Crossing the Cartel
A faint dust cloud rose on the horizon, heralding the approach of a black Range Rover. The grime-covered vehicle arrived in the small Mexican town, wide-lug tires crunching in the reddish dirt as it pulled to a stop in the town square near the cafe. Santiago eased from the driver’s door, working kinks from his muscles after the long, bumpy drive. He opened the back door and unceremoniously dragged a squirming girl from the rear seat. She landed a nasty kick on Santiago’s shin. He growled...