South Texas Never Raided

By Jings Chen

Bob Jackson, a young New York newsman, went to California with purpose to investigate a retired hit mans life story that led him an idea to go to El Paso ,Texas, for details of the hiding border truth; his fate put him into the net connecting drug cartels and law enforcement forces on the both sides of the United States and Mexican border down to Rosario, Argentina, where Sinoloa cartel from Mexico began to establish its new drug paradise with support of new raised local cartel Los Monos; a story tells you how an innocent newsman turned to be a DEA agent but when man makes plan, God used to make steps.
This is an imaginary tale that reflects the similar situation had affected the whole American earth for many decades and that just likes an invisible killer hiding inside the whole Pan American soil....
People lost their own liberty while money talks.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Partridge Publishing Singapore
• Release date: Apr 23, 2015
• ISBN: 9781482831337

Jings Chen

Jings Chen spent more than three decades on Pan America soil that covered his full youth up to middle age; his life fate allowed him to experience deeply American culture that just likes Rocky Mountain connecting Los Antes down to South America; it’s a single spine formed the beautiful land history since its birth up to now; He spent most importantly twenty-six years in Argentina, where he found his second love with Raquel Czertok in 1981 and began to struggle also enjoy their lives along the years up to April 2003; six years later Raquel passed away in Taipei due to a sudden illness. The author is currently living in Taipei with the memories of his late wife also their missing son Javiel Czertok Chen who disappeared during his uncertain birthday between ninth to thirteenth of the year 1983 under Argentine Dirty War(1976 to 1983) caused by military rulers also multishadowed power. The country is still messing in her lasting nasty habits while the tons of billions of foreign debt and new drug cartels war are going on killing her hopeless future; South Texas Never Rained is his fifth book.

Book preview

PART ONE

Chapter one

New York, July 2012

Bob Jackson arrived to Houston International Airport through a non stop flight from New York; it was 3 p.m. local time, then took a cab to go to Galveston County not very far from Houston area; the cab driver took highway No.10 first then ran to No.45 to get the old coastal seaport; July in summer was very staffing in Texas and it was Bob's first time to visit this old capital city of Republis of Texas during Reverlutionary era and now it's a tourism spot also runing shipping and financial bussinesses; an former Navy port now is located the medical school of Texas U.

Are you not a Texano? the fat cabbie asked.

No, I am a New Yorker. I am here to visit a person for our news magazine. Bob said.

A New York newsman?

Exactly.

Well, you will not let me guess where is your address to go?

Sure no, buddy,.. it's 145 George Washington Street.

Bob read it on his iPhone screen.

"Okay, you got it.'

The driver speedy the car for a couple of minutes after came down from the highway No 45.

Here we are, sir. the car stopped in front of an old country house.

Thanks, buddy. Bob paid the fare with tip then got off from the semi oil can.

Have a nice fucking stay, sir and welcome to Galveston.

Bob Jackson was a reporter from a not samll New York City gossiper macazine; a tall and slim young guy in his early thirties; the boss sent him to the South to interview the former notorious retired hit man Roberto Mancuso in order to publishing a first hand book concrning the former killer's life.

He was wearing a short sleeves botton down pale blue shirt, dark blue sungless, a pair of dark pants; his simple briefcase just carring main staffs for using along the trip..

An old lady in her later seventies came to aaswer the door after Bob had pressed the door bell several times.

Yes, sir. who are you, you are bothering my nap…?

Yes, madam. I am looking for Mr. Robert Mancuso.

Who are you? A cop?

No, madam. I am a journalist coming from New York City.

What do you want with that fucking gangster?

Are you his relative or something?

Shit, I am the new landlady of this property, that son of bitch sold his house to me. the old woman's tone was not very fine.

Well, madam, would you tell me where could I find him, it's important for me.

"Who knows where this sonofbitch had been gone? Well, let's me think…, he went to Santa Barbara, California..

Anyway, the farer the better, don't let him to shit our clean Texas." The woman was ready to close the door.

Thank you, madam. I appreciate that.

That's Okay, son, watch your ass with that old criminal.

