Curious_Muse
Really Experienced
- Joined
- Oct 23, 2016
- Posts
- 168
I am still looking for a co-writer for this thread. Please PM if you're interested. x
Matthew Ricci walked into the prosecutor’s office without knocking, waving a folder triumphantly. “We are getting so close that the bastard will start to feel our breath down his neck. A few more days, and this case will be so watertight that we can cross the Gulf in it, Emily.”
Emily raised one eyebrow and stretched behind her desk. “I think you might be right. Our two colleagues from across the border seem to agree with you, anyway.”
Only in her late twenties, Emily Perez was the youngest member of their small task force, and certainly the youngest prosecutor ever to go after a fish as big as this one. Few people would have guessed that Emily, with her slim, petite build and the dark curls framing her face, was the woman to take on one of the most violent drug cartels the border region had recently brought forth. The cops she worked with tended to call her “doll”, and “darlin’.” But appearances could be deceiving.
Her eyes wandered to the clippings and photographs pinned to the wall. Her gaze swept across the pictures of gruesomely murdered bodies, of stacks of cocaine, meth and marijuana, of women, bruised and bloodied, staring blankly into the camera. Clippings of newspaper articles littered the wall, next to graphs indicating stocks and sales figures.
Drugs, murders, money laundering and raging corruption had turned up on her desk in regular, but frustratingly disjointed intervals. It had been like trying to pin down puddles of oil with her bare hands, with cases separating into petty crimes and single murders when Emily knew that they all led back to one man. Now, all the puzzle pieces had started to neatly fall into place. The lines, drawn with a black marker across the board to link murders, shipments, bank accounts, companies and photographs to each other, were finally all connected to form a satisfyingly coherent network of crime and vice.
An informant had come forward to provide her with the necessary lead to tighten the noose around the neck of Jacinto Garza. To civilians he was known as the head of an international conglomerate of banks and financial businesses, a darling patron of the arts and celebrated philanthropist. To the more investigative-minded he was “The Scorpion”, the head of one of the most powerful drug cartels currently dominating the market. Emily contemplated the picture in the center of the wall, showing a young man weaving his way through a festive crowd, a beautiful woman on his arm. It had been the opening of the new design museum in the city, a jewel in the crown of the local art scene. Garza had donated several million dollars to the foundation running the museum. That night, as always, he had looked the part, sporting the casual chic of a tech business tycoon combined with the class and taste of a rich bohemian. Without noticing, Emily’s lips curled in disgust. The local elites were all at his feet, admiring him like a rock star while he terrorized those less fortunate, both materially and geographically.
Next to him on the picture, half-hidden in the shadow, stood a man dressed casually in jeans and a T-shirt, a suit jacket slung across his tattooed arm. Emily knew better than to be misled by the smile of Garza’s right-hand man. She had come across too many mutilated bodies to still fall for his boyish charm, though Texan high society still nurtured a soft spot for the man she knew to be a cold-blooded killer.
Then she pointed at the woman next to Garza. “With the new documents and the other material our informant can provide, we get all three of them in one sweep.” Matthew stood next to her, eyes fixed on the young woman on the crime lord’s arm. He whistled in appreciation. “She’s one smoking hot broad. That bastard sure knows how to pick them.”
The prosecutor threw him a disbelieving glance. “They call her ‘The Viper’. Some people say she likes to cut out the hearts of traitors to make them eat it before she kills them.” Her colleague raised an eyebrow, trying not to look sheepish. “Well, nobody’s perfect, eh? At least she knows how to rock a pair of high heels while doing that.”
Emily rolled her eyes. “You are a walking cliché of a male cop, Matt.” He grinned. “All I’m saying is that criminals should not look this good.” He joined her in front of the wall, looking at the photograph of Garza and his two companions. “I mean, this looks like a fucking page out of a bloody modelling catalogue,” he mused. “Juries don’t like to put rich, pretty people away for life.”
“Don’t worry. Blood and dirt stick, even to the pretty ones. After we are through with them that is all the jury will be able to see. Once this case file is complete, Garza is done, and this strip of the border will be a little safer again.”
