CHAPTER 24: The detour to Ensenada is ill timed as the Mexican Government cracks down on a notorious cartel kingpin and all hell breaks loose.

Rolling into Mexico at Tijuana was an eye-opener for Billie and Buck. The long lines of vehicles were met with street vendors, flowers, jewelry, mariachi singers, hand-made trinkets, and much more for sale, some of the vendors, small children, each with their own unique pitch. “What the hell?” said Billie. “That kid can’t be more than ten-years-old. He’s selling balloons like they’re goin’ outta style.”

“Right,” said Buck. “Gotta love unrestricted capitalism. Seems kind of messed up to me, but i’m sure there’s a reason for it.”

Billie shrugged. “But…they’re everywhere. Maybe the cute kids and the little old abuelitas are the best border vendors… i just hope those kids have a safe place to go at the end of the day.” Billie was feeling a little emotional about young kids out there soliciting the gringos in their fancy cars. Billie was thinking about the migrant families she knew in Kansas. That is before the ICE-cold goon-squads started sweeping them up and shipping them off to El-Salvadore. She couldn’t imagine any of those kids among the long lines of cars with god knows what kind of psychos driving them.

Once through the border gauntlet, The Forks made their way along the Mexican coastal highway, a little over an hour and a half to Encenada where Professor T, on the advice of a US Navy veteran, steered Billie and the Chool Bus to a popular cantina. The cantina was within walking distance of a cruise ship docking area so lots of people from around the world come and go.

After finding a place to park the bus for an overnight stay, the gang made their way to the cantina. Once seated, they struck up a conversation with a group of cruise passengers from New Zealand. Turns out, one of the New Zealanders had spent a few years in the Denver Tech Center working for an engineering firm. He knew several of Jack’s Denver friends, and so the Forks and Buck found themselves at a raucous table of jabbering small world stories. Jack noticed a “bachelorette party” special on the menu, and suggested pooling resources. 

“You can really tie one on here,” said Mort T… fifty beers, a bottle of Don Julio 7, and a plate of guac and chips at the table…a bangin’ party for ten people. Five beers, a shot, and some guac for good measure… not that cheap, but super convenient.”

So Jack passed the hat, ordered up the special, and the party began in ernest. Around the time this impromptu group started giving way to slurred conversations, a small team of federales entered the cantina. They spoke with the manager in hushed tones for a moment, then left abruptly for the next-door business. Presently, the manager made an announcement that there had been a raid in a nearby town where the government targeted a narco-kingpin, killing him and his family and others. The response was spreading like wildfire. Buildings were bombed, vehicles torched, rival gangs were joining the chaos, and battle was breaking out all over the land.

“Damas y caballeros,” the cantina’s public address system amplified the manager’s voice. The waiter translated for the Forks’ table… “We have been advised to encourage everyone to shelter in place until this wave of retaliation subsides and it’s again safe to go out on the streets.“

“Holy crap!” Buck seemed almost excited about the development…scanning the Cantina for escape routes and hiding places. He decided to save the beers for later when a loud explosion shook the table.

Buck made his way to the window to see if he needed to go into fast-action mode. But the smoke was several blocks away.

Just then several pops, like black-cat fire crackers cut through the din, and Buck saw a couple of dark figures a couple blocks away. It looked like they were exchanging fire with a group of federales taking cover behind a black SUV. This is where someone from the New Zealander party directed the gang to hide in a dry goods pantry. A couple other parties joined them and twenty-five souls huddled together among the bags of pintos, cans of tomatoes, and bins of dried peppers. No one was feeling safe and everyone was sobering up, fast.

“Relax, everyone.” said one of the New Zealanders. “They won’t attack the cantina. They don’t want to hurt the tourist trade. I asked the manager if there were any cartel types hanging around. He didn’t think so…hopefully he’s right and we can get back to the ship unmolested.”

After a couple hours of tense waiting, the manager announced the danger had passed. The attacks in or around the area were few, but the gang passed a couple burning vehicles and there was evidence of gun play, spent casings, pools of blood, crime-scene tape, and local emergency responders running to and fro.

The Forks made their way back to the bus… feeling fortunate the action hadn’t got closer. It was a tense ride back to the RV park in San Diego and no one slept easy that night… definitely one to remember.   

NEXT WEEK:
After a hair-raising taste of narco-politics and street carnage, the Forks finally make it to Vegas. But none of them survived that day unfazed.

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