Warriors in Paradise Read online

  Warriors in Paradise

  Luis E. Gutiérrez-Poucel

  Copyright © 2014 Luis E. Gutierrez-Poucel

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN: 150083615X

  ISBN 13: 9781500836153

  Now this is the Law of the Jungle—as old and as true as the sky;

  And the Wolf that shall keep it may prosper, but the Wolf that shall break it must die.

  As the creeper that girdles the tree-trunk the Law runneth forward and back—

  For the strength of the Pack is the Wolf, and the strength of the Wolf is the Pack.

  —Rudyard Kipling

  And once the storm is over, you won’t remember how you made it through, how you managed to survive. You won’t even be sure, whether the storm is really over. But one thing is certain. When you come out of the storm, you won’t be the same person who walked in. That’s what this storm’s all about.

  —Haruki Murakami

  Dedication

  For my children:

  Never stop dreaming.

  Sometimes some dreams do actually come true.

  CONTENTS

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Prologue

  Part 1 – Santi

  Chapter 1: Fighting in Paradise

  Morning

  Lunch and gym

  Night promises

  Acaquila and good tequila

  A damsel in distress

  Friends in Paradise

  Chapter 2: A Rainy Rematch

  Morning

  Santi’s flashback

  Noon

  Afternoon

  A rainy rematch

  Dinner

  Who are we?

  Dancing

  Chapter 3: Food and Lies

  Morning

  Skiing

  Afternoon

  Home sweet home

  Shower heaven

  Food and lies

  Chapter 4: Independence Day Party

  Noon’s morning

  Breakfast in Paradise

  Moving in

  Park and shop

  Afternoon night

  Independence Day party

  Chapter 5: The Death of a Road

  Sand, salt, and Santi

  Walrus, golem, and Charlie

  Trash, Valentina, and Caleb

  Santa Cruz Clinic

  The prosecutor

  Waking the Beast

  Chapter 6: The Mexican Bull

  Decision time

  Boarding the yacht

  Talking to the captain

  Talking to the lawyer

  The loves and hates of Nicanor Toro

  Helicoptering to Mexico City

  The Mexican Bull

  Part 2 – Charlie

  Chapter 7: The Praying Mantis

  Good, better, and best

  The Bull’s lair

  The Bull’s staff

  Mama’s boys call home

  Charlie’s flashback

  Charlie talks to Mom

  Uncle to the rescue

  Catching the Praying Mantis

  Talking to the Praying Mantis

  Chapter 8: Deeper into the Rabbit Hole

  Friends and family

  The Warrior Gene

  Driving to Vienna

  Talking to Mom

  Planning the plan

  A little help from a friend

  Caleb flies again

  Paying a visit to a friend

  Catching the Wolf

  Talking to the Wolf

  Part 3 – Caleb

  Chapter 9: The Conundrum

  Life is but a mirror

  What a puzzle

  Caleb’s flashback

  Beginnings of a plan

  Illusion and disguise

  The field before the battle

  The plan

  Plan busted by reality

  The Blue Unicorn

  Chapter 10: Tit for Tat

  Terry

  New light

  Breakfast with American royalty

  Catch a sack of bad luck

  The first call

  The fixer

  Chapter 11: The Exchange

  The second and third calls

  Preparing for the exchange

  The trade

  Getting together

  Part 4 – The Three Amigos

  Chapter 12: Parting Ways

  The girls tell their story

  Parting ways

  Back to where it all started

  Turmoil in Paradise

  Chapter 13: An Unfriendly Visit

  No sleep for the weary

  A doctor for my friend

  Seven deadly sinners

  Good-bye, lover

  Dealing with chaos

  A farewell for Sandra

  Night after day

  About The Author

  Acknowledgments

  Special thanks are due to

  Charles Woodruff, Joe Wroblewski, Ricardo Halperin,

  Gloria Silvestre Khokar, Douglas Tracht, and Rebecca Poucel.

