Ch 13, Mexico, Querido Mio
The wait was exhausting and both men hated it.
At first, they were hesitant to leave the hotel, but an exchange of texts with Castel's agents convinced them that if Wong was not a simple gangster, the Chinese would not grab them; on the contrary they would use them to send a message. Just that the message most likely needed to be sanctioned and this would take time.
So, Pote and James ventured outside and ended up in a restaurant, where they tried local dishes until both felt their stomachs would explode. Then they walked along the Nanjing Road, which was the renowned main street, and tried to avoid talking about the matters at hand.
Just before Pote swiped the card to open the hotel room, he turned to James and said: "I know I've been out of Mexico for over 20 years now…but it's still my country…and it being torn by the narcs is a pesadilla (nightmare). If I could do anything to stop these yellow folks from setting foot there….I would!"
James nodded, his thoughts not so much on Mexico, but on the Mexicans in his life, and the reality of the country's predicament still affecting their lives.
As the door lock clicked and Poter pushed the door open, James could only see his hand move fast and pull the gun on his belt with an expert motion. James felt startled, then he noticed a fancy ladies' bag on the couch just as two young Chinese women, wearing skimpy clothes and too much make up, walked out from the bathroom.
"What is this?" Pote grumbled, gun still pointing at them.
"No need for guns. We're here for fun. Present to Church men from Mr .Wong!" One of the girls said in a melodic voice with a typical Chinese accent.
"This is a joke, right?" Pote had lowered his gun a little as James did his best to suppress a bout of snigger . Pote turned and stared at him, eye brows over his nose.
"Is he sending us prostitutes?" he mumbled.
"We are just escorts, Mister!" the other girl said in a way more native English.
"Escorts? Why would Wong think we need 'escorting'?" Pote sounded indignant.
"You are from Hong Kong?" James said looking straight at the second girl with the better command of English.
She nodded, took the several steps to him, and put her hand on his chest in a seductive gesture: "I am…but that would make no difference, would it now?"
Pote's breathing was getting louder and noisier.
James removed the girl's hand and said slowly: "You should go back and give Mr. Wong our deepest regards. But we are here on business!"
"That doesn't mean…" the girl was saying as Pote almost shouted: "Get out! I have had my fair share of putas when I was single…We are serious men! Tell Wong he can meta sus putas por el culo! Hey! He can shove his presents up his ass!"
James held his tongue at the rude outburst but was glad to see the two women pick up their purses and leave as fast as their stiletto heels allowed.
Once the door shut behind them, Pote walked nervously around and glided his hand under the desk, then examined the couch for listening devices.
"You had your fair share?" James, who had checked the bathroom and had walked out satisfied it was 'clean' of bugs, finally said.
"Why're you asking? You haven't?" Pote just grumbled.
"No…I actually haven't!" James said slowly, then sat on the couch, still waiting for Pote to say more.
But as he kept looking behind the curtains for bugs, James added: "I have picked up women in bars…but I have never paid for it!"
Another grumble came from Pote and James finally said: "And here you are, brother…with your extensive history, it seems…and you doubted me just two weeks ago…"
"I apologized for it. Just don't tell me that if you were single, you wouldn't have taken them on…Hmm, Cabron?"
James shook his head: "No, I wouldn't have! They were Lena's age, for god's sakes, Pote!"
"I don't wanna talk about it! This is what Wong's wants…to get us riled and…weaken us!" Pote finished his search as the cell phone the agents had given them rang.
Wong's sing song voice filled the room as James had put it on speaker: "In Asian cultures, it is not customary to refuse the gifts of the host, Senores!…But seeing that my approach was not well accepted… I have a test for you to pass while we wait for the answer to Senora Fioto's proposal!"
"What might this test be?" James said, trying to keep his voice levelled.
"Since you're such devoted husbands, and don't stray…maybe you, Valdez, can indulge my special interest. I own a boxing team and I want you to fight one of my guys tonight! Just a friendly encounter!"
Before James could react, Wong went on: "It was not a tough job to get a full file on you. You boxed and you competed. You were pretty good! So, are you going to indulge me?"
"It's not like I have a choice!" James said flatly. He had not boxed in 20 + years, but he had been training in several other disciplines as part of being a combat studio owner. He should be able to get back into it!
"Correct…You actually have no choice!" Wong laughed a mean laugh. "All this trouble for this route in Eastern Mexico…and you're not even Mexican!"
James could feel his hands burning as Wong went on to explain when they would be picked up.
The studio was not big and was located at the ground level of a hotel downtown.
James and Pote had been picked up by two guys, who spoke no English and who hardly spoke to each other. James was given a den room at the back to change and get ready.
He warmed up as best as he could, avoiding unnecessary talking to Pote, who seemed antsy and grumpy, way more than usual
When James stepped into the ring, he saw that Wong was seated in the first row by a gang of rowdies, all waiting excitedly. Then he realized his appearance had caused a wild cheer that sounded like a wave picking up speed and volume, making a nerve-racking experience even worse.
His opponent's name was Jiglin Su, he had been informed by the referee, who spoke English and somehow expected that the name would mean something to James. It did not!
Jiglin Su, the obvious favorite, was some 10 plus years younger and although the whole affair was 'friendly', James had the feeling it was not entirely so.
