Chapter Fifty Nine: Dons Salvador y Joséf

Composite report, events of Wednesday, 6th of May

TELEPHONE conversation translated from Spanish between Don Joséf (el Brujo) in Monroe, Washington and Don Salvador deVega (drug cartel boss) in Laguna de Tuxpan, Mexico

"So have you crippled that bigfoot as planned?"

"No, things did not work out that way. That man is a talented brujo himself, you know."

"You call that animal a MAN (hombre)?"

"I do. He is quite noble. And capable. You had best forget your vendetta with him, for your own good."

"It sounds like you are giving up. Are you his prisoner?"

"I was, but he has set me free now. I am returning to Mexico tomorrow."

"No you're not-- you're going to finish your mission!"

"My mission has been modified so that you wouldn't want me to finish it. The Bigfoot has enthralled me to carry out your very own orders, but to cut off YOUR arms and legs and polla instead of his, so I am calling to warn you that we should probably never meet again."

"Are you threatening ME?"

"No, I'm warning you to avoid me as I shall you. This is a courtesy call to keep us both safe."

"Listen, you do what I say, or I will..."

"Make no threats, Don Salvador, you know that will be unwise."

"I know that one of your sons lives in Michoacán. I could send some of my men to bring him here if you do not obey me.

"As already said, that would be unwise. Besides, your own son, Roberto, is right here, in the house of the Bigfoot, quite close to me. Is it not rash of you to threaten my son?"

"You shall not harm Roberto!"

"Don Salvador, I have no desire to harm him whatsoever. But even if I did, those Bigfoot brujos have cursed me with their enchantments to prohibit me from affecting anyone here. The only persons I may harm are you and your agents."

"But can you kidnap Roberto from them and bring him home to me?"

"No, I can't even speak to him, only mumble unintelligibly. Nor can I physically touch him or anyone else here. It is very potent magic, I can't resist it. I do wish I had more time to learn it but they have ordered me to leave tomorrow."

End of call

Mexico, Monday, 11 May

Don Joséf took a bus from Seattle to his humble shack north of Hermosillo in out in the Sonora Desert of Mexico. He would rather have flown home, but his mission for deVega had been unfulfilled and so he had been paid nothing and had very little cash on him. The credit card he had been using had also been cancelled, a petty punishment deVega had administered for having failed the mission. That was irritating: he had been counting on a big payday since even a brujo can become weary of poverty.

As it was, his relationship with deVega was problematic now and he could not rely upon further well-paid assignments from the rich drug lord. He was intending to avoid deVega, as to not be put in the position of having to complete his mission and cripple the Don in the very manner he had intended for the Bigfoot. Consider it a final vestige of loyalty to his sometimes employer.

But Don Salvador is loyal to no one. He would not abide the potential threat of the brujo's reversed mission hanging over his head and dispatched a squad of six specially-trained agents to eliminate him. He would not take a chance on the brujo's ability to resist the compulsion programmed into him, being all too personally aware of how overwhelming the Bigfoot's hypnotic spells could be. Don Salvador had cancelled the brujo's credit card to give his assassins time to set up a stake-out post near the house so that they could be ready when Don Joséf returned from Washington State. As it turned out, he took a few extra days in Los Angeles before arriving, so that the assassins had to wait in the heat of the Sonora Desert all that time.

Finally some agents observed him arriving at the bus central in Hermosillo, from where he took a local bus that would drop him off about 5 kilometers from his house, from where he would walk home. This was when he would be most vulnerable. They got ready. But the bus just drove past: the brujo not on it.

They continued watching the house from hiding in an arroyo a few hundred meters away, waiting for him to show up. They had never gone into the house, knowing better than to go into a brujo's home, where magical traps might be waiting to spring on them. They knew of this brujo's reputation and were nervous about it.

They waited until dark, when at last they saw the light of a kerosene lamp being lit and glowing in the brujo's house, so they knew their target was home, which was a surprise, for they had not seen him come. They decided to sneak up close in the dark with all their high-powered weapons and shoot the entire house to pieces-- it was really just a flimsy shack -- rather than to go inside and confront a tricky sorcerer.

