Cartel El Corazon Negro

By John Henry "Doc" Holliday

An intriguing story of a down on his luck American and his inopportune introduction to Mexican Drug Cartel family. His fiftieth birthday party ends in a wild week in the slammer, then an unwanted vacation he had always dreamed of. Wild, wacky, sad, surreal, love, longing, laughter. Drama and Reality collide. What plays in Mexico, this time won't stay in Mexico. Come take a ride with Robert "Buddy" Rich through the inter-workings of a Sheriff's Department and the menacing, savage life of a Mexican Drug Cartel family. Fasten your seat-belt, you are in for a bumpy ride....

• Language: English
• Publisher: John Henry "Doc" Holliday
• Release date: Jan 29, 2020
• ISBN: 9780463276525

John Henry "Doc" Holliday

The first novel for John Henry “Doc” Holliday, no kin to his namesake., was written at age 60. Doc is a storyteller who weaves the elements of his stories into the written word in the form of a novel.He is not schooled in or studied books on the writing. He avoided reading novels by other writers to not influence or corrupt his own outpourings. In additional to the stories, Doc has written many verses of prose and song lyrics. There will be other stories that will be produced as novels in the near future. His first novel "Cartel El Corazón Negro".His second novel “Rise of the Sanguine Moon”. A detective series "The Hart of the Matter" is a three book series #1 The Case of Mistaken Identity, #2 The Case of the Conniving Conundrum and #3 The Case of the Misplaced Cicada. A love story "A One in a Million Chance of a Lifetime".

Book preview

Chapter One

Robert ‘Buddy" Rich was a down on his luck kind of guy. Maybe better described as just a no luck kind of guy. As he sat on the cold, bare cement floor of the holding cell crowded with so many other people, he pondered how his luck had failed him yet again.

Just hours earlier, he had been the life of the party at his birthday bash. What a party! All his friends and family were there and the food and booze flowed till two AM.

His wife, Pam, took his keys from him and told him he could catch a ride home with a friend because she was going to be damned if he was throwing up in her new car again.

Buddy, she chided, once was more than enough and you are wasted worse than George Jones on a three-day bender. Sweee, sweet, sweetie, Buddy stammered, You’re gonna make me ride home with someone else on my birthday? Damn right, She spewed, pity the poor fool who volunteers. So, Pam went around the room searching for the most sober person she could find to volunteer for the ride. Billy Simpson was new to the group, young and engaging and not much of a drinker. Pam spotted Billy across the room and like a rocket was in his face. Billy, are you in driving condition? Pam queried. Sure, am maam, need a lift? Billy chirped with a smile. Well, yes and no, Pam responded, I need a lift but it’s not for me, it’s for the birthday boy. Well of course I will, Billy answered, It will be my pleasure and I will assure you that he will arrive safe and sound. Thank you, Billy, Pam added, you are my new best friend."

So, Billy gathered Buddy and they headed to the parking lot. Billy’s shiny new speeding ticket red, F-150 truck awaited them just feet away. They climbed aboard and headed for the house. As they made their way to I-85, Buddy cranked up the sound system as the Eagles sang life in the fast lane. Soon Buddy and Billy were singing in unison as they rolled up the highway. What the hell! Billy suddenly gasped. That sign, what did it say? he questioned. Damn, Billy, Buddy replied, I can’t see shit, I’m tanked. There it is again, Billy retorted. Sure, enough a large flashing sign along the median read Drug and Alcohol check next exit. Crap Billy shouted, I need to get off here and now. Check the right lane, Buddy. Buddy gazed over and cleared a quick lane change. As they entered the exit lane, Billy excitingly shouted, Man that was close, but we made it. But Buddy’s streak of luck would rear its ugly head just a hundred yards later. As they approached the intersection, suddenly a chorus of blue flashing lights surrounded them. Oh, shit, Billy exclaimed, it was a damn set-up. Buddy was in such a stupor he really didn’t appreciate how his birthday night was about to end. Suddenly, a bright light was in his eyes as a cop who looked seven feet tall, was tapping on his window telling him to get his hands up and exit the truck. Billy was experiencing the same demand on his side. They both exited the truck and found themselves on the ground in an instant. Don’t move, don’t talk! A large deputy barked.

