Jacob Diaz

I'll never give up, replied Arturo.

Never.

Unwilling to surrender, Arturo and his men engaged in a two-hour firefight before the Marines stormed the building, blowing everything apart.

Arturo was killed in the shootout.

Three of his bodyguards also lost their lives.

A fourth committed suicide.

Diaz was in Acapulco when he learned of Arturo's death.

Over the Christmas holiday, he discussed it with Ole.

He wanted to know what Arturo's death meant for them.

He told me that Arturo didn't know us, didn't give a damn about us, and wouldn't have hesitated to sacrifice us if it were in his interest.

According to Ole, that was the nature of the business.

Ole said that Arturo's death didn't mean a thing because whoever took over would still need men like us to work on the American side.

The cartels and their endless fights to control the plazas would continue so long as the Americans craved drugs and there were young men like me, American narcos, who were willing to risk their freedom for money, status, and sex.

Step out of the vehicle, demanded the policia oficial to the female driver of the white Ford Escalade.

His partner stood behind the vehicle, to the left of his federale policia cruiser.

his hand laid atop his holstered weapon.

Diaz sat in the passenger seat, nervously glancing between the officer's blazing mag light and the rearview mirror.

There was nearly $200,000 in the book bag resting at his feet.

Again, the officer stated, out of the vehicle.

The driver, 28-year-old Mariluz Velez, pulled her government-issued credentials out of her purse and flashed it at the police officer.