Page 2 of Maddy's Justice

“Yes, jefe. All were fine. Then Gallego got them worried,” Jose said again.

“I’ll deal with that. You help Berto.”

* * * * * * *

While Javier walked off for privacy to make a phone call, the transfer from the bus to the vans took place. The cargo was thirty-three girls, all between the ages of thirteen and sixteen. They were beautiful, young girls forcibly taken from a caravan of illegals––some taken while their families helplessly looked on––moving through Mexico to the U.S. border. These beauties would not work as servants, hotel maids, nannies for well-to-do Americans. Theirs was not going to be a life of opportunity. No, these pretty, precious youngsters––all medically certified virgins––were about to be swallowed up by a nightmare. The worldwide international sex-slave trade for the wealthy was their fate.

Because of their value, the girls’ transportation into the U.S. was the envy of the illegal immigrant marketplace. After selection, they had been put up in nice hotels, heavily guarded and well-cared for. Pampered even. They were told lies about being selected for special grooming to become wives of wealthy Americans and Europeans.

Two or three days of this, then placed on Jose’s bus and driven north. It was a bus that any Anglo or European would find comfortable for transport.

While Berto smiled and spoke kind, reassuring words to them, the girls were transferred to the equally comfortable vans. Javier and his crew did this two or three

times a week, usually without a problem. Except tonight, the foolish federale had scared some of the girls.

The vans were necessary for the final leg of the journey across the border. In Mexicali, the Cartel has an industrial park built near the U.S. border, almost up against the new, forty-foot-high, double steel and concrete wall along this portion of the American side.

The vans will be driven into a warehouse. A small drone will be used to fly recon over the area and when it is safe, the vans will finish the crossing. They will drive down an incline into a tunnel from inside the warehouse. Once inside they will slowly drive the three-quarters of a mile up and into a warehouse on the U.S. side. Because of their electric motors they were virtually silent as they traversed the tunnel. Even with the technology of the gringos, any listening device would be unlikely to pick them up.

When he finished his phone call, Javier joined Berto in time to see the last of the girls enter the van. The final two were refugees from Iran. Of the thirty-three girls, these two were Persian, six others were from various Muslim countries and the rest were from Central and South America.

Javier had been in attendance when the last two, the Persians, were selected for the journey. They were fifteen-year-old identical twins with light, caramel colored skin, straight, thick black hair and black, oval-shaped eyes. Javier’s knees had almost given out the first time he saw them.

The girls had been part of a group of two hundred or so refugees who had traveled through Venezuela then came to Mexico by way of Colombia. Their parents had died in Columbia of a mysterious fever and the girls found themselves alone. A man claiming to be from an international group assisting refugees, latched onto them, and put them in a filthy refugee camp. The camp was filled with Venezuelans fleeing the socialist paradise of Venezuela. Tonight, four months later, the girls found themselves still together in the back of a van. Both were savvy enough to know they were not headed to the freedom and opportunity of America.

“Don’t even think about it, Javier,” Berto teased the younger man. Javier was staring at the two Persian beauties and continued to do so until the van door was closed. The driver threw the latch and secured the lock.

“I’ve never seen such beauty,” Javier said. “How much do you think?”

“Together they could fetch a million dollars. Maybe more,” Berto replied. “You want me to fetch this fool, Gallego?” Berto asked.

“Yes. Call some people. Reliable people. Have this cop pig Gallego here when we get back,” Javier said. “Let’s go.”

It was almost 11:00P.M.when the three vans formed a small caravan. With two cars filled with guards in front and one in back, they started for Mexicali. Javier and Berto rode in the trail car. The entire trip through the tunnel and back would take them just a bit over four hours. At the very exclusive auction, the thirty-three girls would bring between ten and seventeen million dollars.

True to Javier’s wishes, a beat up and bloodied Phillipe Gallego was stuffed in a car’s trunk waiting for them. After seeing the condition of the policeman, an angry Javier told the others to follow him. The two cars drove off down Highway 5 about ten miles then turned off into the desert.

They arrived in a small canyon and Gallego was dragged out of the trunk. Normally, Javier took pleasure in watching while the condemned shoveled out their own grave. Gallego was too sick, weak, and injured from the beating to do it.

Instead, Javier made the three men who had done this to Gallego dig the hole. Gallego was propped up on his knees and forced to watch. They went almost six feet down before Javier let them stop.

Javier walked over to the hole and taunted the policeman. “You’ll be quite comfortable in there.”

“Please. I beg you, Javier,” the man pleaded. “I didn’t know it was you. I never…”

Javier stepped back to him, held a finger to his lips, leaned down, smiled, and quietly said into the man’s ear, “Sssh.”

Javier bent over in front of him and said, “I have changed my mind. I am not going to shoot you and throw you in this hole.”

Javier indicated to two of his men to help Gallego to his feet. “No, I think you have learned your lesson. You won’t do it again, will you?”

“No, I swear on my children,” Gallego blubbered. “Thank you. I will be loyal. You’ll see.”

Javier nodded his head, stepped aside, and nodded toward the empty grave. The two men grabbed Gallego by the arms and threw him face down to the bottom of the hole.

Gallego lifted his head, his arms still bound behind him and began screaming.

“Fill it,” Javier coldly ordered.

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