Triple Crossing by Sebastian Rotella

Ysidro. Me and this other PA, Macías, we waited outside while he met with these two Mexicans.
     Serious hard-asses. I think they were AFI or SSP, you know. Federal police.”
    “OK.”
    Pescatore explained that the meeting in the diner had lasted about half an hour, that they shook hands with the Mexfeds when
     they left. Garrison had paid him three hundred dollars and forgiven two hundred Pescatore owed him. On the other occasion,
     Pescatore told her, he escorted a woman who came up from Tijuana without papers. She took a taxi from Tijuana through the
     lane of a Customs and Border Protection inspector who was close to Garrison. Pescatore met her in San Ysidro, drove her to
     a high-rise condominium downtown overlooking the Coronado Bay and walked her in as far as the elevator.
    “She was early twenties, lots of hair and perfume, flashy-looking. She told me she was from Sinaloa. Garrison made it sound
     like she was one of his informants’ girlfriend.”
    “So there’s Macías, Dillard, you—the PAs that do these ‘jobs’ for Garrison. Then there’s people in other agencies. Here’s
     some individuals I’m aware of.”
    She recited names as if reading from a report. He nodded. Puente continued: “And he has regular off-duty contact with Mexican
     law enforcement.”
    “Mainly Baja State police detectives. And federales. And a couple guys that work for Mexican customs.”
    “Any contact with Colonel Astorga, the former chief of the state police?”
    “No. But Garrison sure was interested when he got busted. He was the comandante with the two tons and the dead bodies, right?
     The one who got caught by that secret Diogenes unit?”
    “Exactly. How about Mauro Fernández Rochetti, the homicide chief in TJ?”
    “I heard Garrison talk to a Mauro on the phone one time.”
    “How about a subject named Omar Mendoza? Late thirties–early forties, jailhouse-weightlifter type. Not a cop, he’s a
veterano
from L.A., talks
pocho
Spanish. Street name is Buffalo.”
    “Nobody like that.”
    “I imagine the rich guy you mentioned with regard to the so-called security training is Junior Ruiz Caballero? And don’t tell
     me you never heard of him.”
    Pescatore exhaled deeply.
    “Who hasn’t heard of him? Seems like Garrison’s business down there has some connection with the Ruiz Caballeros, yeah. Garrison
     goes to the fights, he gets freebies in TJ at the clubs and everything. But Isabel, I don’t know. And I don’t wanna know.”
    She shook her head impatiently. “I’m afraid that’s going to have to change.”
    He stared down at the table, feeling trapped. He knew that the Ruiz Caballero family were heavy hitters, not just in Tijuana
     but in all of Mexico.
    “Who said I was gonna help you in the first place?”
    “Nobody. But I know one thing: Yesterday, you spent the whole interview lying and bullshitting. Except for one part when you
     told the truth. When Shepard asked you about giving money to aliens. That was the real Valentine.”
    He looked up at her and then away, embarrassed and moved.
    She said: “Deep down, you’re one of the good guys.”
    “I wouldn’t bet on it.”
    But he cooperated during the next hour, answering dutifullyas she inundated him with questions: names, dates, locations, vehicles. Then she shifted to his “assignment,” as she called
     it, and he told himself, well congratulations, my man. It kinda slipped by, but you’ve been recruited as an official undercover
     rat for OIG. Proud of yourself?
    She instructed him to get closer to Garrison and the others, accept the offers to make money, and get in on the action. He
     shook his head.
    “What?” Puente asked.
    “After this whole crazy thing in the Zona Norte, I had pretty much decided to stay the hell away from Garrison.”
    “Good. I’d be worried if you told me you felt bad because he’s your idol. This way you’ll stay sharp and watch out for yourself.”
    “I feel bad allright. About the whole thing: the