To Catch Up On The Story: Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four
As Americans, we like to talk about how free we are. But what we are is not so much free as protected, like caged birds free to fly at will?but only within the boundaries of the bird cage wires. Real freedom is, literally, being able to do just about anything with impunity and, in turn, having others be able to do just about anything to us with impunity. It?s not tough guy bravado to say that most men wouldn?t be able to handle real freedom?at least not the kind that comes with a life outside polite society in the Mexican Badlands.
Here, people are murdered, robbed, kidnapped, raped, beaten to a pulp and there?s not the slightest expectation of that novel concept called ?justice,? unless someone pushes for their own. Few victims call the cops, and even those who do try to get the law on their side will fully acknowledge that it?ll probably get them nowhere. Everyone is on their own here?full, absolute, horrific freedom?and when an outsider realizes that, it?s fucking terrifying.
When I met with Chinese John, he was clearly frazzled by his ?real? Mexican experience. He was being gouged by his hotel and every taxista he took. Two nights earlier, at a ?table dance? club, he had dropped a ton paying quadruple prices for everything while being hustled relentlessly for tips by bottelleros and security. He had spent the whole day before we hooked up locked in his hotel room, eating vending machine Sabritas and drinking Coke, convinced that someone had followed him from the club and was waiting to rob him should he step outside.
My first move was to get him out of his hotel?something that met with some resistance from the ruddy-skinned manager at the front desk at first. But it didn?t take all that long to get the geek to let John get a clean break.
The Hotel Imperial?right around the corner from the main street in town, at a quarter of the price of main street hotels?was my go-to hotel for ?mongers.? A huge building with 104 rooms and plenty of space to get lost in, it was ideal for bringing chicas in without drawing much attention. And, since it was a hotel mostly for nationals?who don?t complain to management as much as pesky gringo tourists?there was pretty much zero chance of management coming in to break up the ?parties.?
Plus, my pal Jorge was there, a bellboy that I had helped out of a jam a couple years back. Jorge had proven his loyalty to me several times since then and had made it a point to look after my clients, even going so far as to step in as my proxy when a girl (or agency) started to get out of line.
For the next ten days, I was Chinese John?s chica wrangler, bodyguard, pal, translator, and, more importantly, the keeper of his huge wad of cash, entrusted with paying for ALL services rendered. And, man, were there services rendered! Per request, I was bringing in three or four girls at a time, two or three times a day, for John to choose from. Sometimes he?d pick just one, sometimes two?sometimes all four.
In a city of just under a million, we went through so many working girls that, by his last few days in town, I literally couldn?t find any new ones to bring to him. I reached out to the small pueblos outside the city and brought some from there. Girls were calling their amateur friends to see if they wanted to earn a quick buck for a one-time ?servicio.?
It was a ?servicio? with one of these amateurs that led to a crazy hour where John?s girl kept calling me on the phone in the room next door, asking ?what do I do next? at every step of the ?transaction.? After balking at her request to come into the room and guide her through it, I agreed to stay on the line to be, I guess, some sort of coach and translator.
This little guy?s appetite was damn impressive. And, by the time he was set to leave, he was so sexed up and enamored by the ladies of my adopted home city that I had to hold him back from making offers of sex-for-pay to the cashier at the dry cleaners, the cleaning lady at the hotel, and random girls on the street. He was also broke as fuck.
He was so broke, as a matter of fact, that I had to pay for his taxi to the airport. The wad had been dissolved into a few coins and a twenty peso bill.
Helping him spend his money throughout the last five days or so was my old friend Xiomara, who I called in as a special treat. Predictably, she hooked John hard and they?d go on ?real? dates every night after he finished his chica buffets, and she?d come back with bags of stuff from the swankiest stores in town. She?d spend the night in John?s room and, in the morning, I?d see her out and get her in a cab so my guy could keep going about his business.
?Thank you so much,? John told me before getting in the taxi to leave for the airport. ?I never felt so much love.?
My take? The guy was a smart, lonely man working a world away from home who craved affection and attention that would otherwise not be coming his way. And the girls paid their rent and bills by doing a job that they?d be doing anyway?maybe with guys who weren?t so gentle and respectful as this harmless muppet of a man. Or maybe he was just a perv and these were victimized females with mental health issues?and, for a short period of time, at least, I kept both from being robbed, gutted, and left in the heavy brush alongside the mountains.
Whatever the case, I got paid, bought my ?meds,? and now had put aside more than half the pesos I needed for my boxing promotion.
* * *
Not long after John left, I reached out to Xiomara per John?s request, to make sure she had his number. The guy was actually looking for a way to bring her back home?something which might?ve eventually resulted in him being robbed, gutted, and left in the heavy brush alongside some mountain range somewhere after all.
?Tranquilo con el chinito (Be easy on the little Chinese guy),? I told her?only half-joking.
?Oh, es un amor (Oh, he?s a love),? she told me. ?Un tiernito (A sweetheart)?Pero, mira, te quer?a hablar?Mi amiga necesita un guardaespaldas?(But, look, I wanted to talk with you?My friend needs a bodyguard)??
Apparently, Xiomara?s friend was leaving her boyfriend, moving out of his apartment, and needed someone to help make sure her violent, jealous ex didn?t stop her. It wasn?t my usual thing, but the pay was insane for such a seemingly small gig?enough to push me past my boxing promotion goal and get me to the point where I could now start really putting things in motion.
Actually, the pay was TOO good. Something was off and, under normal circumstances, I probably would?ve turned the gig down. But, shit, my boxing promotion!
(Continued?)
