Sean looked down at the selection and pushed to the side everything but the Maglite torch and a cold steel recon scout knife, totaling $200. He handed the credit card back to the assistant.
The assistant looked at the card and smiled but did not reach out to take it.
“Sorry,” he said, pointing to the screen.
Sean couldn’t dispute the assistant’s refusal; he wouldn’t accept the credit card of a guy listed as deceased by the federal government. Despite the fact he knew it would have worked.
“I don’t have that much cash!” protested Sean. It really wasn’t his day.
The assistant shrugged in apology and began to look for another customer. Sean was worthless to him.
It wasn’t just weapons that Sean needed though. “Well, just one more thing?” he asked raising his finger to catch the assistant’s attention.
“Yes, Sir,” all enthusiasm for dealing with Sean had gone. His voice lacked its earlier bounce.
Sean ignored the change in demeanor. “Who or what are Los Zetas?”
The assistant stared at Sean as though he had just asked the stupidest question ever, before cracking a smile. “Shit! You’re not joking,” he said, some of the earlier enthusiasm was back.
The assistant took Sean by the arm and led him to the far end of the counter, out of anyone else’s earshot.
“Los Zetas are the meanest cartel in Mexico. Shit, scratch that, the world. They are sick, man!”
“Cartel, as in drugs?”
“Drugs, whores, trafficking, kidnapping, corruption, shit anything, where the fuck have you been man, these guys are infamous.”
“Overseas a lot,” replied Sean. “ And back East.”
“Forces?”
“Sort of!”
“Cool,” replied the assistant nodding his head. He was smart enough to know what that meant and not to ask any more questions. “Anyway, the Los Zetas are ex Mexican Special Forces who quit and started working for the Gulf cartel as their muscle. After a few years, they decided they could do it themselves and started up their own cartel. They’ve kicked off this massive war and they’re cleaning up. Los Zetas are brutal. Tortured corpses without heads turn up to show people what happens if you fuck with them.”
Sean nodded his head. He had seen some reports about the drug wars in Mexico and of course had seen what they had done to his doppelganger.
“How many are there?” he asked.
“Thousands. They’re massive. They pretty much run the whole of the Mexican West coast and they’re still expanding.”
“All ex-special forces?” Sean didn’t think the Mexicans had thousands of Special Forces, never mind thousands that had quit.
“No, sorry, the first thirty or so were ex-special forces. They’ve recruited since then, probably some more special forces but mainly just normal guys, maybe some ex-army as well though.”
“What about the police, can’t they stop them?”
“Not a chance, they’re out-manned and out-gunned by Los Zetas. Those guys think nothing of launching a full military assault on police stations. The police know what’s good for them, they keep their heads down.”
Sean’s mind was racing. Los Zetas had kidnapped the boy and were probably the ones who had killed his doppelganger. Certainly the MO fit. Brutalized body, publicly delivered to the wife. That left two unknowns. Who had shot at him from the house and who were the agents in the car parked outside?
However, before he could tackle either of those unknowns, there was still something he needed.
Sean eyed the assistant. Middle aged, overweight and single. Sean thought he might still be able to help. He leant in close to the counter and whispered. “I’m having a nightmare of a day, anywhere I can find some female company to cheer me up, if you know what I mean?” he asked conspiratorially.
Armed with the brothel’s details, Sean headed into the seedier side of Laredo. The assistant had suggested heading across to Nuevo Laredo, the Mexican side of the city which, he assured Sean, offered some of the best entertainment in the world. Sean had insisted he preferred the US side and was told in no uncertain terms that the quality was sub-par and not even on a bad day would the assistant visit the Laredo establishment but gave him the details anyway. He also, much to Sean’s relief, warned him to be careful; it really was a very different part of the city.
Although Sean had noticed that the ethnicity of Laredo was almost completely Hispanic, it wasn’t until he ventured towards the center that it became apparent just how different Laredo was from most of the US. Sean had been to Miami once and had noticed a lot of Spanish signs. Laredo, however, had a few signs in English. It seemed he had been lucky up until then as Sean’s Spanish was somewhere between beginner and non existent.
He followed the assistant’s directions and soon noted a significant drop in the wealth of the local inhabitants. Driveways became scrap yards and front yards were refuse tips. The brand new Mustang rental began to look significantly out of place and drew a few discerning stares from groups of young men. Sean felt more out of place here than in Afghanistan. At least there, in local dress and unkempt hair, he passed for a local. Something he’d never manage in Laredo and most definitely not in South Laredo.
Sean arrived at the address the assistant had given him and really began to regret his rental car choice. He’d have to change it asap. Being white and six foot three was obvious enough without driving a bright yellow Mustang.
That, however, would have to wait. In the meantime, he just had to work with what he had. He drove past the brothel, a non-descript house on a non-descript residential street and took the first road on the right, parking just out of sight.
A small group of teenagers approached the car as he stopped; one walked forward with some bravado as Sean opened the door.
“Hey hombre, what are you…”
As Sean stepped from the car, the small Latino lost his swagger and changed tack.
“…you want us to look after your fine car?”
Sean smiled. Up until he stepped out of the car, he felt sure they were about to mug him. Obviously his size and the 'don’t fuck with me’ look had deserved a re-evaluation by the teenager. Sean towered over the four of them and probably weighed twice what each of them weighed soaking wet.
“That would be great!”
The leader held out his hand for some cash which Sean ignored but leaned into the leader and whispered.
“If I come back and the car’s good, it’ll save me having to kick your ass in front of your little gang.” Sean looked into the leader’s eyes and saw a mixture of anger and fear. “Get me?!” he added with steel, knocking the anger from the eyes.
A small almost imperceptible nod from the leader ended the interaction.
As Sean walked towards the end of the street, he could hear the young leader barking out his orders to his gang, all in Spanish. He had absolutely no idea what was being said. Sean was embarrassed. His country had two languages, English and Spanish and he spoke only one. Afghanistan, Iraq and Pakistan had many and he spoke many of them. At times, he felt very un-American.
As Sean had driven past the brothel, he had spotted two guards, one by the front door and another to the side of the property. As he walked towards the brothel, both pairs of eyes were on him. Obviously, they didn’t get many white American clients. Both seemed particularly uneasy at the sight of Sean and came together, backing each other up as Sean entered the drive. Both stood by the front door, blocking Sean’s entry.
“Buenas tardes, Senor!” offered one of the guards. On closer inspection, his clothes were of significantly better quality than his colleague’s. Probably the owner of the establishment, thought Sean. The other guard was definitely taking the lead from him.
Fortunately, Sean’s non-existent Spanish stretched to 'good evening’, 'good night’, 'one, two or three beers’, 'please’ and 'thank you’.
“Buenas tardes, Senor,” replied Sean, although he wasn’t sure how long it would remain one. One owner, one guard, neither looked happy to see him, nor did they move aside to let him enter.