Mark and his men boarded their rafts with the remaining load of high grade cocaine from a cartel in Colombia. Mark was happy. He was crossing the river for the last time.
“I’ll be seeing you in about a month, Don Narciso,” Mark lied.
Mark found a place on the raft to sit amongst the bricks of cocaine. The dope was wrapped with surgeon masking tape.
Mark never looked back.
In the meantime, Don Narciso’s men set the trap. They were not too eager to intercept the load of cocaine under the cover of the vega on the American side. They were familiar with the routes taken by illegal aliens. Narciso’s men followed a familiar maze of trails made by the feral hogs that fed on tender roots at night and during daylight snoozed under the shade of the jaras and carrizales. The fear in their eyes glowed when fireflies shined only to disappear and appear elsewhere. Even the murmer of the river’s swift current could not soothe the fear Don Narciso’s men were experiencing. It was not so smart of Dan Narciso to double-cross Mark Balbuena. The young man was crazy and violent. But, they had to follow orders or else.
-an excerpt from On Both Sides of the River