Where is your license and registration, sir? he asked Billy. My wallet is in the console, Billy replied in a jittery voice. Slowly get up with your hands behind your head. Do you have any weapons or sharp objects on your person or in your possession? the deputy queried. No sir, Billy responded. Then get your license, registration and insurance card, but do it slowly and deliberately, the deputy instructed. All the while, Buddy was face-down on the freezing concrete wondering what could possibly happen next. Billy did as instructed and returned to the deputy with the requested items. Put your hands behind your head sir, have you been drinking tonight? the deputy asked. Well, sir, I had a couple of beers, but that was hours ago, Billy answered, hoping this would all be over any moment. The deputy radioed Billy’s information in and it came back with no wants or warrants and no record. As Billy heard the return squawk of the radio, relief settled over his body. When the deputy handed him back his items, he felt more relief. As the deputy told Buddy he could get up and for them to drive safely to their destination, Billy started feeling thankful it was all over. But, as the deputy turned to walk away, he paused and said to Billy, by the way, you don’t have any drugs or contraband in your vehicle, do you? Billy was stunned and the surprise must have shown on his face as the deputy gazed at him and asked, you don’t mind if we search your truck, do you?

Buddy just wanted to get home, he needed to pee so bad he was having to shift his legs to try and hold it back. Damn officer, it’s my birthday and I need to take a piss, can’t you just give us a break and let us go? Buddy slurred. But before the deputy could respond another deputy brought the k-9 dog to the cab of the truck right next to where Buddy was standing. Good doggie, Buddy snorted, now sit. And sure, enough the dog sat right next to the rear door of the truck. Buddy was blown away, this dog he had never seen before had just performed a command for him. Man, that was so cool, I am looking for a new dog and he obviously likes me, Buddy uttered. Not exactly, Sir, Ken is trained to sit when he senses drugs and now, we are going to search the back seat of this vehicle, the deputy stated. Billy was now frozen in his tracks, praying that his brother, who had borrowed the truck the day before, had not left any surprises aboard.

Before his thought was finished, he overheard a second deputy say, well, well what do we have here? Looks and smells like a roach of a joint. Hell, that ain’t mine! Buddy shouted. Not mine either, sir, Billy added. ‘Un-hu, well sir this is your truck and it was in your truck, so it is yours and you and the birthday boy are going to end your party at our house, the deputy sarcastically answered, you are both under arrest for possession of a controlled substance. Put your hands behind your back and listen to these instructions. The deputy read them their rights, hand-cuffed them and started to escort them to a sheriff’s van. As they made their way to the van, suddenly a large black Escalade screeched to a halt surrounded by the same squad that had trapped Billy and Buddy. As the world was spinning in Buddy’s head, he heard shouts in both Spanish and English, Exit the car, now! Salga del auto ahora, pronto! over and over. He looked back to see the deputies pulling two men from the Cadillac and wrestling them to the ground. In the commotion, a deputy escorted Billy and Buddy into the cage in the back of the van. As Buddy closed his eyes and wondered what he was going to tell Pam, Billy, wide-eyed, stared at the scene unfolding outside. Deputies with flash lights and now guns drawn were screaming muestrame tus manos!, show me your hands! Suddenly, a deputy took his night stick and shattered the rear window. As the glass flew, a pair of hands emerged thru the now empty pane. Salga del auto ahora, pronto! Exit the car now! the deputies chanted. A figure climbed from the back and jumped to the pavement. He was immediately wrestled to the ground by three deputies. Billy sat in amazement as the theme from cops Bad boys, bad boys, what you gonna do, circulated in his mind. It was as if he was watching live tv from the cage of the sheriff’s van. As Buddy drifted off into a snoring stupor, Billy was transfixed on the chaos in action. He thought the third man looked so out of place from the others. They wore jeans and t-shirts, yet he was dressed like an Armani model from head to toe. As the deputies escorted the three new arrestees towards the van, Billy heard a deputy call out, "oh hell yes, we’ve hit the motherload’ as he held up what appeared to be an Uzi and a large briefcase from the rear of the Escalade. Who are these guys? Billy pondered. Was this Poncho Villa, reborn? Afraid to engage them in conversation, Billy was silent while the trio was thrown back on the ground and being completely frisk by a crowd of deputies. As he waited for the van to depart for the Gwinnett County Jail, the only sounds to be heard were the snores coming from Buddy, who was now passed out, leaning on Billy’s shoulder.

