Shoot the Messenger

We'd not been back in the woods for full month. There'd been scarcely any news as to how things were shakin' down back in S. Baja, San Cosme, er our rancho. I come into warm cabin from outside cold drizzle and Marcia, who regularly monitors messages left on our cell phone, tells me that Chayo's called with urgent depiction on what, to her, seems very bad news. "It's about those marina investors and your web site," she gives me. "I saved it. You've got to listen."

Oh how I hate that intrusive device, mostly; and especially when it brings bad news. I do listen, though, and Chayo's voice does have an edge of urgency to it: "Big! Big problems with my web site! Big problems with the investors!" He goes on to tell me that we have to talk, and soon. But he doesn't give me clue one as to when and where.

This is not unusual. In fact, it's more the norm. Chayo has a cell phone, but the vast majority of the time he has no usable balance on his phone card, so all I get is his answering service. He uses phones at pharmacies in the cities of Constitution and Loreto, but he's almost never there at pre-appointed time. Also, he knows full well that our phone is on for set times of one hour in the A.M. and late afternoon. But almost never does he call at these times, him leaving vague messages that seem designed well to keep us guessing.

So I do go through the requisite steps of trying to contact him, me striking out completely. And then we do get a call from our friend Joaquin, from N. California, Chayo having called him with this same "urgent" message that we needed to talk, which comes to us too in recorded form later that evening; Joaquin giving us no hard info as to just where and when we're supposta try and make desired contact, either.

Whew!

Perhaps five or six days slide by, along with numerous fragmentary recordings, before, finally, we do make direct contact. The urgency by now has faded from Chayo's voice, him managing a chuckle as he lays out what's been transpiring in his life. He tells me that "out of the blue" this one investor shows at his casa there at San Cosme (not his straw bale casa there on Rancho El Carrizalito), and he's hoppin' mad. He's brought with him printed-out copies of some of the stuff that's on my web site, him telling Chayo how much trouble he's in for statements that I've written and attributed to him. (I'm sure the offending story was "Riding Along With Chayo.") Thrusting this under Chayo's noise he demanded an explanation.

Well, since Chayo can't read or write English, this stuff meant nothing to him, this becomin' quite obvious to hot investor. (We're having trouble right now with translation.)

This investor, by the way, is a young Mexican/American who does speak both tongues. He's a motorcycle racing champ er something like that. I'll get back to him.

Not only has he shown up mad as hell, but he's brought two guys dressed in black that claim to be judicial police. The three of them set into threatening Chayo, trying to scare him, I guess. Chayo said his wife Maria and Alejo and family got real worried.

This bilingual kid, in no uncertain terms stated that I might as well plan on not returning to Mexico, where he claimed he and his family, with friends, were six er seven times more powerful than I was. He ranted and raved about what he claimed was my statement about the "San Cosme Marina Project" being moved along with drug money. (This guy couldn't have read what I'd written with much care because a close reading will prove otherwise.)

"Touchy, touchy," was how I reacted to that one.

Chayo tells me, again with a laugh, that he suspected that the two thugs in black were phonies. He goes on to tell me of Jorge Gutierrez, that ejido chief's reaction to these web sites revelations. In their only recent and almost head on encounter on the Agua Verde road the ejido chief only utilized three words "Chinga tu madre." We both laughed at this, him knowing that these are the same "only" words that he's ever uttered to me, this also when we were passing at a tight spot, him from the safety margin of moving in opposite direction from within pickup truck. I told Chayo not to worry. He told me he'd keep me informed. Nothing more do I hear about these rather broad threats hurtled against me.

About two weeks go by without further S. Baja info. A message we receive then that I'm supposta try and contact the pharmacy in Cd. Contitucion, at 5:30 P.M. I make the call and to my surprise he's there, him all loaded up with nothing but good news.

The ejido had just had a meeting which had drawn a significant number of members and they'd voted out the entire ejido leadership, treasurer, secretary, the vice chief, the chief, total!

Wow! What great news. This was stuff that I had to pass on to our friend Joaquin. Chayo insinuated that those investors had been, or would be, stunned by event.

Hell! I was stunned. And according to Chayo they'd not voted replacements for those sacked, either.

About this motorcycle racer investor who speaks both lingos. From numerous sources I'd heard of this guy's existence as head of that band of gringo investors who want to build that San Cosme marina, which in above stories I've already commented upon. I also stated in previous stories that I'd tried to make contact with these people, especially this Mexican/American one.

We'd heard of their comings and goings all around us, and sometimes very close by. No matter the number of messages, some of them which I'm certain got through, nothing ever materialized; and this wasn't because I wasn't putting out some effort.

My thoughts were that, in regards to investing in a highly conflicted zone, they had to be missing some vital information. "Stuff like is on this web site!" I'd given several who reside there at San Cosme my web site card, asking them to just simply pass it on to any one of that crowd, but I'm not sure if that actually ever happened.