Matt smiled. He admired the idealism and backbone of his younger colleague, and hoped that some of it would rub off on him. It was not easy. After a slump of a few, complacent years, murder rates had gone through the roof again. Corruption had eaten through the ranks of law enforcement, reaching levels that the local authorities could no longer ignore. Impunity was rampant, leading to a level of violence that first provoked, later only mocked what was left of law and order in the border region. Elections were coming up in both countries, and the authorities needed to be seen fighting the increasingly violent waves of drug trafficking crimes, at least until the votes were cast.
A small task force of detectives and police officers from both side of the border had been working for months to bring down The Scorpion. Matt knew that a few local politicians and officers had at first balked at going after Garza and his business empire. When they realized that Emily Perez was not to be deterred, a few had quietly backed away from the investigation. First there had been threats, then bodies started to turn up: informants, Juarez cops, a couple of snitches. The attempts to intimidate her only made the young prosecutor go after the man harder. So far Garza had not yet attempted to reach across the border, but Emily now had protective detail, her El Paso apartment was under constant surveillance.
Matt looked at the dark-haired woman bent over a pile of documents, his chest suddenly aching with worry and affection. He realized how little he actually knew about his colleague. Once, over a couple too many beers, she had told him about what had happened to her sister, what the drugs had done to her family. For Emily, this shit was personal. He hoped that the mobsters simply did not take her efforts seriously enough. They would not be the first ones to make that mistake.
“Why don’t you join us for a drink down at The Grashopper? It’ll provide some distraction and will get you out of this office for a few hours.” She looked up and frowned as if he had made her an inappropriate offer. Tucking a curl back behind her ear, she shook her head. “Go on without me,” she said distractedly. “I’m supposed to meet the Juarez detective and our informant later, and I’d rather be sober when I do. My regards to Erica, and happy birthday to her!”
Matt sighed while putting on his coat, muttering: “It’s her good-bye party. You really need to get a life outside this case, sweetheart.” But Emily did not hear him. Chewing on the end of her pen, she studied the text in front of her, waiting for her telephone to ring.
***
Eva looked at her watch. It was almost time.
In only a couple of hours she would be sitting next to Gabriel Mendez who would drive her across the Bridge of the Americas into El Paso, where some friendly DEA officer would hand her a shiny new ID and take her into protective custody. Then she would hand them the memory stick that contained all the files the prosecutor had asked her for, the last pieces of evidence that would put Jacinto Garza and his associates away for several consecutive life sentences in an US high security prison. The evidence she had handed over to the Juarez cop, the idealist Gabriel Mendez and his DEA teammates in El Paso was going to play a crucial role in The Scorpion’s downfall, and Eva did not want to be anywhere near Juarez when the shit would finally hit the fan.
When she looked up, Garza raised a glass in her direction, smiling. Eva smiled back, hoping that it would look genuine. She was wearing the expensive black designer dress that outlined her curves without making her look slutty and accentuated her stunning legs. Garza had bought it for her. He liked to show her off at parties like these, when business partners and fellow narcos could throw admiring glances her way, knowing that they were allowed to look, but not touch, and that anyone who overstepped would lose at least one crucial body part.
Eva Ferentes had met Jacinto Garza a few years ago at, how very cliché, a local beauty pageant, and he had taken an instant liking to her. She had grown up in a middle class Mexico City family, a stunning beauty with aspirations to study law in the US, but then Garza had happened, and things turned out different as planned, as they usually do.
Then still a virgin she had allowed him to court, and then fuck her, and Garza had made sure that she understood that she was now his woman, and allowed only his right-hand lieutenant to fuck her as well. Not even the Viper had any rights over Eva, a rare privilege. Garza had no taste for a monogamous relationship, but he made sure that women he fucked on a regular basis lacked nothing, as long as they played by the rules. And the rules were simple: don’t piss off the patrón.
When all of this shit was over, people would probably wonder why she had bitten the hand that had lovingly fed her so ferociously.