Bob waved another cab heading to Houston Airport again in order to catch a flight to go to Sabta Barbara via L.A.

Chapter two

Santa Barbara is a Spanish style city, quiet, wild streets, not so tall buildings among the downtown, palm trees everywhere, nice cafe shops, hotels, different kinds of shops; Bob enjoyed the wonderful beach side scene, clean water with far distance colorful mountain view; it's really a vacation paradise along the west coast of California.

A cab drove Bob directly from the airport up to a small but nice downtown hotel; he planned to stay at least for a week or more in order to catch the time to chat with Robert Mancuso since he had a phone conversation with this retired fameous gangster a couple of days earlier.

It was a hot and sunny day in the middle of July, Bob got up near 9 a.m. and stepped down to the second floor dining room for breakfast; during the service, he asked the dark skinned Latino young waiter if he had knowledge of where is Robert Mancuso living?

Everybody knows, did you see that huge seaside residence hiding behind a dozen of palm trees, that's it. The waiter said with a smile.

Thanks young man.

It's in a watching distance, you could go on foot while enjoying the nice and sexy butts of Santa Barbara girls. he added.

Bob went back to his room upatairs and changed a set of light summer clothes after he set an appointment at 10 a.m. with the guy through phone call, Robert Mancuso answered his call personally; the eldly man's voice sounded kind, gentle and strong that got out of Bob's imagination.

Sabta Barbara's morning beach sun shine was warm and bright, the clean greenblue sea water floating peacefully on its way; several dozens women young and old had already laying on the beach side to enjoy the leisure and calm morning time.

Bob walked slowly heading to the mansion which was not very far away while he was enjoying half naked girls with hot and nice sexy sharp along the way; it was an open beauty show.

He arrived the mansion gate about 15 minutes later, a young guy in his black T-shirt and the same color short pants appeared from nowhere.

Looking for something, sir? the very tanned thin but strong guy as tall as six foot two neared Bob saying, his eyes looking as a couple of torches.

Yes, sir. I have an appointment with Mr. Robert Mancuso at 10 a,m, Bob said gently.

Oh, yes. Mr. Bob Jackson, this way please. the guard pressed a side button then the gate got opened immediately.

Please just go straight in and the doorman of the main building will show you the place. he added.

Thank you man. Bob paid a smile to the big guy.

The driveway connecting the gate and the building was about 50 meters, colorful flowers, palm trees and bushes decorated the both sides of the path.

Buenos dias, senor Jacson, welcome to the mansion. A thin and dark skinned young guy greeted Bob as soon as he arrived the gate of the building; the guy was wearing the same uniform as the front gate guard.

Please come with me. the guy carried somehow Jamaican West Indian accent.

Bob found himself sitting on the long sofa of a huge living room, it was ten minutes after his arriving, and he was expecting Mr. Robert Mancuso to present. He had viewed the celebrated gangster's mug shot on file and it was the moment to see his true face in real.

Good morning, Mr. Bob Jackson, welcome to my home. a strong and bright voice appeared around Bob's ears; He just woke up from his deep thoughts and met a very strong built guy standing just a foot distance in front of him, smiling, the person was looking so young and energetic; he didn't look like an old shit of 74 years old.

Bob hunrily got up to show his gentlemanship, Please just sit down, my house is your house. Robert Mancuso said with a gentle smile; he was wearing a light blue Polo T-shirt and a pair of very expersive white pants; his eyes were looking like a pair of gentle torches, smart but somehow still remaining a piece of killing frangance. Robet Macuso took seat just near Bob. A young maid neared at this moment to serve coffee.

Gracias senor Mancuso. Bob said in Spanish.

Oh…, can you speak Spanish? Mancuso asked.

Just a little, I learned from my Mom, she is from Spain.

That's interesting, is she from Sicily?

No, her family was from Madrid.

Are you a Sisiliano? Mr. Mancuso. Bob asked with a little courage.

Of course, as you know, most of the Italian mafiosos are or were from Siciliy; therefore we called Cosas Nostras that means our things and non of your business. Mancuso said with a pride.

Young man, since you came from such a long way to find me, I suppose what you want is to know my life story, is that true.

Honestly to say, I do.

