Chapter Nine
Stan Russell wasn’t much enjoying watching the rows of yacht lights bobbing under the intense desert stars or any of Estela’s warm, open air ambience. He was staring fixedly past the bandstand at the spotlit cactus and steer skulls, while Con O’Donough laid into him for being in Mexico without proper security.
“This is a war, for crisakes, Stan,” he rumbled, “We’re commanders in that war. Would you have vacationed in the Tyrols during World War II?”
“If it’s drug runners that took her, they could have snatched her in Aspen easy as here,” he muttered, “These guys aren’t peasants. They’re jet-set, you know?”
He was spared a reply because Doc walked in and spotted them, nodding at Fausto behind the bar so that a brandy and seven beat him to the table. Introductions were terse, the air tense and frosty, Con was furious at Russell, and Russell extremely unhappy about Doc popping into the picture. Whoever he was. When Russell crawled back to the hotel room after a joyous and alibi-establishing rampage with Armando most of the night, he found the trashed furniture only hours before the maids would arrive. There was no way to smooth it over, nothing to do except call management, the police, and Con. He’d counted on allowing a suitable delay, then wasting more time with the assumption that the whole thing was one of Dancy’s larks. But the wreckage and blood in the room meant it had to be a kidnapping, if not extortion, rape, and bloody murder.
Ever since the old man had summoned him to Estela’s Russell had examined this idea of having some renegade mercenary brought into the picture. On the one hand, it might be a good thing, slow things down, take heat off. On the other hand, it could be bad–if the guy was actually any good, he might tumble to information the state and local cops hadn’t turned up. The nightmare scenario–he turns out to be Chuck Norris and actually traces her to Armando–was unlikely. He had decided to wait and get a look at this Hardesty character before making up his mind. There probably wasn’t much the guy could do except muddle the waters and tag the old man for a few bucks. So far, he didn’t much like the look of old “Doc”, but he doubted the guy could really find out anything. Doc didn’t waste any time disabusing him.
At the first mention of Lios Leyva by name Russell came close to shattering the glass he was holding and as he heard the story laid out he got more bummed by the minute. He just couldn’t believe this asshole had made Armando so fast. If it was that easy, how hard would it be to trace him further? Christ, the plane must be registered. He shook off his amazement and eyed Doc closely. He’d pretty much made his decision to get rid of this guy.
When Doc finished, O’Donough roused himself slowly from his funk and looked at Doc and his son-in-law. “Well, Stan, I guess it’s time to call for all the official help we can get. Take it federal and international.”
“I was thinking that myself. And I don’t think it would work. Look, we know Lios. He’s already one of the main kingpins, a major target for an entire DEA operation, and nobody’s even gotten close to him. We have to assume one of two possibilities. Either he’s so powerful and crafty that even with all we’re doing and spending there’s no line on him or, more likely, there’s a line on him but he’s bought it all off and is even safer than if they were actually after him. We’ve burned a lot of pot and poppies that were supposed to be his, and everybody knows he’s out of upstate Nayarit, but nobody knows where and nobody even has a decent picture of him. I’ve seen one very poor quality telephoto of a guy with a skinny mustache. Could be anybody.”
“Could be a guy named Jaime Ramos,” Doc said.
Jesus Christ, Russell thought, he knows about Ramos? He gave Doc a condescending look and said, “Or it could be the captain on ‘Miami Vice’ Point is, if the Feds could get him, or wanted to, they would have got him.”
“Well, how about the Alphas?” Doc asked, “They’re trained for fast strikes and supposed to be so clean and dedicated and incorruptible.”
O’Donough looked at Doc narrowly and said, “Not that many people have heard of Alpha Group unless they’re involved in fighting drug traffic…or doing it.”
“Oh, I have some small knowledge of how American anti-dope money trains super troops,” Doc said. “In fact, a friend of mine did a lot of the Alpha’s training, Guy name of Jimmy Dan Earl.”
“Could you get in touch with him personally?” O’Donough asked, “See if he knows anything unofficial about Lios-Leyva?”
“Sorry. He got fired. Seems he rolled up forty-three hundred pounds of seized pot into a huge joint and fired it up.”
Russell sensed something, knitted his brows, but bit, “I’m not sure I understand why they would fire him for that. Burning marijuana is the part the Alphas’ business.”
“Not on the beach at Mazatlán,” Doc said. “And for sure not during Spring Break.”
Russell leaned away, studying the mercenary, “So in other words, this good friend of yours is a lunatic.”
“Nah, he’s just a legend.”
Stan had made up his mind. He had a feeling Doc was reluctant to get involved, perhaps he could just asshole him off the job. He said, “So like yourself, another soldier of fortune sucking off Drug War money. That about the picture, Hardesty?”
O’Donough turned to look at his son-in-law, surprised, but Doc answered evenly, “That’s the soldier of fortune business for you. You should know: you seemed to have soldiered up a pretty nice fortune yourself.”
