TROPHIC CASCADE

From the R.M. Dolin novel, "Trophic Cascade"
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Chapter 9: Trophic Cascade

Sympatico’s second day at the halfway house is a whole lot easier, in part because she knows what to expect, is more comfortable being away from home, and because Padre’s been here the entire day. The two Mexicans plastering bedrooms upstairs seem safe, yet everything that everything has taught her since her ordeal began indicates that’s simply not true, so her day’s not completely devoid of stress. It’s getting easier to talk with Padre, which allows time to pass so quickly she can’t believe Jake’s just arrived to pick her up.

Padre moves in and out of stories during the day with so much fluidity, she has a hard time keeping up with which continent they’re on. One minute he’s growing up in Venezuela, and the next he’s in seminary in Poland. Then he’s in Bolivia with his father to stand with the gas field workers in their struggle for fair wages and safe working conditions, before hopping back to Poland. But of all his stories, Padre’s most interested in talking about his salsa band and how they’ll be performing at a wedding on Saturday. He talks about the music his band plays, and the special wedding songs they perform. When he starts in about how young ladies conduct themselves, it challenges Sympatico’s modesty, especially coming from a Priest.

Padre isn’t even a little surprised when Dario rolls in midafternoon. “Sympatico,” Padre calls while ushering Dario inside, “allow me to introduce Dario Martinez, one of the finest young men in the valley. That is when he’s not getting in trouble.”

Dario’s very surprised to find Sympatico away from Jake’s. “What are you doing here?” Realizing he inappropriateness, he turns to Padre, “We’ve already met.”

“Really,” Padre says in a way that’s clear he already knows. “How fortuitous since Sympatico and I were just talking about wedding dances. Ya know Sympatico, Dario here’s a mighty fine dancer. I mean for as lumbering and awkward as he is, isn’t that right Dario?” Padre continues before Dario can answer. “He shows up at a lot of wedding dances, probably because everyone’s his cousin. When not fighting over a girl, he’s strutting his stuff on the dance floor like a rooster in a barn yard hen house.”

“Don’t listen to him,” Dario manages to say through his embarrassment. “I don’t go to that many weddings.” He scratches floor dust with the toe of his boot in an effort to find a way past his embarrassment. “I brought you some boxes from my sister.”

“It’s good of her to have you drop them off.” Padre leans toward Sympatico, “tragic really, she used to be skinny, but after four kids, those days are gone. At least her clothes can be put to good use here.”

“She must be very nice,” Sympatico says not knowing what else to say.

“At least now, thanks to your uber-sensitive explanation, I know why she was crying when I picked them up.”

“Tragic indeed,” Padre reiterates. “Your sister’s a good woman doing a good deed. Now back to the business of my dance. I’m not a betting man,” he tells Sympatico, “but if I were, I’d bet Dario here would love to take you to the dance and show you some true New Mexicans celebrate God’s good fortune.”

Dario’s so stunned by Padre’s inappropriate directness he can’t answer. When he sees how uncomfortable Sympatico is, and after the way she shut him down last time, he preempts rejection. “I can’t!” He blurts out wanting to be more suave, but that’s not how it comes out. “I mean I would love to take you dancing, sometime, when you’re ready. But I’m in Albuquerque this weekend, Doc’s got his wine fiesta.”

“Really.” Padre’s surprised even though he knows he should know that. “I’m playing there Saturday afternoon before me and the boys scoot back north for the vows and celebration.” He smiles mischievously. “Guess you’ll have to escort Sympatico to your next wedding.” He turns to Sympatico. “Probably no later than a week or two out.”

Dario’s not completely sure Padre’s done screwing with him, but he sure hopes so. All he needs now is a good exit that allows him to save some dignity. Knowing Padre though, the odds are not in his favor. If only he could think of something-

“Dario?” Jake aks stepping into the kitchen, “Thought that was your pickup, but then I though what the hell you doing here, confessions aren’t til Wednesday.”

Dario enthusiastically shakes Jake’s hand. “Doc, damn glad to see you.”

“Dario here was just explaining how he can’t escort Sympatico to my wedding dance on Saturday because he’s in Albuquerque helping you at the wine festival.”

Jake stares at Padre, “You never stop screwing with people, do you?”

