It was August 2020, peak āRona ridiculousness.
I had found paradise on earth during this time of utter stupidityā¦
Upon arriving in the cartel-run beach town, I immediately hopped over to the barber.
As Iād been in the city before, I knew him. Great dude, spoke English, cut hair for the cartel on and off.
We start catching up as he cleans me up.
Of course, being in a barbershop in Latin America, one topic comes up time and time againā¦
Women.
Unsurprisingly.
My barber starts asking me about the girls in Colombia, Brazil, etc. Then proceeds to whip out his phone and show me what heās working with in Mazatlan.
My responseā¦
Iām like, bruv: āWhen you gonna hook with up with some of their friends, ser?!ā
My barber laughs: āI got you!ā
He āHadā Me
Later that night, I get an Instagram notification.
My barber had posted my fresh cut on his story with the caption:
āgringo en Mazatlan buscando novia jajajaā
I laughedā¦what a cunt!
Then didnāt think twice about it and went to sleep.
In the morning, I checked my phone and had a handful of messages from local girls in the city.
Ummmm, apparently he did āhaveā me.
A few of the girls were cute, so I started talking with them. Of course, I sent the messages to my barber to get the inside scoop on emā
One of the girls my barber said was solid was also antsy to go out, so we made plans for the following week.
This is where the story starts to go downhill.
Being on TRT, I had planned to give blood on Monday morning. So I woke up and went to the lab to give as much blood as humanly possible.
While Iām giving blood, the nurse says:
āNo exercise today, no alcoholā¦just relax for the rest of the day. Youāre giving a lot of blood today.ā
I had given blood before, so I brushed it off. Never been an issue before.
Plus, I had a date last night with the girl from Instagram my barber hooked up.
The plan?
Go hike the lighthouse in Mazatlan and then have some food and drinks.
Aka: exercise and alcohol.
Limpness
So we meet up around dusk, complete the hour-long hike ā which was exhausting, watch a bit of the sunset, and then head to a bar.
We drink 3-4 beers each and eat some ceviche, then head back to my apartment for some wine.
After a couple glasses of wine, one thing leads to another. As per usual.
I wonāt get into the gory details here, but yeahā¦
My shit was flopping in the wind.
Limp as can be.
Floppy as f*ck.
I tell her about giving blood and how the nurse said not to exercise or drink alcohol. And how we literally did everything the nurse said NOT to do. Explicitly.
She laughs: āNo te preocupesā
We part ways an hour or so later. No hard feelings. Make some tentative plans to meet up again later that week.
I end up seeing her a few more times ā without the āfloopy-nessā
She was a cool chick overall.
Fast-Forward
I stopped hanging out with this girl, even though she was cool, as I got a bit more serious with another girl I was seeing.
No hard feelings.
I certainly wasnāt the only man in her ārotationā ā and well, I was handling my ābusinessā too.
Fast-forward a few monthsā¦
I get a message from my barber:
āHave you heard from [redacted] lately?ā
Me: āNah broski, havenāt talked with her for awhileā¦why?ā
Barber: āFuck. Well, she has gone missing.ā
Me: āWhat? What do you mean?!ā
Nowā¦
This girl had told me a few things on our dates I didnāt think twice of previously.
Like how her brother is an accountant in California ā or how she goes to California every tax season to āhelpā him when he gets busy.
Hereās where it gets sketchy:
My barber filled me inā¦
Her brother is apparently not just an accountant, heās also a member of a certain cartel ā and helps them with a little laundering here and there.
Since she works for him during tax season, rival cartels viewed her as:
Competition
A few weeks later Iām at the barber shop and my barber fills me in on the full situation:
The rival cartel had kidnapped her.
There was some negotiation, but everything fell through.
She was then murdered by the rival cartel.
I stared at my barber:
āWait, what?! Sheās dead. Like officially?!ā
Barber: āYes, bro. They found the body. You donāt want to hear the other details.ā
My barber must have saw the depressed look on my face. Iām not gonna act like I was devastated, but it was definitely a depressing wakeup call.
When in Rome.
He yelled at his receptionist: āBring us a couple beers!ā
He cracked emā open and we cheers. He put on a weak smile and tried to laugh: