I and my three remaining men, Freddy Mikey and Squeaky, are under the protection of the town's police chief. He had become admiring of us because our exploits reminded him of those of Mexico's great hero, Pancho Villa, who, like us, had robbed banks, had killed Americans, and was on the "most wanted" list. I had talked of this in the posting called *Doroteo Arango* .The deal which the police chief - who I refer to as "Jose" for reasons of security - struck with me is that, in return for his not handing us back to the Americans, I must share with him half of all monies we get from our commercial activities, which are, of necessity, criminal. For reasons of security, I won't expound on these activities except to say that they include robbery, extortion and their like. Also, "Jose" obtained a house for me and my three men to live in.
This is how things basically now are, except that I later moved out, and now have my own little house which "Jose" arranged because my three men were becoming insubordinate and otherwise troublesome. This came out of their having to live cheek-by-jowl with a man as old as me, since none of Freddy Mikey and Squeaky are over fifty. Although I'm the leader, they were always goading me into fights uno a uno. I had no choice but to accept these challenges, otherwise I would have been displaced as leader. Because I'm so much older than are they, my men saw me as increasingly beatable.
I managed not to lose in these fights. They were tough fights because Freddy Mikey and Squeaky, as former British Special Forces men, are tough men. While I'm still tougher than are they, they are catching up to me, and the day could come when I won't be tougher. To prevent being overtaken is an added incentive for me not to let up in my daily workouts in the gym.
My living separately has reduced the tensions between me and my men. They now challenge my authority much less frequently. Also, having my own dwelling provides a better atmosphere for the young women who accept my invitations to return home with me for a night of love. When I had lived with my men, the constant noise from their partying outside the door of the bedroom where I was making love with young women, had not contributed to an atmosphere of romance.
As of now, though, my nights of love with these young women are still sometimes disturbed, but by the sounds of gunfire from the town, which come from gang warfare between rival gangs in the drug trade. However, when making love, any sounds of distant gunfire are much less distracting than had been the sounds of my men partying just outside.
