Jesus put the knife back to Carlos’s throat then added with malice in his voice, “Better tell me what’s on your mind, Carlos, before I lose my temper. Just so you know, it better be good!”
Carlos ventured, “I can fly out your hard currency to an offshore bank that I have. I want ten percent of everything I move. I would point out that everything I move to your offshore account is everything that the federales can’t take away from you.”
Jesus slowly removed the knife from Carlos’s throat. He walked around pondering the offer.
Carlos continued, “Your group here is no match to what I’ve seen the federales assembling. It looks to be a full scale operation with artillery and air power. If we can get all your money out of the reach of the federales, you can comfortably buy your way to freedom. That is, unless of course, you want to stay here in Mexico and put your trust in the judicial system. Nothing said that you and your money can’t go together.”
“Keep going, you have my interest, Carlos.”
“There is nowhere here in Mexico or the U.S. that you can take your money that they won’t try and confiscate it. I can take it out in one big haul or do it in several trips to minimize the risk of being intercepted. It’s your call. The machinery to hide and launder the money is your best option over staying here and being killed while fighting against the federales. In fact, I’m not sure that you won’t be killed even if you surrender. I’m pretty sure that your money will never be found after the raid is over. Likely as not, they will divvy up and report that it wasn’t here when they closed your operations.”
Jesus looked at Carlos and reflected, “You know, you remind me of your dad sometimes when you are putting your case forward so convincingly and passionately. You never knew him as a grown up, what a shame.
“I hated hearing that he had been killed by the police in the campus demonstrations of 1968 in Mexico City. He argued for rights and justice, but all it got him was a stray police bullet. He bled out before anyone found him or could do anything about it. He wanted things to be better, and he detested the government even though they gave him the money to go to school. I guess he was angry because it felt like the government was trying to buy him off for his father’s death.
“Your granddad was the epitome of the true government believer who always tried to do the right thing. You know, he was pretty sure that his last assignment to guard Leon Trotsky was a setup. Those Russian bastards knew where Trotsky was and that there would only be one duty bound guard left to overcome to assassinate him and that’s what they found; one dead Trotsky, one dead guard, and your granddad. I guess that murderous psychotic Joseph Stalin slept much easier knowing that there was no one left to contest the Russian dictator’s stranglehold on the country. I’ve never had any use for Russians since then.
“Hey! This money laundering scheme of yours doesn’t involve any Russians, does it?”
Carlos shook his head then said, “No, Jesus, it doesn’t involve using or trusting any Russians. So do we have a deal?”
“Yeah ok, for the sake of your dad, we have a deal. Seven percent of everything you help me get out is your cut.”
“I said ten percent not seven percent.”
Jesus left Carlos on the patio. He told Carlos to help himself to the wet bar and to have a seat. Carlos smiled as he reviewed the conversation and thought of the approach he might use with the visit to the next drug leader. Jesus walked out with a small yet heavy briefcase which he handed Carlos along with an envelope.
“Here you go, we have a deal. Ten percent just like you asked.”
Carlos looked at the brief case and questioned, “What’s this? I was expecting more than this.”
Before Carlos could add anything else, Jesus smiled, “It’s the money you paid down for the failed drug deal. You are the only one to actually come back here and offer me something I really need. Well, we need to be on good terms if we are going to pull this off. Agreed?”
Click Follow to receive emails when this author adds content on Bublish