Well, as a retired guy, I have a lot of time to chat with you; but don't be scare, young amn, I will not kill anybody more.

"You don't look as your age.'

Sure, I don't, you know, this year I am 72 and I just married a young girl of 34 a couple of years ago.

She is hot and I am still strong, you know. Mancuso made a high laugher.

Bob smiled too.

Well, since your are here, son, just stay in my home for a couple of weeks and be my guest; you know, no any retired gangster is poor.

Bob relaxed little by little after short chat with this former monster.

Now, come, boy, just follow me to the swimming pool in the back yard where we could talk quietly and confortably. Mancuso got up and led Bob heading to the rear side.

It was a 25 meters by 15 meters about swimming pool with bushes and palm trees around; a coupl of young girls were playing into the green water pool.

Mancuso invited Bob to sit with him on the beach seat by a small round table under a colorful parasol embrella.

Did you have your breakfast, Bob?

Yes I did, sir.

Do you like wine, juices or any kind of alcoholic drink?

Just as you say, no problem, sir.

Oh.., that's good, I like you.

Jorge…! Traime algo para beber y para el senor tambien.

Mancuso shouted to somebody nearby.

Si, senor, ya voy.

Do you speak Spanish too?

Yes, I do, you know, in here California, a lot of Latino workers are fucking around, so sometimes, Spanish is more important than English, you know.

A guy named as Jorge came with a TV tray and served differnt kind of drinks; he put everything on the table respectfully then left silently, a Mexican like fat and not tall young man. Well, Mr. Bob Jackson, help yourself then let's begin, just ask me what you want to know about me… Mancuso took a small bottle of California beer OSCURA and begin to suck.

Okay, sir, tell me something about your youth… Bob made his first question.

Just call me Robbie, Okay, that will let me feeling better, I like friendship, you know, especially when one is getting old.

Robert said and put himself more confortably on the chair.

Okay, Robbie, tell me something during your teens?

Okay, that's my boy, well; let's back to those wonderful years 50s …. Mancuso narrowed his eyes and began to count….

Chapter three

I was born in the year 1940, it was an old time for you, young man and it seems like a very long time for you, but for me it was just feeling as yeaterday; oh.., year 1940, it was the time just during the World War II and we just moved from Florida to Chicago because my Dad had called by a distant cursin to go to Chicago for runing business; therefore I spent my years in childhood also comeing into adultship; in the years 1960, I had already been working in my father's raustrant which was located in middle town of Chicago for many years after dropped out from my high school, I was not a good student but a good street fighter, I was tall and big, strong enough and little by little I form a small gong for myself, the members were mostly Italians while my Dad began to install a back room club in the back yard of the restaurant after hours and we paid monthly for the regional cops; besides my Dad was runing loan shark business at the same time also my Mom who was runing a small part time whore house five blocks away; all the things we Sicilianos liked to do. My first job for my Dad's night club was the front door bodyguard, who was messing in the club I beat them up or who had no momey to pay with my helpers; as I remember, my father never lacked money after he moved to Chicago; while my small young gong also were making not big profit for ourselves; the most jobs we did were debt collecting, that was funny for those young time among our young guys. besides, my parents told us a lot of mafia philosophy that helped a lot for my later professional live.

I remebered that my Dad told me and my cursin that the most real trade is money business but real money in hand no matter how did you get it.

He bought another cafe shop not a very long while later also running a back-room club that was the real and quick money coming out after the hour, I mean from 10 p.m. to 1 a.m or later, of course district cops came to collect their weekly envelop that could seal their chiefs and their mouths.

I knew tham very well since I did my business with my small gone to collect protection fee for some small and poor shops, first we broken their shopping window during the night and afterwards we sent our guys to talk with them; we showed them gun points and they accepted our deal; well we didn't charge too much; but for dozons shops in the districts, it was not bad money for us.

Besides, everynight in my Dad's back room club I intended to combate with any jerk without reason, drunkers or anyone who touched the whores's butts out of rules; I beat them up, that was taught by my Dad's mafioso technology, courage, that was the most important we needed to have.