Stan swelled up at that, his muscles bulging. He might have said something, but O’Donough held up a commanding hand and stopped him cold. He had no intention of letting tempers interfere with the operation. Letting Russell simmer down, he looked at Doc judiciously and asked, “We’re familiar with this Lios as being a kingpin in a big narcotics family. But you’ve been speaking of him as if he was some sort of public figure. Who are we really up against here?”
“Maybe one of the most famous men in Mexico. He’s a folk hero, like Bonny and Clyde or D.B. Cooper or Jesse James.”
“He’s admired as a narcotics dealer?”
“He’s rich, powerful, successful. He openly defies the government of the United States, which is pretty well despised down here, and the Mexican authorities, who aren’t much better respected. The idea is, he sells drugs to stupid gringos and helps out Mexico.”
“Helps out?”
“Well, he brings in a lot of money, for one thing. He made a lot of headlines, not to mention folklore, five years ago by offering to pay the Mexican foreign debt out of his own pocket in exchange for amnesty. Later he changed it to paying off the deficit in exchange for a cabinet position. People loved it. They blame the government for not taking him up on it.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Russell snapped. He was thinking that Armando had an unexpected flare for exaggeration.
“It’s only ridiculous if you have a firm grasp on the difference between a million and billion. There’s not even a word for ‘billion’ in Spanish, and a lot of guys sitting around in cantinas will never see thirty grand in their whole lives.”
“So he’s a hero of the masses, sells newspapers?” O’Donough asked.
“He even sells records,” Doc said. He told them about corridos, and recited a few verses of the one about Armando. He’d picked up the tape, by the “Javalies Del Sur” and reviewed it while waiting to meet them.
“The Nayarit eagle, with talons of silver, falls on his prey with a black stare of vengeance, with the dark wings of night,” Doc sing-songed the chorus, “You notice all the bird symbolism and how nobody can catch him when he swoops in and flies away? That’s our guy.”
So Armando’s got his own fucking theme song, Russell was thinking. It figures. The old man was sobered by hearing of Lios Leyva as a folk legend, and spent a long time thinking silently. Finally he said, “Mr. Hardesty…”
“Doc.”
“Yes, of course. May I ask you, Doc, if you have a general strategy you might share with me. I’m always interested in overall plans, especially as they pertain to acquisitions. Re-acquisition in this case, of course.”
“This is Mexico, Mr. O’Donough. The kidnapper is Mexican. I’m going to go about it in a pretty Mexican way.”
Russell snorted, “What, put on a sombrero and siesta against a wall until she shows up, first thing mañana?”
“Well, that and set out bait.”
“Please, Stanley, don’t interrupt,” O’Donough said softly, “Could you explain a little more fully, Doc?”
“When you’re looking for a shady character, don’t wonder where to look, but who to ask. I’m just going to start like of networking, start where I am with people I know, then go to people who know more people. Hopefully, it will start to lead us in his direction.”
“Especially since he is a big target.”
“You’ve got it. He’s a big gravitational center and little things fall towards him. If he were a nobody, we’d have to do it different.”
“Like how?” Russell asked.
Doc glanced at him dismissively, “Start with inquiries to the immediate family.”
As Russell glowered, O’Donough asked, “Would I be overly nosy to ask where you will start your inquiries?”
“Not at all, you’re the customer. I’m going to start by talking to the piano player over there.”
Russell was too blown away to retort to that one; he just stared at Doc, then looked at O’Donough, spreading his hands in an I-told-you-so gesture.
“I’ll admit it’s terribly Truffaut,” Doc told him, “But I always believe in working as cinematic as possible.”
Russell started to sputter, but the old man broke him off with a question. “Stan, what do you notice about the piano player?”
“What? You mean seriously? Hell, I don’t know. He’s got long blond hair and blue eyes. Looks like a surf bum.”
“He’s an American, isn’t he? Playing with an all-Mexican band in a Mexican bar. You know him pretty well, Doc?”
“Well enough. I used to camp on the beach here before they built all the hotels and Jimmy was living in the street end in a camper. Everyone always talked about living here year around, but Jimmy pulled it off. He got gigs with local bands, at first just because he knew American standards and could help a band get better-paying gigs, then later because they started to realize he’s the best pianist in the Capes, maybe in the whole state. He’s been playing here for several years.”
“Sounds like good qualifications for being a criminal information booth,” Russell groused.
O’Donough nodded at Doc, “He’s pretty popular, and visible, and you can always find him here, am I right?”
“I guess being way ahead of people is your stock in trade, huh? Yeah, he’s the local bulletin board. I can’t imagine anyone coming through Cabo and not talking to Jimmy Z.”
Russell started to say something, but Doc added, “I mean anyone meaningful.”
Con O’Donough said, “Can we buy him a drink?”