ℭ𝔲𝔢𝔯𝔫𝔬 𝔇𝔢 ℭ𝔥𝔦𝔳𝔬𝔰

ℭ𝔲𝔢𝔯𝔫𝔬 𝔇𝔢 ℭ𝔥𝔦𝔳𝔬𝔰 : 𝕲𝖔𝖆𝖙𝖘 𝕳𝖔𝖗𝖓

McAllen, Texas – 2014

*[text]*

[Director: Las Pinatas estan listas.] 00:01am

With emotionless eyes, Christian closed the flip phone. He inhaled the thick marijuana smoke subliming.

“The P’s are in!” Christian said to Eriq, tucking the phone into his Denim jacket pocket.

“Really!” Eriq jumped up in the driver seat. His blood pumped through his body, as if it were payday, on his way to the strip club.

[Christian: Bueno, Gracias Jefe! When can I come through] 00:03am

[Director: Come to the old trailer at Kingdom’s Castles in about an hour] 00:45am

Radio: (A previous 50,000 dollar reward had now been increased to 100,000 dollars for any one that has information on the missing six South Padre spring Breakers from Reynosa and McAllen.)

Eriq turned off the Range Rover. Christian twisted the cherry out of his joint and rested the rest in the ashtray. Eriq followed Christians lead resting half of his joint in the same ashtray.

Christian opened the passenger door adding more marijuana to the surrounding parking lot outside the Prickly Pear Cantina.

-01:15am-

Christian signaled the Bartender for another round.

Eriq was walking back from the bathroom, “You wanna head out soon?”

“Yea I’m getting us each another beer and a shot.”

The bartender dropped off two Lonestar beers and poured two shots of Four Roses whisky.

An assortment of vile Tejanos stared amongst the patrons as to whom were predators and who were prey. The polished belt buckles still found a way to shine in the dim lights of the Prickly Pear Cantina.

The faces of the lawless were no strangers to the Prickly Pear. Even under the disguise of the green, red, blue, and purple tones of the neon glowing signs. Christian and Eriq could both recognize the faces of childhood jokers, County Jail cell mates, Sheriff Vice undercovers, a mixture of Los Rojos, Los Mexicles, Gulf Cartel, and Los Zetas all in one dive bar. Machismo was in every men’s eye. treachery was in the eye of every women.

What the American media calls a civil war between Cartels; Is what Cartel members see as an open season for power.

McAllen was becoming a nauseas chaos to Christian. Every weekend was the same and Everyone with the same excuses. Making the same mistakes and none of them seeing the mirage of hope as a dead-end path to hell. He couldn’t wait to make his road trip to New Mexico, Dallas, San Antonio, and Houston. There was a rift in the valley for power. The violence that was preached through the Texas media was always getting worse when it came to Cartels. The truth is the media has no idea how violent and unforgiving the party has always been and will always be.

Christian raised his shooter to Eriq and they each took their shots of whisky.

Christian left fifty dollars on the bar, grabbed his beer, and started heading toward the door.

Eriq chugged the beer on the way out. The ten steps that it took both to get to the entrance. Eriq had finished his beer. Christian sipped his on the way to the Range Rover just outside the Prickly Pears front door.

“Christian!”, Javier the cantinas bouncer hollered out, “You coming back? It is so early still! After hours is tonight!”. He could care less that Christian was leaving with the beer.

Eriq unlocked the doors as he stepped in proximity of the Range Rover.

“Of Course, Primo! We will be back. Tell Anna to warm up those tamales.

A group of young Tejano men sang corridos in the parking lot. Tejano cries echoed under a desolate desert full moon. The smell of marijuana, crack and diesel exhaust created the oxygen they sustained off. Attractive young Hispanic women passed by in Chivas F.C. crop tops and denim cut off shorts that could pass as lingerie. The strums of their guitars lost rhythm with the accordion player squeezing and stretching the keys of lo-fi synthesizers as he sang in a drunken somber soliloquy.

Gunfire blasted in the background of the flea market parking lot adjacent to the Prickly Pear.

Christian took another sip from his beer and fastened his seatbelt. Eriq started the Range and waited for his Driver seat to adjust to his present position. Eriq turned to back up slow and tapped his horn toward the madness of people bar hopping along the strip center.

Christian rolled down the thick bulletproof window and leaned out toward Javi.

“Javi!”

Javi, got up from his stool as he watched the last pair of denim shorts siren pass.

“Que?”

“Can you leave a cone in this spot for us! Well, be right back! Ill give you a quarter to smoke after work.”

Javi grabbed a cone from the stack next to his bouncer podium.

“Suerte! Un momento Javi!”

[Christian: OMW] 01:38am

The Kingdoms Castles Trailer Park was an alternate universe of what ordinary Americans knew as a neighborhood community.

All around were Trap doors used as front doors, back doors used as windows, Holes in the trailers living area that led to tunnels, which led to more surprises. The Pecan trees somehow always seemed to be dropping Pecans from September to September. Brat kids were always running the streets with either their shirts or in diapers. They travelled in a packs and most started smoking cigarettes and becoming engulfed by the lifestyle once they turned nine or ten.

There was a speed bump it seemed every 12 feet and was not for the safety of the children.

The road was lined with Cacti of all types. There was a specificity to the landscaping that Christian had not yet picked up. But he figured the Cacti had to do with which houses were the stash house for cash.

The Director’s old trailer was all the way in the back of the park. There was only one way in and one way out. The main road they were still traveling, would have a col-de-sac to the right at the end of the street. To the Left was another straight road of speed bumps that led to a dead end.

Eriq was going seven mph and cracked his window open. His AK74 pistol rested on top of his lap. With one hand on the wheel, the other gripping on to the 40-round extended clip. Eriq was in his comfort zone. There was also a colt .45 under his left leg with the barrel facing the driver side door.

Christian was zipping up the Adidas futbol bag full of Cash. He reached in his coat pocket and pulled out his switchblade. The blade shot out the front with a simple nudge to the up and down switch on the handle of the knife. The blade slid back in with ease with the inverse action on the switch with his thumb.

There was a .410 revolver in the side of the passenger door. But these pickups had become so routine Christian never even thought of needing a gun.

“Should of named this place Midian! Nothing but Nightbreed. Can’t trust anyone around here at night.”