When I was yopung I never thought about anything wrong I did, but up to now as an old guy, sometimes I made recall over my past life, something I read about so called juvenile mental disorder, that was the insane illness I carried; I was as tall as six foot one and near 200 pounds. I felt so big and strong to beat anyguy up; that was my "courage' as my Dad taught me.

My Dad also did loan shark business that let him made a big money at the time; well as you know, at that time back room club also was doing gambling game and after hour hooker's business; of course, cops used to make random raid over our two clubs; I did double business, that meant, on one side, I charged tips from cops and on the other side I made money from my Dad's pocket: I informed previously both cops and my Dad about the correct time of the raid; well. the cops received my Dad's envelop and I also got tips from the cops for being the informant; as a rule, mafioso guys no need to have any feeling but money, bloody or dirty; Maybe I was a natural born good mafioso.

I got my driver's license at age of 16 then my Dad bought me a second hand red sports car, it was almost new, then I could ride my girlfriend Cindy everywhere during the weekend, but she didn't turn to be my wife and moved to California with her family a few months later; you know when I rode my baby I used to carrying a gun putting in the front box of my car that .22 was a gift of my Dad since he had a lot of guns and he used to carry a gun while he collected a lot of cash from our three shops after the hours and that caused my first arrest by Chicago cop for inlegally carrying an unregistered firarm, but that only was a small state not a federal offense. My Dad paid bail then I got free for the case.

My Dad tought that for being a good mafioso should always remember the route who has been and always ready to save oneself; cops used to be a piece of shit but you shouldn't lose your head and at that time so called back-room club could arrived a lot of big mafioso shot and one should study every chief's characters in order later to buy them or remove them; becuase in Cosas Noctra business, there is no friendship, no feeling benifit and blood; you have to be always the first to fire or to kill.

My Dad's was not a big mafioso but a very good Siciliano. Because cops and the Court's persecutions that bothered too much my life therefore my Dad managed to send me to the down south, Florida where we still own an old Cafe near Miami beach; my Dad gave me a mission to re-run that Cafe and told me the back-room club would be important for the night business and he gave me a lot of fund too. So I took my first flight to go to Miami beach and started the business; I visited several my Dady's old partners they were all small gangsters but they could show me some innitial skills and clue to begin the business; I enpolyeed a group of young bad boys and gave them few hours lessons then they began to obey me to follow my orders to do this and since I was big and strong and also had a monster's face, they all scared me; After a few months runing, the local cops came to receive the monthly envelop and many mafiosos big or small were all turned to be my clientes and I also met a couple of celebrated big bosses who came to my shop by chance and they seemed like my way and brought me to Hawana, Cuba for looking around and after my back, I learnt to run a small sized Casino in my place; you know, drugs, whores, bootleggers were all involving into the business; some big bosses began to call me as Robiecito, it was a way to encourage me as a good young mafioso.

Are you tired? Mr.Bob Jackson. Mancuso stopped a little saying.

No sir, but I would like to go back my hotel to rewrite a script and send it back to New York. Bob said.

No problem, son, just do as you like, I don't need your money; I've got enough along my life; You could live here if you like, besides, you could choose anygirl who are swimming along the pool but remember don't touch my wife, Ha…ha…

I am a married man, sir. Bob said in a serious way.

Don't be stupid, young man, in the U.S., any couple could sleep with another guy separately if they were traveling outside 200 miles far from their home; it's an unwritten rule, yes.

Thabk you, sir, you know I will fell more comfortable writing in my hotel….

Okay, I understand that, just come every day whenever you like, if you meet I will be in my nap or something, just go to the upper room over there for a rest, do what you want there it's your office…; Well, I am getting a little tired, I neede a nap; you may go back to your place and tonight come at 6 p.m., I invite you for dinner and after that we go on talking…

Mancuso gave Bob his hand and the young guy understood then got up quickly to leave.

Chapter four

Bob Jackson went back to his hotel room and began to write the story according his cellphone recording during the time he had conversation with Robert Mancuso and he added some literature modifications; it has to be presented on the magazine looking like a crime story, a firsthand materials coming out of the former hit man's mouth liked a confession; that was what his boss wanted him to achieve.