Chapter Two

950 miles away, Yucatan Mexico.

Sunrise on Playa Negro beach is always spectacular, but on this morning as Luis Gato Gordo Perez mounted his horse for his daily ride, he had an uneasy feeling brewing in his mind. As head of El Corazón Negro, the black heart drug cartel, Gato Gordo (fat cat) had just twelve hours earlier, sent his son Tito, Pequeño Gato, (little cat) to Atlanta to make a major overdue collection. Being past due to the to El Corazón Negro was not taken lightly, so accompanying Little Cat on the trip was Cartel enforcer

José Perro Loco (Mad Dog) Ríos.

The waves were crashing on the black sand as Gato Gordo gently maneuvered his stallion into a slow gallop. Soon he would return to the business of the day, overseeing the sale and transport of over a million dollars a day of cocaine, weed and meth into the U.S. and Canada.

Nine AM in Playa, ten AM in Atlanta, time to call Little Cat and check on his progress. Tito had flown in the Cartel’s Lear Jet and landed sometime in the wee hours of the day to avoid a lot of people around the small private Gwinnett County airport. Tito, hola, how was your flight? Fat Cat asked. Perfecto, Papa, no problems, Tito answered, we are here and ready. Whatever you need, you get, let me know when you are done and on your way home, Fat Cat replied. Sí, Sí, Sí goodbye Papa, Little Cat answered.

The duo was on the way to pay a visit to Tequila Red their major distributor in the South. It seemed that the numbers on sales were not in line with those of supply. As they cruised down Ronald Reagan Parkway, Little Cat noted what a great President Reagan was. He believed in supply side economics and so do we. ‘Sí, Sí,, Mad Dog sputtered, we supply and if you don’t pay, we take your side! Now that’s funny," laughed Little Cat. But, all jokes aside, this was not to be a pleasant visit. Some $500,000 was unaccounted for and Tequila Red better have a great explanation or he could end up swimming with the fishes in Lake Lanier.

As they entered the gated community of Harbor Hills, they were both taken back by the size and number of McMansions lining the street. These are nice, but not like my Ranchero, Mad Dog, Tito stated with an air of superiority. No Señor, these gringos just pretend to live the good life, you live it. Mad Dog concluded. Pull into that drive and call him to open the gate and garage, Little Cat ordered. Mad Dog made the call and the gate swung open as the garage door began to lift as they drove toward the mansion. The garage door closed behind them and there standing in the doorway was Tequila Red. Welcome, welcome Buenos Dias to you my brothers, Red exclaimed. Little Cat and Mad Dog exited the Escalade and headed towards the door. Mi hermano, my brother, you call me, but you know why we are here, yes? questioned Little Cat. Sí, Sí, Sí, but all in due time, you see I can explain it all, no problemos, answered Red. Better be in short time rather than due, expressed Mad Dog, your time may be shorter than you think. Nervously, Tequila Red suggested that they all jump into the Escalade and head to the stash house. Off they headed with Tequila Red at the wheel. The silence was deafening, so to break the tension, Red started singing la cucaracha. You know we stomp cockroaches Red, cut the shit and drive, Mad dog interjected.

Back into silence they drove into this rundown neighborhood of once elegant homes. Foreclosure signs littered the yards of all but one home at which the trio arrived. Stay here while I check it out, directed Red. Leaving the two behind, he hurried into the house, raised the garage door and signaled Mad Dog to drive in. Once inside Little Cat did not like what he saw. Bales of marijuana lined the walls, while a kilo or more of cocaine was just sitting on the bar in the kitchen. Tu Madre! screamed Cat, I should kill her son right now!. Mad Dog stepped forward clutching his Uzi ready to spray Red any moment. Wait, wait, I can explain, Red begged, Just give me a chance. Then do it quick and now, Mad Dog challenged. Okay, okay, see I made a deal with a muchacho for all of it, but he could only pay a third down. Red continued, I have the $300,000 cash and will deliver the rest of it tonight. The money, show it to me now demanded Cat. Mad Dog followed Red into a bedroom, then into a walk-in closet. Sure, enough in a hole in the floor covered by carpet, was $300,000 in crisp new $100 bills secured in a briefcase. Now that is a start to keeping you alive, offered Mad Dog, but there is the little matter of another missing $500,000, that we are here about. What, what are you speaking of? Red blurted, I can account for all the monies.

