The lavish hacienda proves to the world that you are a man of
importance, as does your wealth and your ever present team of bodyguards. You
no longer feel important, though, not like you did during the Revolution when
your army was the great power of northern Mexico. What times those were.
Federales to the south, the American army to the north, and there you were
making deals with Hollywood studios. If only you had emerged victorious. If only
you had won the war.
You make your way outside the cool recesses of the hacienda and
step towards the 1919 Dodge Brothers Touring Car, where your secretary and
several bodyguards await. You used to require dozens of men to travel into town
with you. Now, however, you feel like you might as well be a salesman from the
far end of Chihuahua. For all you know there isn't need for any bodyguards at
all. Still, you feel it will be good to get away from the hacienda for a few
hours. Sometimes it feels like a prison. Stepping inside the car, you tell
yourself a prison is still a prison, no matter how beautiful it may be.
You decide to drive. The
Dodge is an impressive vehicle, one well worth driving, you feel. As you
slowly pull away from the hacienda, you wonder if Obregon ever gets behind the
wheel of a car. Probably not, you grunt in amusement. That paranoid bastard
most likely spends his days worrying about who may take away his power. He
certainly worried about you during the Revolution. He had good reason to, as
well. Now, though, now that you've made peace and matters have settled down, it
takes him weeks – weeks! – to even return a letter. You shake your head, then
glance at Tamayo in the front passenger's seat. He's been your loyal secretary
for years, and no doubt will remain so out of habit. There was a time, though –
not all that long ago – where someone might literally kill Tamayo in order to
take his place by your side.
The Dodge suddenly stalls. Your bodyguards instantly get off the
sideboards and start pushing forward as you reignite the toe ignition. Not all
that long ago, a stalled vehicle might have been cause for concern, even if it
was only still for a few seconds. Those days are over. Glancing at the
mountainous backdrop as the Dodge resumes its journey towards town, you wonder
what kind of greeting will await you once you arrive at Parral. Tamayo had
tried to make a call to Lara, but found that the lines were down. Life is
nothing, you conclude, if not a series of inconveniences. You’ll be happy to
arrive at Parral though, happy to see Lara and the troops. You push down on the
gas until the vehicle is cruising at around forty miles an hour. High speeds
used to be a must. Now you simply want to get to town.
Yet Parral seems much different today. As soon as you cross
Barrera Street, you notice the entire town is quiet, quiet in a way you’ve
never seen. You almost wish you had stayed at the hacienda, as your mind is
going back to times when fifty bodyguards would lead you through the streets as
people thronged to see you, to wave to you, to share eye contact with you. How
it all seemed so natural at the time. How unnatural you realize it all was now.
You can’t get to Lara and his men soon enough. With them you will be
appreciated. With them your deeds will be remembered. Only fifteen minutes
later, the duty officer informs you Lara and his men aren’t at the base.
They’re off on maneuvers up in the mountains. Getting back behind the wheel of
the Dodge, you turn to Tamayo and shake your head.
“I’m forgotten,” you tell him.
“Nonsense,” he replies. “Remember, the phone lines are down.”
“I told him last week I was coming.”
You turn the Dodge around,
and head up Juarez Street towards home. Your mind begins to wander as you drive
through the lifeless town. You were the center of attention once. Some glorified you for
helping the poor, for fighting the oppressors. Others hated you for using a
justifiable cause to engage in diabolical behavior. How many people, you
wonder, did you kill in cold blood, not in combat, but in cold blood? How much
criminal behavior did you engage in simply to further a cause you believed in?
Enough that you used to make sure no one ever walked behind you. And now, you
think, you can’t even get attention while driving through the middle of Parral.
A elderly gentleman suddenly steps forward.
“Viva Villa!” he yells with a smile as you slow the Dodge to a
halt.
You smile back, happy that someone, yes someone, finally remembers
you, feels the need to grab your attention, to take it upon himself to call out
your name in praise. It actually, you feel, makes the entire journey worth
while. Less than a second later, forty bullets rip through the car, killing
everyone inside, as well as those riding on the sideboards.
