The best part was that it was far less expensive for Fuerza to manufacture meth in the United States than many of his competitors because he received the raw materials from Mexico rather than from the United States, where controls on the sale of the compounds needed to make meth were far less stringent. The same smuggling networks that allowed Ernesto Fuerza to bring hundreds of illegal immigrants a month to the United States also allowed him to import tons of epinephrine, hydrochloric acid, caustic soda, and chlorine gas to his southern California mobile labs for very little cost and almost total security.
Like any successful business owner, it was important for Fuerza to personally oversee his operation, let his employees see the boss regularly on the job site, take a look at the books, inspect the facilities and product, question his staff, and hand out punishment and rewards, and that’s what Fuerza was doing that morning…when they received an unexpected visitor.
As always, the San Bernardino County Sheriff’s Methamphetamine Interdiction Tactical Team swept in with black armored Humvees with lights and sirens on. Deputies on foot wearing black fatigues, ballistic helmets, and bulletproof vests led captured lookouts into the compound at gunpoint, and all of the lab workers were quickly rounded up, cuffed with nylon handcuffs, and secured in the middle of the compound. The deputies were especially rough on Fuerza himself, hog-tying, blindfolding, and gagging him and throwing him facedown in the dirt in front of his workers.
“Ernesto, you must be working your men too hard,” said Sergeant Ed Nuñez, commander of the Methamphetamine Interdiction Tactical Team. “My men found your security guys fast asleep.” He looked around at the trailers and trucks and shook his head. “Two tractor-trailers here instead of just one, Ernesto? You didn’t tell me you are using two labs now. You broke the rules, Ernesto, and it’s going to cost you. You’re under arrest. Get him out of here.” Fuerza was pulled up by his arms and dragged across the compound to Nuñez’s Humvee. Just before being thrown into the backseat, Nuñez landed a fierce right cross on Fuerza’s left jaw, causing the smuggler to spin around like a top and slam against the vehicle, with a noticeable spot of blood growing on the outside of the hood covering his head.
Once inside the vehicle, Nuñez removed his helmet, balaclava, and gloves and lit up a cigarette, leaving Fuerza in the backseat still bound and gagged. “I hope for your sake that one of those tractor-trailers is empty, Ernesto, because I’m going to have to confiscate one of them, and I’d hate for you to lose an entire mobile lab. That would be bad for both of our businesses.” He took a deep drag, then removed the hood and gag, leaving the rest of the bindings intact. “What the fuck, Ernesto? We agreed you could keep operating as long as you tossed me a few kilos of product and a few rival smugglers every now and then, and as long as you didn’t get too greedy and try to expand. What’s the matter with you?”
“Listen to me, Nuñez,” Fuerza said. Fuerza was tall, in his late thirties, with long dark hair secured with his signature black and white Middle Eastern–looking “chain-link” bandanna, a long goatee, sunglasses, and wiry features. He moved fluidly and silently—obviously a result of extensive military training. “I might have a deal going that will greatly expand my distribution. I am not trying to screw you, I swear—I am trying to make us both rich…”
“I told you before, ‘Comandante,’ that I don’t want rich and powerful cookers and dealers in this county—I want everybody kept small time so they don’t attract attention from the state or the feds,” Nuñez said. “Money makes you cookers greedy and stupid, and that hurts everyone. Now you’re going to surrender one of those trucks and a couple of your men to me.”
Fuerza nodded, looking dejected and defeated. “Talvez,” he said. “Take the trailers then. Just don’t take my delivery truck, okay? That is important to my business. And don’t run no computer checks.”
“That’s not your call, Ernesto,” Nuñez said, giving the Mexican a mischievous grin. “I’ll need a contract tow company to take the trailers, and I don’t want any outside eyes back-checking my report, so I’ll take the delivery truck instead.”
“Nuñez, I ask you, do not take my delivery truck, please…”
“Sorry, Fuerza. Maybe next time you’ll play straight with me. Stay here until I have your men in the paddy wagon, and then I’ll let you ‘escape.’”
“You greedy bastard. I told you, I have a deal going that will make this lab setup look like a child’s chemistry set. I could use your help.”
“Tell me what this deal is about.”
“I got me an army, Nuñez,” Fuerza said. “I got me some good fighters, real pros. They…”
“More of your pansy Mexican stoners, ‘Comandante’? No thanks.”
“No, not the Rural Defense Corps—these guys are for real. No hassles for you at all. We will not stay in San Bernardino County—we just need safe passage for these guys when I bring them across.”
“Pros, huh? Who are they?”
“You do not want to know who they are, Nuñez,” Fuerza said. “They will take over security and enforcement for my network. All you and your guys need to do is let them through when I tell you they are coming.”
Nuñez thought for a moment; then: “Okay, Ernesto. But I’m raising my fee to twenty thousand a week.”
“Twenty thousand? You do less work for more money?”
“You think it’s easy or cheap to explain to the bosses how over a million dollars’ worth of Mexican crank gets discovered in Los Angeles, Riverside, and Imperial Counties every month, but not in San Bernardino County?” Nuñez asked angrily. “There’s a lot more than just my team involved in this, Fuerza—everybody from the state narcotics control bureau to the DA to the fucking newspaper reporters have their hands out. It’s going to cost you big to go big-time.”
“I tell you, Nuñez, back off, and there will be plenty of money for all of us.”
“Twenty thousand a week, starting now,” Nuñez insisted. “Maybe that’ll take care of this sudden urge to expand your operation. Take it, or I’ll confiscate more than just the damned truck.”
“Okay, okay, I will pay,” Fuerza said. “But please, do not go near the delivery truck, and tell your deputies to stay off the computer.”
“Stop whining about that truck, Ernesto,” Nuñez said. “Be thankful I’m not impounding everything here and tossing your sorry stupid ass into jail. Now shut up and stay put until I come for you.” Fuerza plopped back on the hard bench seat of the sheriff’s department Humvee and waited.
It did not take long. Nuñez returned a few moments later: “What the hell is going on, Fuerza? We just ran the plates on your truck for wants and warrants, and the whole fucking world exploded on us! Were you involved in some sort of border incident down in Imperial County?”
“I do not know nothing about any border incident, Nuñez. I have been here for…”
“Bullshit, Fuerza. You’re going down big-time, jerkoff. You should have told me what you’re involved with when I first nabbed you. This whole area will be swarming with feds in an hour—the computer reported the tag check to every law enforcement agency on the damned planet. You’ll be lucky if you just end up with life in a federal prison. It’s out of my hands now, asshole.” He disappeared again, shouting, “Bag up any cash and product you see before the damned feds get here, boys. We’re going to lose this crime scene in just a few minutes, and then we’ll be sucking hind tit as usual. Search that truck good and…”
The gunfight lasted less than a minute. Fuerza heard and felt a few heavy-caliber bullets ricocheting off the Humvee, and he hunkered down on the floor until it was over, then sat up and shouted, “Coronel, aquí.”