Doctor, Patriot, and Terrorist (14)
While Liu Linfei slept, a call request came in from across the sea. The caller was Admiral Martinez. Given the timing and the fact that the comatose Linfei couldn't speak Spanish anyway, I called back right away to hear him out.
The admiral opened with this:
"El Muni. Any interest in running some legitimate businesses in Puerto Vallarta?"
El Muni. It had been a while since I'd heard that nickname. Wondering what he was getting at, I replied, "If there's money in it, no reason to turn it down. Though it's a bit sudden."
"Just saw a good opportunity and thought of you. If we leave it be, the cartels will snatch it up with their dirty money. Better you take it on. You're the one who said you wanted to stay clear of cartels, and you're a partner under my watch."
"Fine. So what's this opportunity?"
"Businesses, plain and simple. Hotels, villas, casinos, restaurants, shopping malls, farms and distilleries, seafood processors, golf courses, bullrings, you name it. Most were owned by the cartel that ran this area, but now the owners are gone, and they've become public assets on the market during this downturn."
"Hm. Unfortunately, that doesn't sound too appealing on paper. I'd need to run a feasibility analysis, but in this climate, how much profit could those really turn? We'd be lucky not to lose money."
"Really?"
"What do you mean...?"
"Think about it. These are the legacies of a cartel that practically ruled this city. Inheriting them means wielding massive influence over the local community. You're not just buying businesses—you're buying the social networks tied to them. You know what that implies."
"I see."
"You're a foreigner, El Muni, but with me vouching for your status and representing your interests, no one in this city will dare look down on you. Influence like turning a specific port into your de facto private property? For a smuggler like you, that's got real value. Even just handling transshipments would rake it in."
Not bad for a soldier prone to rigid thinking—he had a way with words. In a place like Mexico, where guanxi and blood ties run as deep as in China, it was plenty realistic. Plus, among the employees I'd inherit would be those accustomed to services like assault, murder, theft, arson, kidnapping, false imprisonment, begging, human trafficking, drug retail, and illegal goods transport on their employer's orders. The cartel reserve sicarios. Add that human resource infrastructure desensitized to morality, layered with the local community's insularity and exclusivity, and you've got a pretty attractive package.
Still, I replied in a casual tone. "Valid points, but the profitability of your proposal ultimately hinges on port throughput. Everything else is secondary. Objectively, Puerto Vallarta's current volume doesn't justify it."
"Don't worry. We can ramp up the throughput as much as needed."
What the admiral said next was his political connections. None other than the potbellied Perucho.
"The mayor overseeing this asset sale, Pedro Sanchez, is someone I work well with. He's in a short term from a by-election—less than a year left—but that means his performance here could propel him to state or federal office. Or re-election could make him the entrenched local boss."
"So, a chance to grab port control and political ties in one go?"
"Exactly. Your investment becomes his political win, and the new Puerto Vallarta becomes seed money for more ventures between you and me. True mutual benefit, right?"
I swallowed an involuntary chuckle. I'd suspected as much, but for him to lay it out so bluntly...
Of course. This old fox doesn't know what went down between Perucho and me.
It was almost comical, his intentions so transparently self-serving. If I'd had to manage my expression, it might've been awkward. Safe from seeing my face, the admiral continued his slow, earnest pitch.
"You've heard the phrase 'Mexico's oil,' El Muni. My country is a ruthless market without the black money and power's anointing oil. Foreign firms clueless on where to get that oil face hell no matter the venture. You could mediate for them later and profit handsomely in the semi-legit space."
"And in turn, Admiral, you'd expand jobs for your retired or discharged subordinates?"
"...Effectively, yes."
To my jab that he'd be pocketing all that influence himself, Admiral Martinez paused briefly, affirmed it, and countered:
"But I'm hardly a hostage to you either."
"Hostage?"
"Yes, hostage. My old subordinates you've placed overseas with jobs and housing as a broker. Cross you, and you retaliate with their lives. No reason a weapons dealer can't trade in death too."
"Hm. Sounds fair enough."
"It is fair. I hold your assets hostage; you hold my retired men. Our relationship isn't deep enough for blind trust in business without collateral."
Not yet, anyway.
The admiral added casually, "Frankly, filling the cartel vacuum is a lesser evil for me too."
"My company's the lesser evil?"
"More precisely, our partnership company—a sociedad colectiva."
"Partnership company..."
In English, a partnership. Formed by two or more general partners with unlimited liability. Strictly speaking, my liability was limited to capital contribution, so it wasn't exact, but I got his point. He was willing to shoulder real responsibility.
"No point packaging it now that you've seen through me. As you know, these are assets no clueless outsider ignorant of local conditions and illicit ops could handle. They wouldn't even grasp basics like sales or inventory. Employees versed only in scams and theft would bleed the boss dry."
