I grabbed this at the bookstore thinking it was going to be some over the top “tough on crime” conservative leaning view that I could simultaneously laugh at and enjoy the tough as nails violence and action. With that being my mental state, I dove in and for the first quarter of the book I was right. And then something weird happened…
The Mexican Connection is about a medium size drug smuggling ring of everyday average white middle-class guys flying down to Mexico to pick up shipments of mostly weed and later coke and pills (ludes dude!) I couldn’t help but see Tim Allen’s mug shot when picturing these guys. There is a walking hard-on of a narcotics agent who is hell bent on stopping these borderline hippies from bringing the wicked weed into HIS country. This guy has no problem bending the rules until they break. He’ll kill, he’ll torture, he'll piss on your civil rights. His introductory description sounds like someone is describing an erect penis. It is hilariously overplayed. And once again, with the idea of what I thought the premise of this book was going to be, I thought for sure this was going to be our hero. A boner that never falters. But do you know what happens to a dick that is constantly hard? You have to go to the hospital. It’s not a good thing. So yeah, I hated this guy right off the bat.
The drug dealers on the other hand were extremely likeable. Especially the main character. They are intelligent, resourceful, levelheaded, and honestly not bad guys. They’re not killers. They don’t beat women. They don’t even really do drugs. They just want to get enough money to retire.
As I was reading, I was curious why the drug dealers were being made out to be relatable. And alternatively, the parts with the narcotics agent, he comes off like a total ass. His coworkers don’t like him. He fucks up. He’s bested by the main drug dealing character in an awesome way and when it happens you are elated. He’s such a cock and the other guys are your buds.
But the scene that really turned the whole idea of what this book was about was when the narcotics agent is on the hunt, staying at some shitty hotel. There is a knock on the door. The hotel owner’s fat wife comes in all flirty. She is described in the most hilarious unflattering way.
“She was short and gross, her body a boggling array of compound curves; large, flapping breasts hung on her sloping chest belly like shingles on a roof. There was enough dark hair in her crotch to stuff a mattress and past her thighs he could see the burgeoning flanks of her ass.
‘C’meer’ she beckoned...”
The cop is repelled by the sight of her but feels himself getting turned on and goes, what the hell, and fucks her.
And that’s when I knew, this man isn’t the hero of the story! He’s the clown. He’s the loser. He’s the bad guy. And let me tell you from that point on this book blazes.
The drug dealers are the good guys, or at least the ones you want to come up in the end. They have one final big deal and then it’s retirement time. A million dollars of quaaludes. How 70s. They have the psycho loser cop on their ass and he doesn’t mind killing them. The feds are also involved. The tails are obvious, and they know they are being watched. They must plan this last trip right under everyone’s noses which is difficult enough as it is but there is more bad news as it seems someone in their small organization has been giving the cops information.
The action of the drug deal is on point. It starts with the perspective of the connection in Mexico and what he has to do to get the quaaludes and then put them on the road to the Americans. It gets bloody and violent. The suspense climbs and climbs as the load gets closer to the US in our friend’s plane. The agents are right on their ass and seem to know the game plan. It’s extremely exciting and has a rewarding ending.
Leisure Books 1977
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