They never got to fire a shot, but ended up running as far away as they could get. But by dawn they were all dead.

So then Don Joséf selected a pickup truck from among the vehicles his attackers would no longer be using, and drove towards Iguala. He noticed that deVega's agents were monitoring traffic for him at various points along the carretera, but he made his face look fat and was not identified. He expected more intense surveillance near Laguna de Tuxpan, where deVega's hacienda is located, so he left the pickup behind and the road as well just as the sun went down, more or less fading into the darkness.

The dread was compounded because everyone knew that the magic coming against them was not just the brujo's but also that of the Bigfoot who had visited them earlier this year, he who had defeated them so roundly, physically and psychically. At least this tiny brujo did not have the frightening size and strength of that Bigfoot, but then the Bigfoot did not wish to kill and this brujo was infamous for it.

By now Don Salvador had realized that sending agents to kill Don Joséf "just in case" may have been unwise, since the attempt had failed and only antagonized the dangerous sorcerer. So he tried to call him on the satellite phone to apologize and offer money, but no one was answering.

Don Salvador had considered making a run for it; going into hiding until the brujo had been dealt with. But he could not steer his cartel from exile, nor did he dare to be seen as a less-than-macho coward in the eyes of his own agents. There were competitors interested in taking over his operations, so he had to maintain a show of strength. Even so, it was obvious that he was afraid.

But the night passed without incident. Everyone was braver in daylight. But it became night again and everyone was afraid all over again. With good reason: the external guards had gone missing early on; the power went out, just as when the Bigfoot had attacked, the internal guards also began to go missing. The only light was from flashlights or cell phones.

By midnight Don Salvador was cooped up in the study with his wife and the maid and three of his five children, guarded by four burly carteleros with pistols ready. The women and children were crying, the agents were sweating.

One of the guards swore and slapped his neck. He’d been stung by a tiny dart, come from nowhere, the two doors in the room both locked shut and there were no windows. Within seconds the guard crumpled unconscious to the floor. A few minutes later another guard went down. The women and children became hysterical.

One of the two remaining guards suggested that they move to another room just as he slapped at a dart in his neck. All flashlights went out, as if all their batteries expired at the same instant. Darkness was total. The women screamed.

A child took Don Salvador's hand in the dark, he couldn't tell which one: too small to be the oldest age 16, too big to be the youngest age 7-- it felt like Roberto's 12 year-old hand but he knew that could not be. No one spoke, but he felt himself being led out a door as if the child could see where he/she was going. He heard the final guard crying out as he slapped his neck.

Whoever was holding his hand was leading him deftly though the darkness, moving around furniture and other obstacles, until he could sense that they were outside the house, although it was just as dark as inside, no stars, no glow of horizon. They still had not spoken, for fear of attracting El Brujo, nor did Don Salvador really wish to speak, content to simply follow his companion as if in a dream. They walked far from the danger in the house, until he could smell that they were in a pleasant little cluster of trees, where they stopped.

His companion sat own upon the earth and Don Salvador did the same. He was very relaxed and felt safe, after a day of intense tension and fear. It seemed to be less dark now: he could make out some stars sparkling through the leafy treetops above him. But still could not see who he was with-- which child had led him here?

Don Joséf made a little fire with his flint stone apparatus, so that they could now see each other.

"I should have known it was you," deVega admitted to the brujo. He was quite calm.

"Actually, you couldn't have known," the brujo confessed, "I put you in a trance to get you here."

"And here I am. So what happens now? Do you kill me?"

"Sorry, Salvador, but no. I am to make certain you survive to live as a paraplegic cripple. I'm locked into fulfilling the very same mission you assigned me to, except that now you are the victim instead of the perpetrator."

"Is this the work of the Bigfoot?"