  And my eternal gratitude to the Gutierrez Bunch,

  Lester, Christopher, Cassandra, and Sabrina,

  particularly to my partner in crime, Marie-Louise.

  Thank you all for your patience and for putting up with me.

  Prologue

  Acapulco, Guerrero, México

  “There are too many people here,” the Mexican said. “Let’s take this elsewhere.”

  Charlie responded, “Let’s do that, little man.”

  The Mexican wasn’t small, but Charlie was trying to rattle him. He was about six feet two inches compared to Charlie’s six feet five inches. He wore a blue shirt, white pants, and white sneakers. He had Mediterranean good looks, the type of face that could pass for Spanish, French, Italian, or Mexican. He had a large forehead; thin, straight, dark brown hair; bushy eyebrows; brown eyes, long eyelashes; a straight, narrow nose; a small mouth with smiling lines; a chiseled chin; and medium-size ears with some scarring. He looked like an action actor or a muscular wrestler. He was around Charlie and Caleb’s age. He weighed 220 pounds compared to Charlie’s 250 pounds.

  They exited the nightclub, turned right onto a side street and walked all the way to the end under the infuriating drizzle. The night was hot and humid. By the time they got there, they were soaking wet from sweat, rain, and humidity. The Mexican said to them with a smile, “There is still time for you girls to walk away.”

  Caleb appeared indifferent.

  The little shit’s arrogance and confidence annoyed Charlie. Charlie laughed and responded, “Why don’t you walk away, you little son of a bitch?”

  “OK,” the Mexican answered, “Don’t say I didn’t warn you. Who wants to go first?”

  He had challenged Charlie, and Charlie was upset by the rain and the night that had not lived up to his expectations, so he was going to take out his frustration on the Mexican.

  Charlie said, “I’ll go first, since I’m sure it will be your last, because you’re going down on your ass in ten seconds flat.”

  The Mexican responded with his irritating smile. “Bring it on, pretty boy.”

  Charlie had never lost a fight. He had no doubt that he would hardly break a sweat before putting down the arrogant prick.

  ***

  The Mexican came at Charlie fast. Charlie reacted by feinting with his left and then jabbing hard with his right. The Mexican made a slight side movement, taking the punch aimed at his chin on the shoulder. However, instead of stopping or moving back, he continued forward, stepping hard on Charlie’s foot, bending down, grabbing the bottom of Charlie’s pants, and getting up in one swift motion. Charlie came off the ground and fel
l hard on his back. Charlie softened the impact of the fall by slapping his arms hard against the pavement, but, because of the angle, he could not prevent striking the pavement with his head.

  Charlie was out cold for a blink of an eye. When he came to, the Mexican was trying to separate his legs to step down on his testicles. Charlie half turned and kicked up with all his might at the Mexican’s chin. The Mexican’s legs wavered and he stepped back, allowing Charlie to stand up and recover.

  They looked at each other with respect. Each had met his match.

  They went at each other. Charlie threw a long jab that almost caught the Mexican on the head. The Mexican again rotated and raised his shoulder so that the punch bounced off. The Mexican moved in behind it, placing his forehead on Charlie’s chest and pushing him against the wall while kneeing him on the thighs and pelvic area. Charlie brought his elbow down on top of the Mexican’s head.

  The Mexican managed to grab Charlie’s wrist and waist, bringing him down to the pavement. Charlie made a rapid movement from the waist, raising his knee and grabbing the Mexican by the hair before he could pounce and pound on Charlie’s face.

  The Mexican punched Charlie’s ear. Charlie placed his forearm under the Mexican’s chin and swiftly pushed him off to the side, rolling in the opposite direction and standing up again.

  They looked at each other with renewed respect. Both of them had tried their winning-gambit moves unsuccessfully.

  They realized that they were in for a very long fight.

  This time, both of them smiled.

