Three-Year Guaranty by Marc Egnal

Two armed, masked men kidnapped Gabriela as we got out of the car and were about to enter the house. They were polite, almost apologetic. They told us not to cry out and instructed me to go inside the house and wait for instructions.

The whole crime took no more than five minutes. Gabriela and I were returning from a restaurant, and the perps seemed to know just when we would arrive. I glanced at the license plate on their small Toyota but knew that information was of little use. You don’t report crimes to the police in Cuernavaca.

Most of the well-off families in the city were Chilangos, Mexico City residents, who had their second homes here and made arrangements for protection. Gabriela and I, and most of our close friends, were new arrivals and part of the small, thriving tech sector. We were still trying to puzzle out the increasingly violent local culture.

The next morning, my phone dinged with a text message instructing me to withdraw 560,000 pesos—that’s about US$36,000. The amount demanded was not coincidental—it reflected, within a few hundred pesos, what I held at Banco de Morelos.  

My first call was to my boss, Emiliano Cardenas. He had lived in Cuernavaca for many years and was well-connected. “Go along with their demands,” he told me. “Our company has kidnapping insurance on both you and Gabriela.” That came as a surprise: it wasn’t part of any orientation session. “It should make up almost all your loss,” he continued.

My bank manager seemed unsurprised when I asked for that large amount in cash. He personally counted out the bills and checked the total twice before stuffing the money into a large gym bag.

The kidnappers instructed me to go to a house on Alvarez Street on the outskirts of town. It was a bleak stretch, with warehouses on one side and ramshackle casitas on the other.

As I approached the house, my heart sank. Policemen had set up their bipods on the roof of a building, focusing their weapons on the door of the casita where I was heading. Several heavily armed officers lurked in the shadows. They had chosen this day, suddenly and with uncharacteristic bravery, to attack the cartel.

I called the number I was given. “Miguel here,” a man answered, surprising me by identifying himself.

“Miguel,” I said. “This is horrible. I brought the money, but I don’t think the deal can go through today. Have you looked outside – you’re about to be attacked.”

He laughed heartily. “Don’t worry, my friend,” Miguel said. “They work for me. You are carrying a lot of cash. I wanted to make sure nothing went wrong. Bring the bag inside.”

Gabriela was sitting there, unbound. The house was far more elegant inside than it appeared from the street and had the pleasant fragrance of a recent meal. I handed the bag to Miguel, and he nodded to Gabriela that she was free to go.

“Aren’t you going to count it,” I asked Miguel.

“That’s not necessary,” he replied. “Our clients are the most honest people in Mexico.”  “And Polo,” he added, referring to the bank manager, “is scrupulous in counting.”

Gabriela came over and held my hand. I asked Miguel, “You cleaned out our bank account, but how do I know this won’t happen to us again?”

“An excellent question,” Miguel said, handing me an elegantly designed certificate printed on heavy paper. At the top, it read, Garantía contra Sequestro – “Guarantee against Kidnapping.” He explained: “This provides three years of protection from actions by my associates or anyone else operating in our territory. And trust me, we do not like interlopers.”

Was I supposed to thank him? Miguel must have sensed my ambivalence. “This is a very good deal,” he emphasized. “You can’t imagine how little I net from this operation or how many people are on my payroll.”

Walking to the car, Gabriela was in surprisingly good spirits. She told me that one of the sicarios was an excellent chef and had prepared a remarkable lunch of green posole with cod and cilantro.

As we drove off, she was still smiling and remarked, “We should ask Miguel about renewing that certificate.”