El Tiburon, Part 1
Posted: Thu Mar 28, 2024 9:48 am
My hangover had passed by Monday morning, which was my plan.
Monday was a travel day. Rachel took me to brunch before I left.
"I'm not going to try to change your plan," she said. "But I had my guys put together a dossier for you on El Tiburon. And I have a guy in San Antonio that you should call."
His name was Freddie Rodriguez, she said, and he was a fixer who did work all around the cartels. Rachel said he was the best coach for dealing with El Tiburon I could get.
This is all very appreciated," I said. "You're very thorough, you know."
"I have a multi-level investment in you coming back alive," she told me. "And if you won't let me and my team come with you, getting you prepared is my next best play."
I told her about the latest dream. Rachel said it sounded like Amber was being brainwashed.
"I don't know if that's it," I said. "She's an optimist. Give her a situation, whatever it is, and she's going to try to figure out a way to maximize it."
"Man, I've got to find a guy who'll love me like you do her," Rachel said.
After brunch, I took to the road. It was a seven-hour drive to the Hyatt at the Riverwalk downtown in San Antonio, where I was staying. I got there just at six, checked in, and called Freddie.
"I'm in the hotel bar," he said. "Dark blue t-shirt, blue jeans."
So I found him.
"I gotta ask this," he said, "so I'll ask it. You sure you want to go through with this crazy plan?"
"Hey, I'm here. What does that tell you?"
"Still time to pull out, you know."
"Nah. I'm all the way in."
Freddie laughed, but then he gave me the full dissertation on El Tiburon. Who he was, where he came from, his education, how he got his start as a real estate finance guy working in Miami and the Dominican Republic, how his uncle brought him in to Los Zetas, the cartel that preceded CDN, how the new cartel was structured and what they were into, their weaknesses and opportunities.
By the time we'd eaten dinner at a place along the Riverwalk and Freddie had disappeared into the crowd, I figured I knew all there was to know. But then I went back to the room and cracked open the three-ring binder Rachel had put together for me, and around midnight when I finished reading through it, I knew even more.
I was ready.
La Hacienda, which is what El Tiburon called his compound, was a sprawling 12-acre estate on a hilltop in San Pedro Garza Garcia, which is the ritzy suburb just south of Monterrey. If your idea of Mexico is Tijuana whorehouses or destitute peasants trying to swim the Rio Grande, San Pedro Garza Garcia will simply not compute for you. It's a place that belongs in Arizona or California, and parts of it might even rival the highest-end suburbs of Phoenix or L.A.
So at the end of a five and a half hour drive, including a stop at the Laredo border checkpoint where I consulted with a border agent named Steve-O whom Freddie knew and had prepped for my mission, I finally managed to pull up to the front gate of La Hacienda.
Two burly and well-strapped sicarios stopped me there.
"Out of the car, amigo," said one. "You walk from here."
"Is no far," said the other one. "Some exercise is good for you."
The first guy laughed. Then another guy showed up.
"Me llamo Diego, senor," he said. "And you must be Oscar?"
"That's correct."
He nodded and then gave me the most vigorous pat down I'd ever seen.
"You can't be too careful in this business," he said, in heavily-accented English.
"I understand," I said, "but I'm here for peaceful purposes."
He snorted at that, but he led the way toward the house.
"You come here for Graciela," he said. "La nina cola."
I knew that was a provocation, so I simply nodded and kept my mouth shut.
"Si," he said, "all of us are verrry friendly with Graciela. She love ALL of us very much!"
"You're El Tiburon's...nephew, right?" I asked him.
"Ehhh, si."
I just nodded.
And he shut up for the rest of the walk. The fact I knew more about him than he did me made him stop and think, I guess.
Finally, we came to the side patio, and there was El Tiburon.
"Aquí está el gringo, tío," said Diego.
"Ahhh, gracias! Yes, you are Oscar! But you look thinner than in your picture! You don't have a woman to cook for you and keep you bien alimentado?"
"Actually, I'm on a fitness kick now," I said. "Getting older and can't live like I used to."
"Yes, I understand. Would you like a tour of the Hacienda? It's a very beautiful house."
I didn't want to spend a spare minute with this guy, but I knew that showing any hostility, even under provocation, would be a mistake I'd pay dearly for.
So I said "yes, of course. I'm about to be in the real estate market myself, though my range won't include anything this lavish."
"Si. Dan tells me you have sold a business? Made yourself a good deal of money?"
"I was very fortunate."
"And what will you do with this fortune of yours?"
