Tijuana - Its Rough Around Here...

Whenever I speak with someone about Mexico, they always ask if it is safe, or simply overrun with violence.

Well, yes and no.

If you're not in the drug cartel business, it's safer in Mexico than in any American city. You see, the average Mexican does not have access to guns, and most don't own one. It's just that the cartel killings are so sensational, usually involving torture, beheading or mutilation. One musician who banged the wrong girl was found shot with his cock and balls taped inside his mouth.

I just returned to Mexico and there are a few new stories.

Richard and Solomon are dead, Hector the Mexican FBI man is in jail, and Zak is scared shitless.

Apparently Richard, a tall, clean-cut American, was running an escort business, and borrowed a lot of money, and went into shooting porn. He answered the door and a man and woman shot him in the face. Evidently he had filmed the woman in a porn video and posted it on the Internet, and her family found out. Bang - you're dead.

Hector, who works (worked?) for the Mexican FBI, was rounded up with 70 other agents and hauled off to Mexico City for interrogation. Looks like they've got him dead to right on corruption charges (they'd been monitoring his cell phone calls), and he'll spent maybe the rest of his life in jail, and lose his retirement. Now that I think of it, he showed all the signs: a big house, a wife and a girlfriend, drinking in the bars all day and night, and sometimes shooting off his pistol into the ceiling. In fact, a few weeks ago my brother said he needed a gun to shoot the pigeons in the courtyard, and Hector handed him his revolver.

I always thought he was a bit creepy and arrogant, and it seemed he might go off at any moment. But the choices aren't so easy for Mexican lawmen, you see, when the drug cartel men come calling, they say, "Take my silver or take my lead." So they have little choice. Eventually the protection breaks down and it all comes out.

Poor Solomon -- a slightly mentally ill older African-American who was always drunk on the first of the month when his check came. He used to fight and beat his crazy white wife. She died a few months ago and he was saying, "Now I don't have anyone to blame things on!" He seemed lost.

I don't know what happened, they say "he fell," and maybe it was natural causes, but it seems fishy to me that Solomon, who was always scraping by, suddenly was talking about buying some land and hanging around sketchy types and soon he was dead. Maybe he was getting some sort of insurance or inheritance from his wife's death. All I know is that soon after she died, about 4-5 black men began hanging out with him and playing cards. And blacks in Mexico are pretty unusual, even in border cities. So I have my suspicions as to how he died, and why.

Then there's Zak, from Kenya, who runs these escort service-like parties, and basically pimps out women. He speaks perfect English and Spanish, and has a beautiful son by a pretty Mexican woman. He's a dedicated dad, and a bright guy. A few days ago he was sitting and bouncing his knees, as nervous as a cat. "There was this lesbian coming down from L.A. and throwing all kinds of money at hookers; well, she got kidnapped -- but the police found her a couple of days later and arrested the four men who did it. But this other guy, he's sort of in the same business as me, and he got killed. And they know where I live!"

It's the sort of rough-and-tumble environment that surrounds New Orleans. But, like New Orleans, if you're not involved in the drug business, or other criminal stuff, it doesn't affect you.

All this doesn't break my bliss near the ocean, listening to the waves and watching the grand Pacific sunsets.

Maybe there's a book in it.