Santa Barbara is a place for escaping summer hotness also East coast noiseness; recently a lot of dead gossips made as New York Times best sellers including one former man whore's confession also an old former hooker who discovered her adventure how she did many times blow-jobs for a former president in the very early 60s; believe them or not, sometimes maybe they were all invented imaginations or empty bullshits; but people used to love such kind of shits; people used to be a kind of stupid animal, how amny holes God created for a human body then such an animal intending to invent different ways of sexual acts, we have got oral sex, asshole sex, breast sex, vagina sex and hand masturbation with or without tools; we couldn't have ear sex or nose sex because God didn't allow us to have a longer ear tube or bigger nose holes; otherwise much more gossips would be on front pages for riches and people under spotlight….

Bob finished his first part of writing then went to the bathroom for a shower and afterwards, a cup of hot coffee. He needed to go back to meet Mancuso's 8 p.m. dinner appointment; anyway this old former killer let him feel as a kind grandpa nothing looking like an old gangster.

Bob went back to Mancuso's mansion the same evening and the old man had asked the maid to prepare the food and wine on a small dinning table just for himself and Bob in a very private manner; outside of the dinning room window they could enjoy the night view of Santa Barbara beach; the old man served personally for Bob a glass of red wine; Bob paid attention his wrist was wearing a diamond dressed Relax and several jewelry rings on his fingers.

This is our traditional Italian steak, very smoky and delicious, please enjoy it. Mancuso said that while he started to sip his wine.

Thank you sir. saying that, Bob also started to eat the food.

Would you tell me sir, your experience of killing the first people? Bob made his first question after about ten minutes they had started the food.

Umm…, good question, you let me return to my best youth, it was in the year 1963, well the same year of JFK's fall I suppose.

You know, in Chicago, Irish and Italian crime organizations used to fight for urban distract; My Dad was nothing important in any syndicate and he also told me, look son, along this career never try to be any chief, big or small and keeping working like that you could get always a good life and cash; well, once the syndicate needed two hit man to kill a couple of Irish guys, they were two of middle level chiefs of course; then I was chosen as a hit man to fulfill the mission, because I was big, young, strong, also because I was looking somehow a guy with confidence; My Daddy said yes and my partner who was also a Siciliano, a son of my father's friend, but he was nothing handsome, not tall, fat, not straight nose, a pair of stupid eyes, but strong enough; we both were chosen to kill that chief and his helper at that very night in a club like restaurant in south Chicago; we both were arranged for being pretending as a couple of waiters for the dinner since we paid the chief cook previously; when we had presented for the first time in the salon, the Irish guard register us for being sure we were clean; after that we began to serve food and in the middle time of the dinner we both appeared with arms on the trays; I hit one shot right to the head of the chief and he died instantly, my partner, I used to call him COTO began to shoot the chief's helper several times; then we ran away after the guys were laying on their blood pools; The syndicate managed us to run to South Texas for several months later we went down to Florida again then we back to Chicago; well, the cops and judges were all received envelopes; otherwise things wouldn't get so easy and after that the insiders began to know me as a not bad young hit man.

What did you feel when you killed the first person?

Nothing, just like to hit a piece of stone against the wall, that's it. Robbie said.

You know, in the year 60s, South Chicago's crime war was just looking like on your face; in that time, war was open and often, it was just a way of doing, it was mafia's life; you had got to get used if you wanted to be a member of mafia, that was so. Mancuso added.

You want some more wine? Son. Roberi asked.

Okay, some more but with soda. the young journalistgot really interesting in the story.

What were the main crimes you guys did at that old 60s?

Well, as you know, most traditionally, gun running, underground lottery, racketeering, briebery, loansharking, drug trafficking, murder, illegal gambling as I told you, the back- room business and many others; with labor syndicate, to make fraud, to do money laundering; well anything with money, you know, mafia used to work with money, no money, no crime. That was our life…

And in wine Probibition era what did you do with Irish gongs?

No, no, no…, in that quetion, we both just strugglered for our own people; it was just district war; but you know, son, that kind of the money in that time was so sweet, the cash you got was better to rob a bank, you know…; it was just like today's drugs.