She lived in a beautiful penthouse, owned a car and had enough pocket money to buy all the designer shit in the glossy magazines she spent hours leafing through. She had enough time for shopping, spa treatments, work-outs, socializing and some charity activities. All she needed to do in return was to look stunning on Garza’s arm or that of his associate when required and fuck either of them, or both, with enthusiasm when they felt like it. Why then had she agreed to turn snitch when Mendez had approached her? Sure, he had threatened her a bit, tried to go all hardball cop on her, told her that if she would not cooperate he would make sure that she would be put away. But she could have easily have had any of Garza’s foot soldiers take care of him and return to her insouciant narco life. Instead, she became a DEA informant and they promised her protection and a life in the US. Eva had even started to fantasize about a small house somewhere boring, about getting a husband, a few kids, maybe even a job.
The truth was that she wanted out. She wanted out before Garza and his narco friends tired of her – they always did eventually. She wanted out before they realized that she knew too much to let her simply fade out of their circle, that she seen and heard things that were not meant for the delicate eyes and ears of a narco mistress.
That is why she had agreed. And over the last months and under the excruciatingly detailed instructions of that puta prosecutor she had gathered snippets of evidence. Bills, pictures of ledger pages, maps of routes, and addresses of safe houses. It was up to the cops to piece all that shit together into a solid case against Garza, and that was what they did. All that was left was for them to keep their part of the bargain and get her out of Juarez, out of Mexico.
Eva had started to get nervous. Something in Garza’s demeanour, something in his eyes had made her wonder if he suspected foul play. She wanted this to be over. For weeks she had urged Gabriel to get her out, and had begged him not to make her get the 2GB of info now stowed away in her handbag, hidden inside an empty lipstick case. Gabriel and the prosecutor had urged her to stay calm and to do as she was told. “Don’t worry, everything will be fine,” that pocha prosecutor had said. It was easy for her to say. Eva knew what Garza and his lieutenants did with treacherous bitches. For weeks now she has been having nightmares. Once she had woken up to Jacinto looking at her. “You talked in your sleep cariño”, he had whispered. “You sounded terrified.” Then he had fucked her, hard, choking her as he came. Eva knew that nothing turned him on as much as the glint of cold, naked fear in a woman’s eyes. Had she said anything in her sleep that had raised his suspicion?
No shit she was terrified.
Matthew Ricci walked into the prosecutor’s office without knocking, waving a folder triumphantly. “We are getting so close that the bastard will start to feel our breath down his neck. A few more days, and this case will be so watertight that we can cross the Gulf in it, Emily.”
Emily raised one eyebrow and stretched behind her desk. “I think you might be right. Our two colleagues from across the border seem to agree with you, anyway.”
Only in her late twenties, Emily Perez was the youngest member of their small task force, and certainly the youngest prosecutor ever to go after a fish as big as this one. Few people would have guessed that Emily, with her slim, petite build and the dark curls framing her face, was the woman to take on one of the most violent drug cartels the border region had recently brought forth. The cops she worked with tended to call her “doll”, and “darlin’.” But appearances could be deceiving.
Her eyes wandered to the clippings and photographs pinned to the wall. Her gaze swept across the pictures of gruesomely murdered bodies, of stacks of cocaine, meth and marijuana, of women, bruised and bloodied, staring blankly into the camera. Clippings of newspaper articles littered the wall, next to graphs indicating stocks and sales figures.
Drugs, murders, money laundering and raging corruption had turned up on her desk in regular, but frustratingly disjointed intervals. It had been like trying to pin down puddles of oil with her bare hands, with cases separating into petty crimes and single murders when Emily knew that they all led back to one man. Now, all the puzzle pieces had started to neatly fall into place. The lines, drawn with a black marker across the board to link murders, shipments, bank accounts, companies and photographs to each other, were finally all connected to form a satisfyingly coherent network of crime and vice.
