“Holy Mother of God, Jesus, where do you find such toys?”
Jesus Gonzalez just grinned. Jesus Gonzalez wasn’t his real name, of course. He really wanted to be called El Diablo, but he hadn’t achieved anywhere near the necessary recognition for that. No, early in his criminal career, he had been a petty thief, graduating to a drug runner, then a coyote smuggling aliens from Mexico, Central America, and the Far East across the American border. The last endeavor was far more difficult than the others. It had become dangerous since American citizens living along the border had begun to shoot wetbacks on sight, no questions asked. Local law enforcement generally looked the other way, now that the shootings had become so widespread. The federal agency boys still frowned upon it, but after some embarrassing moments in which they were brought to task by local vigilante groups, and two of them were shotgunned, they generally turned a blind eye to the shootings. The governments of the border states were not very supportive of those elitist Yankees sending their storm troopers, that is, the FBI, down and interfering with the security of their citizens under the excuse of protecting the civil rights of illegal aliens.
Jesus made good money smuggling illegal immigrants. He knew the desert pathways and the way of the desert. He occasionally lost a few along the way, those who strayed, those who complained and suffered a bullet in the head for their complaints, but overall, he was one of the better coyotes along the border. His organization had grown from fifteen disgruntled Mexicans to more than fifty. Now, he intended to expand his operations. His new friends had provided him with many toys. These included not only firearms, but devices such as night vision goggles, bionic sound detectors, infrared binoculars and radar detectors of various radio frequencies.
The vehicles, the vans, pickups and sport utility vehicles were nondescript on the outside but were carefully overhauled to make them extremely rugged and dependable in the desert environment. Each had oversized tires, four-wheel drive, limited slip transmissions, heavy duty suspension systems, extra gas tanks, and gun racks. Inside, each vehicle carried four five-gallon jerry cans of water and a case of Meals, Ready to Eat, colloquially called MREs in the American Army. These can be purchased commercially in the United States, which is exactly what he did. Several members of his band had jobs just across the border. Their job was essentially intelligence gathering. Some were women. Each day, they trudged back and forth, from Mexico into several small towns, such as Nogales, Arizona, where they had day jobs. At night, they returned to Mexico, usually carrying food, whisky or other supplies. They came to know the border patrolmen manning the gates, who allowed them to pass without question. Most carried their lunches with them. Occasionally, there was a small packet of heroin hidden in a sandwich, or bottom of a thermos, or in the hollow heel of a shoe. While small, it provided ready cash to purchase those items not readily available except on the black market.
“Each man will be provided with a new AK-47, Luis. We have plenty of ammunition. I expect them to learn their new toys in a week. We will have a class on the basics of the rifle, on rifle shooting and on safety in the morning, and practice in the afternoon, just before the sun goes down. The day after, we will have another class on field stripping and cleaning and care. I want no failures because someone did not know their weapon. Of the rocket propelled grenades, we will have a class on them, too, as well as the machine guns and the hand grenades. I do not want to lose any men to accidents or stupidity. For now, issue each man one rifle, one magazine, but no ammunition. They are not to load the rifles. They are, however, to carry them at all times, and even sleep with them.”
“What, Jesus, do you plan to do with all these weapons?”
Jesus grinned. “My friend, when the time comes, you will be among the first to know. For now, pass out the guns. No one is to leave this camp until I say so. Our brothers who are in other locations are not to be informed of our new toys or our plans.”
Now, thanks to his new friends who had given him new ideas, as well as new toys, Jesus Gonzalez was about to launch his new career as El Diablo. As the evening faded into darkness one week later, he called his band together in the open packing shed of his Mexican farm that served as their headquarters in Chihuahua. On a tripod he had a map of Ruidoso, Texas, which is a very small town on state highway 2810. His advisor had strongly suggested he start out small, and as his success grew, so would his fame and fortune. Such a small village seemed an ideal starting place.
“We will enter the town from the north, east, and south. Luis, you are responsible for Highway 2810 as it enters the town. No one is to enter or to leave. If anyone causes you any difficulty, they are not to be given a second chance. You can rob any vehicle attempting to enter the town. If you like the vehicle, you can confiscate it as a war prize. The occupants are not to be of any concern to you. You can indulge yourself with them as you choose. Hermosa, your orders are the same as Luis’s. You will block Highway 170 as it enters the town from the south. Miguel, you are to do the same from the north. It is not likely anyone will come from Candelera, but it is best to be safe. Each of you will be a team commander. There will be two vehicles under your command for each team. The van will have a machine gun mounted in the rear, such that when the doors are open, you have a free field of fire. The second vehicle will be a pickup truck or a sport utility vehicle. Keep all of your weapons out of sight as any vehicle approaches. Let them think that you are a group of braceros looking for work that has broken down on the road. Park such that you are blocking the road. When they stop, have several of your men who have been hiding along the edge of the road approach their vehicle from the rear. Make the occupants get out of the vehicle and sit in the desert so that they cannot escape and give any alarm. Search them for any cell phones and weapons as your first measure. You can release them after we have finished our business in Ruidoso, that is, if you want to release them. Consider that they will have a good look at several of you. Bring none of them with you when you depart, which will be on my signal on the citizens band radio in each vehicle. Also, you are to cut all telephone lines leading into the town. Communications in and out of the town must be kept to a minimum.”
