Chapter 1120: Biodiesel, Graffiti, and the Gallows Gang (Patreon)

“Well, now we know the killer had their own vehicle, but that doesn’t really help us track them down. I haven’t seen a single surveillance camera around here, and I honestly doubt we’d even be able to find the killer with a plate number.” Aubrey scratched the back of his head with a grimace. Even when he was in Africa, the work hadn’t felt this frustrating. In Tanzania, the police might have been undertrained, but at least they were cooperative.

Back then, they’d had the enthusiastic support of locals—like Old Muto and his militia—and even dealing with minor local warlords didn’t feel dangerous.

Mexico, on the other hand, was a whole different story. Here, even the police—those who were supposed to provide a sense of safety—could barely protect themselves. They had to mask their faces just to investigate a crime scene while in uniform.

If this case really ended up being tied to a major drug cartel, then it would be completely beyond the reach of their small fugitive task force.

In fact, for the safety of the team, Jubal would likely file an immediate request to pull everyone out of Mexico.

Even Jack wasn’t particularly eager to take on a drug cartel in any official capacity—not just because of the politics and red tape, but because of the sheer time and effort it would require.

Planning an operation against a sizable drug organization involved a massive intelligence-gathering phase that could take months or even years. Sometimes, it required embedding agents undercover for just as long.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. We have no evidence yet that points to a cartel member as the killer. Plus, the major cartels currently active in Tijuana seem to be maintaining a surface-level peace. No signs of conflict.” Jubal tried to raise morale, though it didn’t do much. Since the team’s founding, they’d maintained a perfect 100% clearance rate. Nobody boasted about it, but everyone took quiet pride in that.

If they ended up returning empty-handed because of a cartel connection, they might understand—but it would still feel like a bitter, embarrassing loss.

“Find anything?” Jack pulled himself out of his thoughts and noticed Clay still crouched near the two tire tracks, studying something closely and occasionally sniffing handfuls of sand.

Clay looked grim. “This car leaked something. Most of it has evaporated by now, but I can still catch the scent. I’m not sure if it’s gasoline, diesel, or maybe oil.”

That piqued Hannah’s interest. She crouched beside him and grabbed a pinch of the dirt to sniff it herself.

Jack was just wondering if she might actually lick it when she suddenly broke into a smug grin. “Biodiesel.”

“You can tell just by smelling it?” Jack raised an eyebrow and pulled her wrist up to sniff her fingertips. Sure enough, there was a faintly acrid diesel smell—slightly sour and unpleasant.

Biodiesel is a fuel made by chemically processing used animal and vegetable oils—in other words, it’s recycled kitchen grease.

It was a green energy source heavily promoted by environmental organizations. Naturally, anything linked to the word “eco-friendly” also tended to be expensive.

“This is Mexico. Who the hell uses biodiesel in their car here?” Aubrey was baffled.

“Radical environmentalists? Maybe the killer’s American,” Hannah speculated.

People struggling to make ends meet don’t give a damn about the environment. That kind of worry belonged to folks who flew private jets just to grab a slice of cake.

“Alright, it’s a lead. I’ll have Alice check if any radical green groups from California have been active in Tijuana lately.”

Before Jubal could finish that thought, Lopez and JJ emerged from the alley and walked over. He turned to them. “Anything from the bar owner?”

JJ sighed. “We talked to the owner, the bartender, and the waitresses. But there were just too many tourists last night—mostly teens about the same age as Lee and Rosie.

All we got was a bunch of complaints. Nothing useful.”

“I feel like I’ve seen that symbol before,” Lopez muttered, staring at the graffiti-covered dirt wall. He pointed to a rough charcoal sketch that looked freshly drawn.

The wall was full of similar graffiti, but this one stood out for how new it looked—likely drawn in charcoal.

Everyone followed his finger and stared at it. After a long pause, Aubrey hesitated. “Is that... a gallows?”

Lopez nodded repeatedly. “Exactly. That’s the mark of the Gallows Gang. That symbol means this is their turf—and they’re a bunch of ruthless bastards.”

“They deal drugs too? Could the cocaine Lee took have belonged to them?” Aubrey asked quickly.

“All the gangs here are involved in drugs to some extent.” Lopez still wore his face mask. Though now a CBP agent, he often moved between San Diego and Tijuana, showing up at crime scenes tied to cartel activity.

Even though they couldn’t see his expression, his voice carried a note of frustration.

“The Gallows Gang? Doesn’t sound like the type that uses scythes to kill people. Maybe they’re a bunch of eco-loving Harley riders,” Aubrey joked, slipping back into his usual optimistic tone.

None of the major cartels in Tijuana had such a corny-sounding name, which meant that if the killer really was from the Gallows Gang, they might be exactly the kind of low-level crew the Fugitive Task Force could handle.

Sure enough, according to Lopez, the Gallows Gang was just a small motorcycle gang with about twenty members, mostly Latinx Americans. Their leader and core members were all U.S. citizens.

They dabbled in drug smuggling, but mostly for personal use—occasionally selling small quantities on the side. That fit the profile of the low-purity cocaine Lee had grabbed.

They didn’t have a better suspect at the moment, and since the murder happened on Gallows turf, it made sense to pay a visit to the local players. Even if they weren’t responsible, it was worth asking around about any suspicious strangers in the area or catching up on the local “news.”

“They usually hang out near Aquila Beach,” Lopez explained. “But not now. Those guys only show up after 10 p.m. for their nightly party.”

He made a welcoming gesture. “Still a while till sunset. In the meantime, how about I take you all to the best restaurant in town?”