#javierpenafic

Chucho dropped the letter on the wooden kitchen table before going to wash his hands. Javier glanced over as he took his final gulp of coffee.

“Not another one, pop,” he huffed.

“You won’t know until you open it.”

For weeks he’d gotten letters from journalists asking for interviews. Everyone wanted to know about Escobar’s final moments in the words of the agent who took him down. But Javier hadn’t been there to see it and those requests for interviews were a constant reminder of that. No one seemed to care about Cali, or worse, the government's involvement with them. People usually liked victory stories and Cali was a reminder that they'd lost the so called war on drugs.

He picked up the envelope, surprised to see it was from his alma mater. Then he smirked. He had no plans to make any donations.

“Jenny called earlier when you were out on the ranch...,”  Chucho said as he spread some butter on the bread.

Javier nodded. Jenny was the first old acquaintance he’d seen since he returned to Laredo. They had gone to the same high school. Not that he paid much attention to her then. He was a senior headed to study sociology at Texas A&I University while she was a freshman. It wasn’t until he returned to Laredo after college that he got a better look at her. She went to the local community college and worked as a teller before she settled at her current job as an administrative assistant for an industrial construction company. Everyone thought she’d marry the manager. He was ten years her senior with a good retirement pension and some connections in Houston. After two years of unsuccessful dating and a pregnancy scare, Ken transferred to another office and Jenny kept her position with minimal drama.

On the day Javier landed in Laredo, Jenny was dropping off her older sister Joana at the airport. As Chucho parked the truck by the terminal, he caught his son talking with her, and Chucho, being the man he was, invited Jenny for dinner that evening. Since then, she had become a customary guest at the Peña household for weekend lunches. Javier had only seen her twice before. The more recent was at Danny’s wedding…the other, a decade ago, on the day of his wedding to Lorraine. Before getting on the highway, he stopped at the bank. "A big day, huh?” She smiled, wishing him congratulations. “What can I do for you today, Javier?” He was there to remove his funds and leave the country.

Jenny had a Texas drawl, a habit of giggling, but keen intuition. She noticed the discomfort in Javier’s face when she first asked him about “catching Escobar and that other cartel.” From that point on, she didn’t mention Colombia again. Instead, she complained about her job. Life in Laredo was slow and there wasn’t much room for growth at the industrial plant.  

“You consider goin’ back to school, mija?” Chucho asked over a cold beer.

“I just don’t know what I’d study…,” she answered.

Javier listened quietly as he watched her wash the dishes. She shook her hips to the cumbia coming out of Chucho’s radio. He didn’t know that she lacked the courage to approach him at Danny's wedding after she saw him talking to Lorraine. It wasn’t really her intention to say hi to him at the airport terminal either, but her older sister teased her, saying she had nothing to lose. And her sister was right. Javier slowly inhaled from his cigarette as he took a good look at her and reached in for a hug. Her hair had grown to her waist, and he liked the way she looked in blue cowboy boots.

“Fancy seein’ ya this early in the afternoon,” Jenny kissed him on the cheek as she stepped away from the lobby entrance.

Javier shrugged and placed the bag of conchas in her hand. “I was running a few errands for pop. Figured I’d drop these off while they’re still fresh.”

She sniffed the bag with a smile. “I’ll save one for ma. You got any plans for later? She’s been meanin’ to cook up a chicken fried steak.”

Since Jenny had broken it off with Ken, her ma had been pushing her to settle down. And it’s not that Jenny didn’t necessarily want to settle down. She saw a future with Ken until she caught him in bed with a girl from Georgia. When Javier returned to Laredo a year ago, it didn’t take long for Jenny’s ma to find out. At the time, she didn’t think it concerned her. Jenny had never mentioned him before. She only heard about Javier from the women at the church group Mrs. Peña belonged to. When she found out Jenny was spending Saturday afternoons eating tacos and sopa de borrego at the Peña ranch, she started to inquire more about the man who left his bride at the alter to catch some drug lords down south. Out of all the men in their town, her Jenny had been handed two cards from the same bad deck – Ken, a man who faked commitment and Javier, a man who had no shame in avoiding it.

