The next morning, one of Riddick's associates drove him to Chicago O’Hare airport. Riddick always travelled light and was carrying nothing more than a duffle bag with about two days worth of clothes and not much else. He wasn’t planning on staying in Mexico for long.
As he stepped into the bustling terminal of the airport, a cacophony of sounds enveloped him. The echoing chatter of travellers from diverse corners of the globe blended with the constant announcements over the intercom creating a symphony of human movement and anticipation. The rhythmic clatter of rolling suitcases and the intermittent rumbles of luggage carts added to the symphony, a testament to the ceaseless motion of this modern transportation hub.
Amidst the sea of hurried passengers, Riddick navigated the labyrinth of duty-free shops, cafes, and security checkpoints. The shimmering glass windows revealed the mighty airliners resting on the tarmac, their engines idling in readiness for their next journeys across the skies. As he moved forward, he couldn't help but observe the diversity of faces and attire, a kaleidoscope of cultures converging at this transient crossroads. His heart quickened with the anticipation of his adventure, and he couldn't help but marvel at the intricate dance of people, planes, and destinations that unfolded around him in this bustling airport.
He had always loved airports, something was exciting about them, and to him, they represented an adventure on the horizon. In another life, he liked to think that he would’ve been a commercial airline pilot, it’s something he would’ve been good at. The attention to detail, the importance of the job, and the precision required were all things that appealed to his nature, instead, he had fallen into a life of crime at a young age, and he would never escape it.
He approached a Starbucks counter and ordered a café mocha with no whipping cream, he was feeling his sweet tooth on this particular morning and it needed to be satisfied. The female barista behind the counter found him attractive, and Riddick observed her eyes scanning his biceps. He smiled back but said nothing and made his way towards his gate. He was flying first class, as he always did and he had no problem paying extra for access to the VIP waiting lounge. Riddick spared no expense in anything.
As he sat in the comfortable leather chairs listening for the announcement that his flight was boarding, he received several calls on his cell phone from some of his associates, and one from his “girlfriend” Ashley. Neither of those calls have been from Jimmy Chen or Clayton Radcliffe, the two people he was hoping to hear from the most. He was getting anxious about the hit on Julie Koop and wanted it done as soon as possible.
He finished his coffee and tossed the cup in the garbage, and shortly thereafter an announcement came over the loudspeaker that his flight was boarding. He grabbed his duffle bag, and after standing in line briefly, walked onto his plane and sat down in his first-class seat.
Riddick was flying to a small Mexican town called El Galaeño not far from the border with Texas. There, he would be meeting Isabella Fuentes, a female captain in the El Diablos crime family. She had spent the last year overseeing the building of the tunnel, it would be used to smuggle cocaine into the United States. The project was taking longer than normal, so Riddick was flying down to crack the whip and get the project moving faster. He was notoriously impatient, and usually, when he wanted something done, he wanted it done immediately with no delay. He hated waiting for projects to be completed.
His flight to Texas had been a short one, and from there one of his associates met him and drove him to El Galaeño. As he approached the Texan border, the rugged landscape gradually transformed and the familiar cacti and mesquite trees of Mexico came into view as they drove deeper into the country. After crossing the border, he felt a shift in atmosphere and culture, as if he had entered a different realm altogether. The transition into Mexico was marked by a blend of excitement and uncertainty. The once-familiar English road signs were replaced by Spanish, and the architecture took on a distinctive character.
After about two hours, Riddick's driver dropped him off at his hotel, and he checked himself into his room. He opened the door to his hotel room to cool conditioned air, and he threw his duffle bag onto the bed. He had booked the nicest hotel room he could find in the area, it wasn’t too far from the tunnelling project.
After a quick shower, he got dressed in a nice pair of dress pants and a grey Hugo Boss button-down shirt, the slick material highlighting his well-built chest and biceps. He hadn’t shaved his head for a few days and had a little bit of stubble on his face. He looked at himself in the mirror and thought he was looking younger lately. Always a good thing.
