The Mexican
1978
Mendoza is his real name. The Mexican was the name Slink gave him. The Mexican was big in every sense. He loved life, partying, girls, drinks and cars -- he wasn't the world's best driver, but he loved being around fine looking cars -- maybe that's got something to do with how the best looking girls were never too far away from him.
The Mexican grew up in a family of nine in Mexico City. He ran errands for dealers before he was old enough to go to school and by the time he left was running "security" for local deliveries. At twenty-five he was in charge of the guns on big operations with fifty-strong crews running coke and heroin up to Florida and New Mexico. He just loved getting his fingers dirty -- the only way he knew how to live was to dive right in and make as much noise as possible. The Mexican was tired of the small-time and he saw New York as the place to be if you wanted to strike it big-surf the tidal wave of drug money.
The Mexican wore his hair long and bunched into a pony tail. He drank tequilas, spoke Spanish and Portuguese, and never wanted the night to end or the booze to run out. He always had a tale to tell about how lucky he just got with some woman, or the great new friends he made, or the fact he never got hangovers.
2006
The years have not been kind to The Mexican. He not only blew his share of the ransom money long ago, he also wrecked his mind and body... the legacy of too much drinking, too many women and not enough thought. The Mexican still lives in a run-down Coney Island apartment block, and works in a two bit amusement arcade... He's a paranoid son of a bitch, thinks everyone's out to get him and he's not taking any chances... his worn out place is locked down tight with security to keep people out and enough firepower to take care of anyone who makes it through.
