The oldest coffee shop in the area was located on the most bustling commercial street in downtown Juárez. It was a favorite spot for many office workers who preferred not to be found by their colleagues.
At 10:30 p.m., in the second-floor lounge of the coffee shop, which thrived thanks to its loyal patrons, Cocodrilo, a foreign man to many, sat with a leather jacket on, stroking his chin as he read a police report in one hand while swirling a steaming cup of coffee with the other.
One swirl, two swirls, three swirls...
It was unclear how much time passed before a man named Alejandro appeared in front of him, his expression dull. Alejandro, without a word, sat at the same table.
This man, hired by SAMCRO, was a hitman claiming to have connections with the DEA. After some minor investigations, the claim was confirmed to be true.
Unlike the other hitmen SAMCRO sought to hire to eliminate members of the Jiménez cartel, Alejandro had approached them, having uncovered some of their plans concerning Mexican cartels.
He offered his services in exchange for sponsorship—weaponry, connections, and support for a shared objective.
Naturally, Dante agreed without hesitation. At this moment, Cocodrilo was about to test whether Alejandro was trustworthy or whether he needed to be eliminated on the spot.
Cocodrilo, well-versed in Alejandro's background thanks to a preliminary investigation, said calmly to the hitman, nicknamed El Monstruo:
"We apologize for the location, but as we don't have much control over this area, it was challenging to find a place where we could ensure security."
With those words, Cocodrilo extended his hand and presented Alejandro with a business card. The card bore only the name "SAMCRO," a distinctive feature intended for certain audiences.
Alejandro glanced at the card but did not take it. Instead, he asked:
"I know perfectly well who you are. Even though I offered my services, I'm still curious—what are SAMCRO's intentions in targeting Mexican cartels?"
"That's none of your concern. After all, you're just a hitman."
"A hitman with DEA connections—connections that could complicate your foreign operations, considering you're Americans," Alejandro retorted mockingly at Cocodrilo's attempt to dodge his questions.
Cocodrilo countered with a question of his own:
"Then tell me—who am I?"
"You must be SAMCRO's contact. I could swear you're well-known in Latin America as top-tier cocaine distributors for Felipe Lobos' cartel," Alejandro replied confidently, sipping from the untouched coffee cup in front of him.
Cocodrilo smirked, extended his hand to reveal a tattoo, and said:
"In special forces, every battalion had its own tattoos. It was a symbol of trust. Now tell me—how do you intend to establish trust between us?"
"Given that your organization's leader tasked you and your men with massacring cartel groups in cities along the US-Mexico border, how do you think trust can be established knowing you're hiring a hitman?"
"We have a mission planned for tomorrow night. We've identified several locations storing weapons distributed to SAMCRO's rivals. Before you go back to your DEA friends, I want you to participate in this massacre meant to attract attention."
"You realize this will start a war?"
Cocodrilo nodded. "That's our goal. Now tell me—how can we make this easier for us?"
"You're a foreigner. Even though you speak Spanish fluently, any local would recognize you, making infiltration more difficult at the target locations." Alejandro's first advice concerned Cocodrilo's appearance—he was a towering man of nearly two meters—and the mission, which he needed to complete if he wanted the rest of the payment SAMCRO was offering.
"I understand..." Cocodrilo set the documents aside and looked at Alejandro. His dark-circled eyes and half-closed eyelids gave him a tired appearance, as though he were about to fall asleep.
The now-empty coffee shop seemed even quieter.
After a while, Cocodrilo suddenly sighed, touched the top of his head, and said with an ironic smile:
"We've also investigated you. We know about your history, and we'll give you the head of the man you're looking for once our targets are eliminated."
"If you attack, that man will go into hiding."
Cocodrilo shook his head. "We know where the top figures of several cartels are right now, including the one you're after."
"What?!" Alejandro, who had maintained his composure, stood abruptly. But as quickly as he lost it, he regained his calm and sat back down.
He knew demanding answers would achieve nothing. Besides, he needed nothing more than the funding to achieve his objective. Now, however, he realized his goal might be far easier to attain.
"We've been fighting the evil rooted in this world since our inception. We're not villains. Our plan is to reduce drug distribution. But before we can do that, we need to create chaos—strip the Mexican cartels of their power."
"Even with an army, you won't make it last…"
Cocodrilo, fully aware of this, replied:
"We know. But our goal is to take power away from the Latinos controlling the drugs entering the United States. Let me explain our plan…"
The conversation grew lengthy as Cocodrilo revealed aspects of their organization that wouldn't compromise anyone.
Now, the Sons of Anarchy had spread across Europe like an unstoppable wave. With the power they gained in London, they had more than enough influence to instill fear worldwide.
Their only problem was the relentless attacks from the Jiménez cartel. This taught them one lesson: no matter how big or strong you are, there will always be enemies willing to challenge you.