Javi scratched the back of his neck, his eyes tracing her figure, still thinking about the letter he had been ignoring. “Can’t say no to that. See you at seven?”

“And maybe we can sneak out after for some shots,” she winked at him. Jenny loved tequila with lime and he enjoyed feeling her dance against him after she chased her shots with lime and salt.

Her yellow pencil dress made her blue eyes stand out. Javier patted her hip before she walked across the lobby back to her cubicle. She turned around to wave at him, passing by the mailman who noticed Javier. He shook his head to himself as he pushed the cart towards her desk. Won’t be making it to the altar for this one either I bet, he thought to himself as he dropped off a stack of mail.

•••

Eduardo received a call at one in the morning. He had to get out Mexico.

“What did you expect was going to happen?” The voice on the other end said callously.

“Change. That’s what is supposed to happen when the truth is published.”

“Listen, the newspaper isn’t firing you. You’ll be able to write, but that can only happen if you’re not dead.”

Eduardo held the phone between his ear and shoulder as he rushed through his apartment shoving some of his belongings into a luggage case.

“There’s a place in Guadalajara I can stay…But I’ll need to make a few phone calls...”

“Eduardo, I don’t think you understand what I’m saying. You’re not safe anywhere in Mexico.”

His hands shook as he flicked on the light switch. Books were scattered across his dining room table. He knocked off a few notepads as he searched for his passport.

“How the hell am I supposed to enter without a visa, Mauricio?”

“Listen to me, Eduardo. We have a few columnists reporting from across the border. You need to fly there. I got a person who will help you pass the checkpoint into Texas.”

“A la verga con el checkpoint,” he spit out, “Then what? Where do I go? What do I tell my family?”

“We’ll handle it. Get yourself across the border first. You’ll be able to continue writing. Most importantly, you’ll be alive. I’ll call Doña Maria once I know you’re safe.”

“Why do I have to hide for writing the truth?”

“Because this is Mexico…You knew what you were up against when you started investigating that story.”

“Pero Mauricio…”

“That’s enough, Eduardo. I think I already woke up my wife. Do what I say. We’ll handle any loose ends, but you need to go. We can’t lose another reporter. I’ll have Antonio pick you up at 5 to take you to the airport. That should give you enough time to pack and organize.”

The line disconnected and Eduardo rushed to his desk to scribble a note. Then reconsidered whether that would be a smart move. He crumbled up the piece of paper and went to the bathroom. Under the brightness of the mirror lights, he traced the bags under his green eyes. He hadn’t slept properly in the past week. He reminded himself to take in a few deep breaths and combed his wavy brown locks back before putting on a fresh button down and jeans. He was unable to get rid of the discomfort of the damp sweat on his back.

•••

“Already signed the lease…” Javier stroked his mustache.

“You didn’t have to make a decision so fast. You’re free to stay at the ranch as long as you need.”

“It’s fine, pop. Can’t hurt to see where it goes.”

“I’m just sayin’ mijo…” Chucho took a sip from the can of beer.

“It’s something different. Pay is fine, gives me time to think about my next move.”

“You know you have to read and grade work, right?” There was a tinge of humor in his father’s voice.

“Better than stakeouts and chasing dead ends,” Javier sighed as he looked out from the porch.

“You tell Jenny yet?”

“Not quite.”

“Distance doesn’t have to be an issue. I used to enjoy the long drive to see your mother on the weekends before we got married.”

“Pop…,” Javi squinted uncomfortably. “At least let me settle in Kingsville for a while before I pull the trigger,” he smirked.

Chucho never failed to make Javi laugh. He had already left one woman at the altar in Laredo, yet his father still had faith in him to get it right the second time around.