An informant had come forward to provide her with the necessary lead to tighten the noose around the neck of Jacinto Garza. To civilians he was known as the head of an international conglomerate of banks and financial businesses, a darling patron of the arts and celebrated philanthropist. To the more investigative-minded he was “The Scorpion”, the head of one of the most powerful drug cartels currently dominating the market. Emily contemplated the picture in the center of the wall, showing a young man weaving his way through a festive crowd, a beautiful woman on his arm. It had been the opening of the new design museum in the city, a jewel in the crown of the local art scene. Garza had donated several million dollars to the foundation running the museum. That night, as always, he had looked the part, sporting the casual chic of a tech business tycoon combined with the class and taste of a rich bohemian. Without noticing, Emily’s lips curled in disgust. The local elites were all at his feet, admiring him like a rock star while he terrorized those less fortunate, both materially and geographically.
Next to him on the picture, half-hidden in the shadow, stood a man dressed casually in jeans and a T-shirt, a suit jacket slung across his tattooed arm. Emily knew better than to be misled by the smile of Garza’s right-hand man. She had come across too many mutilated bodies to still fall for his boyish charm, though Texan high society still nurtured a soft spot for the man she knew to be a cold-blooded killer.
Then she pointed at the woman next to Garza. “With the new documents and the other material our informant can provide, we get all three of them in one sweep.” Matthew stood next to her, eyes fixed on the young woman on the crime lord’s arm. He whistled in appreciation. “She’s one smoking hot broad. That bastard sure knows how to pick them.”
The prosecutor threw him a disbelieving glance. “They call her ‘The Viper’. Some people say she likes to cut out the hearts of traitors to make them eat it before she kills them.” Her colleague raised an eyebrow, trying not to look sheepish. “Well, nobody’s perfect, eh? At least she knows how to rock a pair of high heels while doing that.”
Emily rolled her eyes. “You are a walking cliché of a male cop, Matt.” He grinned. “All I’m saying is that criminals should not look this good.” He joined her in front of the wall, looking at the photograph of Garza and his two companions. “I mean, this looks like a fucking page out of a bloody modelling catalogue,” he mused. “Juries don’t like to put rich, pretty people away for life.”
“Don’t worry. Blood and dirt stick, even to the pretty ones. After we are through with them that is all the jury will be able to see. Once this case file is complete, Garza is done, and this strip of the border will be a little safer again.”
Matt smiled. He admired the idealism and backbone of his younger colleague, and hoped that some of it would rub off on him. It was not easy. After a slump of a few, complacent years, murder rates had gone through the roof again. Corruption had eaten through the ranks of law enforcement, reaching levels that the local authorities could no longer ignore. Impunity was rampant, leading to a level of violence that first provoked, later only mocked what was left of law and order in the border region. Elections were coming up in both countries, and the authorities needed to be seen fighting the increasingly violent waves of drug trafficking crimes, at least until the votes were cast.
A small task force of detectives and police officers from both side of the border had been working for months to bring down The Scorpion. Matt knew that a few local politicians and officers had at first balked at going after Garza and his business empire. When they realized that Emily Perez was not to be deterred, a few had quietly backed away from the investigation. First there had been threats, then bodies started to turn up: informants, Juarez cops, a couple of snitches. The attempts to intimidate her only made the young prosecutor go after the man harder. So far Garza had not yet attempted to reach across the border, but Emily now had protective detail, her El Paso apartment was under constant surveillance.
Matt looked at the dark-haired woman bent over a pile of documents, his chest suddenly aching with worry and affection. He realized how little he actually knew about his colleague. Once, over a couple too many beers, she had told him about what had happened to her sister, what the drugs had done to her family. For Emily, this shit was personal. He hoped that the mobsters simply did not take her efforts seriously enough. They would not be the first ones to make that mistake.
“Why don’t you join us for a drink down at The Grashopper? It’ll provide some distraction and will get you out of this office for a few hours.” She looked up and frowned as if he had made her an inappropriate offer. Tucking a curl back behind her ear, she shook her head. “Go on without me,” she said distractedly. “I’m supposed to meet the Juarez detective and our informant later, and I’d rather be sober when I do. My regards to Erica, and happy birthday to her!”
Matt sighed while putting on his coat, muttering: “It’s her good-bye party. You really need to get a life outside this case, sweetheart.” But Emily did not hear him. Chewing on the end of her pen, she studied the text in front of her, waiting for her telephone to ring.
***
Eva looked at her watch. It was almost time.