As they walked back into the room where Cat stood impatiently waiting, Mad Dog allowed, Little Cat, he had this money and says he can explain where all the money went. You think we are here to play games with you, Red, exclaimed Cat, I should hoot you now and be done with you. Señor, por favor, please I beg of you, just come with me and I will show you all the records, Red pled. Silence fell in the room as a click from the safety on the Uzi filled the air. Red took a deep breath, sensing it could be his last and stared into Mad Dog’s steely blue eyes, searching for some sign of forgiveness. In the few moments that felt like hours, Little Cat had weighed his options and decided to let Red have a chance to prove himself. In a stern tone, Cat commanded Dog to back down, Deténgase ahora, stop now, let the cockroach live for another day. Mad Dog lowered the Uzi as he clicked the safety back on, then suggested the trio get moving as it was getting late. It was just after 2 AM as they loaded the money as well as the cocaine in another briefcase and climbed into the Cadillac. As they entered I-85 for what should be a short 10-minute ride, Red relaxed for the first time since the boss had arrived. Just one exit up on the Interstate, Red’s uneasiness returned, as he read a flashing sign in the median, Caution drug and alcohol check next exit". Red wheeled the big Caddy across three lanes of traffic, sensing some relief as they entered the exit ramp. That relief was short lived, as suddenly their world was ablaze with blue lights all around and heavily armed Sheriff’s deputies commanding them to stop and exit the vehicle.

Gato Gordo’s uneasy feeling from earlier in the day was to become an infuriating phone call in just hours.

Chapter Three

Billy sat eyes transfixed on the scene unfolding before him. He was so caught up in it, he momentarily forgot his perch was in the back of a sheriff’s van. As Buddy snorted in his ear, he could just not resist the moment. Nudging Buddy to consciousness with an exclamation of holy shit, Buddy wake-up, this is like watching a live cops on the big screen! What the hell are you talking about, and why am I in handcuffs and where in the hell are we? Buddy responded. We, dumb-ass are in the back of a sheriff’s van because my damn brother left a roach in the back seat, remember now? Billy questioned. As Buddy sat up, he caught his first glimpse of the take down process. Damn it man, just like cops, Buddy shouted, wish I had my cell phone! Yeah, whatever, Billy replied, I really think that is the least of our problems. As Billy concluded his thought, the three amigos under arrest were being led to the van. The deputies loaded all, slammed shut the gate, then the rear door and off they went to the Gwinnett County Jail.

The trio was arguing loudly in Spanish while Billy was curious about what and why. His smarter side decided silence was his best option. Not so for Buddy, now only two sheets in the wind, who uttered Mucho Baño my friends welcome to America. What did you just say gringo?, questioned Little Cat laughing, you tell us much bathrooms and welcome to America, you are too funny. Oh, Buddy said embarrassed that his less than masterful use of Spanish had insulted the new arrivals. "Sorry about that, I watch Dora the Explorer with my grandkids and guess I didn’t get to

much of that Spanish shit, Buddy conceded. Oh, Señor you are forgiven, we all seem to be in the same boat, so we will just be amigos tonight, "Little Cat offered.

As the van hurried along the side streets, turned and headed up highway 316, silence again filled the rear cabin. The van came to a quick stop and the men could hear the sound of a large door creaking open as the vehicle entered the sally port of the jail.

Seconds later the rear door swung open and there stood two of the largest men any of the occupants had ever seen. Holy Shit! Billy uttered under his breath. Mierda, echoed Mad Dog. The rear cage was opened and the men were ordered out, one at a time. Buddy who had slipped back into consciousness, was shaking and started to cry. Through his sobs, he muttered, Pam is going to kill me, I am a dead man. Might as well do it myself and get it over. Buddy’s bad luck was about to turn worse and it would all be because of his big mouth. The two giant deputies escorted the five into the booking section. As they entered, they saw a sign above their heads that read Welcome to the Gwinnett Detention Center. Billy looked up and thought, boy is that tongue in cheek.

