Failed State (A James Winchester Thriller Book 1) (James Winchester Series) - James Samuel (top novels of all time .txt) 📗

“You have to be, or they start asking questions in this town. You never know if one of them has a relative working for a cartel. Anyway, welcome to Dolores. Gringos like you love places like this.”

James glanced around the square, dominated by a large church with two towers flanking the door. The church of Dolores Hidalgo came with the usual cohort of old women who would never take their eyes off the Virgin Mary inside, hunched over, with some dropping to their knees and weeping holy tears.

The buildings ringing the square each had faces washed with a different bright colour, in the same way as Guanajuato. Other than that, it seemed like any other colonial town in Mexico.

“I parked a couple of streets away in a garage of a contact of mine. We’re going to the narco part of this city. When we start moving, no stupid questions. Just stick with me and do exactly what I say.”

James was taken aback by that. “You do know I’m not new to this, don’t you?”

Fire ripped through Diego’s eyes. “You also don’t know this town, this land, or this country. That’s the price of my helping you. There’s nothing for me to gain from this. It’s a favour. The least you can offer me is to do things my way in my own country.”

James wanted to fire back, but he knew he needed Diego. If he upset him, he would be on his own. With a slight nod, he allowed Diego to take command.

As they walked through El Centro to grab Diego’s car, James noted the ice cream stalls everywhere. He had to blink a couple of times when he saw the different flavours advertised, including mole, which was a combination of chilli and chocolate sauce, and a mysterious flavour known only as ‘beer’.

The colourful buildings continued to spread away from the central plaza. The streets were largely quiet. James spotted only one other tourist, an old man striding confidently through town with his wife in tow bellowing in English. Diego didn’t make eye contact with them as he strode onward.

Eventually, they came to a building with a garage attached to it. Diego hammered on the wide metal door. It took only a couple of minutes for James to hear footsteps tapping on the concrete floor inside. The garage opened halfway with a squeak. Its Mexican owner jumped to throw the garage door open fully.

“Any trouble?” asked Diego.

“No trouble,” said the little fat man.

Diego took out his wallet and stuffed several US dollar notes into his chubby fingers. Dollars were desired far more by Mexicans than the unstable Mexican peso. Only twenty-five years before, the Tequila Crisis had crashed the peso, and it had continued to decline in value ever since.

“Get in,” Diego ordered.

James climbed into the black Land Rover. The sort of car nobody ever saw in Mexico, and if they did, it typically belonged to a narco. The roomy interior came with all the modern accessories, and a cavernous back with removable seats. James already saw the possibilities for interrogation when they got their man.

“Tinted windows. Nobody can see a thing from the outside.” Diego fired the car up. “I use this as my work car. A pity Gallagher won’t allow me to export it for other jobs. Says it would leave a paper trail that could be followed.”

“Well, he’s got a point. There’s a reason we usually rent cars.”

Diego snorted. “Too careful. By the time they know who we are, they’re already dead.”

Kicking the car into gear, he accelerated onto the road. James didn’t ask who the owner of the garage was or why Diego had chosen him. He sat back and observed the streets of Dolores Hidalgo. Like any new town, he did his best to map out the place in his mind in case he ever needed to flee.

They soon left the safety of El Centro and entered the outskirts of town. The further they got from the heart of Dolores Hidalgo, the more sinister the inhabitants became. Every one of them scurried around like they had a secret to hide. The fact they drove a narco car made them tear their eyes away.

“We’re in narco territory now. See the graffiti on the walls?”

James gazed at the graffiti. He’d never understood the artwork behind graffiti or how anyone could read what those little Raphaels and Da Vincis scrawled in their cheap spray paint. But he didn’t need to know these people to know they’d entered a place ordinary people shouldn’t roam. The crumbling and half-built concrete buildings sat on plots of land with sickly tufts of grass sticking out of the scorched earth.

“You see all these people?” said Diego. “These are all narcos. Look at their clothes. Someone who lived in an area like this couldn’t afford designer labels like that.”

“Are they all armed?”

“Not with guns. You find a lot of them are sloppy when you’re deep within their territory. Remember, Dolores isn’t a big narco area. Those are mostly near the towns that intersect their supply lines. That’s where most of their revenue comes from in this state.”

“So, we just have to make sure we find one who isn’t armed.”

“It won’t matter. They’re not real soldiers. Surprise them and take them as soon as you can. We just need to find one who’s on his own. Shouldn’t be too hard.”

Every so often, Diego would slow down and cruise past little roadside bars and taquerias, searching for a victim. He did this for about twenty minutes before jabbing his head at a man ahead of them. A mask of black ink covered his whole neck. A long gold chain dangled on his chest. James knew the drill.

“I’m going to slow down as we get