"And other Bigfoot shamans. It was quite humbling: they infected me with what they call a syssk, a compulsion. Or what young people would call reprogramming." "That Bigfoot is so evil."

"Actually, the original plan is your very own evil, he has merely reflected it back at you, which seems fair enough to me. But he did not program me to seek you out. Therefore I was going to avoid meeting you so that this could never happen. But then you sent your agents out to kill me. And hinted at a threat to my son. You have forced me to come after you."

"Sí, that was perhaps rash of me. But you have mentioned that you need money, perhaps we can make a deal..."

"Oh, I'd prefer that, but I don't think I can resist what I have been programmed to do now." Don Joséf displayed his compact tool bag, from which he withdrew a shiny scalpel that glinted in the light of the little fire.

Don Salvador wondered why he didn't simply stand up and run away, until he realized that he was quite paralyzed, lying flat on his back with his head in the brujo's lap. He was cozily comfortable, completely relaxed.

Don Joséf continued to pack medical equipment out of his tool bag; bone saw, sutures, plastic tubes, various specialized knives. "As you had specified in your instructions to keep the Bigfoot alive, I will be recycling your blood and cauterizing your stubs so that you won't die during the amputations. Now, remove your clothes."

Don Salvador found himself obeying, peeling off his clothes until he was naked. His cell phone fell out of a pocket, suddenly illuminating the scene with a blue light.

"Now lie back and relax." deVega did so, although mentally he was trying to stand and fight instead. The brujo wriggled in closer and touched the point of the silvery scalpel to deVega's naked shoulder. "I'll sever the ligaments to disassemble the joints for a nice, neat amputation. Both arms, both legs, but I'll spare your polla", he gave his old employer a friendly smile, "although I'll have to remove your tongue instead. I can't have you commanding your sicarios to come after me again." The scalpel made a first incision into shoulder-flesh, a minor puncture.

Don Salvador began to weep. "This is inhumanly cruel, have you no mercy?"

The brujo smiled and shook his head. "We are the same, you and I, both ruthless, cruel bastards. You hired me to be merciless and gave me inhumane instructions which I must now follow. Although it does irk me that you will not be paying me for my services. I could use the money."

"You can't expect me to pay you for crippling me instead of that accursed Bigfoot."

"No, I suppose not. Unless... There is perhaps another option.”

“Yes, any other option!”

“What if we call the Bigfoot and he releases me from this compulsion? Will you then pay me the million pesos you have promised?"

"Sí sí! Let us call him right now. I have his number."

"Are you such good friends?"

"He has imprisoned my son, so it's rather about keeping my enemies near. May I sit up?"

"No, I have you where I want you. Here is your phone. Make the call."

deVega punches into the Contacts App of his cell phone, then the name "Bigfut" under Favorites. The international code chirps merrily and far far away in another land and another time zone, a telephone rings. Three times, deVega knows it is late in the night, hopes his enemy will do him the favor of picking up.

"Adam here..." on the phone, "..ah I can see it's you Salvadope. Let me guess, I'll bet you're in touch with our favorite killer-brujo right about now. And he wants to trim off all your appendages, right?"

"Sí, he's been hypnotized by you, you have to stop him."

"No, I really don't. You've been a threat to me and now it might just get resolved once and for all. I don't even have to get involved, very neat and tidy."

"But this is so cruel, so evil!"

"Oh, I agree, but this particular evil cruelty is of your own making. It just seems fair that you are the victim rather than anyone else. Like me, for example."

"Yes, yes, I'm a bad guy, I know. But we must be able to make some kind of deal...."

"Oh sure, no problem. In fact, I've been expecting that you might be willing to negotiate and I've got just the thing: you surrender to the law, confess all your crimes and murders, give up all your authority over the drug cartels and go to prison. Then I'll call off Don Joséf. That's what you have to do."

"That's too much!"

"Then have fun with Don Joséf. Adios." The call ended with a click.

The brujo was smiling down on him, waiting to hear which way this would go, scalpel still in hand. Don Salvador redialed in a panic. This time the phone rang ten times, then shut off. The drug lord tried again and again, no luck.