“Relax Eriq! The Director knows we are coming. He knows are vehicle and I’m sure whatever Ventana he has looking out, defiantly has already told him we have arrived.”

Eriq’s paranoia was fueled by his love for violence and his genetics to conquer.

Spilling blood was the last thing on Christian’s mind. The Director would never make a rip on his protégé he would reinforce in his mind. I was too habitual with cash, and he became something of a think tank for The Director and his new independent Cartel of McAllen, Rosa Muerte.

They had turned Left toward the dead end. This street was somewhat famous to the locals. The trailers always alternated the colors of their trailer porch lights. No one knew why? Except for the people who lived on the street. Every fifteen days new colors would cast a new mood atop the dirt road that The Director dictated to Kingdom Castles residence.

This week red and green lights alternated all the way down the street. The streets were not as Eriq and Christian knew them. There was no chaos among the road or the commons area to their left, where they had a shaved ice shack that made snow cones during the day and sold churros at night.

Tonight it was dead. The overhead lights of the common grounds were off and their were no Churros being sold.

“Windows!” Eriq said as a trio of young teens walked by the hood of the Range Rover, as the passed the commons area. They stepped out just ahead of a speed bump and tried to disguise their obvious glancing eyes. The oldest or tallest of the group was even texting his superior from inside his pocket.

“Real Slick!” Eriq joked, tapping his horn making the teens jump. A few old heads smoking cigarettes and drinking beers laughed, as they watched from the porch of their trailer adjacent to The Directors.

Eriq moved the AK from his lap to the floor, pinning it to the seat with his left leg. His left hand still gripping the bottom of the magazine. His upper body not shifting in any obvious ways to the young foo’s who kept their meth gaze and now giving us the finger.

Christian rolled down his window as he saw Sal standing on the porch of The Directors trailer.

Sal was the Number 2 of Rosa Muerte. He always had two brothers that worked for him. They were identical twins and helped Sal with all the vacuum sealing and prepping orders.

Eriq pulled onto the desert lot.

There were corrugated sheets of metal behind the row of pecan trees, that made up the fence line surrounding the Kingdom Castles. Behind the fence was a small creek. A closed down gas station, a boarded-up church, a water tower covered in graffiti, and longs stretches of highway and the interstate.

To the left of the porch. There were two Chevy trucks on six-inch lifts and a Jeep Wrangler 4x4 sharing equal height.

The two got out of the car. Eriq left the truck unlocked and jogged to the heels of Christian making his way up to Sal. Usually, they would all be sitting outside playing bones. Christian was looking forward to a game of dominos. Instead, the twins were sitting at the dominos table under the red and green lights and bug zappers.

Sal stood at the top of the stairs waiting to greet Christian and Eriq.

A group of young kids were pumping plastic salt guns and shooting mosquitos and each other. With another teen that was taking orders from one of the twins.

“Hola Primo!”

“Que Paso! A Donde Patron? No Dominos?” Christian held the bag firm with his right hand and stuffed his mobile phone in his left side pocket of his denim jacket, next to his switchblade.

“Hola Enrique!” Sal said.

“Let me get one of those smokes Sal!”

Sal reached into the chest pocket of his tucked in pearl snap denim shirt. Grabbed a smoke from his pack and handed one to Eriq.

“Ah! Suerte. Gracias Hermano!”

One of twins stood up from the bones table to light Eriq’s Cigarette.

“No Dominos! He wants to show you something before you head out.”

Christian pointed toward the iron bar gate, in front of the screen door and wide-open front door.

Sal waved him inside, “Cerveza Chrsitian? Cerveza Eriq?”

Eriq took up the offer. Christian refused.

The twin who stood up with the zippo. Pocketed his lighter and reached into the igloo cooler full of ice and beer.

Christian swung open the iron gate and then the screen door. Before entering he tossed the money bag inside and pulled off his all-black gator skin boots.

“Patron!”, Christian said as he placed his boots on the floor, next to another pair, just inside the trailer’s screen door to the left.

The screen door shut behind Christian. The RV was cleaning like it was being prepped to be a grow house for psilocybin mushrooms.

Eriq could be heard inhaling a bump of cocaine just outside the door.

“Christian! Aqui. Aqui.”

Christian heard The Directors voice come from the back of the RV appearing as what should be the master bedroom.

The bathroom was a toilet and a wash sink and an armory. Custom racks and shelves with not a vacant slot took over the shower. Ammo boxes substituted the toilet paper and bars of soap. A Long hallway from the living area to the two bedrooms near the end of the trailer. A closed door on the right just diagonal to the master bedroom. At the end of the center of the hallway. A doorless entry to the room where The Director must have been. The trailer was nothing like it was three months ago.

The Room was as bare as the living space. The Director was scrubbing the floors and a pile of used cleaning supplies sat in the corner opposite to the most inner to the right as he walked through the doors frame.

“We aren’t interrupting anything are we?”

“No! Not at all! Look! Check this out.”

The Director dropped the scrubbing brush on the floor and lifted himself to his surgical booties.

He made prayer hands and thanked Christian for taking his shoes off before entering.

Director had a genuine smile on his face. Patted him on the shoulder, “Its all there? Kind of a big bag.”

“I have another three-month allowance in the bag, so six months pre-paid for the usual loads. Plus, a little extra to source some hardware for me.”

“Hardware?”

“Just a list a small list. Personal use.”

Christian handed him the list.

The Director opened the list, “I know I have some of these in the plaza. You can take with you tonight.”

He folded the list of guns, ammo, and armor into a square. Sliding it inside his back pocket.

“Follow me! I want to show you something that I need your input.”

The Director walked out the master bedroom to his left. Approaching the closed-door Christian had just passed.

The doorknob had a digital keypad that unlocked after The Director depressed what sounded like a five-digit code. The lock recessed into the door and The Director entered the dark room. He flipped the lights to his left and a series of overhead black lights flickered on. Christian followed the Rosa Muerte founder into the empty room. In the middle of the room was an obvious trap door embedded into the floorboard.

“Eventually will get some carpet in here and it won’t look so fucking obvious.”

The Director flipped up a half moon latch from the middle and pulled open the door. The trapdoor lifted from a set of swivel hinges near The Directors toes. The hatch door locked open vertical, with a set of spring assisted self-locking hinges.