But you know, whenever a mafia boss dead, the guy's funeral used to present both sides bosses, friend or emeny, Congressmen, big shots, police commisioners and local politicians; so you know, what was the society in then…. Mancuso said.

Today is more or less the same but not so openly, yes…

Bob said.

As I know Chicago syndicate was called Chicago Outfit as Boston mafia was called as In Town? Is that right?

Not before, now they are still called as the same name.

And Chicago mafia used to control the whole nation, I mean, cross the U.S?.

Well, like anything, it's the head of the U.S. mafia world.

Well, when you began to settle down in Chicago?

As a matter of fact, as my age of 18, I had made my mind to create my business in Chicago to be a good mafioso, butI never imaged that I turned out to be a famous hit man; it was a kind of sense for being a tool to kill anybody the person paid me to do that.

if you forget my word, you used to be a murderer to hire?

The expression is not so nice, but I don't find you used a wrong word.

Did you kill a lot of persons, Mr, Mancuso?

I lost my account, the list in Court was just a part of the long list I did.

"Have you been in jail? sir.'

"Of course, not only once but many many times.'

Why justice didn't send you to death?

Because they never found correct evidences.

Well, let's change the subject, let's go back to your youth; tell me something more about the year 60s.

Well, once I met an old gangster who's name was Franco, he told me that whenever you are going to kill a person, you need to have a reason and just think you are going to fulfill a professional job and you should charge money for doing that, that was a rule as a right hit man.

And he also taught me that we mafia guys are not politicians, we are belonging of underground world; everything to do we usedto carry a reason or a price; we just follow our rules and we try not to betray our rules. Mancuso added.

I tell you the truth, we hit man only kill men never women, you understand?

Is that one of your rules?

Yes, young man.

But govwernment guys or intellgence guys couldn't do that, they used to betray themselves also betray others. That's the difference between black and white.

Well, Mr. Mancuso, you were 22 years old in the year 1962, right?

Exactly.

Did you hear some rumers about JFK?

Well, just take it as a gossip and please don't write on your book, it was just a rumer; you know truth or false, nobody knows.

As I heard at that time, the old man of JFK involved in liquor smuggling with organized crime during Prohibition era and his son shared the same lover with the former mafia boss, well I don't want to mention his name, everybody knew that; that caused his son almost lost innitial election with Nixson in Illinois State; that was a piece of interesting past since up to now the whole world still wondering the JFK case; well nothing will be put into public even up to the year 3000, because tons of secrets in the history had already buried in the past; it's also an universal rule, young man. Mancuso said.

Did you run prostitution business inside your back-room club in 60s?

As you know, we run any kind of business after hours, well, for me, a waitress, a singer or a dancer who was working during the night all could be a prostitute by chance; it was an easy money; And I used to have sex with them and I always gave them a lot of cash; so did I answer your question?

Yes, Sir. Absolutely.

You know, you could call our Italian a white guy also a dark guy, because actually our race is not so white neither so dark; so we are not raceist for any kind of race; my club then had white musicians also black muscians or singers or magicians even hookers; therefore at that 60s, our club was very welcome for every places; well, anyway, it was in Chicago south; Besides, we owned appartments up stairs, many dancers, singers rent their room upstairs as well so they did business after the hours there too.

Did your club selling drugs too?

Well, in 60s, most popular drug was marijuana and we began to sell it around 1962.

And was it a good business?

Sure thing, especially night time workers, I mean singers, artists, or anyone who needed it were all our clients; as you know the market was not only in Chicago but across the nation.

For example, in that time, your guys journalist were not good shit; I tell you a story, once one of our Itlian mobsters killed an Irish Mafioso without evidence, then a reporter put in news saying that the murderer might be from Irish part since we paid journalist and cops well. Mancuso said.

"Another example, a loanshark runner was called Williams who rent 15,000 for one of our Italian jerk Cosolli and Cosolli got no money to pay him back; so our journalist wrote on the paper as a rumer saying that Willian was sleeping with Cosolli's wife, then Cosolli went directly to William's shop and stabbed William to death and ran away to Colorado but he went to jail at the end but