The Mexico Run (10 page)

    Cortillo moved over to the berth at the side of the cabin and sat down, slowly shaking his head.

    "You went out of your way to look him up?"

    I nodded.

    "I had a business deal to talk over with him," I said.

    "Would you like to tell me about it? Or perhaps you would rather tell me about what happened to your face and why you are two days late arriving?"

    "I was two days late, Angel, because shortly after I had my interview with our Captain Morales, two crooked Mexican cops busted me on a frame-up, beat the living shit out of me, and buried me in some obscure jail in the boondocks. And then, miraculously, our good Captain Morales discovered my plight and rescued me."

    "He rescued you,
amigo?
I see. And it was possibly because of the business deal that you had talked to him about."

    "Yes, about the business deal."

    Angel reached for the bottle to refill our glasses. He didn't look at me when he spoke again, but walked over and patted the German Shepherd.

    "I am getting the impression,
amigo,
that this trip of yours is not strictly a vacation. I am also getting the impression that you have not looked me up solely for the purpose of having fun and games. We are old and good friends. Perhaps it would be best if you told me all about it."

    And so I told him from the beginning, and he heard me out without uttering a single word. For several minutes after I had finished speaking he merely sat at the side of the bunk and stared at the deck between his outstretched feet. At last he looked up, and his face broke into a smile.

    
"Amigo,
you son-of-a-bitch," he said. "You have spoiled the vacation I had planned for us. There can be no going out on the town, no girls, no carousing. You can understand why it would be impossible for us to be seen together. Now let me briefly review."

    He stood up and poured another round of drinks, and I could feel the tequila beginning to get to me.

    "If I understand you right, you have made a deal with this Captain Morales to contact a third party who will be supplying you with the thing that you have come to Mexico to obtain. The stuff will be delivered to you here in Ensenada. It will be transferred to my boat here, and I am to carry it out to sea where I will be met some miles off shore by another vessel which you will be piloting. Am I correct so far?"

    "That is correct."

    "Aside from the fact,
amigo,
that this operation is highly illegal and extremely risky, not to say dangerous, it presents certain problems. I am not prepared to have any direct contact with your sources of supply. I am not prepared to have anyone but yourself know of my possible participation. Once you have received delivery, just how have you planned to get the cargo aboard this vessel?"

    It took me a good half hour to outline for Angel the plans that I had made, and he frequently interrupted me with questions and suggestions. But when I had finally finished, he nodded and conceded that it might possibly work.

    "You have thought it out beautifully, and it can work. But there is one big danger,
amigo.
There is the possibility that your source will tip off the authorities for the reward. There is the possibility that Captain Morales himself will double-cross you."

    "There is, of course, that danger. If this were a one-shot operation, I would say that it would be far too risky. On the other hand, this will be but the first of many trips that I will make. The longer I operate, the more money Captain Morales will be taking in, the more profits the sellers will be making. They have every reason to protect me."

    
"Amigo,
you are playing a very dangerous game with very dangerous and sinister people. I have heard many rumors about Captain Morales. It may not be simple marijuana that he deals in. The important deals, the big money deals at the border, involve hard drugs. Are you sure you…"

    I shook my head. "Angel, you know me. You've known me a good many years. I have not changed. Marijuana is one thing. Hard drugs are something else again. I have no interest in hard drugs. There is enough money to be made in marijuana to make it unnecessary to move into other fields, assuming that I might even be able to overcome my moral prejudices against doing so."

    He stood up and crossed to a shelf in the galley, reaching for a new bottle of tequila. When he turned back, the serious expression had left his face and he was smiling.

    "And now," he said, "enough of business for tonight. I will sleep on it and think about it. It is time we relaxed and started our celebration. It would not be wise for us to be seen together in town, but I can make a telephone call, and there are a couple of girls…"

    I looked down at my watch. It was twenty minutes to ten.

    "The celebration must be postponed, Angel," I said. "One thing I have forgotten to mention-a girl. The girl I told you about has come to Ensenada with me. Right now she is watching a movie in town, and I am due to pick her up in less than twenty minutes."

    Angel looked startled.
"Amigo,
you must be losing your mind. You brought that girl with you? Why in the world would you do a thing like…"

    "I had little choice, Angel," I said. "It was, on Captain Morales' suggestion. He wanted her to be with me."

    Angel Cortillo shook his head.

    "You'll be very foolish if you let her know anything of your plans," he said.

    "That is just the point, Angel," I explained. "That is why I must go back and pick her up. We have taken a room in a small hotel some six miles south of town.

    Perhaps you know the place. La Casa Pacifica. Run by a man named Homer Billings. Perhaps you know…"

    "I have heard of it. I know of Senor Billings. He is married to a young Mexican girl. He is somewhat of a man of mystery, a man of dubious reputation. I feel, my friend, that you are beginning to surround yourself with rather dangerous companions. Did Captain Hernando Morales recommend this Homer Billings?"

    I said that he did.

    "In that case, I would watch him very closely."

    He looked at his watch. "Perhaps you had best go now,
amigo,"
he said. "You will not want that young girl to be wandering around loose in Ensenada. When shall I hear from you again?"

    I stood up, and we shook hands solemnly. "I will be in touch with you as soon as I have made my contact," I said. "And Angel, you may- be sure I shall be very careful. No one, no one at all will know of our relationship or of your participation."

    He hugged me once again before I left, and once again I winced with pain.

    
"Amigo,
I love you like a brother, and that is why we shall do business together. Also, of course, I love to make a dollar, even if it's a dishonest dollar." He grinned broadly, and a moment later I stepped from the deck of the
Rosita Maria
to the dock. Cactus, the German shepherd, growled a farewell.