The Director walked to the side of the open port. Jumping into the tunnels he remembered to exchange his surgical booties for his boots. He slapped his forehead with a smile.

“Grab the flashlights near the front door. Your boots and mine.”

Christian jogged back to the front door and grabbed both their boots in one hand.

Eriq was laughing and reaching for another beer as another brigade of chonga’s came marching from behind the lifted trucks.

Sal seemed to give some orders to the twins. The two lieutenants dropped everything they were doing and the other young teen followed them off the porch.

Christian grabbed the flashlights near the kitchen sink and jogged back to the room.

The Director was leaning against the vertical hatch inside the tunnel.

Texting orders to what had to of been Sal.

The Director grabbed his boots from Christian. Tossed them on their soles and tore off the surgical booties from the heels. He slid each foot into his ostrich skin boots and stomped his heels to fit.

The Director shut the prepaid flip phone and crouched down and moved forward to make room for Christian.

Christians black alligator boots became flush as he jumped into the tunnels.

The walls were lined with framed art preserved in plastic wrap, ammo cans and wooden crates. The tunnel declined the further Christian followed.

Looking back the black light from the open trap door was only about 40 yards. The tunnels made Christian understand his claustrophobia was worse than he had ever thought it could have been.

The cool air brought chills to his skin.

His flashlight was his only sense of security.

The paranoia increased with each step further. If he were not so sober, Christian could swear he could hear voices whispering around. He reached for his wallet in his back pocket for another boost of morale remembering a half gram of Crystal Meth he had.

“What do you have planned for this plaza jefe?”, Christian laughed to himself.

“The trailer we just left is going to be the packaging house for our new line of edibles.”

“Edibles? You are thinking changing your nickname? The Cake Baker? The McAllen Muffin Man?”

The Director laughed, “No Hermano! Gummies. Bears, worms, sour worms, even those sour watermelon ones. The demand for them is through the roof with the high schoolers and college kids. My partners in the Emerald Triangle have been telling me about their profits from making and branding their own. The main advantage is how little of the flower we need to use. They are selling half pound packs of shake and trimmings that we already use for hash. Since Hash only really sells to the bigger cities for the pakis, afganis, and Jews. This just makes sense to put more efforts into a something that will yield more profits.”

Christian turned back around and could still see the black light purple light illuminating the trap door port.

“Ya know Eriq was actually talking about the edibles from our street dealers too. They like the discrete packing, that up charge application and the ease of use. I was thinking and can make for an easy bundle sale for them as well.”

Christian turned back around and caught himself almost walking down the wrong path as the tunnel forked off into two different directions.

He grabbed on to the wood planks separating the paths and jogged a bit to catch up to The Director.

Overhead Christian could hear Mexican families in trailers having their Friday night parties. Brat kids crying at the top of their lungs. Running from their enraged mothers chasing them with some sort of switch for discipline. The next trailer sounded like a group of teenage girls gossiping and laughing on their phones. For about ten minutes down a long stretch of tunnel, there was a strange fear that Christian could not shake. He had no reason to be paranoid. There was just some kind of evil traveling alongside.

“Just up here. Almost there. Pretty amazing system huh? I even got a group of Guatemalans that made these tunnels that I’m starting a foundation company with.” The Director mentioned.

The sound of power tools, an air compressor and the banging of what sounded like a hammer. Came from the walls overhead to the right.

It smelt like sewage and death. He kept quite and kept his dim flashlight shining forward at the heels of The Director.

“A few more paces ahead.”

The stench lingered and he could not help but cough and gasp for air as they knelt below their destination.

“Fuck! That reeks!” He smiled covering his nose and mouth with his denim jacket sleeve.

“You got some of your guys making snuff films for the dark web?”

The Director turned toward Christian with the flashlight beaming on his chest, “I Plead the fifth!”

“Fuck!” Christian laughed, “Hurry! Jesus!”

The Director detached a set of keys from his belt loops. He unlocked the padlock over head and freed the latch.

Christians mobile phone vibrated, and he checked his new message.

[They are loading up the trunk] 01:40am

[Nice. Patron giving me a Tour. Text you when we’re heading back.] 01:40am

“Here we Go!”, The Director pushed the trap door up on its hinges. Locking the door vertical by pushing down on a pair of secondary hinges with locking mechanisms alike a folding table.

Christian had never stood into a more pleasant aroma as he pulled himself out of the tunnels and into a stash room. The plastic tiles were taped off in categories of merchandise. Green tape sectioned of the pound bags of marijuana, separated by sativa and indica hybrids. The floors across the room were taped off in red tape and had about 50 kilos of cocaine and another 30 to 40 bricks of what was most likely China white heroin. Behind the trapdoor was plastic tubber ware containers wrapped in cellophane the contents of which reminded Christian to reach for his wallet.

The Director turned on the overhead lights, and again rows of blacklights flickered on. Christian pulled out his small Ziploc of powdered crystal and his switchblade from his jacket pocket. He pressed the switch up, extending the blade out. He stuck the tip of the knife and dug out a mound of Clear.

“This way!”, The Director pushed open the trapdoor. The trailer bedroom they entered was identical to the one they had departed.

Christian recalled the blade by pressing the switch down. He pinched his nose and inhaled every lingering spec up into his sinus cavities. He holstered his knife back into the jacket pocket and made his way toward the master bedroom.

The Director was typing in a code into a digital keyboard that kept the bedroom locked.

The door swung open, a rush of cold air conditioning. A single desk with three monitors and two separate custom gaming computers underneath the desk. On the wall to his left was a corkboard with a huge map of Texas and thumbtacks with codenames attached to specific cities.

The director turned on his monitors by slamming the space bar. Then made his way to a tall vertical safe already opened filled with more guns and ammo boxes.

He pulled out a phone from the gun safe shelf and handed it to Christian. He turned back toward his computer desk and reached into a large drawer and retrieved another burner phone.

“The one with the yellow sticker is for your next 40 pounds of flower. The other one with the red sticker is for your hardware. You can get rid of that old one you are using now. Remember! Yellow for the café! Red for the Cuerno de Chivos!”

Christian committed the difference to his memory and put all three phones in his left pocket.

