Dear Sinead,
I hope you had a great and relaxing day off (if, in fact, you were off yesterday). I had hoped to have a relaxing day exploring jungle -- just to get away from town for a few hours, but I'm afraid that was not what was written for me in the stars. OY VEY!!!
I awoke to find that Enrique Rojas, henry-red@hotmail.com, www.artinmassage.com, (044) 322-294-4708, was asleep beside me. He sometimes sleeps over here without benefit to either of us of sex, which you would understand COMPLETELY if you ever saw the crack-house of an apartment he has across the street, and I'm happy to remind him of life's better choices, and he has really and truly been working hard to break his crack addiction. This is very tough, and even as I continue with my story of what happened yesterday, please keep in mind that on at least one level, I salute him! He actually was motivated two days ago to clean up his apartment totally, and I'll bet it's been a LONG time since he's done that. His crack hack has been diminishing significantly as well.
But he's not over it yet, and yesterday morning, I found evidence that he had smoked crack in my living room after I went to bed (I had, several days ago, after he first pulled his crack kit out of his apparently cavernous rectum, strictly forbidden him to bring or smoke crack in my apartment or car. NOTE TO LAW ENFORCEMENT: powder cocaine and heroin are regularly smuggled in condoms shoved up the butts of travelers. Our airport authorities used to check some of the suspicious (with "good" results -- until George Herbert Walker Bush put a stop to most of it. CIA became financed by illegal drug money -- especially heroin from Afghanistan -- remember?).
There was a crack pipe on my desk, yesterday morning, and Enrique had not only unplugged the electric stove, but closed and locked the grated, front (only) window. Extreme paranoia that totally resists the application of reason is a hallmark of his having smoked the stuff. In Guadalajara, I spent a couple of hours with him as he was entirely certain he was sensitively picking up earthquake vibrations, and even when I pointed out it was just the street vibration of passing buses and he recognized this, he persisted -- too fearful of his obvious condition being noticed to flee to an outside park. So I told him he was clearly a "sensitive," and he was picking up earth movements half a world away, so there was nothing for us to worry about. He reacted well to this perspective, but only for a few seconds, and then he was back at the paranoia.
At one point, he began smoking right after we entered our hotel room, so to mitigate my own boredom, I emptied an ashtray that hadn't been in use for several hours -- nor had either of us yet lit a cigarette since entering the room. Enrique IMMEDIATELY snatched the waste can, looked into it, and after about 10 seconds, declared that something was on fire. I took a look to be certain he was crazy -- he was -- and then he took it into the shower and not only soaked the three inches of debris in it, but filled it with 8 inches of water!
I have come to believe that the excess penalties for crack possession were originally legislated for very valid reasons (which I'll get to more in a minute), but more than that agree that they became a rallying cry of the racists who wanted to imprison as my black Americans as possible. And criminal penalties do NOTHING but trap people in their crimes more deeply -- at least as criminal "justice" is set up in the united States.
But here is what I've observed not just in Enrique, but others who are crack-addicted. This drug somehow (acknowledgment: I tried crack twice recently, but found it a bore and unattractive to me, albeit, I must not have smoked enough to get TRULY high. I found it relaxing, but somewhat mind-numbing -- it was making me stupid. I like to have my thinking abilities in order, and that drug does the opposite) leaves a person in no possession or control of his own mind at all. It seems to me that those who supply one with crack can (once the addict is high) suggest all manner of behaviors -- including criminal behavior, which includes murder, and then the addict later performs these tasks out of implanted compulsion, partnered with NEED for more drug and knowledge that he won't get more unless he does as commanded. So this, I believe, is what happened with Enrique and his behavior toward me, yesterday morning.
I became angry that Enrique had violated my rule about crack in the house -- a rule he had agreed to several times -- and I awoke him. He IMMEDIATELY spring out of bed, tackled me (he knows several martial arts, is well-built, and far stronger than me). He began pounding the side of my face, my back, my neck with his fists. He grabbed my head and slammed it into the concrete floor a couple of times. Sometimes he stood up and kicked me in the ribs as hard as can be done with a bare foot. Then, he began concentrating his blows on my backbone, declaring, "I'm going to break this bone of your back. I'm going to kill you, you mother-fucker. You have no respect for me at all and I'm sick of your bullshit!!!"
I have to say that while I knew I had put myself in an untenable position, the best thing would be to remain relaxed of body and mind, so that I would absorb more energy and suffer less damage while being mentally open to any helpful ideas that happened to float by. Enrique then grabbed a handy metal-framed beach chair, raised it to use as a weapon. He was getting frustrated as his fists had not yet cracked through my backbone, my relaxation working quite well. He said he had done this before, but not in a long time (6 months? a year? I'm sire he's killed or maimed others in the past. He knew EXACTLY what he was doing), but I did or said something that touched him enough to pause for a second, and then I instinctively continued in some mode I no longer remember, but the result was that while he continued to hold the chair high above him while screaming abuses at me and continuing to declare he was going to murder me, I gradually got to my knees and then my feet (always remembering to stay bowed and supplicant in my body language). It took 15-20 minutes, but I gradually moved us out into the living room while calming him enough so that eventually, I could say that since he had smoked all my cigarettes the night before without getting any more (another of his broken promises, which I gingerly pointed out), I was simply going to HAVE to bum one from a neighbor, and I non-chalantly walked out the door and up the street without looking back at all.