Only by quirky chance did I finally get the opportunity to pass the word that somethings might not be as sweet as they seemed to think they were: Marcia and me, late in our stay there, we're out trolling the coastline to satisfy our hunger for fresh fish, something we hadn't done near enough of this past season. When we round the point that blocks the view into that lovely cove by name of Coyotito, a place that the ejido chief Jorge had really set the hook inta this investor crowd for, there was their launch pulled up out front of this little "Paradise Island" sorta redesign that they were effecting on something that a whole lot of people thought was already perfect, before they'd laid a hand on the place: Planted palm trees, a stone walk way leading up to a rather grand palapa, etc. Real spur of the moment like, we decided ta motor in.

There working at cleaning this launch are two visible forms, both local Mexicans whom we know quite well; Jusavio's two sons, Jorge and Gaspar. Jusavio has the restaurante at the junction of the Agua Verde road and Rt. 1. He's second in command in the ejdio and that's why his son's are thusly employed. "Jorge! Gaspar!' I holler out upon closing, "How ya doin', guys?" "Great!" They respond. A lot a work, and fer that they're happy. I joke that we're pullin' in ta see if there's cold beer. They laughing assured me there was.

"Are the investors here?" I questioned further, us having seen numerous other forms near that new palapa.

"Si!" They reply. "The investors and Jorge."

"Jorge?" I question back.

"Si! Gutierrez." The ejdio chief.

Shit

I was hopin' for the investors alone. Just as our bow is about to scrape beach I man an oar and start towards movin' us back out to sea. But just then Marcia says, "Here comes a guy," and he is, he's right there close. He looks like a nice and bright enough young fella, so as we slowly gliding away I blurt out, "I think you guys are in the dark about a lot of things around here." At which I get an amused look...towards which I flip out my web page info. "www.dondavidonbaja.com," and then I repeat it one more time before I pull our little motor's starter cord...and we putt putt putt back out ta catch a few more fish.

Well, nothin'. Several weeks go by, and I know this fella understands how to access the Internet, so I figure either he didn't give a shit, er, maybe he forgot that web address. We're making our moves towards vacating our rancho camp and this requires several trips up to Rancho Ultima Agua, the Quijanos place where our road trailer stayed parked for our entire time there, this due to the still very bad condition of the Agua Verde road.

We're just pulling out of the Quijano's drive, us heading back down to rancho, and around the first curve comes this pickup with a four-wheeler in its box and it's flyin'. I immediately pull far to side and stop, the road there being quite narrow. Gringos. I can tell by the equipment. We smile and wave as they slow considerably ta pass us. The driver and me make eye contact, which speaks recognition. Oh. Yeah. That guy I'd gave that info to there at Coyotito.

He stops. He asks how we're doin'. There's an older dude ridin' with him and their both sporting like team-racing shirts.

"Fine," I answer. "Did you happen to look at that web site?" I hits him with right away.

"Oh. Yeah. What was it? Something dondavidon...."

"www.dondavidonbaja.com," I give him again slowly, and plenty loud enough so his riding companion could pick up on this too.

"Oh. Yeah. Well I'll check it out, what's the big deal?"

"Did you know the ejido doesn't have their PROCEEDI yet, and that no land deals can be finalized until they get that?"

He answers back that there were still a lot of things that could be done. And, yeah, if he meant that by pushing things along with a pile of dough, certain papers could become obtainable; certainly we understood the ground rules there where we'd been playin'. But I sure couldn't think of anything legit that could be accomplished as things stood. Anyway, I didn't have time to expound upon this.

This kid makes a comment about the difficulty he's experiencing with "these people," him doing this while lookin' back towards Agua Verde, er maybe up in the mountains at San Jose De La Noria, er maybe at Mexicans or Mexico in general. There was no time to delve inta this neither because his vehicle starts movin' and he's wavin' good-bye. And then right on his heels Jusavio's sons Jorge and Gaspar, big smiles on their mugs, too go passin' by; them wheelin' what we assumed musta been that kids rider's carro.

Another two weeks pass before new news starts to filter through to us. In phone conversation initiated because of on-going shell business, Chayo tells me he has to beat it back to the rancho, 'cause "PROCEEDI" was in Agua Verde and his information was that they were going to survey their way up the coast line. He wanted to be on the rancho so if there was anything the ejido was trying to pull, with the false parcels on El Carrizalito, he could set the Ingineros straight. There was no way to be certain as to what they were up to. But he wanted to be there.

We didn't spend much time ner energy in speculation as to what PROCEEDI was up to. A week slips by...then maybe ten days. But then the other night at mid-martini time the phone sounds and to my great surprise it's Chayo calling within the right time frame, him almost bubbly with mirth.

First he hits me that it's almost 100% that the ex ejido chief Jorge is headed through the doors of the slammer. He repeated this in his excitement in various ways. PROCEEDI had apparently confirmed to them investors that they'd been scammed, and they, with all their toys and equipment had scrammed. Adios!

He told me also of some sort of petition that was circulatin' against poor Jorge, almost everyone signing onto this, all except Martin; this seemingly giving Chayo great satisfaction.

"Poor Martin," we both joke. "Don't you feel sorry for your dear brother-in-law?" I laughingly questioned. "Oh, si! Si! I feel real bad. Ha. Ha." (They really hate each other.) Against Alejo's family, against the vast majority that hangs around there at San Cosme, Martin had sided, whole hog, with the ex ejido chief and those investor's plans. Poor Martin.

Email: david@dondavidonbaja.com