The PA announcer introduced the fighters, first in mandarin, then in English, and the crowd roared for Jiglin Su. The noise was deafening in the small studio.
Just before the bell, James glanced down at the front row and smiled at Pote, who was sitting a few seats away from Wong, doing his best not to fidget.
"Go slow. Pace yourself." Pote mouthed for the umptieth time.
One of Wong's men acting as a cheerleader, started a chant in Mandarin, which was meant to mean: "Let's go! Let's go!" but it sounded like 'umen zo pa, umen zo pa' and the repetition made James unsettled. He jumped to his feet, pounded his gloves together, and flashed a confident nod at Wong and the rowdy faces sitting beside him. He wasn't sure where the confidence was coming from but was glad to be feeling it.
The bell rang. James's heart fluttered as the opponents met in the center of the ring and bobbed a few times, sizing each other up. Jiglin Su was three inches taller, with longer arms, and danced away from James, keeping his distance. The long arms became a problem as he popped James with some harmless left jabs.
Getting hit settled James's nerves. He kept his hands high and backed Jiglin Su into a corner where they flailed away at each other while doing little damage. The flurry excited the crowd. The chants of "Let's go, Jiglin!" drowned out all other noise.
Jiglin Su spun away and danced to the center where James stalked him. Halfway through the first round, James was surprised at how hard he was breathing. Damned cigarettes! Pace, pace, pace.
I still remember how to do this!
Pote was finding it impossible to sit idly by and watch James in the ring, so he kept yelling, "Hit him, James! Hit him, carajo!"
The first round ended without a winner and once the second was halfway through James realized that he heard nothing but his own breathing.
He managed to pin Jiglin Su in a corner, but he covered up and got away. His heart was pounding, his blood was rushing.
He was too old for that! Definitely not the same as in high school or the army, or the Vargas cartel! But he had taken the challenge and all he needed was to kick Jiglin Su's ass!
Jiglin Su though had other plans. He shot across the ring like an angry bull and began unloading strong rights and lefts that could have wounded a heavyweight if they had landed anywhere near James's head.
His survival instincts kicked in immediately and he ducked and dodged the onslaught as best he could. Jinglin Su had turned into a madman, slinging leather from all directions while hissing and grunting like a wounded animal.
James thought he heard Pote: "Cover up, cover up. He's crazy!"
Then an uppercut got through and rocked James. A right cross shot cut his lights out. It was so sudden, and he saw himself falling to the canvas as Jinglin Su stood over him, yelling something no one could understand. The referee shoved him to a corner as James managed to get on all fours. Looking through the ropes, he made eye contact with Pote, who was yelling and shaking his fist. Get up! Get up! Get up!
James took a deep breath, looked up at Wong, and on the five-count jumped to his feet. He steadied himself with the top rope, wiped his nose with a forearm, and saw blood. He had a choice. Stay under cover on the ropes like the former boxer that he was ….or go after the bastard.
Jinglin Su charged like an idiot again, growling, hands low, ready to throw everything at his target. Instead of backing up, James took a quick step forward and threw a mean left hook. It landed perfectly on the mouth and dropped Jinglin Su onto his butt. The Chinese looked around in disbelief and tried to stand, then stumbled, fell into the ropes, and struggled to steady himself. As the referee counted to ten, the crowd screamed even louder. At ten, Jinglin Su nodded and began growling again.
The two met in the center of the ring and brawled like street fighters until the bell saved their lives. When the ref rushed to break them up, both their noses were oozing blood.
On his stool, James guzzled water and tried to catch his breath while someone crammed swabs up his nostrils.
Pote was by his side saying something like, "You gotta cover up! He can't keep going like this." But his words were just part of the noise. James's head was throbbing, and it was impossible to think of anything but survival. When the bell rang, he jumped to his feet and noticed how heavy they were.
Pote said, "He's got a cut above his right eye. Go for it. Attack it! You hear?"
James nodded and tapped his gloves together. He could feel his own right eye closing, and his left one was blurred.
The bell sounded and Jinglin Su got to his feet. With the threat of disqualification for a lousy cut, Jinglin Su needed a quick knockout. He came in fast and landed a low shot to James's right kidney. It hurt like hell and he bent over in pain. Jinglin Su rocked him with upper shots, and within seconds of the last round James was back on the mat, scrambling to get on all fours.
Then a primal anger took over him and he somehow got to his feet for the last time.
He and Jinglin Su swapped punches and commenced beating the crap out of each other while the fans yelled for more.
Much to James's surprise, Jinglin Su went down after a flurry and looked like he was finally out of gas. James certainly was, but there was at least a minute to go.
As the damn Chinese lumbered to his feet again, James's peripheral vision noticed Wong had gotten up and was sighing to the ref, who suddenly stopped the fight and led James to his corner. He wiped his face and said: "Jinglin Su is cut. You both have busted noses. Both were knocked down three times. I'm calling the fight. It's a draw."
The crowd booed loudly when the PA announcer said it was a draw. The fighters, hardly being able to stay on their feet, congratulated each other and left the ring.
James's mind swam around as Pote assisted him walking to the den.
Yeah, he was a man in his early 50s and not a young guy in high school! That was an established fact! He just had to wait and see if that was the end of Wong's games.
Just as James was lying on the sofa in the den with ice packs on his face, the door opened, and Wong walked in followed by one of his most serious looking associates.