit the cigarette and slowly blew smoke in his face. “The rules don’t apply to me. Never have, never will.” I placated him with a smile. “Now, let’s talk business, shall we?”

He nodded and relaxed a bit on his stool, eager to get started. Another good sign. It said he was confident in his job.

“What I need from you, Juanito,” I said, continuing to stare at him, “is to perform your job like it’s the last job you’ll ever do.”

His smile went crooked. “Will it be the last job I ever do?”

I suppose my reputation preceded me. I puffed on the cigarette, in no hurry to answer him, until he had to look away from my stare. “You’ll be paid enough so you never need to work again, if that is what you mean.”

He swallowed hard, and I could sense his leg bouncing restlessly under the table. “There are rumors, you know.”

“About me?” I asked simply.

More nervous gestures. “Yes.”

“Are they about how large my dick is?”

Relief washed over his face, and he managed a laugh. “Not really.”

“Too bad. It’s true, you know. About my dick.”

He didn’t seem too impressed. He spun the bottle of beer around in his hands. “They say you end up killing most people who do jobs for you.”

I shrugged. “So?”

“Is it true?”

I tapped the cigarette and let it ash onto the floor. “It’s not a lie. Look, if I promise not to kill you, will that ease your worries?”

His forehead scrunched up, unsure of what way to take me.

“I keep my promises,” I added. “Just so you know.”

“Well, that will help,” he said.

“Then it’s settled. You do your job, I’ll pay you a lot of money and I won’t kill you either.” I signalled the bartender to pour me another drink, then went back to staring Juanito down. “So, before you start jacking up my bar tab, tell me your plans.”

Now that his worries were eased, he was able to clearly explain exactly what he had to offer. Juanito had done some work with Esteban while I was in prison. Este was the technical guy who could hack into accounts, security systems—hell I think he’d even done some fucked up wizardry with satellite cameras before. But Este was needed at my side, for counsel and for my own protection. Juanito would infiltrate the Reyes compound as best he could, spying on Salvador and Luisa’s routine for a week or two before reporting back with concrete intel. I had no doubt that Salvador had his new wife watched, but as the days went on, I also had no doubt that one of them would slip up. When that happened, we would make sure it happened again.

Then we would take her.

Juanito, at first glance, didn’t look like the kind of man best suited for the job. Aside from his nervous mannerisms, he had a wiry build and a young face with round cheeks. But I knew better than to judge a book by its cover. All you needed to know about a man was in his eyes, and in Juanito’s I could see the confidence in his skill. That sold me.

It also made me stop regretting my promise not to kill him—perhaps he would come in handy in the future.

“When will you start?” I asked as I nodded my thanks to the bartender who placed another glass of tequila in front of me.

“Tomorrow,” he said matter-of-factly. “I can be in Culiacán by noon. By tomorrow evening, I promise you I’ll know what house they are staying at and where. I’ve got connections there.”