"I gave you an answer."
"I am waiting for a better answer."
Enrique's spacious office occupied the fourth floor on the north side of the compound, which was built around a courtyard with a pool. He walked to the courtyard side and gazed down at the pool, where Carmelita, his ten-year-old daughter, sat on a chaise in her school uniform and texted on her iPhone, and Julio, her seventeen-year-old brother, played the grand piano. He opened the louvered windows slightly to allow the music in… ah, Bach. Enrique straightened the Monet on the wall then picked up the gold-plated AK-47 from the credenza.
"Mr. de la Garza," the voice on the speakerphone said, "I told you. The subprime market tanked. We didn't see it coming."
"Then why did your firm bet that it would tank? You put one billion dollars of my money in subprime mortgages, and then your firm bet against those same subprime mortgages, did you not? Is that an honorable way to conduct business?"
" Honorable? " His broker chuckled. "No, no, no, we don't do honorable on Wall Street. We do 'legal and illegal,' at least some of the time. And our actions in this instance were completely legal, according to our legal department."
"Perhaps. But not very wise. You bet against me and now my account is worth half its original value."
"Well, I had nothing to do with that. I'm not responsible for what our trading division-"
" Senor Richey, I did not amass a seven-billion-dollar fortune by allowing others to act dishonorably toward me."
Enrique slid open the sliding-glass door and stepped out onto the balcony overhanging the Rio Bravo del Norte, what the gringos call the Rio Grande. He inhaled the lovely spring day then pointed the AK-47 down at the Border Patrol agents standing on the other side of the river next to their green-and-white vehicle parked on the river road and pulled the trigger. The bullets splashed into the water just in front of the agents. They dove behind their vehicle. He emptied the clip. He was not trying to hit them, just to make a point.
But one agent did not appreciate Enrique's point.
He walked to the rear of his vehicle and opened the tailgate. He emerged with a shoulder-mounted grenade launcher. He aimed it toward Enrique, but the other agent grabbed the weapon. The two agents got into a heated argument. Apparently, the Border Patrol frowned on its agents firing missiles into Mexico.
Which amused Enrique de la Garza.
He stepped back inside and heard a frantic voice on the speakerphone: "What's happening? Is that gunfire?"
Enrique's office door opened, and Hector Garcia, his second-in-command, entered with a bound-and-gagged man in tow. Julio followed, albeit reluctantly.
"Excuse me one moment, Senor Richey," Enrique said to the speakerphone. "I must terminate an employee."
Enrique placed the AK-47 on his desk then stepped to the far wall and removed from a rack his prized four-foot-long handcrafted machete with the razor-sharp carbon steel black blade and the engraved mahogany handle. The employee's eyes got wide, and he tried to scream, but only a muffled sound came from his gagged mouth. Enrique and Julio followed Hector as he pulled the employee out onto the balcony and over to the railing then pushed his head down. But the employee struggled against Hector.
"Remove the gag," Enrique said.
Hector removed the gag.
"Felipe, look at me."
He turned his face to Enrique. Felipe Pena was only twenty-two, but he had lived a full life. A full, mean, cruel life. Four years before, Enrique had taken the boy into the cartel, hoping to save his soul. But it was not to be.
"You came to me, did you not?"
Felipe nodded.
"You swore allegiance to God, to me, and to the honor code, did you not?"
Another nod.
"You understood that violating the code is a crime punishable by death, did you not?"
Another nod.
"And what does the code state? Please tell me, Felipe Pena."
As if reading from the scripture: "We do not kill women, children, or innocents. We do not sell the drugs to Mexicanos, only to gringos. We do not ourselves use the drugs. We tithe twenty percent to charity and church."
"Now, Felipe, have you lived your life by the code?"
He pondered a moment, then his shoulders slumped.
"No, jefe."
"Did you use the drugs?"
"Yes."
"Did you sell the drugs to Mexicanos? "
"Yes."
"Did you kill an innocent?"
"Yes."
"A ten-year-old girl you raped?"
"Yes."
"Why? Why, Felipe Pena?"
The boy now cried.
" Jefe, it was the drugs."
Enrique shook his head and sighed.
"The drugs. That is why we do not ourselves use the drugs we sell to the gringos. It is a filthy habit that blackens the soul with hate and cruelty, that does not allow one to live an honorable life. Felipe, if you were a soldado with another cartel, I would send Hector to put a bullet in your brain. But you are my soldado, you are my responsibility, your acts are my acts… so I must personally dispense justice to you. That child's parents have demanded justice, and I must give them justice. They look to me for justice because there is no other justice in Nuevo Laredo. Only me, Enrique de la Garza. I am the law in Nuevo Laredo. Felipe, I too have a ten-year-old child. If you raped and killed my Carmelita, would I not demand justice? If a man raped and killed your child, would you not demand justice?"
"Yes, I would."
"Yes, Felipe, you would. You would demand justice. And I would give you justice. Now you must give justice to that child's parents."
Enrique de la Garza now rendered his judgment.
"Felipe Pena, you have not lived your life with honor-will you now die with honor?"
He blinked hard to clear his eyes of the tears, then he stood tall.
"Yes, jefe, I will."
Felipe turned back, bent his head over the railing, and awaited his fate with honor.
"Felipe, would you like to pray?"
"No, jefe. I am not worthy enough to pray to God."
"Felipe, your family will never go hungry or homeless."
" Gracias, jefe. "
Enrique held the machete out to Julio.
"Take it, my son, and dispense justice."
His son now appeared nauseous.
"Father, I cannot."
"Son, this is not a pleasant task, I know, but it is a necessary one. If the people of Nuevo Laredo are to one day look to Julio de la Garza for justice, you must be strong enough to dispense justice. Man enough."
He saw the hurt in his son's soft face. He was not strong like his older brother. He was shy and sensitive, like his madre. Since his mother's death, Julio had never been the same. Sometimes Enrique worried that his son was homosexual, but he quickly put such thoughts out of his mind.
"I am sorry, Julio. You are your mother's son, with the gentle soul."
Enrique turned back to Felipe Pena, grasped the handle with both hands, raised the blade above his head, and then swung the machete down with great force, cutting Felipe's head off cleanly. His head fell the hundred feet to the river below. Blood spurted from his open neck. Hector grabbed Felipe's legs and flipped him over the railing. His body now joined his head in the Rio Bravo.
Enrique exhaled and suddenly felt tired. Dispensing justice in an unjust world always made him feel weary. He carried every judgment with him like a cross. But justice was his burden to bear. And he had learned that nature disqualified some men from honorable lives. He now heard a gagging sound and turned to see Julio throwing up over the rail. He handed the boy his silk handkerchief.
"Run along now."
Julio walked quickly inside but stopped when Enrique called out to him.
"Oh, Julio, your Bach-it was very nice. Muy bueno."
" Gracias, padre."
"Did the tutor arrive for your sister?"