On his monitor screens there was one with a dark web wholesale drug market interface Christian had never seen. One of the other monitors was uploading a video to an actual snuff website. The third monitor to the right was a desktop wallpaper of some porn star and a halved open window of some step by step instructional that was too small to see.

“Stahh!”, Another scream came from outside. The same direction of the putrid smells that originated underground. They both turned toward the spray-painted black window that was cracked open. The director walked over to the window and lifted it shut.

Christian once remained ignorant to whatever inquisition was occurring in The Directors Kingdom.

He sat in front of the monitors and began his dissection of the wholesale drug estore.

“This is much better that silk road. I have never seen this amount of volume ever offered. Usually, it is like 10 vials of liquid LSD from one supplier, 500 hits a sheet from another supplier, 10 to 20 pounds of shrooms from one supplier, 15 to 20 from another, yada yada yada. Nothing like this! There can’t be much access to this address.”

Christian could still hear screams resonating from away. Some seeming like someone’s last.

He distracted his fear by opening new tabs of each product the website was offering.

The Director walked to the right side of Christian and reached for a joint from the five pre rolled marijuana joints that laid next to a silver skull ashtray.

The director puffed on the joint and twisted the scorching paper as he puffed.

“There isn’t! Only eleven brokers have access to this site across the nation. Look through it tell me what you think it needs. Churro?”, Christian looked behind his shoulder to take The Director up on his offer for the joint.

With a sinister smile, The Director grabbed another pre rolled joint from the table, for himself.

“This is amazing! Not only is the interface easy to use. But it looks good. This is the way to go. A site for Local established networks. Not a free for all of micro purchases.”, Christian smirked taking a long drag and ashing the joint into the silver skull.

Christian closed his zippo and tossed in on the desk. With the joint in his mouth he leaned over the desk and regained the mouse and created a fake order for heroin.

“So it’s till operating of crypto purchasing?” Christian asked. Watching on as he leaned back in the chair inhaling thick white clouds through his churro.

“Aside from the new burners. This is what I wanted to show you! I already know within the two minutes you have seen this, you already have something to say. So let me hear it!”

“What about the actual purchase and deaddrop? Same racket? Independent courier fronts. I imagine this site gives you some sort of reference number upon purchase. And with that order number, you purchase some sort of home goods or car parts and drop the reference number in the comments of the legal purchase.”

“You got it!”

“It’s pretty flawless, this crypto is more interesting though! I have been hearing from certain circles that the powers that be, have a significant control on the value of crypto. If we set up a transaction pipeline with our street distro and their street distro. We could have them make all purchases over a pound only in crypto. This would net us a future profit that could be pretty high if the crypto goes to a value I hear it has potential for.”

The director stood over Christian staring blank into the wall. Nodding his head and taking another hit of the joint.

Christian turned around, “I mean to be honest with you! We need to make this mandatory now! We could make a lot of money. Especially if you could talk to the connects down south and get them on board with you. A way to exchange the crypto for world currencies or silver or gold.

I mean its not stealing or skimming. Plus, it is a game of decentralized value that they created anyway. How could they be upset with you just playing their game.”

The Director broke his distant stare through the wall and ashed the joint onto the floor.

He started smiling and pointing his joint back and forth toward Christian. He pressed the joint between his lips and grabbed both sides of Christians head and hugged his skull against his chest.

He pushed his head off his chest still smiling and removed the joint from his lips, “My Merlin!”

Christian’s pocket started vibrating and he stood up from the chair and started digging through his jean pocket for the phone.

The directors phone rang atop the table as well and he answered it on speaker!

“Por Que!” The Director said pushing the chair toward the center of the room.

“Some of Sals Ventanas …” Eriq continued his explanation.

“Ventanas? Are there cops?” Christian asked. He turned toward The Director. Took his last puff of the magic dragon. He tossed the joint to the ground and stamped out the lit end.

The Director was hunched over. Again, before Christian could see what the instructional on the halved browser window was, the page minimized. The Director maximized his surveillance software to full screen.

He tossed his Joint in the silver skull ashtray. The incense of death rose in the air.

The first surveillance image was two trucks carrying four armed masked men in the tailgates each Ten men total including the drivers.

“Rip Crew!”, Christian said with his phone still pressed to his ear.

The Director started giving orders to one of his Lieutenants.

“Eriq get the buy money. It’s in the trailer at the end of the hallway in the master bedroom.”

“Im right here hold up. Sal is handing passing out guns. Ok. Ok. I got it”

“Don’t put the money with the cafe in the Range. Go to the room right next door and toss the bag in the tunnel and shut the trap door. Then do what Sal says. Keep this call ongoing in your pocket. Check back with me in 5 minutes.”

Christian replaced the phone back in his jacket pocket.

The Director was moving from the gun safe back to Christian, handing him a Suppressed Mac 11. He turned back to the safe and turned back to Christian handing him three thirty-three round magazines and in his left hand a Glock 18c with a Drum magazine.

Christian slipped his right arm through the strap and over his head atop his left collar bone. The Sub Machine Gun draped from off his right hip as he stuffed his right jean pocket with the two extra magazines and one in his right jacket pocket.

The Director walked back over to the surveillance video giving his soldiers the movement of the raiders.

The last I heard was him telling Sal to Flank from the commons area near the Left-hand turn at the end of the main road.

“Probably, Los Metros!”.

“There is so many wrongs being committed, I wouldn’t be surprised if it was Los Rojos. Everyone following whatever shit intel they are getting from the old heads. That why we are going independent. Stay focused.”

“I guess. Either way, we may have crossed the line last week with R1 and Z-2.”

The Director let out a manic laugh, “Yea! Maybe! Suerte Primo! Que Sera, Sera!”

Christian had no idea that The Directors grassroots independent Cartel Rosa Muerte was starting wars. He was always told it was always about evolved methods of finance, rather mayhem.

Once again Christian fell for the fortunes of a forked tongue. He had chosen sides, there was no wither or not.

There was no time to complain about another knife through his back.

The omen of this moment was following him the moment he drove onto the same main road the Rip Crew drove.

They were coming for heads. Christian started controlling his breathe to do the best to keep his on his shoulder.

Christian press checked the Mac 11. He saw gold in the chamber. Christian released the slide and fliped the selector switch to full auto.

