The Beasts of Juarez

could thank him for his business. Drawing a deep breath, looking at his half-empty pack of smokes, he shook a cigarette loose, lit it, then sat back for a second and smiled.
Feeling good about himself for the first time in years, he put the Ford in gear and started up the road. Slowly, he drove up to the park and cruised through the huge parking lot, glancing at the large stadium lights and the fields beyond.
Across the highway, and the border wall beyond that, was a massive sculpture of a giant red X. The la X at the front of the Plaza de la Mexicanidad was a great place for fairs, concerts, outdoor activities, holiday events, and some pretty amazing ice cream. Looking at the monument, he couldn’t help but think he should have taken Tanya and Janie there when they had asked. He’d been such a stickler about not going to Juárez because of the crime that he had denied all of them the opportunity to enjoy a piece of Mexico.
If he ever got a do-over…
His phone vibrated. He looked down and saw that a text had come through. He opened up and saw it had come from his work.
WHERE ARE YOU?
He texted back: ON MY WAY.
He should never have agreed to pick up a few hours on Saturdays. Shaking his head, he changed into his work shirt, adjusted himself in the rearview mirror then popped a Tic Tac into his mouth to freshen his breath. Twenty minutes later, he arrived at the West Texas Anti-Gang Center where the security guard said, “Good morning, Agent Fykes.”
“Morning, Bryan,” Otis said. “How’s your sister?”
“Fat and tired,” he replied.
“Is she still alive?”
“I’m pretty sure she hasn’t died yet,” he replied.
Otis looked over his shoulder as he walked away. “Give her my best.”
“Will do,” he said.
Bryan didn’t have a sister; he was just a crabby old fart who seldom smiled. The sister joke between them was funny for a few months, but then it became routine. For years, this was the only conversation between them and then they started to become friendly. Now it was a reason for both of them to smile when neither of them really felt like it. And to think, this odd friendship had all started from thirty words meant to be a good morning piss off by Otis. It’s funny how things begin. But now that he’d hit the big leagues, how would things end? Hopefully with him giving the FBI notice and high tailing it out of El Paso.
Having served on federal task forces for years, he knew that when you play with dirty money you almost always get a dirty ending. Not him, though. Otis was smarter than that. He knew gangs and drugs and trafficking better than most. Then again, he only knew one side of the racket. Now he was learning about it from the other side, the more lucrative side.
When the animals wanted to bite off his head and take everything from him, he vowed to already be gone. He and Janie would be kicking up their feet in the cool Colorado air far away from this garbage life and all of the misery that came with it.

Chapter Eight
CAMDEN FOX
Camden Fox was on live TV when he was interrupted by a hefty woman in a really smart pantsuit that fit a bit too snugly for a television audience.
“You have an urgent call,” she whispered from beyond the camera’s reach.
The fact that she was about to disrupt a live broadcast had him smiling extra wide for the viewer audience. He did that when he got angry. Camden’s only hope was that his anger wasn’t so transparent while he was on TVs all across the nation.
“Not now,” he said with a tempered smile. He was so mad he’d forgotten her name in that minute. “We’re on live TV.”
In politics, single moments like the one Camden had crafted were precious, especially when your audience was on the edge of either supporting you or tuning you out for forever. The balance was so delicate, even the shifting of winds could send everything into chaos. It wasn’t just the words or the way they were said that sold an idea, it was all the little things that added up to something large. It was the fear in a child’s eyes, the dire conditions of an overfilled plastic cube or a tiny bathroom, the stymied look on the border patrol’s faces when they were asked tough questions for which they didn’t have the answers. If all these little things were done right, they had the power to help shape a nation. And then something like today happened and the momentum behind all of those little things was lost.
“Sir, it’s your family’s bodyguard,” she said. At that moment, her name came back to him. Mary.
“Thank you, Mary. Can you ask him to hold a moment?”
There were sweat stains under her armpits, the smell of too much perfume wafting through the air, a stiff head of hair held in place by hairspray or some other aerosolized lacquer.
“Um, no,” she said, seeming uptight. “He said you need to take it now.”
Smiling wide, the expression weighing about a hundred pounds on his face, he politely excused himself, then turned and quietly said, “What about my bodyguard?”
“He said…there’s been an…incident,” she said, scratching her neck, her face hesitant, anxious, worried. “He said it’s urgent.”
Three red welts lifted off her skin where she’d scratched herself a little too hard. Otherwise, her face was pale, chilled with the kind of bad news that warranted this. He felt a pit form in his stomach, one he instantly dismissed.
“Did he say if…if…everything is okay?” he asked, his smile faltering.
The woman slowly shook her head.
Looking down, Camden