"Well...." Don Joséf was becoming impatient.

The phone rang. It was Adam. "You will be contacted by Lieutenant Rafael Dominguez, an officer in the Fuerzas Armadas Mexicanas, stationed in Cuernavaca. He is my contact person who will let me know where you are imprisoned and how you are behaving. He´ll keep an eye on Don Joséf as well, and if you manage to wiggle out of prison he will say the trigger phrase to our murderous brujo and set him back to fulfilling his syssk programming. You don't have to thank me."

"Thank you? For sending me to prison?"

"Instead of insisting that you be totally crippled? You and I both know that if I was to call you begging for mercy, you would simply laugh at me."

"Yes, but that is me, you are more merciful. You can't help it."

"What? Are you saying that I'm a better man than you?"

deVega was irritated by the word "man", it did not fit into his racist vocabulary.

"Softer, more sentimental. You are the Disney-movie version of a dancing Bigfut."

"Wow, you sure do know how to insult a guy," Adam responded. "Now let me speak to Don Joséf."

Salvador handed his phone to the brujo. He could overhear what must have been a phrase in the Bigfoot language, something incomprehensible, but the brujo reacted to it, seemed to relax and began to wrap his surgical tools and put them back into his carry bag.

"I apologize for threatening you with amputations, Don Salvador,” the brujo said, “That would have been too horrible, but I couldn't resist the spell."

De Vega strived to stand up, so that he could put on his clothes, but found that he still could not move.

"I understand," he said nervously, "that Bigfut has enthralled me too."

"But apart from that spell,” the brujo continued, “I would still like to kill you, because you sent your agents to murder me."

"Oh, that-- that wasn't really serious, I knew they would fail."

"So you deliberately sent six of your own agents to their deaths?"

"They were expendable."

"You really are a cabrón, Salvador."

"I suppose I am... so are you going to kill me?"

"I can't yet; I'm still under the Bigfoot's spell: I am required to allow you a chance to go to prison, although if you do not then I may complete my mission and dismember you."

"Don Joséf, let us be friends again....how can I make it up to you?"

"How about five million pesos?"

"Make it ten million. I don't want you to be harboring a grudge."

"Bueno. We can transfer it to my bank account on your home computer. You may stand up now."

It was assumed that the brujo had taken him, although no one had seen Don Joséf even once; those in the house had only experienced the lights going out and then total darkness. All of ten guards had been stuck by tiny darts in the night and died, their bodies scattered everywhere. The survivors-- family and house-holding staff --were amazed to see that their Don was still alive. His wife and children had been crying all night, now they rushed to embrace him.

But they stopped and held back when they also saw the brujo: that frightening little old mestizo man in old worn farming clothes who followed Don Salvador closely into the house, allowing no one to come between himself and his host, looking stern and unapologetic for all the carnage he had caused. He did not threaten them but they understood that he was probably the most dangerous man they had ever seen, and this in a house of a merciless drug lord often visited by members of a ruthless drug cartel.

"While we are here," the little man said to deVega, "you can use your computer to transfer the money into my bank account." Now deVega regretted his foolhardy generosity, but could see no way of getting out of it, and really, ten million pesos was no economic burden to him. Well worth it to get the brujo off his back. So he turned on his computer and transferred the money, it took only moments.

He would not yet tell his family he was on his way to prison, since he had not yet accepted it himself, only told them that he had important business in Cuernavaca. His wife had long since learned not to ask about his "business" trips.

He showered and put on fresh clothes, Don Joséf watching him closely so there was no chance for him to slip any weapon into a pocket.

Then there was a telephone call to be made. The brujo automatically dialed a number that had been programmed into his syssk-spell: that of Adam's contact person in the Mexican Army. It was still quite early in the morning but the call was answered at the first ring: "Pronto, Lt Rafael Dominguez aqui. I am expecting a call from cartel boss Salvador deVega. Is this he?"