Riddick spoke almost no Spanish, and he had to use a translation app on his phone to hail a taxi which arrived faster than he was expecting. He jumped into the back of the cab and was glad to find that the driver had a good grasp of the English language. Riddick gave him the address of the restaurant, and they sped off as he felt a rush of anticipation coursing through him once again. He had made reservations at the charming La Rosa Mexicana, a quaint restaurant nestled in the heart of this medium-sized town.
Riddick arrived at La Rosa and tipped the taxi driver generously, and immediately upon exiting the cab caught the scent of sizzling fajitas drifting across the parking lot. The place looked deserted, he was hoping Isabella was already there, which she was.
Isabella Fuentes had climbed the ranks of the El Diablos crime family quickly with her tough ruthlessness and take-no-prisoners attitude. And while she had never killed anyone herself, she had no problem ordering the execution of a rival and had done so many times.
Immediately upon entering the restaurant, Riddick's eyes connected with Isabella who was patiently waiting for him in a booth not far from the front entrance. She had already ordered a bottle of red wine and was gracefully sipping it as Riddick approached her. The restaurant was cosy and dimly lit, a single yellow light hanging down above each booth.
“Isabella?” Riddick asked cautiously.
“Yes. You must be Mr. Riddick,” she responded with a smile.
“Please, call me Bronson,” he said graciously.
Isabella was not what Riddick had expected, she was very attractive. He had expected an older woman who would look tough, cold and sinister. Instead, Isabella looked to be in her early 30s with gorgeous dark hair and eyes. She spoke good English with a heavy Mexican accent. When she spoke, her voice was intelligent and sexy. She radiated a fascinating mix of strength and feminine beauty. It caught Riddick off guard. Looking at Isabella Fuentes, one would not think that she was a member of the mob nor that she was involved in the cocaine trade at such a high level.
“It’s nice to meet you, Bronson. I know you’ve been down here once before, unfortunately, I was out of the country,” Isabella said.
Bronson was a little speechless which wasn’t normal for him. He was usually quite suave around women.
“How was the flight?” she asked.
“Good. First class. Short,” Riddick said while looking over his shoulder for a waiter. He was jonzing for a drink.
A waiter soon appeared at their table and Bronson ordered, he had a look at the menu and was pleased to see that they had some American-style cuisine that he could choose from. Riddick ordered a steak, medium rare, and Isabella ordered the same.
“You know, my stomach has never liked spicy food, unfortunately. I was hoping they’d have some American fare on their menu,” Riddick said.
“Ah yes, of course. I love this restaurant, they have a wonderful menu. They even have pizza. I think you’ll find something that appeals to your American tastes.”
The small talk didn’t last long and Riddick quickly steered the question towards the tunnel project. He saw the wedding ring on Isabella’s finger and decided to do away with any flirting.
“Look, Isabella, you know why I’m down here. And you know for me to get on a plane and come down here personally is serious. I hate leaving the Elysium, I feel safe there. The further away from the nest I stray, the more of a target I make myself for the FBI. So what's going on down here? It's like Mussolini’s in charge or something, and even that fucking guy got the trains running on time. It’s pissing me off. Trump's crackdown on border security is making it harder and harder for me to move cocaine into the United States. I need that tunnel completed as soon as possible,” he said sternly.
Isabella’s face remained attractive even under interrogation.
“I’m sorry Bronson. We've encountered unexpected geological challenges, and the equipment issues aren't helping either. We need to find a way to get this project back on track,” Isabella said with her sweet Mexican accent.
Bronson looked frustrated.
“Geological challenges?” he asked.
“Yes. Things were going well until we encountered a large water main in our way.”
”A fucking water main? I’m getting impatient, and we can't afford any more delays. A water main? That’s the issue?” he asked, his anger rising in his tone of voice.
Isabella took a sip of her wine looking completely unconcerned and unintimidated. Very few men intimidated her and Riddick certainly didn't either.
“Yes, a water main. On top of that, the American government has been funnelling money into border security. At first, we were working in the dead of night with no problem, but now American border patrol agents have night vision goggles, and infrared heat detection systems and it’s made it extremely difficult to work at night. I’m not even sure if and when we will be able to get it finished,” Isabella explained.
This was not what Riddick wanted to hear. He felt some stress building and rubbed his forehead. He let out a sigh.
“How much is done? How much has been dug?” he asked.