"I'm an independent investor now," I said. "I've got some stocks I'm playing with, started another company..."
Monday was a travel day. Rachel took me to brunch before I left.
"I'm not going to try to change your plan," she said. "But I had my guys put together a dossier for you on El Tiburon. And I have a guy in San Antonio that you should call."
His name was Freddie Rodriguez, she said, and he was a fixer who did work all around the cartels. Rachel said he was the best coach for dealing with El Tiburon I could get.
This is all very appreciated," I said. "You're very thorough, you know."
"I have a multi-level investment in you coming back alive," she told me. "And if you won't let me and my team come with you, getting you prepared is my next best play."
I told her about the latest dream. Rachel said it sounded like Amber was being brainwashed.
"I don't know if that's it," I said. "She's an optimist. Give her a situation, whatever it is, and she's going to try to figure out a way to maximize it."
"Man, I've got to find a guy who'll love me like you do her," Rachel said.
After brunch, I took to the road. It was a seven-hour drive to the Hyatt at the Riverwalk downtown in San Antonio, where I was staying. I got there just at six, checked in, and called Freddie.
"I'm in the hotel bar," he said. "Dark blue t-shirt, blue jeans."
So I found him.
"I gotta ask this," he said, "so I'll ask it. You sure you want to go through with this crazy plan?"
"Hey, I'm here. What does that tell you?"
"Still time to pull out, you know."
"Nah. I'm all the way in."
Freddie laughed, but then he gave me the full dissertation on El Tiburon. Who he was, where he came from, his education, how he got his start as a real estate finance guy working in Miami and the Dominican Republic, how his uncle brought him in to Los Zetas, the cartel that preceded CDN, how the new cartel was structured and what they were into, their weaknesses and opportunities.
By the time we'd eaten dinner at a place along the Riverwalk and Freddie had disappeared into the crowd, I figured I knew all there was to know. But then I went back to the room and cracked open the three-ring binder Rachel had put together for me, and around midnight when I finished reading through it, I knew even more.
I was ready.
La Hacienda, which is what El Tiburon called his compound, was a sprawling 12-acre estate on a hilltop in San Pedro Garza Garcia, which is the ritzy suburb just south of Monterrey. If your idea of Mexico is Tijuana whorehouses or destitute peasants trying to swim the Rio Grande, San Pedro Garza Garcia will simply not compute for you. It's a place that belongs in Arizona or California, and parts of it might even rival the highest-end suburbs of Phoenix or L.A.
So at the end of a five and a half hour drive, including a stop at the Laredo border checkpoint where I consulted with a border agent named Steve-O whom Freddie knew and had prepped for my mission, I finally managed to pull up to the front gate of La Hacienda.
Two burly and well-strapped sicarios stopped me there.
"Out of the car, amigo," said one. "You walk from here."
"Is no far," said the other one. "Some exercise is good for you."
The first guy laughed. Then another guy showed up.
"Me llamo Diego, senor," he said. "And you must be Oscar?"
"That's correct."
He nodded and then gave me the most vigorous pat down I'd ever seen.
"You can't be too careful in this business," he said, in heavily-accented English.
"I understand," I said, "but I'm here for peaceful purposes."
He snorted at that, but he led the way toward the house.
"You come here for Graciela," he said. "La nina cola."
I knew that was a provocation, so I simply nodded and kept my mouth shut.
"Si," he said, "all of us are verrry friendly with Graciela. She love ALL of us very much!"
"You're El Tiburon's...nephew, right?" I asked him.
"Ehhh, si."
I just nodded.
And he shut up for the rest of the walk. The fact I knew more about him than he did me made him stop and think, I guess.
Finally, we came to the side patio, and there was El Tiburon.
"Aquí está el gringo, tío," said Diego.
"Ahhh, gracias! Yes, you are Oscar! But you look thinner than in your picture! You don't have a woman to cook for you and keep you bien alimentado?"
"Actually, I'm on a fitness kick now," I said. "Getting older and can't live like I used to."
"Yes, I understand. Would you like a tour of the Hacienda? It's a very beautiful house."
I didn't want to spend a spare minute with this guy, but I knew that showing any hostility, even under provocation, would be a mistake I'd pay dearly for.
So I said "yes, of course. I'm about to be in the real estate market myself, though my range won't include anything this lavish."
"Si. Dan tells me you have sold a business? Made yourself a good deal of money?"
"I was very fortunate."
"And what will you do with this fortune of yours?"
"I'm an independent investor now," I said. "I've got some stocks I'm playing with, started another company..."