The brujo handed the receiver to Don Salvador, who was reluctant to touch it, saying, "No, I can't just surrender..." The brujo, meanwhile, rummaged through his backpack and started unpacking his surgical tools once again: scalpel, bone saw... deVega tried to jump away from the brujo, but found that he was paralyzed again. He watched the brujo playfully spin the shiny scalpel.

"I just gave you ten million pesos!" Don Salvador hissed.

"Yes, and I thank you, it will definitely improve my lifestyle. But that was for not killing you, which I shall not. However that money does not free me from the Bigfoot's spell, I still have to cripple you completely if you do not go to prison. Once again, I apologize, but I have my orders. Those very same orders you dictated to me."

Don Salvador felt a great rage rise up inside him; he himself suddenly arose and smote that miserable little Indian witch doctor a superhuman blow so righteous and mighty that it had to be fatal.

Or he would have done so, if only he could move his body at all.

It was obvious that the only physical movement he could make was to accept the receiver being handed to him. Which he finally did and after a long pause said, "Yes, hello, this is Don Salvador. It seems I shall be visiting you today."

"Yes, my friend Adam informed me that you might be showing up... but is this going to be without bloodshed? Or do I need to bring an army?"

"No, I'll be coming to your base. I'll be cooperating. Hopefully, no blood will be shed." Especially not mine, he thought.

They went to the garage where there were several cars to choose from, some classical, some sports racers, deVega would rather have taken one of the older throwaway cars for the trip to Cuernavaca, but Don Joséf had insisted that it be the new blue Cadillac convertible. That was deVega's favorite car and he didn't want to leave it parked outside the prison for an indeterminate time, but the brujo said, "No, it's all right, I'll be taking it home with me."

Don Joséf was looking forward to driving the Cadillac, but was not about to have his attention and hands compromised while transporting a dangerous drug lord to prison. deVega might be desperate enough to crash his car in hopes that he could escape his fate. But there was a dart waiting for him if he tried.

The distance from Laguna de Tuxpan and Cuernavaca was just over a hundred kilometers, they drove north on Carretera Federal 95 and 1½ hours later they were tangled up in the heavy traffic of downtown Cuernavaca, through which they had to pass to get to the army base. Don Salvador was familiar with the base, he had been arrested there before, although his political connections had always gotten him set free at once.

Recently, however, there had been an escalation of cartel violence in Cuernavaca: turf wars being waged between four different drug cartels, including Don Salvador's own merry band of carteleros. There was at present too much public protestation to be ignored, a public outcry against the street battles and "accidental murdering" of too many "unlucky" civilians. This was not the best moment to be an infamous drug lord planning on business as usual as far as blatantly pulling strings went.

The base was north of Cuernavaca town proper, a large area more or less a town in itself, many ugly square-block cement buildings and a healthy crop of jeeps, APC's, combat tanks, helicopters and fighter planes, all surrounded by an endless cyclone fence. It was a restricted area, so they were stopped at the check-in gate, where deVega was required to show ID and reluctantly admit that a Lt Dominguez was expecting him. He was told to drive the car into the parking lot off to the side and wait for the Lieutenant, who was on his way to meet him.

As Salvador parked his beloved shiny blue Cadillac convertible and shut off the engine, a feeling of utter defeat swallowed him.

"I'll take the keys," Don Joséf said, which caused that feeling of defeat to expand vastly. He realized that if he should escape imprisonment it was now or never.

"No, no no no... I can't do this, he cried, "we have to get out of here right now!" He reached to restart the car, but his keys were missing. He panicked, looking for them.

"Calma, Don Salvador,” the Cadillac keys swinging on a slender chain hooked around his finger, “we must do this. Either this or I must obey my orders, you know that…"

"You've got my keys! Give them to me! Give..." He saw that Don Joséf started unpacking his surgical tools again, then there was a flicker of daylight and once again, he could not move.

He felt a searing pain in his right shoulder. He saw that the scalpel had punctured his deltoid muscle and there was blood. Not a lot...yet, but bleeding had commenced.