No one said a word. Jesus continued, “We have several targets in Ruidoso. There are several rich Americans whose homes we will visit. There is a sporting goods store which will have firearms and ammunition. There is a food store that also has liquor. Francisco, you will be a team leader. Pick three men not already chosen. Your objective is the sporting goods store. Take the guns and ammunition, GPS units, binoculars, radios, knives, camp stoves, fuel and lanterns. Fiero, you are also a team leader. Your job is to fill your pickup with food. Get a mix of canned foods, fruit, both fresh and canned meats, and several cases of liquor. We must have a party upon our triumphant return. I will lead three men to visit our rich American neighbors after we have disposed of the county sheriff and the border patrolman who live there. They are my first targets. Do not hesitate to defend yourselves, or to shoot anyone who even appears to attempt to resist our efforts. I want all aspects of the operation completed before noon. Questions?”
“What of the women, Jefe? It is very lonely out here in the desert.”
“Hernando, you and women! There will not be time to pick and choose. There will probably not be any time at all to enjoy such delights. The best opportunity to enjoy a woman is if one is stopped on the road. The greatest possibility of that will be on the highway to the east, coming from Marfa. Therefore, you are to be on Luis’s team. Any other questions? Then see that the vehicles are filled with gas, that there is plenty of water in the jerry cans, and the radiators are full. There is to be no drinking of alcohol or smoking anything other than ordinary tobacco from now until the raid is over and we have returned to camp. Everyone must have a clear, cool head. We will have a light breakfast and leave before dawn. We have a long day, starting with a three-hour drive ahead of us.”
The wounded were the first to arrive at the Presidio County Hospital in Marfa around four o’clock in the afternoon. They came in ones and twos, driven in sport utility vehicles and vans by family and friends. They came to the Emergency Department entrance, with horns blowing. Several women jumped out of the passenger seat simultaneously, bolting for the door.
Juanita Garza dashed through the door and to the desk, followed by Deborah Wagner close on her heels. Jan Johnston stood up with a look of alarm from her place behind the admittance counter.
My husband has been shot, so have many others! John is in the back of my truck, and he is bad!”
“What happened?” asked Jan, her countenance changing.
“You ask what happened when I tell you my husband is bleeding to death in a car outside? Idiot! Call the doctors! There are others, I don’t know how many, but I know of at least eight that have been shot. Call the doctors.” Juanita turned, and spying a clean gurney pushed against the wall, grabbed it and started pushing it out the door as fast as she could to bring her husband inside.
Jan, in exasperation, punched the hospital paging button. “All physicians report immediately to the Emergency Department. We have a mass shooting! All nurses who can be spared immediately report to the Emergency Department. Bring gurneys.”
Juanita was desperately trying to get her husband, John, who could not stand, on the gurney. A passerby ran over and, putting his arm under John’s shoulders, lifted him onto the gurney while Juanita struggled with his legs. The woman companion of the man gave Juanita a hand. The emergency room began to fill with nurses and the two physicians present. The hospital administrator came out and instructed Jan to call the third physician of the town and to bring their nurses.
Jan nodded yes and picked up the phone. As soon as the administrator turned away, however, rushing to push a gurney and help load a patient, she dialed a friend at the local television station. “Jimmy! Get your mobile broadcasting station over here to the hospital quick. There has been a mass shooting somewhere, and the wounded are pouring in. At least eight wounded according to one observer.”
Incredulous, Jimmy responded, “Yeah, right! What do you think this is, April Fool’s Day?”
Jan, now quite excited and exasperated, shouted, “You asshole, this is no joke! I’ll call CNN,” and slammed down the phone.
Five minutes later, a van with a satellite dish on the roof pulled up outside the Emergency Department door. At that moment, a fourth vehicle with a wounded woman pulled in. The TV station van was blocking the drive. The driver of the Ford Explorer laid on the horn. Jimmy looked behind him and casually climbed back in his van and moved it over to the edge of the drive. At that moment, he saw John, soaked in blood, being wheeled inside. “Holy shit! She wasn’t kidding,” he thought, and opened up the back of the van. Manuel jumped out of the passenger seat and began setting up to broadcast. He contacted their major network so it would be a live broadcast. Jimmy grabbed a microphone, hooked the receiver on his belt, plugged in his earphone, and ran inside. In two minutes, he heard Miguel say, “You’re live” in his earphone.
“This is Jim Rodriguez broadcasting live from the Presidio County Hospital in Marfa, Texas. There are now four vehicles unloading wounded people as I speak. Here comes another victim now.” Manuel panned the portable camera as a gurney went by with a woman moaning softly, her abdomen drenched in blood. Approaching Jan, he asked, “Can you tell us what happened here?”
“All I know is all of a sudden this woman dashes in and says there has been a shooting. She knows of at least eight wounded. We have called in all medical personnel in town, all the doctors and Emergency Medical Technicians and nurses, all twenty of them. I don’t know anything else.”
