Cocaine, The Gulf Connection

Chapter 1

      “For God’s sake Isaac, I didn’t take anything. I know better than that. It must have been that slug, Lobo, in Kingsville. I never did trust the guy.” At a quick nod of Isaac’s head, DeJohn Duval fired the twenty-two short into J. J. Hernandez’s ample gut, taking the man in total surprise. “Goddamn it Isaac! Why did you do that for? Tell that crazy son of a bitch to stop. I told you I didn’t take nothing. Not one coke. Damn this hurts. I need a doctor Isaac.”
      Isaac was not his real name off course. He was Don Carlos Cavazos, from Zocalo Spain. Don Carlos or Isaac as he now called himself, had no formal education beyond the third grade; but he was very smart. By the time he was fifteen years old he had been living by his wits on the streets of Madrid for three years, having left the convent where the sisters had taught him to read and do basic math. He also learned to speak English so well that he could easily converse and gain the confidence of tourist. In that fifteenth year he killed two Americans who had been flashing their money around. The very next day he crossed over into Portugal and within a few days had signed on to a junk freighter out of Lisbon bound for the USA where he took on the name Isaac Garcia. He decided to just lay low and see how things worked in this new country. He had the $3700 he had taken in Madrid. Because of his understanding that conventional work would require papers, something he did not have nor did he think he wanted; he came to Texas where one could work without papers or a name for that matter. Because of his English skills and over all smarts he was working on a South Texas ranch as a hunting guide and bird boy handler when he came to the attention of Fredric Duval, who was starting to form a new type of Drug Empire. Isaac now found himself the number two man, in charge of US operations.
     “We know better J.J. We have our ways and there are no second chances.” * * *       The Corpus Christi newspaper said the police were pretty sure who the bloated, badly decomposed body was even before the positive ID was made. The police had been called eight days ago when the Hernandez’s maid found J.Js’ wife and two teenage boys in their home. They were bound with large wire ties and all three had been shot in both knees with a 22 short. The police withheld from the paper how J.J. had died but an unidentified caller to the paper reported that J.J. had died from nine 22-caliber pistol shots to his mid section. The caller went on to say that it had taken thirty hours for JJ to die. The papers story read, “The body of J.J. Hernandez has been recovered from a small plastic boat found drifting in the Intercostal Waterway near the Aransas National Wildlife Preserve. Mr. Hernandez’s family was discovered bound and shot in the legs at their home last week. They are all expected to recover but with lasting disabilities. An unidentified source has reported to this paper that Mr. Hernandez had been shot multiple times with a small caliber pistol and that death would not have been quick.” A gangland style killing meant to make a point. That’s what it really was, and it had to be in the paper for the message to get out. That’s why the phone call was made. “The police will not confirm this report but do say they suspect drugs are involved.”
      The story went on to say the family members had never seen their assailants before and could not describe them.
      Isaac bought three of the papers. He would use them to keep his distributors and mules in line. He wanted the carriers to know the organization had ways of knowing if they were being shorted in cash or goods. Honesty and zero tolerance is what made things run so smoothly.