The rip crews were unloading from the bed of their trucks two at a time. The first two raised their rifles toward the Rosa Muerte command center, as a laminated sticker read above the center monitor.

The other two from the second truck stacked up behind the first two aiming their weapons in the same direction. The men in the tailgates of the rear of the trucks still provided covering fire behind the second pair of men on foot. The forward truck was heard moving to the Left-hand turn of the main street. Again, two men in the bed of the truck providing cover from the front.

The Director ordered Christian to the front of the door.

By referencing the camera Christian knew what direction to position himself.

He heard The Director telling the other members of Rosa Muerte to not come out of the Trailer.

Christian knelt on the left side of the trailer door. He looked up at The Director who was pointing The barrel of his Glock 18c beyond the the blacked-out window. Giving Christian the direction to shoot.

Christian could hear the rip crew organizing and jogging past his Alamo. His heart was racing. The relief of them not being the primary target. Allowed Christian a few more seconds to take a few deep breathes.

He turned the knob with an ease and peeked out the door.

Through the cracked door he noticed the armed men stacking on the trailer across the lawn. He looked at Christian who was holding up a Five with his hands in the air. Gun fire from down the street started to sound off.

Directors’ fingers were at three.

Christian had already made up his mind to ambush on two.

He swung the front door open and fully extended the Mac 11 with the tension of the strap giving him control of the full auto mag dump.

The barrel moved in a small circle. He swept side to side, keeping his grouping as level to their chest as he could.

Christians first rounds plugged the man last in line to raid the trailer. The rounds smacked his bullet proof vest, through his arm, and the face and brain.

Just as the other three sicarios turned to return fire.

The Director opened fire blind out of the blacked-out window. As the glass shattered his quick burst turned to a full auto barrage of 9mm.

The breacher of their stack holding a Mossberg shotgun, got filled with lead. Pieces of his skull exploded into the air, blasting out of his ski mask. Blood from his head, groin and legs splattered the white walls of the trailer door.

The other two sprinted for cover.

Christian was loading his next mag and just as he charged the fresh rounds.

Metal debris and wood splinters blasted him in the face.

He dove pass the wooden door continuing to explode. The armed men in the back of the tailgate began an assault on the Rosa Muerte command center.

Christian slid across the floor and started crawling down the hallway to a crouching run.

All to dive to his stomach again into the Command Center room with The Director.

The Director tossed his empty Glock to the floor. As he walked back to the safe and retrieved a Saiga 12 gauge with another drum magazine and already loaded. He walked over to the phone call on speaker and still on going.

“Come out now! Give us covering fire!”

Christian looked up at The Director. He knelt beneath the computer desk and flipped a switch for a box with a bunch of antennas coming out of it.

“cellphone jammer.” Christian said to himself.

Christian pivoted his prone body back toward the hallway. Rounds were still ripping through the trailer walls down the hallway. Christian trained his sights at the front door. The Director looked out the window and saw his men come out from the parallel trailer.

They opened fire at the sicarios closing in on Christian and The Director.

The two sicarios on the counter assault, came sprinting into the command center as they were ambushed.

Christian squeezed off half a magazine. The Director shot his 12 gauge slugs a second too late. Christian saw some blood exit from a hand and leg of the first sicario to sprint inside.

They found cover behind a Freeze box. They were able to move it off the wall to get enough cover for both.

The Director turned back to view the surveillance video of the truck ahead of the commons area at the only Left of Kingdoms Castles. But before he could get a good idea of their movements and status of Sal and the rest of his reinforcements. The echoing of suppressed super sonics rounds came from a row of Pecan trees. The two that they had missed, had already set up a counter assault. He looked out the window and saw his cousin and one of the other Rosa Muerte enforcers falling face first into the dirt lawn. The Director turned his Shotgun toward the pecan trees through the blown-out window. By the time he fired back to inaccurate slugs. Whistling and crackling of more supersonic rounds came flying into the command center.

Christian kept his barrel forward, came to a knee and ran huntching under the bullets penetrating the window and walls.

“Primo!” He shouted as he moved still aiming down the hallway. Christian took a knee at the open stash room door, keeping his aim toward the tangos behind the deep freeze.

The Director sprinted right behind Christian. Another volley of full auto supersonics came thudding into the trailer walls now and through the cork board.

The Director yanked Christian by his jacket collar from the incoming fire.

Christian scooted toward the door on his butt and kicked it shut.

The two jumped into the tunnel entrance.

Christian crouched at the tunnels entrance and checked his body, feeling for any blood spewing from his body or limbs.

The trapdoor shut overhead. The director was able to set the padlock without any light.

“Ok! Hurry lets go.”

Christian followed the director who now illuminating the pitch-black trenches with the lumens from his powered light mounted to the Saiga.

“Only a few paces.” he stopped and pointed the flashlight around the dirt walls.

Christian could hear the Rip Crew kicking down the door into the stash room.

“We got like 15 seconds before they shoot the shit out of the trap door and make this our tunnel to Satan. Why aren’t we running?”, Christian back peddled with the suppressor pointing toward the trapdoor hatch.

The Tunnels trail went black. Christian’s heart sank and before he could call out for the Director.

Christian was pulled behind a camouflaged dirt tarp that led to a secret path.

The Director shut off his light and replaced the rock sealing off any inconsistent gaps between the dirt wall and The Directors magic trick.

They both heard the door being shot open. The Sicarios started howling and letting out Tejano cries as they charged forward with a blood rage.

Christian looked at The Director who nodded his head to follow him. It did not take long for Christian to notice the stench again after accepting he had at least a few moments of life.

Thirty to thirty-five yards from the camouflage tarp. They stood below another trapdoor. Again, The Director grabbed his keys and opened the lock inaudible from where Christian was standing.

As he pushed open the door. What Christian thought was some sort of busted water pipe from gunfire. Was a pool of blood draining from the room above, pooling up below the trapdoor.

The Director pulled himself up and felt as if the horrors that awaited, needed no explanation.

Christians boots splashed in the blood. Staring down he shook his head in the horrors he was going to have to subject himself too.

He climbed out of the Tunnels, looked up and froze. Christian did not avoid one detail. There were three decapitated young adults hanging upside down.

Shackled from their ankles to a ceiling high cross bar.