•••

“Alo?” Her voice was still heavy with sleep.

Eduardo breathed into the phone without responding.

“Alo?”

He jumped at the knock on his door and hung up, grabbing his backpack and luggage case. Antonio, Mauricio’s editor, opened the trunk of the ’85 Impala and threw Eduardo’s belongs inside.

“Here is your ticket. When you land, you’ll see a man with a red briefcase reading from La Nueva Capital at the exit terminal.”

“Am I supposed to say anything to him?”

“Show him your ticket, he’ll have the papers you need to pass the checkpoint. On the other side of the border, Cesar, one of the journalists, will pick you up in a white Ford Bronco.”

“Sea la madre…,” Eduardo mumbled to himself as he lit his cigarette and took a final look at the sleeping city, fearing it would be the last time he’d see Mexico City.

•••

This wasn’t the way Javier wanted to tell Jenny that he’d taken the job as adjunct professor at Texas A&M University Kingsville – on the phone, as he drove northeast on the highway, already an hour away from Laredo.

Despite lacking a master’s degree, his alma mater couldn’t resist offering the teaching position to the agent who took down Escobar. With Agent Peña teaching a course in the sociology department on terrorist networks, the university felt they’d be able to attract more students.

It was a drastic change for Javier – a man who liked to do everything on his own terms. And while he briefly considered settling into local law enforcement, the prospect of dealing with bureaucratic bullshit was enough to accept a meeting with the university. Without giving it extra thought, he looked through the circulars for an apartment near campus, and within a few days, he signed the lease.

It wasn’t until he got back to the ranch that night after the meeting with the sociology department that he even thought how it would affect whatever it is that he had with Jenny. He wouldn’t really call it a breakup. There wasn’t exactly anything to break. He never actually asked her to be his girlfriend and she never pushed him on anything more than family dinners and some late-night drinks at the bar. He never made her any promises, but there was something in the way she’d hold him while they kissed. Expectations. She wanted to believe that enough time had passed. He was older, he’d gotten everything he wanted to get out of his system with as many women as he could and now he was back in Laredo for good. The time he gave her had to mean something. And he knew that. It did mean something. It just wasn't something he could put to words.

“Does that mean you’re gonna make me drive all the way to Kingsville on the weekends?” she smirked on her end of the line. Javier couldn’t tell whether she was whispering from the office phone or frowning.

“More than happy to make the drive to Laredo...,” he paused. “Besides, I’m not teaching every day and I’m already worried about leaving pops on the ranch by himself again.”

“I’ll check up on him. You know that.”

“I’ll call you when I get there so you can have my apartment number. And listen, I’m sorry about breaking the news to you over the phone. I –“

“You know I’ve never asked you to change who you are, Javi.”

At that moment he couldn’t tell if that stung him or made him feel better.

"Tell me something...," there was hesitation in her voice. "Do you want this to work out?"

His hand gripped the steering wheel. "Yea. Yea I do."

A decade ago, he drove at ninety miles an hour on that same highway, anxious to leave Laredo behind. It took him a moment to come to terms with the notion that this time, he had no reason to run. Or maybe, he just didn’t have anywhere to run to.

Next Chapter

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Translations:

A la chingada: Mexican slang for “to hell”

Sea la madre: slang equivalent to saying “goddamnit”

Mija/Mijo: term of endearment for a girl/boy

Conchas: Mexican sweet bread

Pero Mauricio...but Maurico

Limón y Sal: Lime and Salt. Limón can also be translated to lemon, but in Mexico it is used to express lime.

Doña: Mrs.

Sopa de borrego: lamb soup

La Nueva Capital: The New Capital

________________________________________________________________

There were a few things Javier needed getting used to on the new job. One, he couldn’t sleep with his female students. Second, he couldn’t intimidate his male students…like the way he did to Stoddard. Not that he had any intention…to do either. It had taken several weeks to prepare the curriculum with the sociology department. He had managed to voice his thoughts on some aspects of the course structure and was relatively content with the upcoming semester’s readings and lectures. Grading, however, was something he was not looking forward to, but he figured he didn’t have much else occupying his schedule. That was something he hadn’t been able to come to terms with since returning to Texas.

