Calls always seemed to come as we were eating. Fidel loved to
devour enormous plates of food, and I would make sure visiting TV crews took us
to the best Sinaloan seafood restaurants or charcoaled-chicken joints. As calls
came about firefights, we would rush out, Fidel still grabbing prawns or marlin
off the plates while they were taken away. Out on the road, he would burn the
rubber as if he were a NASCAR racer. Mexican crime photographers are the most
aggressive drivers I have ever seen, as moving fast is key to getting the
photo. We would zoom through the stoplights and arrive to see another crowd
staring at bullets on the concrete, another bloody pile of corpses, another
family crying.
From El Narco by Ioan Grillo
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