“What can I say, it’s a gift.”

“Doesn’t matter, she’s helping out there too.”

As speechless as Sympatico was with Padre’s attempted matchmaking, she’s stunned by the suggestion she’ll be going to Albuquerque. It took all her fortitude just to come here. Albuquerque’s a hundred miles away and a huge city with way too many people. Nothing good can come from that, which is exactly what she intends to tell Jake on their drive home.

“Well, that works out,” Padre says with a grin, “you all can listen to me and the boys turn on our charms.”

For the entire drive home Sympatico pleads her case, but clearly Jake has thought this through. Not only does he need the help, taking her to the festival is the only way he can keep her safe, there simply isn’t any place else for her to go. Knowing she can’t argue over Jake’s logic; she starts the insurmountable process of preparing herself for something she’s in no way prepared for.

After supper, Jake stops by Sympatico’s room before leaving to make sure she’s alright with this whole festival thing. She’s in the shower so it’ll have to wait until he returns. He gave Chance several chores designed to keep him working in the tasting room so he can keep an eye on things. Part of the security system upgrade that Preston installed, was an App that notifies him each time someone starts up the driveway. The App then toggles between the cameras placed along the road, so he gets multiple looks at who’s coming. Since Chance hasn’t been read into the ANA, he doesn’t have the Miguel tracker, nor does he know much about what’s going on. He has been briefed about the panic button under the bar and given clear instructions to activate it should any strangers show up unannounced.

For the past few days, Theres’s been walking Sympatico through the game trails leading from the back yard to the rendezvous spot next to the highway. Since the game trail maze is confusing, they walk it several times, with the last few having Sympatico in the lead. Theresa explained that with the new security system, just the act of running along the trail will notify Jake or Dario, and even Hector, to meet her at the rendezvous spot. Jake hasn’t gotten around to reading Chance into the game trail escape system, which is clearly an oversight on his part.

The boys are assembled at the Al Azar ready for business when Jake arrives. He prides himself on being prompt if not early, but it was hard leaving Sympatico. It’s three hours before the old man who moved into the Valdez house arrives for his nightly beer and bump, which should provide ample time. Jake calls the meeting to order with his usual preamble, “Gentlemen, as members of the Americans for a New America, we’re engaged in peaceful, nondestructive activities to recapture our representative democracy; to restore good governance while ensuring the sovereign nation we so cherish, and have devoted our lives to protecting, is preserved. The actions we undertake are in no way intended to weaken our great nation, harm our citizens, or provide opportunities to our enemies. We are independent of any and all other organizations and doctrines and have no goals or objectives other than those thus stated.”

“So let it be written,” Jon declares holding his hand up for Theo.

“So let it me said,” Theo finishes with a high five.

“For our moment of Zen,” Jake continues given them a classroom teacher’s scowl, “I give you Dwayne.”

“Or as he’s better known in these parts, Yosemite Sam,” Jon smirks.

Dwayne clears his throat glaring at Jon while twisting the end of his mostly red handlebar mustache. “Bite me,” he growls before diving into his presentation. “Tonight gentlemen, we feature the Marquis de Lafayette, French general in our nation’s revolution, defender of the French monarch, and author of the Declaration of the Rights of Man and the Citizen, which is perhaps the most profound document ever written regarding the rights of all humans and the responsibilities of all governments to assure them. I’m not going to list all seventeen articles, but rather summarize his salient points, including, that all men are born free and shall remain free, that government shall assure the right to liberty, property, safety and resistance against oppression. What arose from this during the French revolution was a class system comprised of Active Citizens, who were the oligarchs or political class. Passive Citizens, or the masses who could not vote. And the Revolutionary Citizens, who felt that all humans should enjoy the rights of man. I believe gentlemen, our nation has reached a similar class system comprised of oligarchs, the masses, and people who’ve had enough.”

“Well said,” Preston critiques. “Ya know Lafaytte was a good friend of Jefferson even though he was a devout abolitionist. It’s ironic that Jefferson, like Lafaytte, would write a lofty declaration espousing the rights of men, when he really just meant the rights of some men.”

“Yes,” Dominic counters, “But those were difficult days, and they were doing the best could.”

“More difficult than today?” Theo questions.