  ***

  When Charlie was in training at Army Ranger School, one of the hand-to-hand combat instructors tried to put him down. The trainer was mad at Charlie because he had been able to defend himself from all of the trainer’s moves. The instructor was a simpleminded bully of a sergeant who believed he had to bring all of the recruits down as hard as possible to build up character. He was not smart enough to recognize somebody who already had character. The sergeant thought that Charlie was making him lose face with the recruits, which he felt would undermine his authority. He came at Charlie with blinding fury, trying to hurt Charlie. Charlie used the trainer’s anger against him, choke holding him into oblivion.

  There were no consequences. They were Rangers.

  The captain immediately saw the value of Charlie and Caleb, handpicked their trainers, and recommended their deployment after training to one of the most problematic areas in Afghanistan, the Afghan-Pakistani border, where alliances shifted continuously.

  The Mexican was nothing like Charlie’s army ranger instructor. The Mexican was better by far. He was neither mad nor afraid. The Mexican was actually enjoying himself.

  Charlie was beginning to like the little fucker.

  ***

  They went at each other for an excruciating ten minutes. The Mexican was pushing forward the whole time, trying to get inside, invading Charlie’s range and minimizing his effective blows. Consequently, Charlie was having difficulty connecting hard, solid punches with his long arms.

  The Mexican knew how to fight a taller opponent. He tried to avoid the danger zone by staying outside the reach of Charlie’s long jabs. Whenever he attempted to cross the danger zone to land his own bombs, Charlie would try to nail him with his jabs. The Mexican avoided most of them by bending at the waist or stepping back. However, he took some major punishment to the arms and shoulders.

  The Mexican feinted and crossed into the danger zone. He threw an overhand right starting from below Charlie’s head and tried to land it above his head, away from Charlie’s field of vision. Charlie sensed it coming and rolled with the punch.

  The Mexican was inside the firing zone, where each could hit the other but where Charlie had the disadvantage because of his longer arms. The Mexican threw a flurry of body shots, while Charlie started attacking his exposed head with his elbows.

  Caleb was enjoying the fight, shouting encouraging words to Charlie: “Come on, Charlie, finish him off! You have him! Another right and he’s history!”

  Charlie stepped sideways and got some distance from the Mexican. He threw a clubbing right into the Mexican’s solar plexus, but the Mexican bent his knees, taking it on his powerful pectorals. The Mexican jumped, trying to connect an elbow to Charlie’s face, which Charlie partly deflected by slightly turning his head.

  Charlie was getting tired and started gasping for air. He felt the Mexican was also tiring. They both had taken considerable punishment on their arms and shoulders. The left side of each man’s face was beginning to swell.

  The Mexican stood back and said, “Have you had enough?”

  Charlie laughed and responded, “Is this what you call a Mexican standoff? Shooting off your mouth to get out of a perfectly good fight?

  “OK, you little shit, I am tired of kicking your sorry ass, so why don’t you take on Caleb now?”

  “Ah,” exclaimed the Mexican. “So you are Charlie, and he is Caleb. What an unusual way to be introduced. My name is Santiago. Happy to make your acquaintance.”

  Caleb responded, “You can keep all your happiness.”

  Santiago said, “I admit that I am a little weary and there’s no clear winner, so, Caleb, why don’t you meet me here tomorrow at the same time to do the honors?”

  “Fine,” said Caleb. “I’ll be here, but I doubt very much that you will.”

  Santiago answered, “The only way you’re going to find out is by being here tomorrow, when I’ll kick your black ass to kingdom come.”

  Caleb said, “Promises, promises…”

  Charlie and Caleb both said at the same time, “Good-bye, you lucky beaner!”

  “Good-bye, you gringo bitches. And just remember: you were outnumbered by a smaller force of men,” Santiago said with a smile.

  All three of them raised their middle fingers as a farewell gesture and parted ways.

