The Execution Read Online Free PDF Page B

interesting tools at the disposal of the modern managerial executive. Decision trees, game theory, statistical analysis. Whatever. The point was that one had to remove emotion from the process and make decisions that were rational and sensible, that encapsulated all environmental and human factors within a matrix of clean, pure logic.
    Chief Ramos’s predecessor, Chief Cardenas, had been a romantic, a man who made decisions based on emotion. And yet to make decisions based on one’s desires, while at the same time lacking true passion: that is a recipe for mediocrity.
    “We are cops, Juan. Cops make decisions with their balls.”
    And then he would helpfully grab his own through his uniform pants and give them an overly generous squeeze, in case Ramos forgot where men’s balls were located.
    Before being named chief, Ramos’s predecessor had thundered about winning back the town from the Zetas—the notorious criminal cartel that controlled Nuevo Laredo—making speeches about the great evils of crime and drugs, the plague of corruption, the necessity for facing down the thugs, and so on and so forth. It was all very inspiring, if one had never heard such platitudes before. Without a doubt, Chief Cardenas imagined himself a man of very big cojones, a noble man, a man of firm moral courage.
    Six and one half hours after Cardenas was sworn in as police chief of Nuevo Laredo, three vehicles pulled up next to the Ford F-150 in which the noble and courageous man was riding and blew the living shit out of him. The best estimate was that over 140 rounds were shot into his car, with at least 39 of them entering Chief Cardenas’s body.
    Cardenas had left four kids and a wife, no pension, eighteen thousand pesos in the bank. His shredded balls were buried with him.
    Chief Ramos was not going to make the same mistake. It was a simple matter of reason, of management science, based on fact and information and analysis. The Zetas were here for the duration. They were an established force and an accepted evil. And uno hombre moderno simply made his peace with that and integrated the fact of it into his strategic plan.
    “How many bodies?” said the chief, with one boot on the stone step.
    Detective Inspector Luis Delgado had seen a lot of horrible things over the past few years, but after walking the plaza, even he looked a little green around the gills. “Twenty-two, jefe .” Delgado then flipped open his notebook. “We thought there were twenty-three, but we have a survivor.”
    Chief Ramos’s mouth went dry. “Puta madre . ” He blew out a long breath and adjusted his sunglasses. “Where?”
    Delgado pointed to the far end of the colonnade, well away from the line of corpses.
    An anomaly amid such a carefully arranged scene of horror. This was not good.
    “Is he going to make it?”
    Delgado hiked up his pants and scanned the plaza once again before looking back at Ramos and shrugging. “Do we want him to?”
    “What kind of stupid question is that?” snapped Ramos.
    Delgado shrugged again. There had been more than 250 murders in Nuevo Laredo over the past three years. The Zetas had been in a fierce war with the Gulf Cartel for much of that time. And now that the Zetas had all but declared victory, wiping out the Gulf Cartel, the Sinaloa Cartel was getting involved, too. Nuevo Laredo, a sleepy little city of about 350,000 people, had the highest murder rate of any town on the entire North American continent, sixty times greater than the murder rate in New York City. In a place like this, a homicide cop had better get good at shrugging. There was little else he could do. Sure, the policía solved the occasional domestic killing, the occasional bloody dust-up between a couple of drunks in a bar, even one murder for hire involving a hot-blooded farmer’s wife. But there had not been a single gang-related murder placed in the “solved” column since Chief Ramos took over. And this was no accident. Not solving that many