If anyone would have asked him twenty years ago, when he first started college, if he’d see himself at the professor’s podium, he would’ve laughed in their face. But then again, if anyone asked him twenty years ago if he’d see himself taking down two of the most powerful cartels, he would’ve given the same response.

It didn’t matter to Javier that he hadn’t been in Kingsville since the seventies. He remembered the streets and the shortcuts; and when the smell of roast pork and beer hit his nostrils, it triggered the memory of late Saturday nights with his buddy John at Polly’s Cantina. They barely had enough money for two beers and a platter then.

Jenny laughed as Javi told her the story of the stolen chicken leg. He sat at the same spot where he witnessed it eighteen years ago, from the corner table of the Cantina.

“So he ran out with an entire bucket of chicken?” She asked in disbelief.

“I think the bigger part of the story is that he was naked…,” Javier chugged from the beer bottle.

“Well yea but he was drunk…I mean I’d do that too if I was drunk and starving.”

Both Javi and Jenny seemed to operate on a silent agreement after that brief phone call a few months ago. He admitted he wanted this to work out and she agreed to be understanding. Still, there was no title to their relationship, but it’s not like he had anyone else in his bed. And if there was one major perk to moving to Kingsville, it was the private apartment. There was no more sneaking out of her ma’s house in the early mornings or Chucho discretely pretending he didn’t know Jenny had spent the night at the ranch.

“By the way, your pop wanted me to give this to you.”

Javier squinted before immediately recognizing the chain attached to the gold engraving. There was a tinge of melancholy in his smile as he took it in his hands.

“Was the necklace my ma got me for my baptism. I left it at home when I left Laredo to come study.”

Jenny listened quietly.

“When I got back, she passed away.”

“I’m sorry, Javi.”

“Guess pop’s tryin’ to give me a message… don’t leave home without it again…”

•••

 La Nueva Capital – Donde la verdad es central

That has been the tagline of La Nueva Capital Newspaper since it was founded in 1994, the same year that NAFTA was established. Despite its promises of free trade amongst the United States, Mexico, and Canada, more than a million agricultural jobs were lost in Mexico. Men immigrated to the United States in search of work, causing an increase in female-led households, and raising the overall poverty level south of the border. With NAFTA phasing out tariffs across North America, the drug trade got just the boost it needed. It was the perfect opportunity for cartels to smuggle at higher quantities with only ten percent of border inspection seizures. With miles and miles of open border, the war to control the trafficking routes became bloodier, and the first mass casualties of that war were the Mexicans.

In the effort to spread the truth about the levels of corruption in the government, many Mexican journalists lost their lives. Others hid and others fled the country. Once a country that harbored exiles from the dictators of Chile, Argentina, Germany, and Spain, by the nineties Mexico had become a shadow of its former promises for a progressive future.

In the two years since its existence, La Nueva Capital gained traction both among the influential upper and lower classes of Mexico. Inspired by the agrarian revolts that took place during La Revolucion Mexicana, the newspaper heavily published stories about the struggles of the country-dwelling lower class and the Mexican government’s abandonment of its people.

Eduardo Gallegos was one of those columnists. The grandson of Spanish exiles, he was dedicated to the transparency of information. He had visited Spain as a little boy a few years after the death of Francisco Franco, but his heart was fiercely in Mexico. It was his home, and if he had any say in the matter, it would also be the place where he would die. That is why, right before he crossed the US Border Patrol Checkpoint in McAllen, Texas, he collected a small bit of the dirt in Reynosa, Mexico and sealed it in the small empty cologne bottle that belonged to his grandfather. Eduardo was now an exile too.