  Part 1 – Santi

  Chapter 1: Fighting in Paradise

  Morning

  Acapulco has been blessed by the gods. Its natural beauty and never-changing weather always amazes me. Winter or summer, the temperature ranges from twenty-six to thirty-two degrees Celsius, which is about eighty to ninety Fahrenheit. After it rains, Mother Nature brings out a huge vacuum cleaner, immediately drying the golden beaches and gray streets. However, once in a while, nature conspires. This time, two tropical storms were converging on Mexico, Manuel coming in from the Pacific and Ingrid from the Gulf of Mexico. When they collided, the country would be drenched by torrential rains.

  My day started early. I swam from my house to the island of La Roqueta and back. All in all, a good hour’s swim in a nice, cool sea. There was a persistent drizzle, and a respectable current pulled me toward the open ocean. I noticed that the clouds on the horizon were growing and turning darker. September is a good month in Acapulco; there is always some rain to lower the temperature and a cool breeze off the Pacific. Alas, it is also a very busy month weather-wise when hurricanes threaten Mexico’s coastlines.

  I took a long shower. There was no need to heat the water. Our new hot-water heater had arrived at the house and remained unused until it rusted itself into an early grave. The municipal water always came out at a nice even temperature of eighteen to twenty degrees Celsius, quite refreshing given Acapulco’s ever-present heat.

  I put on some loose shorts and my UNAM T-shirt. I felt good. Mom was still sleeping. I thought about waiting for her to wake up before breakfast, but it was already eight o’clock, and after my swim, I was starving.

  ***

  I asked Sandra for a combined juice of marañón, orange, and lime. The marañones come from our neighbor’s tree, which extends partly into our yard; the oranges from the market; and the limes from our two lime trees. I asked for enpfrijoladas, three eggs, and coffee—enough to keep me going until lunch, which we usually have at around two thirty in the afternoon.

  Sandra was not really our maid; she was more like my mother’s personal assistant. Back in the da
y, she had been a rural schoolteacher. My mother had helped her out of a legal jam some twenty years back, and she had been living with us ever since. She took care of the house and hired and paid the maintenance workers and gardeners. She took care of me on and off as I was growing up. I call her Madrina—godmother. She was quite a character, and you didn’t want to get on her bad side.

  The enfrijoladas were slightly fried corn tortillas, filled with ham and Oaxaca string cheese and then bathed in black-bean sauce. Sandra drizzled the enfrijoladas with sour cream, added the eggs, and topped them off with some chopped onion and cilantro. My culinary contribution was to add a few spoonfuls of green chili sauce, enough to give my breakfast a little punch and a bit more color. I have never liked insipid food, either visually or gustatory, and real Mexican cuisine is neither. Once I had finished eating and had brushed my teeth, I was ready to hit the books.

  I had been studying economics for three years at the National University of Mexico, Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México, UNAM. The more I learned about economics, the more I liked my chosen career. I saw economics as ways in which people should work, businesses should produce, governments should govern, and nations should trade so as to improve our welfare. I was impressed with the graphs and mathematical models, the abstract representations of markets, and the way economic systems worked.

  I loved reading about past economists, the Cervantes and Shakespeares of our profession, such as Adam Smith, David Ricardo, Alfred Marshall, John Maynard Keynes, and others.

  ***

  I am six feet two inches tall, which is pretty tall for a Mexican. I have always liked fighting and sports. I am not a bully and I have never been one, but I enjoy fighting them. When I was thirteen years old, I started exercising at my local sports club, where I focused on bar and parallel bars, weightlifting, and Greco-Roman wrestling. I made the national wrestling team when I was seventeen. A year later, I won first place at the national bodybuilding competition, winning the title of Mr. Mexico.

  I was invited to join the Mexican Kickboxing Academy, where I learned mixed martial arts. I became a brown belt in guerrilla jujitsu under Tito Wroblewski and a black belt in Brazilian jujitsu under Nelson Araujo. I made my debut in the MMA circuit when I was nineteen with a TKO in the first round against an undefeated Chuck Castellanos. My second and last bout came a month later, winning via TKO, also in the first round, at the four-minute mark against veteran Chucho Alarid.