“Well, they sure as shit didn’t include Hispanics in their declaration,” Dario asserts.

“Pardon my French, Cabron, but touche.”

“Guys,” Jake interrupts, “This is clearly something we could spend the rest of the night dissecting, I suggest though, we have more pressing matters. For that I turn things over to Preston, who’s been researching the evolutionary impacts of Trophic Cascade.”

Preston sits up in his chair and takes a swig of beer. “As Jake mentioned, the principle of trophic cascade asserts that all ecosystems can be modeled in a top-down manner where the apex predator controls the population of the entire ecosystem, which in turn maintains a viable balance. However, when the predator is removed, the cascading implications are so profound the entire ecosystem collapses.”

“Hell yeah,” Dario interjects, “look what happened a few years back when they shot all the coyotes because some councilwoman’s cat got eaten. Next thing ya know we can’t drive anywhere without running over a dozen rabbits. The rodent infestation got so intense stores couldn’t keep enough traps and poison in stock.”

“Exactly,” Jake affirms. “And in our problem’s ecosystem, Ramon’s the top predator we want to take down, but we have to be mindful of the vacuum that creates and how it cascades through cartels and governments.”

“Ramon’s not the top predator, Cabron, there’s always someone behind the someone who’s behind the curtain.”

“Fair enough, he is at best a puppet under direct control or permitted to exist through quiet acquiescence in part because he generates profits, and they enjoy his offerings but also, because they simply don’t care about the struggles of the lower class. What I do know is that this is American, and if they wanted Ramon out of business, he’d be gone.”

“I was perusing a UN website today,” Theo offers, “do you know, there’s an estimated twenty-five million people trafficked into slavery worldwide. Sixty-four percent exploited for labor, 20% for sex work, and the rest in state-imposed forced labor. California’s our nation’s worst for slave trade but lots of blue states are trying to catch up. Washington DC the nation’s capital slave city, followed by Miami, Orlando, Atlanta, and Las Vegas. New Mexico’s more a gateway state, but it obviously exists here as well.”

Dwayne clears his throaty. “So, it comes down to our usual dilemma, do we attack the problem in the large or the small? Clearly Miguel and his twenty girls don’t amount to a hill of beans in Theo’s larger context.”

“Maybe not,” Dario challenges, “but it is the hill I’m ready to die on.

“We have to start somewhere,” Preston adds. “It’s clear government ain’t doing shit about it.”

“What Dario’s suggesting is a bottom-up approach, which I appreciate.” Jon interjects. “But this Trophic Cascade thing Preston presented is a top-down ecosystem. What happens when Miguel’s gone, and the girls are freed?” I’ll tell you; he gets replaced and new girls get trafficked. The problem has to be tackled from the top down.”

“Eee Cabron, might it not just be easier to overthrow the government and replace it with people who care about such things? Ramon’s ecosystem is run by competent men, not pompous fools.”

“That is the question before us,” Jon counters. “We either deal with Ramon and clean up our backyard, deferring on the rest until after Phase One launch, or we scrap Phase One all together and attack the entire trafficking ecosystem head on.”

“Either way we deal with Miguel and those girls up front,” Dario emphatically states, “after that I don’t care.”

“We should at least agree,” Theo cautions, “that taking down the oligarchs and their political puppets was our Phase One plan, is that ecosystem any different than the one run by traffickers? They both have apex predators at the top, both need to be eradicated, but as Jake said, we have to be mindful of the vacuum we create, and which mess we want to mop up.”

“These ecosystems are like a pyramids,” Preston explains, “take out the top, or pyramidion, and the structure crumbles, remove a stone within the base and nothing happens. Miguel is a pebble in a stone, lodged along a very large base. In the larger scheme of things, he’s insignificant.”

“Law of large number, eh?” Theo adds.

“Tell that to Sympatico!” Dario pounds his hands on the table. “Or the girl who he just killed! Or the twenty girls who are right now living a hell we can’t comprehend!”

“Dario’s right,” Jake jumps in. He gives his friend a long hard look he knows is necessary to calm him down. “Miguel’s a stone in the Ramon ecosystem, and Ramon’s just pebble in a stone of an even larger ecosystem. But however we dice this gentlemen, Miguel and Ramon are our pebbles in our ecosystem and they have to be dealt with; on that I’m certain we all agree.” He looks around the table as each member nods, or in Dwayne’s case, grunts. “We have to decide which pyramid to crumble first. We have a plan for taking down the oligarchs while devising an eradication plan for the slave traders will take time.”