The middle-aged man driving the white Bronco didn’t talk much. Not that he was rude. It was still early in the morning, and he hadn’t had his morning cup of coffee. Neither he nor Eduardo were in the mood for conversation, but the immense feeling of solitude that fell upon the new exile had been too much to bear.

“Do you know why I’m here?” Eduardo asked the man with glasses.

“You’re not the first one to flee Mexico, son.” The man looked straight ahead at the dark road.

“I didn’t flee…”

“No…and I didn’t just help you cross that checkpoint with falsified documents…,” the man mocked him.

•••

“Are you nervous?” Jenny asked Javier as she set the cup of coffee in front of him.

“Hmmm?” He was consumed by the report in the Sunday paper.

“Gettin’ in front of a bunch of students for an hour and a half…teaching…all that…”

He folded the paper and tossed it on the adjacent chair.

“I don’t really see it like that. It’s more of a… Think about it like this, there’s a class of students that, for one reason or another, are taking this class. I assume some want to be lawyers, other sheriffs, hell, I would imagine, some want to join the DEA. And if there’s one thing that’s true, it’s that there’s a lot of people out there in those positions that don’t know how to do their jobs. Not excluding myself….I’d call it collateral – sharing what I know so that the next ones that take my spot don’t make the same fuck-ups I did.”

“I’m sure they didn’t hire you because of your fuck-ups, Javi.”

“That’s exactly why they hired me,” he exhaled the cigarette smoke. “It’s just a matter of fucking up the right way. At the right place. At the right time. If you get the right results, you’re golden.”

She didn’t know how to respond. It seemed like he was talking more to himself than to her. She stood up to go change out of her robe. He followed her into the hallway.

“Jen, I’m sorry. I guess it’s just the stress.”

They had spent the weekend in bed, eating leftover food, and watching tv. After months of sleeping over and having Javier drive her back to Laredo, Jenny had begun to expect an invitation to stay longer. The only time he swore her any fidelity was in bed as he tightly squeezed her hips and breathily whispered how much he desired her into her ear, more a result of momentary passion than anything else. Not that she complained…but she was longing for more intimacy than that could provide. Sure, he stuffed his pantry with her favorite snacks and even filled the vase on her bedside table with fresh flowers. Yet for the life of her, she could not understand why Javier would not open that final door to his heart. Sometimes, when she let her mind wander, Jenny questioned if there was another woman although she abandoned the idea soon enough. He was fond of women, but he wasn’t a cheater. Not that Kingsville was the place to meet women. But that morning, the reality became more evident. He called it stress. To her, it sounded like disillusionment. And that hurt her more than she could swallow…not because he was disillusioned with his current life circumstances, but because somehow, her presence in his life, just wasn’t enough.

“Jav, you said you wanted to make this work…It can’t work if you don’t let me in.”

“And I’m working on it,” he wrapped his arms around her and kissed her shoulder.

“D’ya ever stop to think that you may end up loving it? Becoming a professor… for the long-term?”

He shrugged. There was something about that idea that was just too…static.

•••

In Mexico, few men made fortunes without colmillo. They had to get in bed with the right officials, create relationships that were mutually beneficial. If you wanted to expose them, they’d want you dead. And it wouldn’t be too hard to get the job done. After decades of ironclad alliances and connections, these men knew a guy who knew a guy who could get the job done. Make you disappear without a single whisper. However, that became harder because of the pushback from newspapers like La Nueva Capital.

The international press publicly condemned the murders of Mexican journalists throughout the nineties, bringing attention to the state of narco-terrorism in the country. People lived in terror and despite the pleas for justice, many citizens, and journalists alike worried that if they dug too deep, they’d find elected officials connected to the bloodbaths.

