They install hold in "New San Miguel" booth.
From a distance they look like cops, but they Don't look close enough to be cops.
They are "godmothers." tell yourself of the people who have the role of police, but they are not; rather, they are the ones who do the crude work, but also the soez. They're loud with the air of "spare lives." They are governed by their own belief and authority. No one regulates them, and they overlap.
They're variopins. There are tall, shady, skinny, chubby, Lampiños, barbones, half-bald, greasy, interns, azabache, and so on. There are also women, with the same morphology.
Wear campaign pants, mostly strong blue, and black shirts. They carry in their chest a medallion that shines with the sun, and which, depending on the movement, sometimes shines to the point of blindness. They use it as an official insignia of who knows what.
They wear a work belt similar to Bob, the Builder. By gun, a wireless screwdriver is shrouded, and by bullets: screwers, cutter and cinnamon tape.
And they wear tactical shoes, as if they were cops, mountaineers, hikers or gunmen.
There are three groups, all stationed on the left and right flanks of the double lane north of Mexico 15, or Mexico-Nogales, after crossing the toll booth of San Miguel Zapotitlán, just at kilometer 19 plus 700 meters. They're distributed by task. A binomial of both sexes boarded passenger trucks. She interrogates the passengers, they question the men. They're so inquisitors that they even get into the traveler's personal life. They talk beaten, so as to provoke courage and a beating reaction.
They have no authority, but they are everything, at that time. They are capable of even threatening to expose civilians with "silly deception" arguments, and they even afford to get on the passengers. If they discover a camera pointing at them, they disfigure. Her eyes shine so bright that they seem to light up to launch cosmic rays and spray the poor mortal carrying her.
In the vicinity of the toilets is the other group. The one with the dockers. They face the dry boxes, cages and trailers of fifth wheel trucks. They remove, remove the merchandise to pleasure, place it where they please. They have the luxury of delaying travelers just because with their intuition they find them suspicious, or because a hunch beats them that they carry hidden illegal loads.
Between these two spaces there is an empty strip that covers the shadow of a Benjamin. That is where special treatment is given to those who passed to the second level of "suspicion".
In front of them is a white awning. There are others there, too, but these are caught up in flirting with drivers or passengers, while some disarmed the vehicles looking for signs of something that they must know very well.
The place does not have a single flag, sign or banner that announces the people concerned. They can be either, from impostors to real cops, or a mix of both.
The only piece of furniture that seems to indicate that these are elements of a corporation is a Chevrolet van, a recent, white model, but lacking any official insignia. Wow, he doesn't even carry police institution badges. He has attached some sheets with blue numbers, but in the distance they appear to be particular, or clones. The only thing that appears to be a patrol is interior strobes that flash in red and blue colors. Only those lights can be bought on online markets and installed in any vehicle to simulate a patrol.
The place looks like a well-organized chaos. No one in charge, no one to explain who they are, what they are doing, what they are looking for and who answers for the excess of the "godmothers", because even these do not answer questions.
Public service drivers questioned, say that since they settled in the booth they have never known who it is, what they do and what they are looking for. They by a natural reaction stop the march, open the door and wait for them to board it. They only restart the march when the police clone goes off.
"it's better to compete, Don't be and return the times of the Precos."
The Precos were in fact roadblocks that the defunct Federal Judicial Police installed on federal roads under the pretext of the fight against drugs, but that over time became places of extortion, robberies, passenger abuse and corruption with domestic drug trafficking clans, and that ended up being ruled by "godmothers." the Precos were in fact roadblocks that the defunct Federal Judicial Police installed on federal roads under the pretext of the fight against drugs, but over time they became places of extortion, theft, mistreatment of passengers and corruption with domestic drug trafficking clans, which ended up being ruled by "godmothers."
Just like these, they're now at that depot at the San Miguel Zapotitlán toll booth.
Article published on 14 October 2018 in the 820 edition of the weekly Riodoce.
