Companion poem for chapter 19 of the R.M. Dolin novel, "Trophic Cascade"
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The short walk from the paramedic van to the RV is quickly covered in open concealment because the crowd’s so focused on the aftermath of violence no one notices Ramon’s men overpower the paramedic and grab the girl, just as no one pays attention when the paramedics stopped treating Miguel and he staggers into the alley between Jake’s wine tent and the green chili jelly vendor’s tent. Ramon immediately pulls his girls from the plaza and drives the RV’s off the fiesta grounds, after all that’s happened, police scrutiny will make profitability next to impossible. Within an hour, the two New Mexicans are bailed out of jail, but the two Mexicans are claimed by ICE and once out of the hospital, will be deported, which means it’ll be at least a week before they’re back to work.
Ramon regroups at his north valley compound; a three-acre hacienda with a six-foot-high stucco wall around the perimeter and large wooden gates at the front replete with guards and security cameras. There’s an escape passage in back leading to a cottonwood dotted dirt road that drops into a concrete lined drainage arroyo that’s always dry, except after rain. The two-story wood framed house has brown a stucco exterior, flat roof, and heavily tinted windows with metal bars to keep intruders out, or captives in. The house was built above a crawlspace, which is common in desert dwellings as radioactive radon in the ground is too high for healthy basements. When Ramon moved in, he had the crawlspace deepened to add secret rooms, one of which is a walk-in safe where he keeps cash, weapons and other important items. Another room is also a walk-in safe where he keeps additional weapons ranging from light pistols to high caliber semi-automatic long-guns with bumper-stocks; he also maintains an extensive inventory of drugs. The remaining three rooms are essentially dungeons where medieval torture is routine and well below the hopeful ear of rescue.
The main floor has a large living room where his crews relax, a private office used only by Ramon, a side room where cash gets counted, and a kitchen used for cooking and sorting bulk drugs muled up from Mexico into smaller distribution bags. As demand for fentanyl skyrockets, Ramon’s had to convert his master bedroom into a sealed clean room requiring high-tech air and ventilation systems, which in turn requires converting one of his dungeons into a mechanical room to keep outward appearances inconspicuous. Only his most highly trained minions are allowed to work in the fentanyl room, and only when suited in hazmat gear. When he first took over the New Mexico region, marijuana and cocaine where the main sources of revenue and trafficking was something he did to dispose of mules on construction and landscaping enterprises. While drugs are still the cash cow, success in recently started sex trafficking has helped boost profitability while diversifying his portfolio. Expanding into fentanyl ahead of the state legalizing cannabis legitimizes his need to always be diversifying.
There used to be four bedrooms upstairs, but after loosing his bedroom to fentanyl, he had two other rooms converted into a master bedroom befitting someone of his power and stature. But then the fentanyl business grew so fast that room had to be converted for processing, so now ,he has to stay in one of the two remaining guest rooms when he visits. His head of Albuquerque operations lives in the other guest bedroom. Behind the house in what looks like a three-stall garage, is a bunkhouse for his crew, most of whom are engaged in security and enforcement. His distribution crew stays at another property on the north side of town. Ramon’s very careful about not letting anyone involved in distribution know about this Hacienda.
About a mile up the road heading east toward Albuquerque’s main Pueblo casino is where Ramon houses his sex trafficking operation. While not as profitable as the Ranch, it provides a steady income stream and is a good way of attracting new clients for his other enterprises. That property also contains his training center where new workers, regardless of their trade, receive initial indoctrination. The outward appearance of his east side property is rather nondescript but has a privacy fence around the perimeter, a large off-street parking area with covered portico to protect the identity of clients from drone surveillance; it also deceptively possesses a lavish interior for upscale guests. There’s a bunkhouse in back for security personnel but the girls all have their own rooms within the house.
On the south end of town, near the airport, Ramon keeps a large warehouse for an assortment of things needed to maintain operations, such as generators for the fentanyl air handing system and entertainment venue should power go out. He keeps a small fleet of trucks, vans and SUVs, which are rotated through the chop shop he operates in the south valley. This aspect of his operation is essential for having a continual stream of vehicles law enforcement does not yet have in their system. An entire back up air handling system for the Hacienda was just delivered to the warehouse, because if the current system ever goes down, you can’t really call in an AC repairman. He also keeps an inventory of food, booze, and clothes in the warehouse. The clothes are for his girls who need to look nice, but the food and booze is for private bookings and corporate events, which are not only held at his entertainment venue, but often in wilderness areas when clients are looking for a “retreat.” Ramon provides an “all-inclusive,” service for high-dollar clients. He stores several bouncy-houses and other children’s attractions in the warehouse used as covers during public event; like wine festivals.
One advantage his Albuquerque operation has over Arizona and Texas counterparts is that political payola is much less complicated. In New Mexico, needing something done or overlooked, doesn’t require having to worry about which politicians require bribing, he just provides the top Democrats an annual tribute and anything he wants gets done or automatically overlooked. His warehouse is a great example, one phone call and not only does Albuquerque find him this nice space near the airport, they come up with a huge business development grant to cover the costs. Amazingly, this is a feat an American entrepreneur could never pull off in Mexico regardless of how many politicians are paid off.