Their genders were not easy to judge. They had been mutilated with a traditional Y incision and splayed open like a whitetail being cleaned and quartered. Their guts were in piles below each of there mutilated corpses. Just below them was a single step stool. Sitting atop of the step stool, a pneumatic dehider with hoses connected to an air compressor. There skins were being sliced off the fat just above the muscle. Two of the corpses’ skins had already been collected in a bucket next to the third half way from being peeled like and orange.

That must have been the power tool he had heard earlier.

Christian crouched down to catch his equilibrium. He looked up toward the door.

The Director walked out the room as if it did not exist.

Christian turned around and saw a pile of three more fresh young corpses waiting to be processed.

There Faces all had been either blown off with a shotgun or bashed into pulp from a sledgehammer. None of the suspected murder weapons were close by. They were dead youth were all stripped naked. In the corner of the room was a pile of bathing suits, wallets, tote bags and destroyed phones.

There was a carving table pressed against the same wall as the unprocessed teens. A bloody tenderizing hammer was on the table.

To his Left there was a Hobart industrial meat chopping machine.

The room was spinning around Christian. Someone important died here. If their phones were smashed. How could the Rip Crew know this was the target trailer? One of these bodies had a tracker in them.

Christian stumbled to the door frame. His mac 11 dangling from his hip banged into the wall causing The Director to look down the hallway as he peeped out the front door.

The hallway was lined with four industrial 50-gallon chemical barrels. Two with sifters on top the others with a manual pumps and hose lines connected to the pumps. Christian could not make sense of what was going on. He glanced back into the room and saw pallets of caustic lime and sodium carbonate.

Christian moved in a stagger down the hallway. The Director stepped out onto the dirt lawn where his cousin laid dead. Christian slipped on a small spill of pink fluid leaking from one of the hoses.

Christians body was on the ground facing into the bathroom. A huge silver tank that looked like a small distillery for some sort of fermentation. Was steaming from the edges of the top.

Christian’s strength was pulled from his body. He kept seeing flashes of to bottom jaws of the youth missing the other halves of their head. The spines the only thing to be seen on top of one of the teens neck.

The Kitchen area was gutted. Another piece of industrial equipment took up most of the surface area. Christian didn’t bother to look, but there was heat coming off it. He could only imagine it was some sort of oven

He was starting to realize what was occurring.

Christian took a seat to on one of the two lawn chairs next to an ashtray. Next to the ashtray was a pack of American Spirits and a flask of liquor.

Christian picked up the flask. He twisted the cap off and chugged the mystery liquor.

Closed his eyes and could not think of any other place that would be worse than here.

He thought of the glimpse of the web page window that was on the surveillance monitor. He remembered his conversation underground with The Director about his new business venture of edibles.

The Director was turning his victims of cartel violence into currency. He was liquefying the evidence of his murders into gelatin. He was making his enemies into Marijuana laced edibles.

Christian puked on the floor between his feet. He poured some of tequilla over his head and sat back up to take another gulping chug.

One of the twins came stumbling into the trailer. Carrying one of the four dead bodies that were laying outside.

“Patron wanted you to come out and help move these bodies inside.”

Christian placed the flask down and headed outside.

The other twin was carrying the other sicario into the trailer.

The Director was pulling his cousin off the ground and dragged him toward the trailer.

Christian moved like a zombie toward the last remaining body. The Rosa Muerte enforcer was privileged to have a death less full of fear than the teens he had just slaughtered. Christian wanted to stomp on the butcher’s skull. Just as Christian bent down to pick up the corpse. The Sicario that Christian had wombed earlier, came limping out of the trailer. The hand Christian shot was holding his neck that Christian had unknowingly hit as well. The Sicario raised is AK toward Christian. Christian stared right at him. Dead inside and had never wanting death more than in this moment.

Two rounds echoed from the middle of the Trailer Park.

One round went right through the sicarios already wombed hand and neck. Enlarging the critical situation that Christian inflicted, to terminal. The second round was a necessary overkill. As it canoed the crown of his head as his knees buckled from the first bullet.

Eriq came running from the commons area in the middle of the Kingdom Castles Trailer Park.

Sal was shooting rounds of his glock into the tires of the vacant truck abandoned just outside the slaughterhouse trailer on the main road.

Christian let out a deep breathe and back pedaled toward the trailer. Eriq came to help Christian and grabbed the legs of the dead Rosa Muerte.

“Whats up with you? You okay?”, Eriq asked

Christian hung his head and could not think of anything else to say but, “Thanks!”

Eriq looked in curiosity to Christians radical shift in body language, “Don’t Mention it!”

The group meet in the living area of the trailer.

Christian and Eriq laid the body next to Director’s cousin. Christian reached down for the flask again, took another swig and then poured the remainder onto his hands scrubbing the blood of others from his flesh.

They all huddled around the dead bodies in the middle of the living area.

The twins ripped off the ski masks from the sicarios.

“Anyone know these guys?” The Director asked

To Christian, The Directors voice was something more unholy than evil itself.

He went from admiring the rebellious old school leader. The son of a Gulf Cartel Cocaine broker. His mother the daughter of a Los Zetas Lieutenant. If there was anyone to bring this madness of the civil war between McAllen and Reynosa to an end. Christian would have bet it was going to be The Director. Mute and pretending to listen with fixed eye contact and affirmative nods to The Directors commands. The pieces were finally coming together. The Director was the source of all the chaos. Those mutilated teens skinned and gutted ready to be chopped into bits of meat. The temple of those souls being transformed into gummy worms, bears, and sour watermelons.

Sal had made his way into the trailer. He looked down at one of the unmasked sicarios and knew what cartel this was in an instant.

“This is Los Rojos!”

“One of their shot callers has like a 100,000 reward out for his kids that are missing” Eriq said, “Remember Christian. We just heard that on the radio outside the cantina.”

Christian had put the final piece of the puzzle together. The pile of swimsuits in the corner of the slaughter room.

Christian shook his head, “No! I don’t remember hearing that!”

Gunfire came from outside and screams from the Kingdom Castles trailers cried out into the night!

“So Sal! The plan is for you to get some of your nephews to move these trucks out of view from any incoming law enforcement. I flipped the cellphone jammer earlier so we should have at least another 40 minutes or so till any sheriff shows up around here. The Twins say they lost two of the shooters from the front vehicle but were able to kill the driver.”