Then a military van pulled briskly up beside his Cadillac, soldiers stepped out, an army lieutenant and four military police. deVega snapped out of his trance, could suddenly open his door and step out of the car and away from Don Joséf, which he did.

"We meet again, Señor deVega. But this time you are here to surrender yourself?" the young lieutenant asked, quite formally and politely. The four military cops looked much less polite, ready to pounce; hands perched upon on barely-holstered truncheons.

deVega recognized the face of the young lieutenant from somewhere... then it came to him: he'd been in the Bigfoot's bus when they had kidnapped and humiliated him. This was one of Adam's friends! (The one called Raf.)

His first reaction was to get a little revenge by assigning a sicario to kill him, but then he remembered the conditions of the curse the Bigfoot had put upon him including familia y amigos: deVega realized that he could end up struggling to breathe for the rest of his life. So he erased the idea of a hit as quickly as he could.

He would escape instead, pointed into the Cadillac, "Officers, arrest that man! He's a murderer-- killed ten of my employees last night!"

All four soldiers bent over to look into the Cadillac. "What man? There's no one there," they agreed. One of the cops asked, "Señor, are you hallucinating on drugs?"

Surprised, deVega also looked inside. He clearly saw the brujo, still sitting in the passenger seat, twirling the car keys on one finger and smiling happily.

"What do you mean? He's right there! Why are you making fun of me?"

"Is this guy un poco loco?" a military cop asked the young lieutenant.

Raf shrugged, "Maybe so. He's volunteered to surrender himself to prison, so something's bothering him."

"You chulos had better treat me with respect, I am Don Salvador deVega, I command a thousand carteleros, El Presidente himself is afraid of me!"

"We know who you are, Señor deVega, now if you'll just step this way we´ll take you to your suite..."

As deVega was escorted upstairs in a building dedicated to “Anti Drug Cartel Activities” they passed a window offering a view over the parking lot. Suddenly he noticed his bright and shiny blue Cadillac convertible driving away. Don Joséf was stealing his car!

Later that night, in his temporary cell the brujo came to visit him again, from where was unclear; there were no open doors, only bars everywhere. He had his shiny surgical instruments in his hands. "You are not really here," Don Salvador accused him, "you're just a mirage!" "Ah, but can you ever be certain?" the brujo asked him, moving closer. deVega tried to back away but could not move, once again. The brujo made a pass with his scalpel and deVega felt the searing pain of his shoulder being cut open once again. "What if I remove your arms and legs? Would that be proof enough that I was really here?"

"Stop! Por favor!"

Now deVega did manage to jerk his body away from the scalpel, motivated by pain and fear. "I am where I was told to be, you can't just cripple me anyway!" He rubbed his shoulder, there was no blood but it was still stinging. Real or not, it had FELT very real.

"Sorry," the brujo said with a broad smile, "I just wanted to try it out. You know, while those Bigfoot sorcerers were infecting me with their spells, I observed their techniques as much as possible under those conditions. I do believe I'm getting the hang of it." "So are you here to haunt me?"

"I am here to make sure you comply with the Bigfoot's instructions. It was not his intention that you simply continue leading your drug business from here in prison, having people murdered and pulling political strings. You are to be a model prisoner."

"I have not agreed to that!"

"You may have to. Have you confessed to your crimes yet?"

"I am to meet with lawyers tomorrow. It will take a while."

"Indeed. You must detail every murder, every hit you have ordered, every swindle and every cartel operation..."

"I can't remember them all! I've been doing all that since I was nine years old."

"Do your best. Just try to be honest."

"What, have you become an angel?"

"No, but I have been touched by our Bigfoot, this syssk is part of him, and he is honest."

"Oh por favor, he is my worst enemy, why would I wish to emulate HIM?"

"Because a syssk is a blend of a demon and a psychosis, more or less a living thing, and you have one of his inside of you. It might be best if you learned to get along."