Sympatico awakens to the sound of men talking, familiar voices that send curdles of panic down her spine. She can’t see anything because her room’s perfectly dark. In addition to voices, she hears a distant but steady hum of electrical equipment, and occasionally she hears the heavy sound of footsteps above as people move about. There’s a bed in her room, which she knows only because she’s laying on it, whatever else there is remains a mystery. A tactile scan of her body reveals that her clothes have been removed, and since that’s a common maneuver Ramon uses to train new girls, her worst fears are confirmed. Slowly she pieces together what happened, the uneasy feeling she had while listening to Padre’s music and how the two Mexicans grabbed her a mere thirty feet from sanctuary. She remembers stomping on the foot of the Mexican who held a knife in her side halfway wishing his reaction would be to insert it all the way to the hilt. She feels her broken fingernail recalling how it missed its mark and scrapped along the skull of the other Mexican right before someone punched him. She remembers Jake rescuing her from Ramon, but then being ordered by the police to hand her over to the paramedic. After that it’s bits and pieces of a broken collage, a kind paramedic, an evil paramedic, in the RV, here. She may not know where here is, but she completely understands what being here means.
She’s wants so much for all of this to end, why God won’t just take her is proof he’s either cruel or she’s not welcome in heaven or in hell. She decides on a plan, a pretty simple path forward really, when Ramon comes, which he’ll most certainly do, she’ll give him no alternative but to kill her. She’s willing to do whatever is required to ensure that happens because she understands rescue is not possible. Jake won’t ever find her and even if he did, she could not expect that he, or Dario, or even Chance should risk their lives once more to save her. And save her from what? To be set free long enough for hope to seep back into her life only to have it brutally taken. She cannot, and will not, allow herself to cycle through that agony again. She’s already dead. She died a long time ago, but for some reason God wouldn’t take her. She’s been resurrected so many times only to die once more, but maybe this time is her time. Certainly, God’s gotta be done letting the devil play with her like a cat toying with a doomed mouse. Shouldn’t her time helping Padre count for something? Why hasn’t she earned the right to end her suffering?
She reflects back to that night in Senor Armando’s bar when all hope seemed lost. That night she accepted that in the end, there’s only the end, and she’d decide about that. Now here she is, right back where she started, once more hoping to decide. With escape not possible and rescue not permitted, the end is all that’s left, and the sooner it happens the sooner she’ll find peace. That’s her irrevocable decision, made just as the sound of nearing voices send curdles of panic through her soul; the end is here.
Sympatico sits patently pensive on the edge of her bed as the door flings open and Ramon flips on a light that illuminates her cell so brightly it burns her eyes. As Diablo steps into the room she see his evil minion has come to witness as well. “Oh Isabella,” Ramon begins, “you’ve caused so much pain, so much distraction, and for what, to wind up where you started.” Miguel brings in two chairs; one he sets next to Ramon, the other he sets facing Ramon. He jerks Sympatico’s naked body from the bed and violently flops her into the vacant chair. “Perhaps you no longer like being called Isabella,” Ramon continues, “I understand that stupid Distiller gave you a name, but you are my little princess, my Isabella.”
Sympatico keeps her head down unconcerned about whatever Ramon’s come for. Her only concern is coming up with something that’ll compel him to kill her. Miguel steps into the hallway leaving Sympatico with shallow hope she has her opportunity, but just as her muscles tighten for an attack, he returns with another chair. “None of this is necessary,” Ramon lectures, “it never was. Wasn’t I kind to you? Didn’t I treat you well? Why did you turn on me?”
“Because you’re a bastard pig!”
Without thinking, Ramon slaps Sympatico so hard she’s knocked off her chair. Immediately, Miguel drags her naked body back into position. “Even after you turned on me I tried to be kind, but you rejected my kindness. I had no choice but to let Miguel train some sense into you.”
“You were always going to kill me.”
“Perhaps, but is it not better to live well and die rather than suffer and die?” Ramon turns toward Miguel, “You see, Miguel, my little princess is very valuable, perhaps as much as one-hundred and fifty-seven million American dollars valuable.” Miguel is beginning to understand why Ramon was so angry when he gambled her away. What he doesn’t understand though, is why Ramon let him run her like all his other girls and why he never said anything about making sure nothing happened to her.
“Her Grandfather was a great man in Bolivia,” Ramon explains. “But like all such men, he caused much discomfort to powerful people. He was some kind of engineer who wanted better working conditions for miners, but that costs money, so the corporate bosses said no; only he doesn’t take no for an answer and begins organizing the miners. This causes more discomfort to more powerful people who decided this nonsense had to end. They offer to let him in on the action, but you know what the stupid bastard does, instead of ratcheting back his rhetoric as they demand, he ramps it up. Not only that, he files a class action lawsuit in international court seeking damages for intentionally unsafe working conditions. That left the powerful people no alternative but to kill him. Unfortunately, they could not stop the lawsuit, but at least with him dead, the star witness would not be useful.