Sal had confirmed the death of the driver.

One of the twins handed a bloody Glock to Sal that must have been from the young protégé that had been following them around prior. The other twin handed Christian a pair of blood covered frag grenades. Christian put them both in the inside of his jacket lapel pocket.

“We know there is three for sure underground and they must be heading to the only other end of the tunnels.”

The Director pointed toward his trailer and ordered the two twins into the tunnels. He also exchanged the 12ga Saiga with One of the twins for his FN P90 and three fifty round magazines. The Director put the extra magazines in his front pockets. The twin switched on the flashlight attached to the Saiga and smirked at his twin smirking back.

“Christian! Eriq! Follow me! Lets Go”

More gunfire rang out.

They all went their separate directions.

As the three sprinted across the commons, they took cover behind the sno-cone shack. The three young meth head halcones were looking on and telling The Director what direction the two sicarios were shooting.

The young teens had cheap AR-15 builds.

“That thing zeroed?” Christian asked one of the kids.

He looked back with a blank stare not understanding what Christian was asking.

“Lets Go!”, The Director said after scanning the area ahead.

The squad of six now sprinted toward the sound of gunfire. Trailer residents fleeing their homes for their neighbors to seek sanctuary.

There were dead on the street with guns in hand, attempting to defend the Kingdom Castles.

There were some dead lying on their porches bleeding out and moving slow. Family and loved ones crowded around them crying in agony. Their helplessness to not be able to help, was enough for them to not care if the sicarios doubled back to take more lives.

The six sprinted faster toward down the dead-end street.

The red and green lights became an omen of the internal strife that Christian was waging as he ran forward.

More gunfire sent another flock of residents sprinting across the street. One of the two sicarios was chasing after the Kingdom Castle men, women, and children. The six all raised their guns toward the gunmen and opened fire.

Tracer rounds from the young reinforcements turned the low rent earth based Texas town, into a scene from star wars under the waning moon light.

The gunmen turned so fast he lost his footing on the dirt road. He picked himself up and was able to reach cover behind the trailer about four trailers away from The Directors, at the end of the street.

They all ceased fire.

The Director whistled at Eriq. He then pointed at the two young teens closest to Eriq, ordering them to flank from the fence line. Christian dropped his empty magazine and reloaded his last 32 rounds. The director walked forward, allowing Eriq and his team to move ahead to avoid a crossfire. Christian and the other young teen walked parallel of The Director. Aiming their firearms toward the gunmen’s last known position.

“Take cover. We will wait for Eriq to flush them out.”

We were at least four trailers away from the tunnels. Two trailers from where it appeared the gunmen were now.

Gunfire from the fence line echoed against the corrugated fence.

“Fuck This!”, Christian said as he reached into his Jacket inside pocket and pulled out a grenade. His Mac 11 fell to his right hip as he pulled the pin of the grenade. He depressed the lever and released his thumb off. The lever was free from the lug and hit the dirt below. Christian counted to three and heaved the grenade over the trailers roof the gunmen were using as cover.

He thought he would here the sicarios scream out from the thud of the grenade on the dirt ground.

The rings in their ears from all the gunfire and no hearing protection made them deaf from the explosive device that dropped in their proximity.

Christian yelled out, “Eriq! Frag Out!”

Two seconds after the grenade exploded. The six men converged on the gunmen. Eriq and his young team were first. More bullets cracked off in the night.

The Director made himself know as they approached Eriq and the two teens smoking barrels.

There was one dead on the ground. His gun was at least 10 feet from his body. His utility belt and body armor were barely still attached to his body. Half of his skull was still smoldering from fragmentations.

Moments later they all heard Gunfire from underground. Then not far away they heard the clanking of boots and a rifle slam against the corrugated fence. The director ordered Eriq and the two teens to pursue the last gunmen.

“Christian lets Go!”

The third teen followed his friends.

Christian followed The Director toward the trailer. The two could hear the back and forth of gunfire underground. They sprinted toward the trap door that was closed shut.

“Jefe! Wait!”, Christian said as they bounded into the room.

“I got one more grenade to clear them out. The buy money is in there though. We need to peek in and see if the bag is still sitting below or if the Rip Crew found it.”

Eriq and the three teens could be heard already making target practice out of the fleeing sicario who jumped the fence to a flat field.

Christian turned off the black light overhead and walked to the trap door and placed the grenade near the hatch opening. Christian stood over the door and lifted it barley open. The Director placed the P90 next to the grenade and spotted the Money bag still below the trap door.

The Director smiled and gave a thumbs up as he grabbed the grenade.

He pulled the pen and flicked off the lever. Christian pulled the trapdoor open completely vertical locking it in place. The Director was laid out on the floor and lowered his torso into the tunnel. He tossed the grenade straight down the middle about 25 yards away. Just as he released the grenade. The Director screamed out “Chupa mi verga!” and gave them the finger.

Just as The Director could come out smiling. Christian squeezed off half of the 32 rounds into The Directors upper body. Blood from his torso splattered up like one of the synchronized water fountains in Vegas. The Directors body rolled on to his back and on top of the buy money. The front of his button-down pearl snap was ripped to shreds. The hollow points went straight through creating perfect holes and an obscene amount of blood running out of his torso.

The Director looked up at Christian with pure hate. The only strength The Director had was the ability of choking on his own blood.

The frag grenade exploded in the tunnels. Dust and debris stuck to The Directors blood-soaked body. Christian re aimed the Mac 11 on The Director’s face who was still blinking and staring up at Christian.

Christian held the trigger down until the bolt locked back. A shower of lead turned the directors charming forty something year old looks into a soup of flesh, tooth, bone and lingua.

He walked over to the P90 and dropped the Mac 11 to his side. He picked up the P90 and jumped into the tunnel. He pulled out the money bag and tossed it toward the bedroom door. He pulled out the three extra magazines from The Directors jean pockets and filled his front right pocket with the extra ammo.

Christian pressed forward taking aim at the smoldering bodies of the Los Rojos Sicarios.

“Twins! Its Christian! Are yall okay?”

They ceased fire from the fork after the grenade had went off.

“No! Freddie is hit! Move toward me ill help yall out!”

