It was August 2020, peak âRona ridiculousness.
I had found paradise on earth during this time of utter stupidityâŚ
Upon arriving in the cartel-run beach town, I immediately hopped over to the barber.
As Iâd 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 againâŚ
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 heâs working with in Mazatlan.
My responseâŚ
Iâm like, bruv: âWhen you gonna hook with up with some of their friends, ser?!â
My barber laughs: âI got you!â
He âHadâ Me
Later that night, I get an Instagram notification.
My barber had posted my fresh cut on his story with the caption:
âgringo en Mazatlan buscando novia jajajaâ
I laughedâŚwhat a cunt!
Then didnât 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 âhaveâ 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 emâ
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 Iâm giving blood, the nurse says:
âNo exercise today, no alcoholâŚjust relax for the rest of the day. Youâre giving a lot of blood today.â
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 â 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 wonât get into the gory details here, but yeahâŚ
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: âNo te preocupesâ
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 â without the âfloopy-nessâ
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 wasnât the only man in her ârotationâ â and well, I was handling my âbusinessâ too.
Fast-forward a few monthsâŚ
I get a message from my barber:
âHave you heard from [redacted] lately?â
Me: âNah broski, havenât talked with her for awhileâŚwhy?â
Barber: âFuck. Well, she has gone missing.â
Me: âWhat? What do you mean?!â
NowâŚ
This girl had told me a few things on our dates I didnât think twice of previously.
Like how her brother is an accountant in California â or how she goes to California every tax season to âhelpâ him when he gets busy.
Hereâs where it gets sketchy:
My barber filled me inâŚ
Her brother is apparently not just an accountant, heâs also a member of a certain cartel â 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 Iâm 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:
âWait, what?! Sheâs dead. Like officially?!â
Barber: âYes, bro. They found the body. You donât want to hear the other details.â
My barber must have saw the depressed look on my face. Iâm not gonna act like I was devastated, but it was definitely a depressing wakeup call.
When in Rome.
He yelled at his receptionist: âBring us a couple beers!â
He cracked emâ open and we cheers. He put on a weak smile and tried to laugh: