G Hopf: The Long Road

“Son,” Gordon said.

Hunter’s eyes flickered, then opened. “Dad,” he said in a groggy voice.

“Yes, I’m here. You okay?”

“My head hurts,” Hunter said, raising his hand to where the bruise was.

“Anywhere else?”

“No.” Hunter paused then continued. “Haley, where’s Haley?”

“She okay, she’s fine,” Gordon reassured him.

“I tried to protect her, but the guy was too strong. I’m sorry.”

“Son, no, don’t say that; it’s my fault. I should have been here,” Gordon said, cradling Hunter in his arms and lifting him off the ground.

Samantha and Gordon walked their shocked and injured children to the trailer. Gordon had tried to protect his children from the horrors of this new world, but without notice it had been thrust upon them. He vowed that he would never allow Hunter to go unprotected again; this was a lesson for him. Now was time to treat Hunter like the young man he was becoming.

Tijuana, Mexico

Pablo Juarez sat in the cushioned leather chair in his father’s beautifully decorated office. He leaned back and looked up at the coffered ceiling. His eyes followed the hand-hewn beams until they intersected with the ornately decorated upholstered walls. If you took away the security cameras, computers, and other signs of technology, you would think you were in a room in Versailles. His father, Alfredo, loved the finer things and without regard for money ensured he had the best in furniture and decorations. Being one of the largest drug lords in Mexico helped Alfredo adorn his homes from wall to wall with the best.

Pablo did not have his father’s taste for these things. What he wanted more than anything was power. His father had summoned him back from San Diego to discuss his son’s long-term goals. He allowed Pablo to do whatever he wanted, but now he wanted his son to know who was really in charge.

Pablo looked at his watch; his father was thirty minutes late. Growing impatient, he stood up and walked to the window. He couldn’t make anything out through the thick bulletproof glass, just distorted shades of green and blue.

“This is bullshit,” Pablo said after looking at his watch again. He exhaled deeply and started for the door.

When he reached for the golden brass handle, the door opened. He stepped back to see his father there.

“Ah, Pablo, my son,” Alfredo said, putting his arms in the air, then leaning in to hug him.

“Good to see you, Father,” Pablo responded, returning the hug.

“Where were you going? We have a meeting, right?” Alfredo asked, looking at Pablo. He then nodded and walked past him toward his desk.

“You were over thirty minutes late, and I have to get back to San Diego,” Pablo answered, his tone showing a tinge of frustration.

“No, I wasn’t late, you were early, I said three-thirty, didn’t I?”

“No, Father, you said, three p.m.” Pablo snapped.

Alfredo grinned and sat down in his chair, “Whatever. I am here now. Please, please sit down,” he said, motioning to the chair Pablo had been sitting in earlier.

Looking agitated but understanding the hierarchy, Pablo sat back down.

Alfredo leaned forward, opened a humidor on his desk, and pulled out a large cigar. As he prepped the cigar for smoking he asked, “Son, tell me, what are your plans up north?”

Pablo watched his father precisely cut the butt off the cigar. Alfredo was very meticulous about his cigars and how he smoked them.

“Sorry, do you want one?” Alfredo asked.

“No thank you.”

Taking his butane lighter, Alfredo lit the cigar, carefully spinning it in the blue flame. He puffed and puffed, the orange flames of the tobacco dancing with each puff. He exhaled, took another puff, then blew the smoke on the lit end of his cigar. Pablo knew not to start talking to his father until his full attention was on him, hence his hesitation in answering the question.

Leaning back in his chair, Alfredo asked again, “Son, what are your plans up north?”

“We have a chance to do something we never could before. We have a chance to have real power and control. We can now take back what was once ours.”

“Whose?”

Looking at his father oddly, Pablo answered, “Mexico’s.”

“Really, you’re doing what you’re doing for Mexico? Since when were you a patriot?”

“Father, we have a real chance now to expand outside of drugs to have real power,” Pablo said, the tempo of his speech increasing.

“So you are playing around up north with hopes of glory for Mexico?” Alfredo said with a chuckle.

“Why am I here? Why did you call for me?”

Leaning forward and placing his elbows on his desk, Alfredo exhaled a large cloud in Pablo’s direction. “Son, I called you here to see exactly what your plans are, and you tell me for the greater glory of Mexico!”

“The glory can be ours too.”

“Pablo, my boy, we have everything we need. What we should be doing is getting as many things as possible to make our lives easier. If you were here it wouldn’t have taken me four weeks to get everything back up and running. Your place is here, not up north causing trouble. You’re starting something you can’t win, a war. I heard what happened. I heard that you lost many men and supplies when the Marines landed. We even had some losses here because they traced your origins back to us. I don’t like that. I think you’re in over your head, and I can’t support this reckless behavior anymore.”

“Father, listen, please,”

“No, you listen, Pablo. I need you here helping us get what supplies we need to outlast this. Do you honestly think you can fight the U.S. Army and win?”

“Father, please, we have a real chance here,” Pablo pleaded.

“I sent you to the best universities, you had the best tutors since you were a little boy. You’re a smart kid, but what you’re doing now is stupid. It ends now!”

“Please, Father, just listen!”

Slamming his fist down on his desk, Alfredo barked, “No, you listen, Pablo! It’s over! Your Villista game is over! Now leave me, go see your cousin José over at the distillery, and don’t forget to see your mother, she misses you.”

Pablo’s face had turned ashen, and thoughts filled his mind. He wanted to press his father about the urgency of his crusade, but he knew the old man well enough to know he’d do a better job talking to the wall.

“Yes, Father,” Pablo said, then quickly stood up and left. The short walk from the chair to the door seemed to take forever. His inner self kept telling him to stand up to his father; then his more pragmatic side would keep him quiet. He knew he was right; he knew what he was doing could grow into something large. He knew that, if left to his own devices, he could be bigger and more powerful than his father. If given the chance, he could be something much larger than a leader of a drug cartel; he could be the leader of a new empire.

San Diego, California

Grabbing their packs, the Marines stood up and slowly walked off the chopper. The drop-off point was the main beach in Oceanside. Sebastian was familiar with where he was and calculated that it would take him a few days on foot to get to Gordon’s house. When he reached the back of the chopper, the crew chief stopped him.

“Stay here!” the chief yelled in his ear. The noise of the chopper blades and engine made it difficult to hear.

“Why? What’s up?” Sebastian asked, looking confused. He saw the others were already heading off in their own directions. Sebastian hadn’t gotten a chance to talk to any of them to see if they could join up on a trek to the south. “Listen, I need to go, I need to talk to those guys.”

“Sit down, over there,” the crew chief said, pointing to the webbing just behind Sebastian.