The twins pointed the shotgun light down the tunnels. They could see Christian let out a few rounds in the Los Rojos who were lifeless on the ground.

“Good job gentlemen.”, Christian said covering his eyes from the bright light.

The twin who was wombed was limping forward leaning on his brother. The twin helping his brother dropped the shotgun as they approached Christian.

“Yall came just in time. We both just ran out of …”

Before he could finish his sentence Christian dropped to a knee and hit each of them in the head from at least 15 yards out, with two short bursts.

He sprinted back to the trapdoor and lifted himself up. Christian slammed the door shut.

“Christian?” Eriq came rushing inside.

Christian grabbed the bag of money near the door. He turned the overhead blacklights back on.

He handed the bag to Eriq and told him to put the bag in the car and to pull the Range Rover up.

“You three! Come here!”, Christian commanded the young teen wannabees standing down the hallway near the screen door.

The three waited as Eriq passed and then jogged toward Christian.

“Put your guns down and go help The Director.” They all dropped their guns.

Laughing with each other about how the man they just killed flopped around like a fish as they continued to empty their clips into the twitching corpse.

“You!” Christian said to the tall one. Lift that door latch on the floor. The Director is down there and he needs help to move the bodies and money that they were attempting to steal.”

The two shorter teens started smirking and spitting in their hands and rubbing them together chanting Money. Money. Money. Money.

The tall one joked as if he were dead lifting 315 ponds as he grabbed the trapdoor latch.

He yelled out and lifted his head to maintain his joke. The two others laughed on.

Christian watched as their laughs turned to moans of fear and confusion. The tall ones joking attitude changed to pure fear as he looked at his two friends paralyzed in fear: standing over the directors corpse, their mouths wide open. His hands out forward begging Christian not to shoot.

Christian heard the Rage Rover exhaust rumble as the engine turned over.

From his hip he unloaded the 40 rounds left into the three halcones. The tallest teen was hit in the chest, abdomen, and groin by the same rounds that went through the neck and head of his friends. Christian kept shooting as he marched forward. The two boys next to each other collapsed on top of the director. Christian walked passed the tunnel entrance and took aim at the eldest and finished off the future of Rosa Muerte.

Running to the Range he exchanged the empty magazine with a fresh 50 round magazine. Eriq was getting out of the car with his AK. “Stay! Its ok! Stay here! Ill be right back.”

Christian opened the back door and folded the seats down and tossed the P90 in the front passenger seat. He ran back into the trailer to the bathroom armory and began grabbing ammo crates two in each hand and tossing them in the backseat.

Eriq was cursing in confusion as Christian ran back in for some of the rare firearms he had just saw.

He tossed the rifles and sub machine guns next to the cardboard boxes holding their 45 pounds of marijuana. “Don’t fucking move!”

Christian ran back for four more boxes of ammo cans and finally slammed the backseat door shut and sprinted around to the passenger seat!

“What the fuck!?” Eriq’s legs were bouncing up and down with nervous energy.

“You gotta trust me! Just drive! Head to the trailers were we all just ran from.”

Eriq stared at Christian with a bewilderment, knowing whatever Christian was up too, made Eriq just as guilty among the street courts.

“Fucking Go!” Christian said.

Eriq pressed the ‘4x4 hi’ button and rallied over each speed bump with acceleration toward the right turn leading to the main road that led out of hell.

Approaching the right turn. Sal and his nephews had already moved the trucks of Los Rojos.

As the Range Rover head lights turned right. They got a glimpse of Sal and three of his Nephews pushing the second truck inbetween trailers.

“We got time! Hurry! Back into the driveway between the two. Turn the lights off.”

Christian sprinted from the passenger seat before Eriq had put the car in park.

Eriq grabbed his left over joint from the ash tray. As he pressed the joint to his lips and lit the tip.

The overhead red light came on. Christian started piling in Computer modems and routers and an assortment of wires.

Eriq shook his head under the door ajar overhead red light.

He pulled his AK closer to his waist on his lap and took another drag. Smoke started filing up the cabin as he glanced back to the sound of the door swinging up from the trailer.

Christian was running out with two more gym bags he had filled up with an assortment of kilo’s of heroin, cocaine, and more pounds of Marijuana.

Christian let out a grunt tossing each bag in one at a time. He slammed the backseat door once more. And Just before the overhead light could fade off. It came back on as he jumped into the passenger seat moving the P90 to his lap.

“Go!”

“What the Fuck!”, Eriq cracked the passenger side window open as he crept off to the left on the main road toward the highway.

Christian started to breathe with slow controlled breathes. With his eyes closed he charged the fresh magazine with the first round.

“When I get out just keep idling forward. Do not look left. Do not look right. Just look straight.”

Eriq took another pull from the joint and shook his head, “Whatever you say!”

Sal’s trailer was coming up and he could see the leaking trail of oil or gas leading into the driveway were they would store the trucks.

Christian opened the door. The red light inside shined over as Eriq stamped out the ambers from the roach into the ashtray.

Christian shook the red dot sight on. With the barrel pointed down, he could see it was still on. He took a knee behind the slow rolling Range going over a speed bump. Pressed the P90 to his shoulder and with both eyes open only needed a second to find his target.

Sal was standing in front of the trucks covered in Blue Tarps. His three nephews had just ran into the trailer to the left. Sal was calling out to Eriq and walking diagonal toward the Range Rovers movement.

Within a Second of the SUV passing Christian. Sal’s smile turned to anger after realizing something was wrong. Before he could raise his Glock all the way toward the Range Rover. Christian was in his peripheral.

Christian had the center of the red dot below Sal’s left eye and pulled the trigger once.

Blood fountained out of both the entrance and exit womb. As Christian stood from his knee. Sal fell on both of his. His body rolled on his limp left shoulder and Christian sprinted toward the Range Rover passenger door.

The red overhead light faded to black.

Eriq turned left onto the main highway and before he could even ask for an explanation. He was five over the speed limit and locking in the cruise control.

Christian took a deep breathe. The passenger seat reclined back, and he tossed the P90 to the passenger floor.

Christian leaned forward grabbed his joint from the ashtray and laid back down.

He sparked up the ash gray tip of the joint in front of his blood covered face.

“Corpus!”