“You guys and your damn plans!” Dario shouts. “You know I respect the hell out of you, but like we used to say in Iraq; plans are fine and dandy, until bullets start flying.”

“Fair enough,” Theo counters, “but as General Eisenhower said, ‘In preparing for battle I have always found that plans are useless, but planning is indispensable.’ My point is, we have to have a plan.”

“I agree with Dario,” Armando states, “we should not let the lack of a plan sway our judgment. I say we commit to taking down Ramon’s enterprise and look for our opportunity as we develop a plan, you need to run the acequias while waiting for rain.”

“I don’t want to throw water on what any of you are saying,” Dominic interjects, “but hearing Theo’s statistics put things into perspective. Sure, there’s a dire need to fix our deteriorating democracy, but to what end? Great civilizations have been rising and falling throughout history, and wouldn’t Darwin say letting ours descend into chaos is just part of natural evolution? This trafficking thing though, I mean twenty-five million people, this is a cancer on the soul of humanity. Is it not a higher calling to fix humanity for the entire world before addressing the petty needs of our once great republic?”

“Well said,” Jon adds making clear where his support lies.

“Well hold on now.” As soon as Dwayne says that he realizes it’s a quote Yosemite Sam always uses. He smiles at Jon, “no pun intended. Before we go tilting at that windmill, we have to at least assess what a post-slavery world looks like, the implications on worldwide economies, what if anything it means to food supplies, and most important, and I’m not advocating for slavery, but if we tear down that ecosystem, we own the mess we create.”

“While I agree with this nasty varmint,” Jon adds, “we have to assess our probability of success. While we have obligations as Dominic points out, it comes with a responsibility; to Yosemite’s point, we have to ensure we don’t cause global chaos.”

“I agree,” Preston weighs in. “We have to at least know what this pyramid looks like. We spent a lot of time modeling the oligarch’s, I think we need to do the same with the traffickers.”

“YADA, Yada, yada,” Dario grumbles. “Who among you advocates leaving those girls in the hands of their exploiters while you ivory tower toward your perfect plan? Act Now! Are we men of principle and action, or politicians who pontificate? One week, no way your plan needs more than a week. I cannot in good conscience condemn those girls to anything more than an added week in hell.”

“I’m with Dario on this,” Jake votes. “I realize its more personal for me than some of you but having seen firsthand the hell Miguel put Sympatico through, I feel all my effort has to go toward helping the remaining girls. I suggest the same planning teams with a one-week deadline.” Jake surveys the table as each person nods affirmative. “To Dominic’s point, our one-week plan has to address the backyard problem as a pilot for the national plan we can develop in greater detail later. I suggest using our Phase One template, I’m sure most of the players and much of the logistics are the same.”

The boys nod in agreement. “I have some ideas-”

Before Jake and complete his thought, headlights pan across the room causing the boys to quickly stow their electronics and resume the hand of Omaha they’d set up prior to starting. Armando saunters behind the bar to busy himself at the cash register. Everyone’s surprised when the unknown customer is not to be the old man who moved into the Valdez house, instead, a well-groomed man in his late forties, wearing a blazer but no tie, confidently steps inside.

“Hello,” he says walking up to Armando flashing a badge. “I’m agent Alvarez, from the Albuquerque DOJ, you are?”

“Pleased to meet you. Can I see that badge again?” Annoyed, Alvarez digs out his badge to allow Armando’s closer scrutiny. He looks at the picture, and then at Alvarez, and then again at the picture. “It looks like this photo was taken today, Cabron.”

Alvarez isn’t certain what ‘Cabron,’ means, but decides not to make an issue of it. “I just transferred in.”

“I see, so what brings Albuquerque DOJ all the way to my humble little Catina?”

“The woman?” Alvarez says stuffing his credentials back into the blazer pocket. “Texan, I mean, the guy who got stabbed. His buddies say they were here that afternoon, what do you know about him?”

“Well, there were four Texans here that afternoon, it was their one time. They played cards, whined about me not having glasses for their beers, then left.”

