Ghost Sniper

9

The next morning, Lazaro Serrano was eating breakfast on the patio behind his expansive home. A young woman in a green-and-red bikini swam in the pool, pushing around a Chihuahua on a small rubber raft. The little dog was barking at her and wagging its tail, and she was laughing and calling for Serrano to look. He smiled and waved and went on eating. He was fifty years old with a belly and thinning hair, bushy eyebrows, and a thick black mustache.

Oscar Martinez, his chief assistant and confidant, came onto the patio with the morning edition of El Universal and sat down across from Serrano; one of the servants had already set a place for him. He was a slender man in his midforties, with a head of thick, dark hair and a boyish face that easily shaved ten years off his age. “The body of the American DSS agent has been found,” he said, sipping from a porcelain coffee cup.

Serrano looked up from his breakfast with a measure of surprise. “So soon? What did those fools do with it?”

Oscar rubbed his hands together before reaching to put a spoonful of sugar into the coffee. “Well, it seems they did not do anything with it. The body was found in the same building where you last saw him, along with the bodies of six of Ruvalcaba’s people.” Hector Ruvalcaba was a powerful narcotics trafficker — a narcotraficante, also referred to as a narco. The year before, with Serrano’s help, Ruvalcaba had escaped from a maximum security prison via a three-quarter-mile-long tunnel dug from beyond the facility’s walls to directly beneath his cell. Serrano had since helped him take over the southern narcotics trade, leaving Antonio Castañeda as his only competitor. Castañeda controlled the North. “They were all killed by a grenade blast. It seems to have been accidental.”

Serrano went back to eating. “One of those idiots must have dropped it and blown them all up.” He shook his head in disgust. “Why am I surrounded by fools, Oscar? Tell me that.”

Oscar smiled and sipped his coffee. “I do not know.”

“You’re sure the American is dead?”

The younger man set the cup down on the saucer, wiping his mouth with a linen napkin. “Yes,” he said, clearing his throat. “His name was Chance Vaught, a US Army veteran.”

“Are you sure it’s the same man? The agent I saw on the floor was Hispanic.”

Oscar nodded confidently. “Yes, it’s him. His father is a gringo, but his mother is Mexican. They’re shipping the remains back to the United States this week.”

“Good,” Serrano said, taking a sip of freshly made orange-carrot juice. “We don’t need him stinking up Mexican soil.” He sat back with a smile and wiped his mouth. “Be sure to send my condolences to the Vaught family through the American Embassy. It’s important to maintain good relations with our neighbors.”

“I will,” Oscar said. “I’ve already sent them to the embassy itself. Should we expect problems concerning the three federal policemen that Vaught killed?” He tapped the edition of El Universal. “They’re on the front page today.”

Serrano shrugged, picking up his knife and fork. “That’s Captain Espinosa’s problem.” Espinosa was the Federale captain who had turned Vaught over to the detectives working for Ruvalcaba. “He’s got people inside the city police. He’s a true professional, that one, a man I can count on — like you.”

A thin smile spread across Oscar’s lips, and he wondered for perhaps the thousandth time what would happen if Serrano ever found out he was gay. I’d probably disappear too, he told himself, making a mental note to increase his vigilance.

“Will the project in Toluca still be going forward?” he asked. Serrano and Ruvalcaba had been trying to turn the town, located southwest of Mexico City, into a trafficking hub for the past six months.

“Yes, of course,” Serrano said, cutting off a piece of steak. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Well, I thought you might want to postpone it because of all that’s happened here.”

Serrano stabbed his fork into the piece of meat and pointed at Oscar with it. “I’ll tell you this, Oscar. That chief of police in Toluca is a brave man; a true Mexican with very large huevos, but he is another fool. Why can’t he see which way things are going in this country and go with them? Because I tell you this, my friend, sooner or later, those stupid gringos in the North are going to see there is no way to win this useless war. Then marijuana will become legal, and all of this” —he waved his free hand at the estancia—“all of this money, it goes away. This kind of business cannot last forever. So why doesn’t this policeman in Toluca accept Ruvalcaba’s offer now to secure himself a future? Why does he throw his life away so uselessly? I will tell you why: it is because he is a fool. A brave fool, but a fool.”

He poked the meat into his mouth and chewed as he spoke. “We all want a stronger Mexico. Me more than anyone. I am a true patriot; a man of my country. But this strength cannot come without money. And am I not generous with my money? Do I not give back to the people? This idiot policeman could do the same”—Serrano stabbed a finger against the side of his head in frustration—“but he is too stubborn to listen! No, this brave man, he is going to rebuild the country all by himself, like Pancho Villa reborn. Well, Pancho Villa was gunned down in the dirt like a dog, my friend, and this Toluca man is no better than him.”

“Lazaro!” the young woman called from the pool. “When are you coming to swim, my love?”

He smiled and held out his hands. “Later, mi amor!” He turned to look at Oscar. “Do you see? I am not even finished eating, and she wants me to go in swimming already. Like I have no other responsibilities besides swimming with a dog that pisses in my pool.” He shook his head and went back to cutting his steak. “Fools, Oscar. I am surrounded by fools.”