Page 9 of Don't Trust Him

Eliza

Looking out the small window of the private jet, I smile to myself as I see the endless jungle stretching from under us. It’s insane how, underneath the thick canopy of the trees, major operations remain hidden, pumping a constant stream of drugs worth billions of dollars into the rest of the world. In a sense, the jungle is the beating heart of the drug trade.

Sure, you have your modern labs and whatnot, but nothing comes quite close to the savagery happening in the jungle. It’s almost as if civilization never got there in the first place, and the word of the cartels are the word of God.

“Do you really think this is a good idea?” Juan asks.

“It’s an idea, at least,” I shrug, looking away from the window and turning my gaze to Juan. “It’s dangerous, yes. But I prefer to act than to react. And I’ll be damned if I’m going to sit on my ass and wait for Grayson Teague to come and slit my throat.”

“So we’re going to rush in and get to him instead?” Juan asks with doubt.

I sigh. He’s been a little bitch the entire trip over.

“Is something bothering you?” I ask him sharply. “Do you not want to be in on this?”

“I don’t want to fucking die,” he says to me, answering me right back. “I’m never going to get the glory. I’m not you. People already ignore that I’m even there.”

“Well, maybe if you go out into the field, they’ll give you the glory,” I say slowly.

“They don’t see me like that anymore,” he says. “I’ve boxed myself into a corner. You came and basically ordered me on this plane. I don’t work for you. We’re supposed to be colleagues.”

“We’re about to go into a war zone and your worried about organizational hierarchy?” I ask.

Juan gives me a disaffected look.

I continue. “This could be the last moments of our lives.”

“Are you always this upbeat?” Juan sighs, apprehensively looking out the window. I can tell that his lack of status is still bothering him, but for now it seems to have been extinguished. Back in the day, Juan would never have allowed himself to be sidelined like this and I think he’s having regrets about playing it safe and no longer getting field assignments. But he’s not cut out for it.

Maybe this mission will set him straight. Because it’s not going to be an easy mission. Flying straight in the Mexican jungle doesn’t bode well for any of us. Because, you know, mosquitoes. And the horrible heat will screw with my makeup.

And the sicarios too, yeah, sure.

“Well, that’s part of my morning routine, yes,” I finally respond back. “A good bath, a facial mask, a good dose of optimism.” Shrugging, I throw Juan a smile. “You should try it too.”

“Right, one day,” he sighs, and then pushes a folder across the small table separating our seats. “Shall we take another look at it? I want to be ready by the time we land.”

“Sure,” I reply, opening up the folder and glancing at the notes. “According to the information we have, the coke squared formula requires a chemical compound with a specific alkaline structure.”

“Right, one that we don’t use in our own production. But we know who does.”

“We do,” I nod. “The Bonita Muerte cartel has been using this specific alkali base compound for a few years now, and we know exactly where they stash their inventory of it,” I continue, turning the page and analyzing the aerial photos of the jungle printed there, a few spots marked with red circles. “We’re going to land on a small airfield controlled by the Envigado cartel, and from there we’ll drive fifty miles west, straight to the Bonita Muerte’s warehouse.”

“That’s the plan, yeah. I just don’t know if I trust the guys the Envigado cartel is sending to help. I mean, why the fuck are they pitching in? Wouldn’t they be better off trying to score the formula for themselves? If it were me, I wouldn’t send my own sicarios to help a rival out, and risk a war with the Bonita Muerte guys.”

“And that’s exactly why you’re not in charge, Juan,” I tell him, being kind enough to smile as I do it. “The Envigado guys probably want us to get this compound, figure out the formula, and only then they’ll make a move and try to get rid of us. Or, who knows? They might just be looking to work out some kind of deal with us in the near future. Maybe they prefer backing us instead of having to deal with those Mexican psychos. Or maybe they want to change the drug game forever and make it free for all. Of course we’re not going to let that happen.”

“Psychos. Now that’s the word to describe them. I mean, shit, Eliza...I’ve seen what the cartel does in Juarez, stringing off people from bridges and all that shit, but the Bonita Muerte guys, they’re something else…”

“Yeah, and they have a thing for cocks and stuffing them down throats,” I comment casually, and only then do I see all color leaving Juan’s face. “C’mon, chill out. It’ll be fine. There won’t be a cock down your throat anytime soon, Juan. Unless that’s your thing, of course—I’m not judging.”

“Easy for you to say. You always make it out without a scratch. But this time we have to be careful, Eliza. We’re not cut out for this,” Juan says with the same lack of positive energy that probably sidelined his career. “We work distribution, we’re not supposed to be on the frontlines like this. Especially not with that Teague guy on the loose. Do you see what he does with the bodies? Always carving them up with those damn skulls.”

“Uh-uh. The king of psychos himself,” I sigh, flipping through the pages and finally closing the folder. I have all this shit on the tip of my tongue. I’m done with reviewing it. I just want to dive straight into it.

But don’t take me for a fool. I might not be used to this frontline crap, but I know I have to be careful when dealing with assholes like this Grayson Teague. And, yes, this plan is a risky one. Siding with the Envigado cartel, and head straight into enemy territory...if shit goes sideways, we’ll be in a fucking mess.

A six-feet deep mess.

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