“Do you know where they went?”

“Why should I know the comings and goings of dumb-shit Texas tourists?” Armando lifts the cash tray and pulls out one of the business cards Ruben left on the bar that afternoon. “Just before they left, some shady looking guy splashed these business cards along the end of the bar. The Texans got pretty excited reading them, so I assume that’s where they went.”

Alvarez studies the card. While his Spanish isn’t good, the graphics are universal. “This the kind of bar that promotes this sort of activity?”

“No Cabron, it is not,” Armando feigns being insulted. “I run a clean cerveza bar and that was the first time the desperado who left those was here. Like the Texans, one and done.”

Alvarez takes his time studying Armando before walking over to the poker table. The boys are barely able to maintain the appearance of playing poker because they’re caught up in Armando’s interrogation. “What about you boys, were any of you here when the Texan was?” Nobody answers. “Did any of you see anything out of normal that day?” Still, nobody responds. “Do any of you know anything about this ranch?” Alvarez tosses Miguel’s business card on top of the poker chips in the center of the table. “Do any of you speak English?”

Jake picks up the card and studies it. “Do we look like the kind of guys who would know about such places?”

“In my experience, you’re exactly they’re demographic.”

Jake hands the card back to Alvarez, “Let me ask you something, since you’re in law enforcement, how does knowing an operation like this is hiding in plain sight not make you rally up a bunch of Marshals to raid the place? Do your political puppet master forbid it?”

Alvarez puts the card in his blazer pocket and walks toward the back storeroom. “I’ve got bigger fish to fry.”

“Hard to imagine a bigger fish could exist,” Dwayne grunts.

“Oh, trust me, there’s way bigger fish are out there.” He pokes his head inside the storeroom before returning to the poker table. “Speaking of which, there’s been some pretty wild stuff going on in these parts. Murder’s a new twist, but wild stuff just the same. High tech things.” He studies the poker players for tells before inventorying all the electronics in various stages of concealment. “You boys wouldn’t know anything about that would you?”

“We’re just a bunch of retirees,” Jake offers. “For high tech stuff you want to head west up Pajarito Mountain until you dead-end in Los Alamos. You’ll find high tech stuff there that’ll make your head spin.”

“What I’m talking about is non-government sanctioned.”

“I work there, Dude,” Dario blasts, “I’m not sure everything we do is sanctioned.”

Alvarez dismisses Dario assertion. “So, all you guys work there?”

“Used to,” Preston corrects. “We’re retired now, except for Dario.”

“Interesting,” Alvarez slowly says. “Retired high-tech guys with nothing to do, just happen to hang out in a bar tied to a murder.”

“Well a) we live here,” Jon points out, “b) I don’t even know how to use a computer.”

“Don’t believe I said anything about computers.”

“You said high-tech, I assume that meant something other than designing nuclear weapons, because that I do know how to do.”

Alvarez breaks character, “You know what, I was at Sandia the other day and between there and Los Alamos, you guys are into some crazy ass shit. I mean you sit here saying you can design a nuclear weapon like someone rebuilds engines, when in fact you’re pretty damn scary. Then you wonder why I might question you about suspicious high-tech stuff going on in the area?” He digs a spiral notepad from his pocket and sets it on the table along with a pen. “I’d like everyone’s name, in case I have follow up questions.” The boys look at the notepad, but no one moves to pick it up. “I could insist,” Alvarez pressures, but still, no one moves. Frustrated, he grabs the notepad and begins writing. “I know your name’s Dario.”

“Good job, Tom,” Jon says to Preston.

“And his name’s Tom,” Alvarez jots down.

“Oh, like he’s not gonna find out your name’s Steve?” Preston fires back at Jon offended

“Now I have Steve, I can play this game all night gentlemen.” Alvarez waits for more names. Getting none, he walks over to where the Al Azar liquor license is posted and writes one more. “And your name’s Armando, good to know, for later reference.” He turns back to the poker table, “the rest won’t be hard to figure out.”

Alvarez makes his way to the front door but turns around before leaving. “As I said, bizarre high-tech stuff going on; my bigger fish to fry is figuring out what it is and who’s behind it. If you’re in any way connected, I will find out. Then I assure you, I will be back.”