Ernesto Juarez

By Robert Reynolds

Ernesto Juarez's barrio is a haven for discarding the dead.  His only option for the safety of his family is to flee north of the border and establish a new life.  But for now, he must go alone. While making his way across the bleak Mexican desert he encounters a young woman on the run from merciless killers. Together they must escape to the border. Human traffickers, drug smugglers, cultish cartels, and relentless killers raise the ante on whether he will live or die. The story of ERNESTO JUAREZ is a fast-paced thrill ride that will keep you flipping pages faster than Ernesto can flee his deadly pursuers.  

• Language: English
• Publisher: Robert Reynolds
• Release date: Oct 7, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201382575

Robert Reynolds

Based in Calgary, Robert is an emerging author who spends his days working in the oil and gas industry but has been a big fan of the spy thriller genre ever since his childhood when he read one of his grandfather's original James Bond paperbacks from the late 50's. He is married with a young daughter and when he's not day dreaming about dangerous adventures in exotic locales he enjoys running and other outdoor pursuits.

Book preview

ERNESTO JUAREZ

By simple Definition:

COYOTE: a wild dog resembling the wolf.

Coyote (North American Slang): a person who smuggles Latin Americans across the US border, typically for a high fee.

Santa Muerte:  Our Lady of the Holy Death: a cult image in Mexican neo-paganism. A personification of death.  Santa Muerte is popular among criminals, drug lords, and society’s fringe element, the poor and working-class, and some Catholics, (although condemned by many in the Church).  One expert says of her, She’s basically the poster girl of narco-satanic spirituality.

Chapter 1

ERNESTO JUAREZ PAUSED to scan the high desert, squinting into the bright sunlight.  A smoky gray silhouette of the Marathon Mountains range loped along in the morning haze.  Ernesto hoped to make the border by nightfall, but it was a longer trek than he had expected.  The sun was up and the day was becoming a scorcher sooner than he wished. But for the moment, a breeze whisked along the desert floor and the air was still tolerable. 

He had trudged on well into the night guided by starlight, but the night had begun to chill.  At last he had found a boulder that still held some of the day’s warmth and lay down and slept. 

Clouds had formed over the far off mountains as the night drew on, but as the sky began to lighten, the sun burst forth in fiery orange streaks beneath the soft underbellies of the clouds. 

It’s a beautiful day you awake to, Ernesto; a day full of colors.  You are fortunate indeed for what this day will bring, he said aloud after waking.  He enjoyed hearing the sound of his voice now that he was alone and had so far to travel. 

THE WEEK BEFORE HE left for the North a headless torso, the young victim of a cult, a gang, a cartel, human-traffickers, or simply a random slaying, was found in an alley mere blocks from where Ernesto Juarez raised his family. Such occurrences were common. 

Ernesto, too, had been reckless in his youth, careless, stupid, and had run with gangs.  He had stolen from those as poor as he, bullied those who were weaker, and lied to those who were naïve.  In time he had outgrown his foolish ways, but wicked happenings still occurred. Perhaps the evil Ernesto now saw around him was retribution for the foolish life he had led.

The morning of the macabre discovery Ernesto had noticed a crowd gathering down the block.  Soon vehicles of the Federales arrived and after some time a body was removed.  It was only later that he learned of the decapitation and told Isabella, his loving wife.

This is no place for ninos, Isabella worried.  I hear gunshots nightly and I am afraid that one day it will be out children who we grieve for.

Crispin, the eldest, came running in excitedly.  He had been down the street to see what the commotion was.

Did you hear..?

I do not wish to know of such wickedness, his mother said.  And I do not want you to see such things.  Leave your papa and me to talk and do not go there again.

But mama...

I fear it is time for us to leave this cursed place, Ernesto said after the boy left.

You are a hard worker and you are honest.  Cousin Francisco has begged you many times to come north.  He has promised you work.

I worry to leave you alone.

We are getting older and soon it will be too late.  We will have no choice but to stay.

The Federales finished up their work with the headless body and helped load it into an ambulance.  The vehicles pulled away from the alley with the ambulance driving off in the opposite direction.  The police came slowly up past Ernesto’s home, the patrol cars threading their way through the gathering of onlookers.  It was simply another killing that would go unsolved.

We cannot stay here, Ernesto.  Too much violence comes to our barrio. 

Ernesto thought before he spoke.

I will phone Francisco and tell him I have decided.  You are right, my Isabella.  Our lives will be better across the border.

The morning of his leaving Ernesto took Isabella in his arms and said, Te amo.  I shall send for you soon. 

SOMETHING SMALL HAD come past him as he slept during the night leaving a trail in the sand.  The tiny prints led into a clump of scrub brush, purple sage, and disappeared.  It was most likely a lizard of some sort.  He had seen many along the way, so many that he spoke to them now as friends. 

Lead me safely for we are abandoned in this wilderness.  We are loyal amigos of two legs and four.  He laughed at such foolishness, but it helped pass the time. 

Overhead, birds of prey glided silently through the morning making long sweeping patterns against the blue of the sky and white of the clouds.  Ernesto moved, and whatever had made the tiny prints skittered deeper under the cover of the scraggily brush. 

Why do you hide from me little pest?  I am a simple old man who means you no harm, Ernesto mused.  He chuckled at the little joke he’d made.  He was alone and only the imaginary company of the amphibian gave him comfort.

He tipped his water jug to his lips, took a small swig, sloshed the tepid liquid around in his mouth and then swallowed.

It is better than any tequila I have tasted, he thought.  Perhaps it is better than any water I have tasted, too.

By then the sun had risen high enough so that it fanned over him and the morning chill begun to fade.  A stick in the sand cast a shadow giving him the time of the day.  He stretched the kinks out of his joints, arose and set off again on his way toward the invisible river. 

About midmorning a swarm of brilliantly hued orange and black paper-thin wings fluttered past, Monarch butterflies by the thousands migrating to the fir forests of Mexico’s Central Highlands.  He paused to admire the spectacle and a pair of them lit on his shoulder, resting before continuing their journey.  The sight inspired him for his journey was challenging, too.  He was certain a time would come when he’d a shoulder, too.

Then the swarm was past except for the idlers that lagged behind, flitting delicately on the morning air. Soon, they were gone, too, and Ernesto took up his march again toward the distant river.

The butterflies remained in his thoughts for a long time.  He had heard of such migrations, but had never witnessed such natural beauty.  He had not expected such a delightful diversion from the grueling trek and before he realized it, he had covered a great distance.  It made him happy.

ELENA SANCHEZ HAD BEGUN to worry that she had made a very grave mistake.  She had come up from Chiapas near the border with Guatemala, with a group of