The Territory A Novel - By Tricia Fields Page 0,53
business crisis—and in fact, they were often both—he retreated outdoors. The smells, the solitude, the heat and space gave him the calm he required to make the life-and-death decisions demanded of him daily. He looked across the sprawling desert and took deep breaths to control the rage that once again was threatening to overcome him. He imagined his father’s dead body, shot up beyond recognition by a man whom he had once loved as family. He wanted to destroy his cousin and every member of La Bestia: personally shove the knife through each beating heart. But he could not afford to react out of emotion or grief. Revenge was justified and expected, but revenge unplanned was inexcusable.
The Bishop’s influences in life were twofold. A mother whose entire being centered on perfection: her children were fastidiously clean, neurotically prepared for life’s little problems, and taught the manners of the upper class. And a father whose devotion to family and obsessive need to control had led to a dynasty feared and respected throughout Mexico. Hector Medrano gave his oldest son the nickname “the Bishop” on his twenty-fourth birthday. As the Bishop, Marco ruled the family business, organizing the leaders of the narcotics, firearms, and money-laundering divisions to carry out the missions that his own father had given him: Control the drug routes through the northern states of Mexico. A simple idea but an incredibly complex task.
The media perpetuated the myth of the Bishop as a ruthless killer with no respect for life, a fact those close to him understood was untrue, pure myth. The killings were just a necessary part of his business, no different from a priest assigning penance, a boss firing dead weight, or the presidente firebombing a cocaine factory: all necessary parts of the bigger picture to be undertaken with integrity and fortitude.
The Bishop smiled at the young woman who had appeared to place a carafe of fresh coffee on the table. She wore her hair in long, oiled cornrows that hung behind her back, and had a perfect chocolate-colored complexion. She stole a look at him, smiled in return, and then left, her head lowered in deference.
The Bishop watched her walk away and thought of the arrogant policewoman who had interrogated his cousin through marriage, Miguel Ángel Gutiérrez, in the American jail. After the interview with the police chief, Gutiérrez talked with an attorney provided by La Bestia. The Bishop paid a large sum of money to the rival attorney to receive the confidential details of the meeting. The attorney claimed the woman called Gutiérrez a pedophile, said he would rot in her filthy jail with the perverts and degenerates until he gave up information about the business. She had taken on a cause bigger than her abilities.
The Medranos had been collecting information on the Artemis law enforcement agencies for years as they planned and set up transportation across the border. Chief Gray had been a target of concern. He opened the manila file folder that sat on the table beside the carafe. He picked up a black-and-white photo of an attractive female dressed in a police uniform. She was in her early thirties with long hair pulled back in a tight ponytail. She was looking off in the distance, her expression proud and brooding, gauging the world through a personal lens of justice; right and wrong were hers to decide, and for that he both despised and admired her.
A second photo showed her leaning into a man bent over a car hood with his hands in cuffs behind his back. She grasped his T-shirt in a bunch with one hand, her other hand planted on the hood, and talked to him with her lips close to his ear as a larger male officer stood behind her, looking away from the scene.
The last photo was a head shot, telephoto from straight on, as she looked just to the right of the shot. She was the rare woman who wore her sexuality unself-consciously. She was stunning. Her complexion was like cream, her cheeks pronounced, almost gaunt, adding to the severity of her expression.
The Americans would use threats and intimidation, torture if necessary, to gain information about the business. He would not allow his own traitorous blood to jeopardize his family. The Bishop looked over the knee-high stone wall that surrounded the veranda, across the lap pool, and into the great Chihuahua Desert. He vowed to do whatever was necessary to bring his cousin home within the week. He would