Sergeant Wilson, the larger of the two deputies called out, these five are from our drug exit roadblock task force tonight. Book these four into detention, but this one, pointing at Buddy, He goes to Z-pod. Wilson snickered then replied, will do, good work, don’t you just love this job? Buddy suddenly realized that the this one in question was him and cried out now wait just a damn minute, I ain’t going anywhere without my friends here and… Bullshit, son, Wilson interrupted, you will do as I say, when I say it, got it? Wilson was not that tall and resembled a penguin in the way he walked and moved. Buddy found that humorous and unfortunately decided to offer his observance out loud. Dude, Buddy laughingly said, you could play the Penguin in the next Batman movie…Oh, damn, Shit! Buddy screamed as he hit the floor. Never been tased before Bro? Wilson sarcastically offered, ain’t much fun, huh? Keep your damn mouth shut or I will tase you again. Wilson then squawked into his radio, Transport got 4 for the holding cell, 1 for Z-pod, over. ‘No can do, Sarge, A husky woman’s voice replied, Z-pod is full right now, they will all have to go to holding, 10-4? ‘Yes, maam, answered Wilson, I’ll catch your 10-20 in a few, 10-4? ’10-4, see you then," came the reply.

In a few moments two deputies arrived wearing all black uniforms, donning caps that read CRT. They approached the men and addressed the Sergeant, Wilson are these the five for the holding cell? ‘They are and that one, pointing to Buddy, needs to be watched if you know what I mean. ‘Oh, un-hu, he’s the Z-pod transfer? the CRT officer asked. 10-4, Wilson replied as he walked away to greet two new arrivals. Gentlemen, on your feet, hands behind your backs and form one line, The CRT member ordered. How in the hell are we supposed to do this with these handcuffs on? Buddy exclaimed.

Haven’t you been tased once? the CRT officer queried. Hell yes, and you do not have to do it again! Buddy responded. Then do as you are told, when you are told, sir, The CRT officer explained. With that, all five fell in line and followed the CRT officers to a large glass encased room which was holding some 45 people already. The officer opened the door and instructed the five to enter, find a comfortable spot to sit and behave. There are phones in here to make collect calls only, so make your call, The CRT officer stated as he slammed the door behind them.

The smell of urine, puke and body odor was overwhelming. The five banded together and made their way through the throng of bodies, some standing, some sitting on a wooden bench, but the majority sitting or lying on the cold, bare concrete floor. Buddy plopped down in the first spot he could find. He gazed around at the sea of humanity and all the activity in play and pondered what in the hell he was going to say to Pam and more importantly what she would have to say to him.

Chapter Four

Mi Padre is going to kill you, Red, Little Cat spouted at Tequila Red. Oh, no Señor, I am going to kill him and slowly, Mad Dog chipped in. Amigos, this is not my fault, how can you want to kill me? questioned Red. Oh, but yes, yes this is all your problem, Red, if your numbers were not short , if you had sent the money, we would not be here right now, Little Cat replied. As if things were not bad enough, just at that moment, an old, gray haired black man raised up off the floor and began to puke all over Cat’s $700 shoes. Mierda, meirda, shit, look what you have done gringo! Cat directed at the man. But just as quick as he was finished unloading, he flopped back and passed out on the floor. Muerto, you are so dead, Mad Dog uttered through clinched teeth. Now you find a phone, call someone to get us out of here and do not use our names, comprendo, understand? Little Cat ordered. Sí, Sí, I will now, Red nervously answered.

Along the wall were four phones, two in use and one being blocked by a huge Hispanic man, who was leaning on it, asleep. The fourth phone had a note scribbled broke on it. Red made his way to the blocked phone and as he approached the sleeping giant, he said Señor, por favor, please I need to use the phone. Huh, como, what, callate, shut up and go away, was the man’s response. No, you don’t understand, soy parte de El Corazón Negro, comprendo? Red affirmed, now move, pronto, Señor! When the man heard the name El Corazón Negro, he needed not to hear anything else and quickly moved out of Red’s way Red proceeded to call his brother Azul (blue), to tell him of the big problem. ‘Hola, answered Azul, why are you calling me from jail, hermano? Long story and no time, I am here with our special guest… Red began, but was interrupted by Azul, Shit, no, no, no, hermano, you are a dead man walking. Enough of that, everyone wants me dead, Red replied, just make a call to Gato Gordo, pronto, and call our lawyer to get us out, adios. Red slammed the receiver back on the phone, causing all to glance his way. As he headed back towards his compadres, he wondered how Gato Gordo would react to the news, as an uneasy feeling of his days were numbered, swept over him. As he approached Mad Dog asked, Azul, he is getting it done, right? Sí, yes right now, Red answered. For your sake, I hope so, Dog replied, at least one member of your family can do a job right. A chill ran up Red’s spine, as he silently prayed his brother was making the call now and soon, they would be free.