In only a couple of hours she would be sitting next to Gabriel Mendez who would drive her across the Bridge of the Americas into El Paso, where some friendly DEA officer would hand her a shiny new ID and take her into protective custody. Then she would hand them the memory stick that contained all the files the prosecutor had asked her for, the last pieces of evidence that would put Jacinto Garza and his associates away for several consecutive life sentences in an US high security prison. The evidence she had handed over to the Juarez cop, the idealist Gabriel Mendez and his DEA teammates in El Paso was going to play a crucial role in The Scorpion’s downfall, and Eva did not want to be anywhere near Juarez when the shit would finally hit the fan.
When she looked up, Garza raised a glass in her direction, smiling. Eva smiled back, hoping that it would look genuine. She was wearing the expensive black designer dress that outlined her curves without making her look slutty and accentuated her stunning legs. Garza had bought it for her. He liked to show her off at parties like these, when business partners and fellow narcos could throw admiring glances her way, knowing that they were allowed to look, but not touch, and that anyone who overstepped would lose at least one crucial body part.
Eva Ferentes had met Jacinto Garza a few years ago at, how very cliché, a local beauty pageant, and he had taken an instant liking to her. She had grown up in a middle class Mexico City family, a stunning beauty with aspirations to study law in the US, but then Garza had happened, and things turned out different as planned, as they usually do.
Then still a virgin she had allowed him to court, and then fuck her, and Garza had made sure that she understood that she was now his woman, and allowed only his right-hand lieutenant to fuck her as well. Not even the Viper had any rights over Eva, a rare privilege. Garza had no taste for a monogamous relationship, but he made sure that women he fucked on a regular basis lacked nothing, as long as they played by the rules. And the rules were simple: don’t piss off the patrón.
When all of this shit was over, people would probably wonder why she had bitten the hand that had lovingly fed her so ferociously.
She lived in a beautiful penthouse, owned a car and had enough pocket money to buy all the designer shit in the glossy magazines she spent hours leafing through. She had enough time for shopping, spa treatments, work-outs, socializing and some charity activities. All she needed to do in return was to look stunning on Garza’s arm or that of his associate when required and fuck either of them, or both, with enthusiasm when they felt like it. Why then had she agreed to turn snitch when Mendez had approached her? Sure, he had threatened her a bit, tried to go all hardball cop on her, told her that if she would not cooperate he would make sure that she would be put away. But she could have easily have had any of Garza’s foot soldiers take care of him and return to her insouciant narco life. Instead, she became a DEA informant and they promised her protection and a life in the US. Eva had even started to fantasize about a small house somewhere boring, about getting a husband, a few kids, maybe even a job.
The truth was that she wanted out. She wanted out before Garza and his narco friends tired of her – they always did eventually. She wanted out before they realized that she knew too much to let her simply fade out of their circle, that she seen and heard things that were not meant for the delicate eyes and ears of a narco mistress.
That is why she had agreed. And over the last months and under the excruciatingly detailed instructions of that puta prosecutor she had gathered snippets of evidence. Bills, pictures of ledger pages, maps of routes, and addresses of safe houses. It was up to the cops to piece all that shit together into a solid case against Garza, and that was what they did. All that was left was for them to keep their part of the bargain and get her out of Juarez, out of Mexico.
Eva had started to get nervous. Something in Garza’s demeanour, something in his eyes had made her wonder if he suspected foul play. She wanted this to be over. For weeks she had urged Gabriel to get her out, and had begged him not to make her get the 2GB of info now stowed away in her handbag, hidden inside an empty lipstick case. Gabriel and the prosecutor had urged her to stay calm and to do as she was told. “Don’t worry, everything will be fine,” that pocha prosecutor had said. It was easy for her to say. Eva knew what Garza and his lieutenants did with treacherous bitches. For weeks now she has been having nightmares. Once she had woken up to Jacinto looking at her. “You talked in your sleep cariño”, he had whispered. “You sounded terrified.” Then he had fucked her, hard, choking her as he came. Eva knew that nothing turned him on as much as the glint of cold, naked fear in a woman’s eyes. Had she said anything in her sleep that had raised his suspicion?
No shit she was terrified.
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