American Detective: From TV Rookie to Seasoned Cop

After resting for a night in Washington, D.C., Jack and Jane took the BAU's Gulfstream and flew to El Paso early the next morning before dawn. Two years ago, when Jack had just left the LAPD, he embarked on a road trip along Interstate 10. During that journey, many things happened, and one of the mementos he still carried with him was a silver flask he had gotten at the start of that trip.

Aside from that flask, Jack also had a cowboy hat, which he had bought when passing through El Paso, so the city still left a faint impression on him.

A river split the city in two: on one side was El Paso, part of the United States, and on the other was Ciudad Juárez, belonging to Mexico.

El Paso, on the U.S. side, had neatly arranged buildings. Although the roads seemed a bit old, everything was well-maintained, giving the place an orderly appearance.

On the other side of the river, beyond the long border wall, was Ciudad Juárez, an area that looked like a slum—and in reality, wasn't much different. On this small strip of land, just 188 square kilometers, the population had once reached 1.3 million. At its most dangerous, the city saw over 7,000 murders in a single year.

Of course, that was just the official number. Given the incompetence of the local police, the real death toll was likely at least double that. And all of this was thanks to the drug trade.

Ever since the U.S. had flooded the Mexican market with cheap, high-quality agricultural products, decimating the local farming industry, Mexican farmers had found that nothing but drugs could grow on their land and still feed their families. You could say NAFTA played a major role in this development.

It's said that for every cause, there's an effect. After American agricultural giants crushed Mexican farmers and took over the entire Central American food market, it didn't take long for Mexico to sound the call for "counterattack."

At the peak of this special trade between the two countries, 96% of the marijuana, 87% of the cocaine, and 90% of the heroin consumed in the U.S.—which accounted for 60% of the world's total drug consumption—came from Mexico.

Eventually, the impoverished nation of Mexico forced its wealthy neighbor, the world's most developed country, to legalize marijuana in several states just to curb this "shameless" trade.

A few hours later, the Gulfstream landed at a small military airport near El Paso. Jack's Suburban was already waiting on the tarmac.

"Welcome, did you have a good trip?" Matt Graff leaned casually against the car's hood, waving at them as if greeting old friends he hadn't seen in a while.

"Not bad," Jack and Jane both shook hands with him, and then two other men stepped out from behind the car, causing Jack to feel a bit uneasy—they both had faces he recognized.

The guy on the left was tall and skinny, with a punchable face that vaguely resembled a certain Canadian actor known for playing Deadpool. Despite the glasses and mustache, Jack immediately recognized him as the main character from the show Burn Notice, also known as Why Did You Fire Me?.

The other man was even more familiar. Though he now looked weary, with a deathly expression and a bit of extra weight, the actor behind that face had once portrayed Che Guevara on the big screen. Unfortunately, Jack couldn't recall the actor's name.

It seemed likely they had merged into some unknown movie, and seeing three familiar faces from various plotlines gave Jack a headache. He regretted not spending more time watching indie films instead of binging TV shows.

After all, with episodic series, you forget the plot after a while, only remembering the characters. But with a movie, at least you retain a general idea of the story.

"This here is my bloodhound, Alejandro," Matt Graff introduced the slightly overweight man first.

"He's a DHS consultant and an expert in dealing with drug cartels."

They shook hands, and although Alejandro was dressed in a wrinkled, cheap suit, with messy hair and a scruffy beard, he was serious and earnest, a stark contrast to Graff's laid-back attitude.

"And this is my old buddy Michael Weston. He just got back from Syria, and he'll be my deputy for this mission." Matt grinned as he threw his arm around Michael Weston's shoulder, making it clear that these two were cut from the same cloth.

After introducing his people, Matt turned to introduce the FBI agents on Jack's side. "This baby-faced ladies' man here is Jack Tavoler, and this one is, uh, sorry."

Jane smiled and reached out her hand. "Jane Banner, nice to meet you."

"Wait a second, you're Jack Tavoler? The Jack Tavoler?" Michael Weston's expression mirrored Matt Graff's surprise from the day before.

Jack could only nod with a wry smile. Apparently, he was a celebrity now—at least within a certain circle.

"Haha, that's hilarious. Damn, Matt, let me explain on behalf of my old friend here. Back then, it wasn't that he didn't want to come to your rescue. You have to understand, to him, the rainforest is like his great-grandmother's petticoat. He wouldn't go near it unless he absolutely had to.

Don't hold it against him because of that situation. But even if you do, I'd understand. Honestly, I've wanted to shoot him in the back myself for a while now." Michael Weston grinned, clearly enjoying the situation.

"Shut up, you idiot. Go drive." Matt gave him a playful kick, and the two middle-aged men bickered like a couple of teenagers.

Meanwhile, Alejandro stood to the side, acting like a true gentleman as he opened the car door for Jane, while Matt casually slid into the front passenger seat.

Once inside, Matt tapped the glove compartment and turned back to Jack with a teasing tone.

"This car was dropped off here by a rookie this morning. I'm sorry, but I took the liberty of checking the trunk. Are you planning to go to Juárez and kill everyone in the city?"

Jack was speechless. He had only prepared some tactical gear, maybe one or two slightly over-the-top items, but nothing as extreme as Matt was suggesting.

"It's just a little reciprocal, Matt. After all, they did fire six RPGs at my house."

"Call me Matt. But I suggest you use caution. We're aiming to bring people back alive, not a bunch of unrecognizable body parts." Though Matt still spoke jokingly, his words carried a hidden message.

"Got it, Matt. I'll follow your lead. I just need to find a place to store the stuff for now." Jack agreed easily. He hadn't planned on hauling a carload of weapons around on the mission anyway.

But he intended to keep driving this car. It was a gift from Emily, who had pulled some strings—perhaps through her diplomat mother—to secure this bulletproof Suburban for him. 

It might not withstand an RPG, but it could certainly handle an AK-47 for a few seconds, giving Jack enough time to react.

The car rolled down the long runway, passing rows of neatly lined-up Black Hawk helicopters before going through a checkpoint and entering a complex surrounded by high, tightly secured fences.

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