The $7 million cash bail was staggering, yet Lalo agreed to pay it without a second thought. However, to retrieve the money, Jimmy would have to make a trip to the U.S.-Mexico border. Jimmy was stuck between a rock and a hard place—he had no desire to wade deeper into this mess. But Lalo had a point: such a huge sum couldn’t be withdrawn from U.S. banks and would have to be transported from Mexico. All his cousins were on law enforcement radars in the U.S., leaving Jimmy as the only one who wouldn’t attract the attention of the police or rival drug cartels.
Jimmy’s job wouldn’t be done until the bail was posted. After thinking it over, he gritted his teeth and demanded a flat fee of $100,000. Lalo didn’t hesitate and agreed immediately. That night, Jimmy carefully told Kim about the plan. Kim deeply hated the idea of Jimmy risking his life, but she finally relented after his repeated assurances.
Early the next morning, Jimmy set off in his beat-up Suzuki. Following Lalo’s directions, he drove deep into the desert and found the unassuming dry well. Leaning against his car, he took a few sips of water. Out of boredom, he even poured some water from his canteen to wipe the mud off his leather shoes. After waiting for quite a while, a silver SUV crossed the border and pulled up. Two large men got out without a word, dropped two heavy sacks of money at Jimmy’s feet, and drove off just as silently.
No one would suspect a dilapidated Suzuki was carrying millions of dollars. Jimmy headed back, thinking the $100,000 would be his soon enough. But halfway through the trip, a Jeep started tailing him, and he knew something was wrong. As soon as he entered a narrow mountain pass, two pickup trucks blocked the road ahead. Several armed men jumped out, and Jimmy quickly pulled over, terrified.
Things were far worse than Jimmy had imagined. The men—whoever they were—wanted not just the money, but to silence him too. Jimmy knelt on the ground with his eyes closed, feeling the barrel of a gun pressed against his forehead. A shot rang out, and Jimmy’s chest was covered in blood. Someone in the distance had saved him with a sniper rifle; the other gunmen sprayed bullets in the direction of the shot.
Jimmy huddled beside his Suzuki’s wheel, hands over his head, as the chaotic gunfire echoed around him. After each sniper shot, one less voice remained. Finally, silence fell. Jimmy heard a car approaching in the distance and stopping next to his. Suddenly, another gunman emerged from nowhere and fired wildly at the incoming vehicle. After a brief exchange of gunfire, the gunman abandoned his accomplices, jumped into a red pickup truck, and fled in a panic.
A few more shots rang out—whoever had arrived was checking for survivors. Then Jimmy heard a familiar voice: it was Mike. Mike had anticipated that Lalo’s rivals would try to hijack the bail money and had set an ambush at this optimal intercept point. He had planned to eliminate the threat, then escort Jimmy and the $7 million back to the city. But the earlier shootout had punctured his car’s gas tank. The two had no choice but to continue in Jimmy’s beat-up Suzuki, hoping to get out of the mountains and find a place with cell phone signal to call for help.
Unfortunately, the Suzuki’s battery had been damaged in the gunfight, and it stalled after a short distance. Mike removed the license plates, took the gas cap, and together they pushed the car down the hillside. With a survivor on the loose, taking the main road was too dangerous. Mike slung his sniper rifle over his shoulder, left the mountain pass, and ventured into the wilderness. Jimmy grabbed the two heavy sacks of money and stumbled along behind him.
As the water in his canteen dwindled, Jimmy’s throat grew drier by the minute. He began to regret taking the job—and regret wasting water on cleaning his shoes. When the canteen was finally empty, Mike reminded him to fill it halfway with urine. But Jimmy would rather die than drink the yellow liquid. Left with no other option, Mike poured out a small amount of dew he had collected overnight to moisten Jimmy’s parched throat.
After spending a day and night in the desert, Jimmy had no idea that a worried Kim had gone to the detention center to see Lalo. But the cunning Lalo refused to risk revealing the money’s location—Jimmy’s fate was in his own hands. By this point, Jimmy was exhausted and dehydrated, dragging the two sacks of money along the ground as he struggled forward. It wasn’t until Mike pointed it out that he noticed a hole in one of the sacks; hundreds of dollar bills were scattered across the sand. Mike used the license plate to patch the hole, then looked over to see Jimmy lying despairingly on the scorching sand, unwilling to go on.
A few flashes of light appeared in the distance. Mike reacted quickly, dropping to the ground behind a rock and pulling out his binoculars. It was the escaped red pickup truck—its occupants must have found the Suzuki discarded in the gully and decided to try their luck. Mike had intended to wait for them to pass before moving on, but Jimmy suddenly summoned a burst of determination. He lifted the two sacks onto his back, charged down the hillside, and walked boldly along the mountain road. Mike knew Jimmy was drawing the enemy’s attention—he’d rather die quickly than suffer any longer.
The red pickup soon spotted Jimmy and accelerated toward him. Jimmy kept walking, ignoring the oncoming vehicle. He heard gunshots from the hillside, and the pickup truck racing behind him flipped several times before crashing off the road. Mike rushed to the truck first, grabbed a cracked canteen from inside, then threw it down in disappointment. Having cheated death, Jimmy had a change of heart. He sat down on the money sacks and took a sip of the urine from his canteen. He was determined to survive and make it back to Kim.