This applied to me too. I could control it, but at the cost of too many HQ personnel. So even if I acquired the cartel's assets, the admiral—as provider of management—would effectively run them.
"Publicize or break them up for sale, and you'd spawn dozens, hundreds of mini-cartels. My country's a hell where kids' biggest dream is official cartel membership. Dealing with one unified group is less hassle than that."
"Trash is easier to manage when it's in one bin."
"Exactly."
About then, Linfei stirred, crawling out of bed and peeking over. Her dazed face and vitals confirmed she couldn't follow a word, as expected. She should've stayed asleep longer. Spotting my gesture, she perked up and scurried over, burrowing into my side. I wrapped an arm around her waist and continued the call.
"To sum up: I provide the signboard and capital; you act as tax collector chief, indirectly enjoying what the military can't own outright. Right?"
"Yes. It's a lesser evil because it's not ideal."
"Then what level for the 'floor rights'?"
Floor rights. The cartel's protection racket on merchants. El Fuego had said it was typically 10% of operating profit. Anyone who's run a business knows that's absurd over-taxation.
The admiral, silent, asked, "Must you take it?"
"Should I not?"
"..."
"I'm no charity, Admiral. You brought up unofficial profits first—why cut the floor rights from that? The cost of protecting them from cartel violence is my expense and your men's salaries anyway."
Of course, I wouldn't gouge like the cartels—a flat 10% regardless of sector. Over-squeezing kills the golden goose; the market dries up, total profits shrink. But modern serfs would hail even swapping it to 10% of net profit as a saintly lord. The patriotic admiral seemed to want to free port folk from that chain entirely, but why should a businessman like me play along?
"Listen, El Muni."
The admiral spoke gravely. "This country's mired in nightmare recession. Plenty can't eat without 10 pesos."
10 pesos was under 500 won at current rates.
"In a tourist town with no real industry, adding floor rights? Disaster. Not asking charity—think long-term profit."
"That's why I asked: what rate? I'm no fan of cartel-level insanity either."
"Hm..."
"Taxes imprint hierarchy and dominion. Zero isn't an option—reviving abolished ones is harder than raising reduced ones. My homeland says 'continued favors become rights.'"
Originally a movie line turned meme, but it nailed human nature.
"Protection against corrupt officials and narco-warlords can't be free. Make it routine, and gratitude vanishes."
"..."
"As a businessman—and future partner—advice: don't render your devotion worthless. Our world is full of fools who deem unpaid things truly valueless. Yours especially."
"...You're right. I overlooked the army-society gap."
"In a country where cartels breed warlords, no law says you can't. Time to set your course right."
"Thanks for the advice. We'll revisit protection fees."
"Good."
"Sorry earlier."
"No issue. The mark's the idiot in these deals."
"One check: assuming we proceed, is your investment capacity sufficient?"
"How much?"
"Seized assets' first-round appraisal totals about 4.7 billion pesos, but public auction's impractical—likely multiple no-sales. For a block deal to one buyer, around 1 billion pesos. City prioritizes quick cash, jobs, and security over full value."
Insider city intel flowed naturally from him. "1 billion pesos is about 44 million dollars. I could wire it now, but paying full feels like a loss."
Outsiders might cry foul, but it was reality. Becklux's sister ship recently listed domestically started at 7.5 billion won appraised, sold for 590 million. Cruise devaluation signaled port devaluation.
As expected, the admiral sounded shocked. "A loss? That's nearly one-fifth off! Too low, and it's not a win—political blunder. Bribery suspicions too."
"Current mess? Could go to one-tenth. No intent to haggle that hard as the oil-seeker, but I want some discount wiggle room. As I said, free favors don't get proper thanks."
"Even so, more cuts are too harsh."
"How about partial payment in medical and hygiene supplies? I skim as middleman; your Pedro-whatever mayor gets justification for the discount. Other perks outside auction too—plenty invisible ones."
"...You really are a merchant."
"One who doesn't scam or breach contracts. Tell him I'm offering non-Chinese knockoffs at fairer margins than Chinese hoarders. Goods don't lie—enough for his resume."
Even as I trashed China, the Chinese woman at my side played oblivious pet, cooing away. The admiral sighed.
"Understood. I'll bundle with protection fees and get back."
"Big hopes for that mayor, huh?"
Probing lightly, the hesitant admiral affirmed readily. "See him as talent to change this country. Or rather, I'll make him so."
Well now. For that potbelly to earn such high praise from this patriot.
"Got it. Anything else?"
"Had one more, but better separately."
Then let's end it. The courteous Mexican patriot cut the line after my agreement.