06-30-2014, 08:03 PM
Guitterez’ name was all over the Mexican news. Dead. The man was dead, and she couldn’t have felt any better about the prospect. He was scum, not the worst of the lot, but scum none the less. As far as she was concerned, Perez was the worst. He was the reason why she had made her way to the Estande estate.
Camila had been part of the crowd when the American had spoken at the Zocalo. At first she’d dismissed him as some young fool, talking for the joy of hearing his voice sway the Mexican crowd; the possibility that he was merely toying with the hopes of the populous crossed her mind, as well as the chance that the man was perhaps a mere puppet of Gamez Estande himself. She hadn’t quite figured out why the man needed the American back then, but there was nothing like results to sway her opinion to a more positive light.
She’d hated the cartels for many years. Not only did her precious Mexico suffered through the cancer that was their existence for far too long, but they had cost Camila her family and her innocence. Now she had nothing but the city, and her hatred.
It hadn’t been difficult to keep tabs on Perez and his gang. Her experiences under his thumb, then later as she tried to make something of herself, had created a sufficiently effective network by which she syphoned information. Not all of the things the idiots told “La Muñeca” had a tendency to lead to anything worthwhile, but a few inquiries here and there always helped bring interesting information to light.
For instance, Perez’ intent on reaching out to the other cartels before leaving the capital was very interesting bit of information to come across. Camila doubted the cartel leaders would approve of the way their goonies kept their secrets, but it served her well. Not all of them were privy to details, but all of them had eyes, and mouths that could recount movements given the incentive of a pretty face and plenty of liquor.
Unfortunately, that wasn’t precisely the sort of situation she was currently dealing with. The guards at the gate refused to let her in the Estande complex. One of them tried to appease her, even flirt a little while apologizing, but the answer still remained no.
“Mira, go and tell your boss’ American friend that I need to see him. You don’t want to let me, fine.”
She threw her arms up in the air in obvious annoyance, ten rested a hand on her hip while standing close to the man and pointing a finger at his face. “Allá tú, but he would not be happy if I walked away from here with the information I have.”
The men eyed each other, knowing they couldn’t let her in the complex, but eventually one of them sighed and stepped aside in order to call and inform his higher up of what was going on at the door.
Edited by Camila, Jun 30 2014, 08:11 PM.
Camila had been part of the crowd when the American had spoken at the Zocalo. At first she’d dismissed him as some young fool, talking for the joy of hearing his voice sway the Mexican crowd; the possibility that he was merely toying with the hopes of the populous crossed her mind, as well as the chance that the man was perhaps a mere puppet of Gamez Estande himself. She hadn’t quite figured out why the man needed the American back then, but there was nothing like results to sway her opinion to a more positive light.
She’d hated the cartels for many years. Not only did her precious Mexico suffered through the cancer that was their existence for far too long, but they had cost Camila her family and her innocence. Now she had nothing but the city, and her hatred.
It hadn’t been difficult to keep tabs on Perez and his gang. Her experiences under his thumb, then later as she tried to make something of herself, had created a sufficiently effective network by which she syphoned information. Not all of the things the idiots told “La Muñeca” had a tendency to lead to anything worthwhile, but a few inquiries here and there always helped bring interesting information to light.
For instance, Perez’ intent on reaching out to the other cartels before leaving the capital was very interesting bit of information to come across. Camila doubted the cartel leaders would approve of the way their goonies kept their secrets, but it served her well. Not all of them were privy to details, but all of them had eyes, and mouths that could recount movements given the incentive of a pretty face and plenty of liquor.
Unfortunately, that wasn’t precisely the sort of situation she was currently dealing with. The guards at the gate refused to let her in the Estande complex. One of them tried to appease her, even flirt a little while apologizing, but the answer still remained no.
“Mira, go and tell your boss’ American friend that I need to see him. You don’t want to let me, fine.”
She threw her arms up in the air in obvious annoyance, ten rested a hand on her hip while standing close to the man and pointing a finger at his face. “Allá tú, but he would not be happy if I walked away from here with the information I have.”
The men eyed each other, knowing they couldn’t let her in the complex, but eventually one of them sighed and stepped aside in order to call and inform his higher up of what was going on at the door.
Edited by Camila, Jun 30 2014, 08:11 PM.