Making sure no one was outside the storage unit, he took his load and carried it back to his car, placing it next to the silver briefcase full of money. The sun was just starting to set as he sped back down the highway toward Tornillo.
Six hundred miles southeast along the border, the Padre sat in a worn fabric chair behind a modest desk in the office of the chief of police for the town of Nuevo Laredo. The Padre rested his immaculately polished black cowboy boots on the police chief’s desk, his legs crossed, as he blew smoke rings in the air from his thin cigar.
“I want to congratulate you on your appointment, Jose.” The Padre adjusted the priest’s collar around his neck and smiled at the young police chief standing in his own office, in front of his own desk. “I have the utmost confidence in your success and for your safety. Your predecessors, not so much,” he said with a devilish grin. “It’s been almost a year since anyone has had the balls to take the job here. The average length of employment for the last three chiefs was only about ninety days apiece. I have a very good feeling you will last much, much longer.”
“Thank you, Padre,” the visibly nervous young man said. “I promise I won’t let you down.”
“Of course you won’t, Jose. In fact, I predict you’ll become a great success. Your future accomplishments will find great favor with both the U.S. and Mexican law enforcement agencies. Why, some day, you and your beautiful young wife might even make a handsome political couple with you serving as governor.”
“Governor?”
“Why, yes, Jose, maybe even governor. You see,” the Padre said as he stabbed his cigar at the young police chief across the desk. “You have to think big. The bigger the better, and I have big plans for you… and I’m not just talking about carrying a little of product across the border when you meet with your U.S. counterparts. That’s just for fun. I love the irony. No, we’re going to make you a star. You want to know how?”
“How, Padre?”
“First, by making you not die!” the Padre roared with laughter. “No, my boy, you will become a hero in the fight against narcotics, and we will use the most powerful weapon available to accomplish our goal. The media.”
“The media?”
“Of course. You’re young, you’re handsome, and I know you studied some theater in the university. Jose, perception is reality. With sound bites, interviews, and photographs of your heroic raids against the evil cartels, we can create a whole reality for you by manipulating the public’s perception of you. Jose will be the young hero who is winning the war. Do you realize you share the same first name with Joseph Goebbels? He was Hitler’s propaganda minister. If he could make Hitler look like a hero to seventy million Germans before the war, making you the face of successful law enforcement in this part of the country should be nothing. Creating a believable perception is the key. The media is how we accomplish it.”
“But not in reality.”
“Of course not.” The Padre laughed as he ground out his cigar on the tile floor with his boot. “I’ll give you the information you need to look good with your counterparts. I don’t mind losing some product here and some product there as long as it’s good for business. And, like in all good businesses, from time to time, I need to clean house. You’ll look fantastic bringing back the bodies of dead drug smugglers for the newspaper reporters to write about. I can see the headlines already,” the Padre said as he motioned his hands in the air. “Young police chief triumphs where all others have failed. Of course, to get things done, you’ll need some help. But don’t worry; I’ll give you what you need. In fact, I have six men already picked out to join your police force. Good men. Men we can both trust.”
“Padre, there’s no budget for more police right now. That was the first thing I asked the mayor for.”
“Don’t worry about the mayor. I have a relationship with him, too. Hell, I was invited to his daughter’s wedding a few months ago. I made the front page of the paper congratulating the bride with a kiss. Now, the first thing we need to do is introduce you to the world in a big way. Do you recall the theft of a large quantity of military-grade weapons from the U.S. National Guard recently?”
“Yes Padre. It was big news. They found the dead body of a man involved, an American, but not the weapons.”
“Well, you’re going to find the body, or at least the head, of the other man that was involved. You’ll also recover some of the stolen weapons. Best of all, the man you are going to find is a Mexican. He’s a Mexican who works for the cartels. It will make for great headlines.”
“What about the rest of the weapons, Padre?”
“Those you won’t find,” the Padre said with a smile. “I need to put you on the map, Jose, but please understand I do have a business to run.”
Kip had showered away the dirt and sweat from his work on the front walkway. Waiting for Bennett to return, he sank into the soft leather couch as he cracked open a cold beer. Flipping through the channels, he surfed some sports programming while he rubbed the belly of the white French bulldog who had decided to join him. Pretty soon, the two of them were both snoring away in exhausted slumber. An hour later, Kip and Max were woken by the sound of Bennett returning home. Max bounded off the couch to meet his master at the back door.
“Anybody alive in here?” Bennett called out as he entered the room sporting his seersucker suit and bow tie. He was holding two beers. The still ecstatic little Max was in tow.
“Wow,” Kip said through a long yawn. “I was out like a light.”
“Manual labor will do that to you sissy pencil-pushers. Want one?” Bennett offered one of the bottles to Kip.
“Thanks, Pop,” Kip said as he took the offered beer while Bennett crashed down on the couch next to him. Max leapt directly into his master’s lap and begged for more attention. “Have fun downtown with your buddy, old man?”
“Always do. He’s about the only person immune to my rather caustic personality. Speaking of personalities, your Aunt Polly will be along in a bit. She’s fixing dinner for us tonight.”
“What’re we having?” Kip asked, taking a pull from the beer.
“Chicken fried steak. One of the few things she makes that I’m pretty sure won’t poison us. What’re we watching?”
“Nothing,” Kip replied as he handed the remote to Bennett. “Dealer’s choice.”
“How about this?” Bennett asked as he scrolled the channel guide, landing on the Food Network.
“What is it?”
“One of those new reality cooking shows, Swamp Food Kitchen.”
“Here, try some alligator,” the effusive cooking show’s host with a heavy British accent encouraged one of the participants. “Don’t be scared. It tastes like chicken.”
“I hate it when people say alligator tastes like chicken,” scoffed Kip. “It makes me want to ask them if they’ve ever even had chicken before. Chickens and alligators have completely unique diets; they don’t taste anything alike.”
“What if you fed your alligator nothing but chickens?” asked Bennett.
“Well, then, maybe, I guess,” conceded Kip. “You like gator?”
“Never touch the stuff,” replied Bennett as he fished into his coat pocket for his pipe and tobacco pouch. “I don’t eat anything that could eat me. It screws with the food chain.”
“I thought humans were at the top of the food chain?”
“Try telling that to a shark chewing on your leg and see if it lets go.”
Max exploded from his master’s lap and scampered toward the sound of the front door opening, barking madly as he met Aunt Polly entering the house with her arms full of groceries.