Meanwhile, Billy and Buddy were doing rock, paper, scissors to see who would call Pam. Billy, this is all your fault anyway, you should have to call, chided Buddy, hell she’s going to kill me anyway, so, I guess I will make the call. Buddy eased himself off the concrete floor, carefully sidestepped the pile of puke just feet away and headed for the phones.

Pam was at home, frantic that Billy and Buddy had yet to arrive. She had called their cell phones and all their friends who had attended the party. No answers and no one had heard from them or know where they might be. The more she fretted, the madder she got, thinking that they were at some strip club finishing up the birthday with a lap dance or two.

As the phone rang, she was ready to unload. Hello! where in the hell… she was interrupted by a computer voice informing her she had a collect call from an inmate at the Gwinnett County Jail. To accept this call, press zero now. She quickly pressed zero, then began screaming, hello, hello. Buddy’s voice came on the line, Sweetie, you are not going to believe what happened. Damn it Buddy, I thought you were dead or worse, at a strip club, but you are alive and in jail? Pam confusingly replied. I can explain and it’s not my fault, Buddy quickly interjected, we were pulled over and they found a joint in the back seat, so here we are. Please come and get us out, now. Pam was now mad, but concerned and her first thought was to hell with them, let them cool their heels for the night and maybe learn a lesson. But she almost felt sorry for Buddy’s birthday to end like it had. Buddy, I’ll call Sam Goldstein, the attorney and see what he can do, Pam offered. I promise to be good the rest of the year, please just hurry, this place is hell, Buddy responded.

Meanwhile, hundreds of miles away, Gato Gordo was being called away from his lunch for a very urgent phone call from America. Hola, Gato stated to the caller. Señor, I am calling with some bad news, Azul began carefully crafting his words as he spoke, Our amigos had a problem and they are in the Gwinnett County Jail. Como? What? Meirda, what the hell happened? an extremely irritated Gato Gordo screamed. Señor I do not know the details, just that they are there. What would you have me do now? Azul replied. Call our attorney, pronto and get him on the problem, Santo Christo, your hermano is a dead man! Gato exclaimed, as he slammed down the phone. Azul realized it was all in his hands now and if he did not want to join his brother in a one-way trip to hell, he had better get to work on solving the problem.

Poor Buddy had just sat back down on the floor when the door opened and his new best friend, Sergeant Wilson, called his name and motioned him to head his way. What a way to end your birthday, he thought as he carefully made his way to the door. Wilson greeted him with come this way, I have a counselor who needs to speak to you now. Buddy thought that didn’t sound too bad and momentarily thought that maybe this was his way out. Had he only known how his drunken outburst were about to really ruin his day, he would have kept his loose lips tightly closed.

Mr. Rich, I am counselor Patel, how are you feeling right now? the tall, thin, light-skinned woman questioned, as she motioned Buddy to have a seat. Well, let’s see, I am in jail, I have a hang-over, I’ve been tased, I mean really what else could go wrong? Buddy resolved. He was about to get an answer to that question.

Chapter Five

Fat Cat angrily pushed away his remaining lunch, then preceded to scream at the top of his lungs for his eldest son El Tigre, the tiger. ‘Come now, pronto, your hermano is in trouble, he hollered towards the mansion. Tiger came running to find out what all the commotion was about. Si, padre, what has happened to Little Cat? Tiger quizzed. He has been arrested in Atlanta and we must get him out before they discover who he is. Fat Cat commanded, contact all our people in the Policía and our friends in Atlanta, we will need them all, Fat Cat continued, do whatever, spend whatever, but I want your brother here and Tequila Red taken out, slowly. Tiger, sensing his father’s anxiety, rushed to start the process. First call was to a high-ranking Colonel in the Mexican Policía drug task force, who was on the Cartel’s payroll. They spoke in code in case the American DEA was eavesdropping on the call. Tío, how is your day? Tiger offered upon the Colonel’s answer. The sun is in the clouds in Atlanta and before it rains, we need to take cover, Tiger concluded. Oh, the weather has turned bad there, I will call the weather bureau there to check on the forecast and get back to you soon, my nephew, said the Colonel, adios for now." The Colonel knew the sun had to be Little Cat and the clouds meant he was in trouble. The DEA had been monitoring the call as they saw the Colonel as dirty and were looking for any link they could find to the Cartel. This call, however just seemed to be about weather, so they just ignored the content.

