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Miniature crab cakes and prosciutto-wrapped mozzarella were served with the drinks. While waiting for the steaks to arrive, Leonard started the conversation. “I don’t wish to be negative, but the longer that witness is gone, the worse it is.”
“How do you mean?”
“The case is getting a lot of press,” Leonard said, “which I’d rather avoid. Your former paralegal has garnered sympathy. A young woman being chased by dangerous enemies makes a sympathetic figure.”
Ortiz sipped his drink, then leaned closer. “I don’t give a rat’s ass if she’s the public’s new sweetheart. The charges against me won’t stick…so it won’t matter.”
Leonard appeared concerned. “The woman went to the FBI, and clearly she has something, or she wouldn’t have been headed for witness protection.”
“Lela Cabelo is a liar. She’s out for notoriety, a feather in her cap. Even when the criminal case fizzles, she’ll still be a star. You watch: she’ll write a book or something and make millions…if she lives that long.”
Leonard looked thoughtful. He stirred some sugar into his tea, then said, “Senator, I want to ask you…one more time. And this is very important.” He took a breath. “Is there anything that you haven’t told me?”
“I’ve been an open book from the start.” Ortiz maintained his sincere demeanor. “If anything sticks, it will be minor infractions. Whatever else the feds think they have has been falsified. It’s just a bunch of trumped-up charges. If it’s evidence of anything, it’s that Lela Cabelo is jealous and aspires to be in the limelight.”
Leonard didn’t pursue the matter.
“It’s your job to make the case go away,” Ortiz said. “I’m a senator, for Christ’s sake.”
It was ludicrous that the government had dared come after him for actions they were guilty of. Money laundering and stealing was their method of operation, part of a strategy to catch the bad guys. The high-risk activity involved agents depositing drug proceeds into accounts designated by traffickers, or in shell accounts set up by agents.
The tactic had raised questions with the media, about the government agencies’ effectiveness in bringing down drug kingpins. It certainly blurred the lines between surveillance and facilitating crime. In the process of laundering drug money, cartels were allowed to continue their operations over months or even years, before seizures or arrests were made.
And those same agencies had the gall to point the finger at him. So what if he’d dabbled in money laundering, used his connections to protect the cartel, and called in favors that involved looking the other way on drug operations? It was no more than the government had authorized its own agencies to do.
Plus, the profits couldn’t be argued with. The salary of a state senator was paltry, and even though the law practice should have supported him well enough, it hadn’t quite cut it. So Ortiz had found another source of income. Anyone in his position would have done the same.
The cartel had treated him well. The contributions that had been discreetly funneled into his campaign had kept him in office. It was in their best interests to secure his status. It was mutually beneficial. The money Ortiz had acquired wouldn’t be missed.
And he’d taken extra care to cover his tracks on that. One thing he was sure of: the feds wouldn’t discover where he’d stashed the money. He’d been too clever for them.
*****
The next morning, Ortiz left the office to make a call, since he assumed that his office was bugged. He walked over to Root Square, a well-manicured park that was nearby. He passed the memorial and headed for the basketball court, where a friendly game was going on.
After retrieving a new cell phone from his pocket, he sat on a concrete ledge surrounding a garden area. He’d ditched his phone after the arrest, since it might have been compromised. The prospect of talking to the cartel boss was distasteful.
It shouldn’t be. The guy was on the same side, and could be expected to lend support. Permitting criminal charges to hold up in court wouldn’t be good for either of them. Ortiz assumed his contact would bail him out, or at least have some solid input about how to proceed.
The cartel was a scary bunch, even to Ortiz. He shuddered when recalling a recent news story about the notoriously brutal leader of the feared Los Zetas gang. The cartel hit man had been found dead, along with five others. Earlier that week, he’d been arrested with fifteen other suspects and had confessed to participating in ten executions. He’d been charged with murder, torture, kidnapping, extortion, and human trafficking.
Ortiz assumed that was the short list. What a cartel member was capable of defied description. The article had stated that the cartel was known for kidnapping random citizens and, worst of all, beheading its rivals. The group had expanded operations across the border into Texas and other states.
Their recruiting was focused on street gangs and former inmates. But the cartel was organized, and to maintain a highly disciplined, structured hierarchy, they had recruited some members with specialized training, such as former military and law enforcement officers.
Ortiz rubbed his temples. He had no direct link to Los Zetas. His connection was an offshoot of the main cartels. He wanted to amass wealth, but he intended to stay alive in the process—so it was safer to stay on the periphery.
The tranquility of the day and the peaceful atmosphere in the park belied the nature of his life. Ortiz hadn’t gotten ahead by sitting back and letting things take a natural course. He was a mover and a shaker, so he’d taken control. And he’d reaped the benefits.
Once the senator put this new twist of fate behind him, he’d resume the lifestyle he enjoyed without disruption.
His phone vibrated in his hand.
“Hola, amigo.” The voice on the phone was deep and gravelly. It held threat merely by its tone. Ortiz hadn’t been given a name. The man’s identity had been withheld for the bigwig’s protection.
“Hola, jefe.” The senator addressed him as boss, as he’d been instructed to from the beginning of the relationship.
On the rare occasions that he called, his connection spoke English, even though he was aware that Ortiz was bilingual. The choice of language was a way of showing equality, if not superiority. It made sense for the senator’s contact to be higher up in the organization. After all, he couldn’t be expected to deal with street thugs.