    At exactly ten o'clock I stopped in front of the movie theater where I had left Sharon. She came out of the door as I pulled to a stop.

    

    

    I had a surprise waiting for me when I arrived back at La Casa Pacifica shortly after eleven o'clock. After picking Sharon up, I had stopped at a liquor store to purchase a bottle of bourbon, and Sharon had said she was hungry. We found a small Mexican restaurant, and I drank a bottle of cold beer while Sharon went through two portions of chili con carne. She suggested we stop by a nightclub and have a couple of drinks, but I told her that I was anxious to get back, and that we could drink when we returned to the motel.

    Driving into the walled-in yard in front of the place, I picked up in my headlights a long black Cadillac limousine, parked next to the lodge's broken-down Buick, and I gathered that we were no longer the sole guests in the establishment.

    Homer Billings, my host, was alone in the lobby. He beckoned to me, and I walked toward the desk. He spoke in a very low voice.

    "You have guests, Mr. Johns," he said. "I believe you are expecting the gentlemen. They are waiting in your room. It might be best if your wife," he lifted his head and looked over to where Sharon was standing, "were to wait in the lounge while you talk with them."

    For a moment I was annoyed, but then I quickly realized that Captain Morales must have had an obvious reason for making the reservation at La Casa Pacifica. I don't know how much he had told Billings, but he must have said something to him concerning our relationship and why I was there. My irritation evaporated, and I was suddenly gratified that Billings had not let me walk in to greet my visitors cold with Sharon at my side. I walked back and spoke quickly to Sharon.

    "Our host has invited us to have a drink with him," I said. "You go ahead into the lounge. I have to stop up in the room for a few minutes and I'll be right down."

    She looked at me curiously for a moment or two and then shrugged. "There's a toilet off the lounge," she said.

    "Just do as I tell you," I said. "I won't be too long. And stay in the lounge until I come for you. You understand?"

    "No, I don't understand. But I don't care. A drink is as good one place as it is another."

    I was not surprised to find the door to our suite unlocked. I opened it and stepped into the room.

    There were two of them, and although one was in his late forties and the other perhaps twenty years younger, they looked alike enough to be brothers. They were Mexican.

    The older one was slightly taller, and he had iron-gray hair, which he wore long, down past his collar. He was a very handsome man with dark, penetrating eyes, an aquiline nose and full lips. The younger one had black hair and sported a thin moustache. Both were immaculately dressed. The younger one did the talking, and the older one never once spoke a word. I believe, though, that he thoroughly understood English, as he seemed to be quite aware of what ensued between us.

    "You are Mr. Johns?"

    I nodded.

    "We are here at the request of a certain gentleman you met in Tijuana. He has informed us that you are interested in making certain purchases, and we are prepared to accommodate you. If my understanding is correct, you are interested in buying in bulk and want only the best quality merchandise. You are prepared to pay in American dollars upon delivery in Ensenada. Am I correct in these assumptions?"

    I said that he was correct.

    "In that case, there are only two or three details which must be worked out, and it should be simple to do so. The amount you want, when you want it, the price you're prepared to pay for it, and the method of delivery."

    "Did our friend in Tijuana explain to you that I am seeking a steady source of supply, and that I am not merely interested in a few kilos at a time?"

    His voice was slightly sarcastic when he answered me. "We are prepared to deliver a hundred kilos or a thousand kilos, and we can do so within a week's notice. We can do it once every three months, once every month, or once every week."

    "The first order will be in the neighborhood of two hundred to two hundred and fifty kilos, depending upon our agreeing on a price, and I would like to plan on having it within the next week to ten days. The size of the order will go up progressively as we continue to do business, and for the time being I would expect to make purchases once or twice a month.

    "As to the method of delivery, because of the bulk involved, I would suggest making a rendezvous at some fairly secluded spot where I could meet your delivery people with a truck and where we would be relatively safe from interference when the load is transferred. I will, of course, want to inspect the goods before making payment."

    The older man's face suddenly reddened, and he looked angry, but the younger one kept his cool.

    "Because of the man who recommended you, we are meeting you in good faith. We know what you are looking for, and we are men of honor and principle. We only deal in the highest type of merchandise."

    He picked up a small attache case that he had sat on the floor next to the chair which he occupied. He opened it and took out a slightly bulky manila envelope. He handed me the envelope.

    "This is a sample of our product," he said. "Test it out. If it meets your standards, that is what we will be delivering you. We are businessmen, not thieves."

    The envelope contained a handful of raw leaf marijuana and two rolled cigarettes. I took one out, lighted it and carefully inhaled the smoke, holding it in my lungs for at least a full minute. There was no question about the quality of the leaf.

    We talked then for another few minutes, and we came to an agreement on the price. I handed back the envelope to him, but he insisted that I keep it. I told him that I would be able to let him know within the next forty-eight hours when and where I would want delivery.

    "How will I get in touch with you?" I asked.

    "When you wish to reach me, let Mr. Billings know. We will get back to you within a reasonable time."

    They stood up then and making curt, formal bows, filed out of the room. There was no attempt to shake hands, and at no time during the conversation did they give either their names or any clue as to their identity.

    It was only after they left that I really began to wonder about them. They certainly failed to fit the image of any narcotics dealers I had ever encountered. Both in manners and speech, as well as dress, I would have taken them for members of the Mexican aristocracy. I could only assume that they were wealthy landowners who were dabbling in marijuana on the side.

    This, of course, wouldn't have surprised me. It is a notorious fact that the bulk of the marijuana coming across the border from Mexico to the United States is grown on those sprawling, inland, privately-owned Mexican estates.