The Holy Death

Chapter 3

It looked like any modern corporate boardroom, and those seated around the table looked as professional as any board member in any corporation in the world, all dressed in dark-colored businesses suits, mainly men, but a few women as well. Some texted on cellphones, others drank coffee out of mugs, a few checked their stock portfolios on laptop computers. It looked like a normal board meeting for a normal business.

Don Ramon Calderon, however, was no ordinary CEO. Followed by his attorney and two bodyguards, he strutted into the boardroom. Those seated around the table stood.

"Please, please," Don Calderon said as he motioned for all to resume their seats, "Take your seats. Thank you for coming. Shall we commence?"

As Calderon himself took a seat, one of the professionally attired members, an attractive middle-aged woman with hair in a bun, raised her hand. "Don Calderon?"

"Ah, Senora Vasquez. It is so like you to get immediately to business. It is, in part, why I have given you such authority. Please, go ahead."

"Thank you, Don Calderon. You have tasked me with overseeing distribution of our various product lines north of the border. I have been examining market trends and have some observations."

"Of course, Senora. Please, continue."

The lady opened a leather-bound briefcase and removed several professionally produced portfolios that she passed to the other board members. "As you can see by these gathered statistics, it seems that we are losing ground in the production and distribution of marijuana. Recent changes in legislation and overall attitudes toward the consumption of marijuana has made locally and legitimately-sourced product more readily available and affordable."

Don Calderon sighed. "I could have told you that much, without the fancy production costs. Tell me something I don't know."

"Well, if you check on page twelve, you will see that we have made some gains in heroin. The product we distribute is highly improved in quality and in quantity. Our competitors have been unable to match our distribution network or our prices."

"Impressive. And what of our other product lines?"

"We are the largest distributor of methamphetamine in the American Southwest, and a close second in cocaine, however, thanks to our distribution network and aggressive marketing, we shall soon surpass our competitors."

"We are the most powerful cartel in northern Mexico!" Proclaimed a thin, balding man who was seated across the table from Senora Vasquez. "No other cartel can match our production and distribution networks."

"I am glad you have such confidence, Senor Torres," Calderon said. "Would you please share with us the source of your sentiment?"

"Thank you. Our production and distribution network would fail without my department's ability to influence officials on both sides of the border. We own more elected officials, judges, and law enforcement officers in northern Mexico than any other cartel, and, as I mentioned, we have involvement in local politics in the United States as well. Our ability to bribe, blackmail, and extort has allowed us to secure our place in the market, and has maintained security for this cartel."

"Not entirely."

Senor Torres took offense at Calderon's blunt assessment, but he of course would never have mentioned this offense out loud. Instead, he attempted to question his superior in the least offending way possible. "I am not sure as I follow you, Don Calderon."

"We have security. We have judges and legislators and police officers in our pockets. We have mercenaries and assassins with the latest small arms. This is supposed to make us secure?"

"Well, certainly, it does!"

"Judges can change their minds. Legislators can lose elections. Policemen and mercenaries can be killed. I have access to something no other cartel, no other gang, no other mob or criminal organization has access to."

The men and woman seated at the table looked at each other. Some of them whispered. Some of them knew what Don Calderon was talking about. Some of them even believed.

"Forgive me, Don Calderon," Torres said, "I know what you are going to mention. I do not mean to question your faith—"

"It is not a matter of faith. The Santa Muerte has served my family for generations. He serves us even now."

"Well, then perhaps you may allow us to meet this Santa Muerte, so that we too will have the same assurance as you."

"I am sorry, Senor Torres, but that cannot be. No mortal – beside myself, and my father before me – is allowed to know the Santa Muerte. For any other man to look upon the Santa Muerte is death."

"Then how do we know he is real and not just a fairy tale?"

Calderon slammed his fist on the table. "Ask Ignacio Ochoa! Yes, the Santa Muerte found that thieving bastard and enacted my vengeance upon him. Perhaps, if you continue to call my honesty into question, you may meet him after all!"

Torres gulped, then found himself involuntarily straightening his tie. "Do forgive me, Don Calderon. I did not mean to cause offense, but since I am tasked with security for our organization—"

"A task at which you failed, considering the loss of over one hundred million American dollars."

"Again, forgive me. The theft was well concealed, as it occurred over a length of time—"

"A length of time during which you should have noticed something sooner."

"Ochoa had help from that American, Kermit Mowatt! Mowatt was a brilliant confidence man—"

"And you were a brilliant financial security man. Mowatt may have been brilliant, but he was a thief, nothing more. You should have dealt with him sooner."

"Forgive me, Don Calderon, I appeal to your mercy—"

"You failed me once. It happens. You're only human, right? Do not fail me again."

"I promise I shall not. But what of Mowatt? What is this Santa Muerte doing about him?"

"Mowatt will soon know justice, I assure you. But rest assured, the Santa Muerte is very real. I hope I do not need to remind the men and women seated here that I may tolerate failure, and even incompetence to a point, but I cannot tolerate dishonorable behavior. Theft and dishonesty will not be forgiven, not by myself, and not by the Santa Muerte, and if for a second any of you loses respect for me, then I hope you do not lose your fear of the Santa Muerte. He is real, and his vengeance is swift and true."

The room was silent as some of those assembled shifted in their seats. Don Calderon glared at all of them. Then, as he settled back in his seat, a smile appeared on his face.

"Well! That business concluded, what other business do we have on our agenda today?"