Enrique must have quickly realized how stupid he had been to let me escape -- to say nothing of knowing the consequences he would pay to those higher in the narco-trafficking chain, read: Hector-the Engineer and Fernando Merino ( Rubén Fernando Gómez Merino
Enrique apparently then called on his cell to get further instructions, and a guy named Louie, who claimed to be 25 years old (though he seemed at least five years older than that to me), with a healed "hole" in the center of his left cheek (as you faced him), "found" me wandering the streets in search of a cigarette and some distance so I could think how to proceed. Louie expertly relaxed me, and then suggested we go to his friends to pawn my Invicta watch. Having a retail value of $575.00 USD, Amazon-discounted price, I knew this was "the last of my solid gold watches," that is the last thing of real value I could hock, and I agreed -- it was time to cash it in.
We went to the casino in the mall by Versalles, which was closed, but true to his claims, everyone knew and highly respected him there, and we were allowed in, although they were technically closed at that early morning hour (or so it seemed). After half an hour, his friend, the manager, began setting up the front desk computers, and Louie got him to commit to paying $100.00 for it, but Louie insisted that we should go elsewhere to get at least twice that for it. He had been carrying my Mexican papers and GA drivers license to show the manager that all was on the up-and-up, or at least could easily be made to appear that way, and returned my Mexican papers, but I had not noticed he had kept my drivers license. Next thing I know, he's gone downstairs to buy me a pack of cigarettes, and after waiting about 45 minutes, I realized he'd actually been working for Fernando Marino and had made off with the watch and my ID. I approached the casino manager, but he acted like this was just the usual way of business there, and i did not doubt him at all.
I'll try to cut to the chase. I contacted the consulate in Guadalajara with the help of my "Mexican godfather," Roberto, and then on their instructions, went to the police station on the road to Las Juntas (fascinating name!). I had been told that only there could the cops not only take my story, but accompany me to my apartment and arrest Enrique, but this could not have been further from the truth.
There, the cops all stayed behind a grate-gate to their offices, and brought forward the chief on duty at the time. All claimed to speak no English whatsoever, and while refusing to give me a business card or even tell me their first names, listened to my story through a handy civilian who looked like a drug dealer and persisted in translating "crack cocaine" into "marijuana" despite my numerous protests. I finally got so frustrated that I (level-voice-edly), mentioned that I was someone they were going to have to deal with. They refused my card, and I mentioned having given evidence against Hector and the PRI President who owns Telcel.
IMMEDIATELY, the interpreter began shaking his fist directly in my face and yelled, while almost spitting: "FUCK YOU!!! FUCK YOU!!! FUCK YOU!!!" At the end of that, he ran off, and I looked to find that all the high-level-looking cops had completely disappeared. Actually, I could here some pandemonium behind the office doors I heard banging shut. Some civilians remained seated on a nearby planter wall, smirking in a most friendly way, so I lit a cig to relax, and a cop who was clearly native-Mexican approached and we shared much info and he told me I must call the 066 police to get them to remove Enrique from my apartment, after which I could file legal claims.
I went to Robert's kiosk on the beach and touched base with everyone. I swore i would NEVER deal with Mexican cops again, but had another idea, and called them. After a half hour I called back and was told by a clearly sympathetic English speaker that he would hurry them over and I should sit tight. Twenty minutes later, I called again and he told me (clearly believing my story rather than the one his associates had told him) the cops claimed they had driven by but I was not to be found. Excuse me very much, but I'm 6' 11". They did then arrive about 10 minutes later, tourist police pulled up soon after, and all manner of neighbors gathered as well.
I told the story of Enrique, the drugs, the murder attempt, Hector's and Fernando's involvement, etc. A brilliant person who resides in another apartment here talked me out of pressing charges then, for various reasons I decided I'd simply need to defer to his judgment. I'm just getting used to Mexico and had already completely misjudged the purposes of their police force. In any way, he talked with me for some time afterward, imparting much wisdom. I am completely confident I will be safe from now on. The neighbors will be doing the policing. He (as well as many other people in town) berated me for ever trusting ANYONE I met at Hotel Mercurio, as EVERYONE in town knows that's where most of the top US drug traffickers stay. I don't believe the manager, Gabriel is even aware of this, but Isaak and his boyfriend are kingpins, and other staff have caught me privately on the street to thank me for my efforts. And on the other side of the block, Anonymo bar is twice as guilty. Cornelio Prada Diaz many times called the owner of that bar his "godfather."
Now, I had better get this off so you see it before close of business. I'm still gasoline-poor -- to say nothing of watch-less -- but I will try to get over there tomorrow morning. I have not yet checked email or internet at all since Saturday morning, when I found a few donations via my book's website from people unknown to me!!! If a few more come in, they will wipe out the approximately $95.00 in overdraft fees that Bank of America assessed against my $3.00 overdraft in my checking account, and then I will get some money on top of that that will come out a cash machine (if they don't snatch it first to pay my over due BOA VISA, as is allowed by law in Georgia). The law changed a few days ago, so they will be allowed no longer to add those obscene fees, but I doubt they will have to take back those already assessed. Regardless, BOA is the ONLY bank that has treated me respectfully and with integrity, so I do not mind paying these legally-assessed fees.
I still have no phone, but you could leave messages with Roberto, whom I hope to occasionally contact. I would like to request medical help as, while I believe the extreme pain in my ribs is only non-showing bruising -- so obviously not actually very serious -- I DO believe that the bottom back corner of my jaw was at least cracked, if not broken off. Probably nothing to do about that -- if broken off, it did not migrate far out of place -- but it should be looked at. A couple of hundred dollars (at least) would be nice if you have any budget at all. I mean, really, I have if nothing else, served my beloved country this last year, and all of its citizens. Can't my country help ME a little???
Muchos gracias,
Scott D. Kenan
No comments:
Post a Comment