The Colonel, using a land line in the office, placed a call to a compatriot in the Atlanta DEA task force inquiring about any arrest in the last 24 hours. To his shock, he was told that three Mexicans had been arrested at a roadblock overnight with drugs, money and guns. When he described how one was wearing an Armani suit and Gucci shoes, the Colonel knew Little Cat was in custody. The Colonel immediately called Tiger back and confirmed the weather forecast was correct. Tiger passed the information on to his father, then began making calls to try and get the situation resolved before his father lost his patience and took matters in his own hands.

The cell phone rang in Miami and El Crocodillo, the crocodile, known as ‘the Croc. He had earned his name from a bad encounter he had, trying to feed a drug informant to a croc on a farm outside Miami. Seems like the croc preferred the hand that trying to feed him over the informant and snapped off El Crocodillo’s hand and arm, clean to the elbow. Now the Croc was marked for life. Hola hermano, the Croc answered, how are things in my beautiful town? No time for chatter, Little Cat, I mean the sun is in the clouds and it is raining in Atlanta! stated Tiger. Oh mierda, responded Croc, I will get my crew ready to roll in a few hours. I will contact you when we arrive. Bien, good, my father sends his regards and will reward you for your loyalty," Tiger expressed as he hung up the phone. Tiger felt some relief that the process had at least been started, but he knew it would just be a matter of hours or days before I.C.E agents would try and interview his brother and the others. The family had been very careful to avoid getting Little Cat’s fingerprints on file anywhere, so Tiger felt like he might be able to slide by using an alias. But he wasn’t so confident for Mad Dog and the biggest liability of all Tequila Red.

Had he only known, that at the very same time the thought had crossed his mind, his brother and the other two were being led from the holding cell to the I.C.E. office inside the jail. Gonzales, Gonzales and Gonzales, let’s go, on your feet and follow me, The I.C.E. agent commanded. With that four men stood up until Mad Dog gave a threatening look to the fourth, who then immediately sat down. As they approached the door Mad Dog uttered, No habla inglés, no speak English. Just to try and throw the agents off their game. No problema, no problem, The agent replied, now vamanos, let’s go. The trio followed the agent towards a corner office that was bustling with activity. Siéntate, sit now, the agent instructed, pointing to chairs in front of his desk. Little Cat, Mad Dog and Red surveyed the situation, then eyed each other indicating to say nothing, then nodding in agreement. So, you don’t speak English, is that right? the agent queried of Mad Dog. No habla inglés, senor, Little Cat replied. Well then, do you understand English? The agent questioned. Si, un poco, a little bit, shot back Mad Dog. Sensing the three men were lying, continued in English, What are your full names? Jose Gonzales, Little Cat replied. Juan Gonzales, answered Mad Dog. Hector Gonzales, was Red’s response. So, you are all brothers? the agent asked. Sí, smirked Mad Dog. In the US legally? the agent put forth. Tequila Red had been through the process before and knew the less you say, the better off you are. No comprendo, no understand," Red said quickly. The agent detected this was bullshit, but having to follow protocol, he gave up on the questioning, then escorted them to be fingerprinted.

Meanwhile, Billy sat in the middle of the overcrowded holding cell trying not to inhale the stench, wondering how quickly he would be out of there. On the other hand, poor Buddy had become a victim of his bad luck syndrome, yet again. When asked, he admitted to the counselor that yes, he had uttered that he might as well just kill himself and get it over with. It’s going to be okay, Mr. Rich, I am going to get you the help you need, right now, the counselor told Buddy in a reassuring fashion. She got up walked over to a phone on the wall and after a brief conversation, walked back over to Buddy. Mr. Rich, shortly an officer is going to come to escort you to a safer place for your own protection, the counselor explained. Wow Buddy thought, I will finally be out of here any minute." A smile crossed his face, the first since the birthday party festivities has ended. He was feeling a sense of relief for the first time since the nightmare had begun.

In his mind, any minute now, his loving wife, Pam would appear and take him home. If he only knew how wrong he was.

Chapter Six

"Hello Mr.