“But this stupid bastard’s smarter than anyone thinks, he not only gives a sworn deposition before being killed, he makes sure all his evidence is in the hands of the international tribunal. So the lawsuit continues; the only real mistake this idiot engineer makes, is naming his granddaughter as executor of the trust he set up for the payout should he prevail, and damn if he doesn’t prevail. The court’s award the miners one-hundred and fifty-seven million dollars. Of course, the powerful people appeal, but they’ve already lost once and could lose again. If that happens, then according to the terms of the trust, Isabella becomes the executor of this money, which is to be distributed to the miners and the families of deceased miners.
“She knows nothing about any of this when the powerful people bring her to me. My job is to convince her to sign control of the trust over them, thereby circumventing the inevitable outcome of their appeal. They want her to do their bidding willingly because at some point she’d be required to publicly announce her decision. So early on I was kind, to persuade her of the right thing to do; only she could not be moved by reason, so then I made her my bitch, but that only seemed to strengthen her resolve. That’s when I turned her over to you, thinking perhaps some formal training and field experience would bring her around, only we know how that ended.”
With the sadistic charm of someone devoid of a soul, Ramon turns to Sympatico, he takes her hand in his and smiles warmly, “So here we are Isabella, is it not time for all this end?”
“It is,” Sympatico quietly answers. “So, end this now.”
“I am glad that you have finally decided to stop your nightmare.”
“I have,” Slowly, Sympatico pushes her naked body up from her chair until she’s standing before Ramon, unafraid for the first time since modern time began. “Shoot me, stab me, beat me, I don’t care how you end it, just end this now.”
Ramon jumps up and aggressively shoves Sympatico back into her chair. He paces back and forth across the room deliberating his next move. Eventually, he calms down enough to return to his chair where he stares coldly into her soul. Instead of looking away, Sympatico defiantly stares back. “Nothing would please me more than to slice you into small pieces and feed you to my dogs, but we both know that can’t happen, at least not until after the powerful people win their appeal.” He looks at Miguel, “You see, she only has value as long as the appeal’s being deliberated, if my clients win, she dies, if my clients lose, they’ll be expecting me to deliver someone ready to publicly transfer the trust.”
“I will die before that.”
Ramon further enlightens Miguel. “Should she die, a new trustee is appointed, and we start this whole process all over again.” He turns his attention back to Sympatico. “Now Isabella, don’t you think it’s a little unfair to condemn another to your fate?”
“They killed my Abuelo and got away with it. They’ll kill me and get away with it, but they can’t kill everyone.”
“Hell yeah they can, they do whatever they want. I’ll give you that filing his case in international court was a stroke of genius, no way he wins in Bolivia, but that’s at best a minor hiccup on the road to sustainable profit. And they won’t kill everyone, otherwise there’ll be no one left to work the mines, they only have to keep killing until they reach a person who puts survival above principle and smart money’s on them not having to reach that deep.”
“Bolivian miners are strong men and women who see the importance of safe mines and clean water for their children and grandchildren. If sacrifices are needed, sacrifices must be made.”
“Everyone has cafe cajones; high principles from a distance. My experience is that people are willing to sell out for next to nothing. Take you, you have a price, we just don’t know what it is yet. What if you’re offered a million dollars you don’t have to give others, would you take it?”
“No.”
“How about two million?”
“Not even one-hundred and fifty-seven million. My Abuelo’s lawsuit was never about money, it’s about protecting miners and their communities. The money only helps those in the present, but winning helps those in the future, and that’s worth more than money.”
“I am not here to debate the principles of mining safety or the ethics of corporate responsibility. What I do is deliver for my clients. Right now their instructions are to keep you alive until the appeal process is completed.”
“And then you will kill me.”
“If they win, if they don’t win, I await further instruction.”
“If they win, they kill me. If they lose, they figure out a way to get control of the trust and then they kill me. Either way, they kill me so why not just do it now and move on?”
“My dear Isabella, that would be too simple. I will not shoot you; I will not stab you. I may, however, continue to beat and torture you hoping at some point you come to your senses.”
“For three years I’ve endured everything you’ve thrown at me, what makes you think anything will change?”
“Do you not see I have been slow playing? Look at what happens to other girls who step out of line, just this week Miguel had to put one down. But not you, our hands were always tied when it came to you. Of course, putting you into Miguel’s rotation was my idea, I even didn’t tell Miguel so you could experience life as a regular girl. I thought for sure that would work, and now I have to be honest, I’m out of ideas to bring you around.” Ramon gets up and motions for Miguel to remove the chairs. To comply, Miguel grabs a handful of Sympatico’s hair and yanks her up with so much force her feet come out from under her. Then, in one fluid motion, he tosses her toward the bed, allowing her naked body to bounce against the wall before dropping.
Ramon stares down at her lifeless body. “I will think of something, some trigger that’ll force your hand. Right now I’m liking the idea of knocking off that Padre and -,” he looks at Miguel, “what was his name?”
“Jake,” Miguel answers.
“Yes,” Ramon continues, “knocking off Padre and this Jake fella, maybe that’ll cause you to reconsider. Meanwhile, I’m gonna have one of my boys come down to beat some sense into you, then I’m going to invite each of the boys upstairs to come down for go.”