Miguel pointed the camera into the Emergency Department clinic area, where John was being jabbed with intravenous set needles in both arms. The lady who had just passed them on a gurney had a sheet pulled over her face, and she was rolled off to the side. Another man came in, with an obvious leg wound. He was supported by two others. A nurse sat him in a chair in the hall and tied a tight bandage around it to stop the seepage of blood. Then she went back to the clinic area. Several of the others were dead on arrival. One rather attractive young woman was being helped, half carried, by two others. She obviously had suffered a severe beating.
“What happened here?” James Rodriguez asked of one of the men who helped settle the beaten woman in a chair.
“Apparently, a bunch of Mexican bandits raided Ruidoso, about 60 miles from here. They sealed off all roads in and out of town, shot the deputy sheriff and border patrolman, raided several stores and homes, shot anybody who resisted, and raped a couple of women. We found her,” he said, nodding to the lady, “alongside the road on the way here. I guess it was her husband she was clinging to. He was shot in the head and dead. I guess they were tourists. I don’t recognize them. They were just lying there on the shoulder of the road, no car in sight.”
“Can you describe the perpetrators?”
“No, I was just coming into town from the ranch when I saw the lady and the dead man. Then these other people came whizzing by. One stopped, the man with the leg wound driven by his son, and said a lot of people were shot by Mexicans. You’ll have to get details from somebody else.”
Their network made a scoop. It was immediately broadcast across the nation, as the network cut into live programming. The Associated Press wire service picked up the story for the newspapers. Rodriguez made hourly reports which were often broadcast live. The headlines across the country went “Mexican Bandits Conduct Raid in South Texas! Many wounded and killed.” Jim Rodriguez’s latest broadcast was played again on late night network news across the country. By morning, the Border Patrol, two Texas Rangers, Department of Public Safety Officers, the county sheriff and three deputies, the county attorney, along with people from the state crime laboratory were in Ruidoso to investigate. Initially, there was some heated discussion as to who would take the lead in conducting the investigation. The Border Patrol, the Texas Rangers, and the state police went at it. The Governor, sensing a debacle and having the nose of a politician, ordered the Rangers and state police to support the Border Patrol, who would be the lead agency. A federal agency in the lead would bring in more resources. Also, if another raid occurred, the heat would more likely be directed at the feds for not preventing it.
Thirty miles north of Presidio, Jesus Gonzalez led his column off Highway 170, crossing the Rio Grande at a very shallow place. Actually, it was something of an underwater bridge he had made his men build last year for this very sort of enterprise.
Jesus Gonzalez was celebrating. He had made his mark. A new career was launched. He had conducted the first significant raid as the leader of Mexican bandits since Poncho Villa raided in 1915. He never heard of Black Jack Pershing. After forty-eight hours, the body count was nine dead, thirteen wounded, two women and one twelve-year-old girl raped.
Gonzalez made everyone stay in their temporary camp. They used it occasionally and hid it well. Vehicles were driven inside three-sided buildings. Fresh water came from a very small spring higher up the mountain. That night, they built a fire and roasted the fresh meat they raided from the grocery store. Liquor flowed freely. Tales of prowess, of the struggles of the women who resisted, of the skills of marksmanship, and their fearless courage, regaled into the night.
“My friends, my companions, today was just the beginning. We will now return to our homes for a few weeks. I will send word to you when to come together next time. Next time, we will do even better. Next time, there will be mucho more money as well as food, liquor, women, and fine guns. In the meantime, be very careful, at the risk of your life; tell no one, not your mother, not your girlfriend or your wife, or your children, and especially not your priest what we did today!” That brought a round of laughter. “Now, I have a little money for each of you. If you can line up, Fiero will give each of you one hundred American dollars that we collected.”
At that, a spontaneous cheer arose, and they half staggered, half fell, to the table where Fiero handed each of them one hundred American dollars after they signed their name to the ledger. When one tried to collect twice, Fiero looked at Jesus and nodded. Jesus promptly stepped up and butt stroked the man in the side of the head with a rifle. No one tried to collect the reward a second time.
Sam Dickenson, Lieutenant of the U.S. Border Patrol, studied the site along the highway where the young tourist couple was molested. The blood from the gunshot to her husband’s head formed a dark stain partly on the pavement and partly on the sandy shoulder. He noted a shred of cloth hanging from a greasewood brush ten yards off the highway that was blowing in a faint breeze. The tracks on the sand covering the hardpan were not difficult to follow and showed the woman resisted as she was dragged into the brush. Faint heel prints in the desert indicated that several men wearing boots participated. The Lieutenant put the shred of cloth in a plastic bag as evidence, although he knew it would hardly be worthwhile. They had enough semen collected by vaginal flushing during the rape examination that indicated she had been penetrated by four different men.
He knelt down, studied the tracks, stood, and pointed down at the tracks for the laboratory folks. The crime lab boys took photographs of the prints and then plaster casts of the boot prints. Samples of the blood-stained sand were scooped into a plastic bag. They also took castings of the tire tracks in the sand where the Mexicans had turned the car around and driven off.