Eduardo understood this. A man with two master’s degrees, a tract record for honesty, and unbiased reporting, he spent most of his twenties absorbing as much information as he could about life in the Mexican countryside after graduating from La Universidad Nacional Autonoma de Mexico. He turned down a few prestigious publishing houses after completing his thesis on the lasting societal effects of political propaganda used during the Mexican Revolution. Eduardo was, by birth, an optimist. While he wanted to be a part of the change in his nation, he was dissuaded by the PRI Party’s elitism. High concentrations of wealthy families gained more power as the breadbasket regions of the country were taken advantage of.

He was slightly surprised then to see that even Mexicans residing in major urban cities like Guadalajara were not any more immune from the incompetency of their own government. On April 22nd, 1992, more than two hundred and fifty people died in downtown Guadalajara because of a gasoline explosion in the sewer system. Those that survived with injuries were not compensated while private companies and city officials pointed fingers at each other.

Eduardo was twenty-six at the time. He was in Guadalajara meeting with a former professor, Mauricio Pedrazas. After years of teaching literature at UNAM, he’d grown disgruntled with the way the country used literature as a means of squashing the mass dissent movements that bloomed in the sixties and seventies. Writers like Carlos Fuentes and poets like Octavio Paz were put on a pedestal – not that they did not deserve the recognition, but to Mauricio, they were not provocative. They had become comfortable on their pedestal and didn’t challenge the status-quo, the turbulent reality of Mexico. And in the effort to prevent a literary movement that would expose the immense inequality of the country, the Mexican government funded several scholarships for budding writers in the hopes that they’d get comfortable in their plush desks and produce works that boosted the public morale, fostering a society that was proud to be Mexican, but that didn’t really know why they were proud to be Mexican.

“I’ll tell you, I think you did good turning those cabrones down,” said Mauricio.

“I’m not interested in writing novels,” Eduardo traced his index finger over the tapestry on Mauricio’s kitchen table.

“How’d your grandfather take it?”

“He doesn’t know…I called him a few times whenever I stopped at a new hostel. He says I need to stop wandering around and take a job…that I’m wasting my talent. But writing novels? A la chingada con esa mierda. “

“If you’re still committed to reporting, I know a few stations that would be happy to add you to their team. I can put in a good word. A few of the editors are former students.”

Eduardo paused as if remembering something. “Mexico’s been good to him, he says. He thinks I’m being ungrateful by writing those news articles. It’s ironic. Just when I think I know him…he comes out with something new.”

“One man’s waste is another man’s gold…,” Mauricio smirked. “Mexico isn’t what it was when he first came here…and it would be a damn disservice to this generation to perpetuate that belief…Por Dios, the city has been sinking for centuries...Tell me something, does he call himself a Mexican or a Spaniard?”

“He proclaims to be a Spaniard exiled in Mexico.”

“So then write. What’s stopping you?”

Eduardo sipped from the mezcal as he considered the proposition.

“I want to choose the stories I write…and you already have a good idea of what I want to report.”

“Mira, el Doctor Almira and I were talking about starting our own newspaper. It’s still an idea. Hell, we don’t even know if we’d open an office here in Guadalajara or in Mexico City. His wife wants to stay in Cuernavaca and the kids…anyway, I have a handful of journalists interested in writing, there’s some funding from a few colleagues, and I’m asking you to consider. Get your feet wet first. See how you like it…and if it turns out you want to continue, I’d be happy to bring you on board.”

“I’ll consider it. Let me get settled back in Mexico City first…I want to see how things are looking at the university...see some old friends...”

“Orale mijo, but don’t be a stranger. The door is always open here.”

“At least tell me you already gave this project of yours a name,” Eduardo laughed as he got up from the chair.

“La Nueva Capital.”

Next Chapter

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Translations:

Donde la verdad es central – where the truth is central

Colmillo – cunning

UNAM – acronym for la Universidad Nacional Autónoma de Mexico (National Autonomous University of Mexico)

A la chingada con esa mierda – to hell with that shit

Mira – look

el doctor – in the context of this chapter, it means professor

Orale – Mexican slang used to acknowledge something

Por dios – for god's sake

Cabron - bastard