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on the border line between the US and Mexico

Wednesday, March 9, 2022

Hitmen Clone National Guard Patrols In Northern Sinaloa

 "Ivan" for Borderland Beat 

Chronicle of an unexpected encounter going to Choix

The morning was cold, although the sun beat down, and the traffic of vehicles on the Los Mochis-Choix highway was sporadic.

It was Thursday. Thursday, March 3, 2022, and the journey began at dawn.

There was a reason for this: all the recommendations of the locals were not to travel in the dark, either in the late afternoon or at dawn. And the origin of that warning was unique: they are the owners of the roads, if you bump into them, anything can happen, from nothing to the worst.

-Who is it?


-Who are they?

"Well, they."

And then that characteristic sign. The right hand gripped, the index extended and the thumb stopped. It was the shape of a gun. And with it, fear is reflected in that look of the rancher.

You know, friend, nothing at night! Nothing!

An official reporter has just told that he was very cool driving down the road, with nothing to worry about. He was not driving a late model car, nor was he a clunker. Nothing that his self moved the greed to be stripped of him, or that provoked pity to mock.

So he climbed up, turned it on, and set out on his journey to pick up his family who had stayed behind in the ranchería, before reaching El Fuerte.

He wore his glasses upstairs and sang and sang with that eighties music.

He was driving so absorbed that he paid no attention to the vehicles that were traveling in the opposite direction or those that preceded or preceded him.

He only became aware of these when powerful headlights dazzled him through the rear-view mirrors, forcing him to stop so as not to have an accident.

When he was calm, he turned down the volume and a tap on his left window made him turn around. He froze when he distinguished a guy dressed in a bandana, with a rag face and a “rifle” pointed at his head.

He just released the locks and they opened the door for him. They insulted him, they screwed him until they got tired. Where are you going? Who are you? What are you doing here?, they asked him a thousand times.

Out of fear, he didn't respond, until he swallowed hard and was able to explain that he didn't see them because he didn't even care about them, that he was going about his business, for his family.

He told them about the ranch, the people he would see, his family, and since the gunmen were from that sector, they half believed him and let him go. The rest of the trip he did "scared shitless", he recognized as he reminisced about the odyssey.

Once at the ranch, he picked up his family, visited friends, all in full view of the gunmen.

For this reason, he also recommends not traveling at night.

But on Thursday, it was early, between 7:00 and 8:00. There were no cars, and less patrols. Some guarding schools, watching traffic. No more than two in the 70 kilometers that distance from Los Mochis to El Fuerte.

Everything was normal when, entering Choicense territory, there, where just six days before the police had shot at each other with fleeing gunmen, “they” appeared.

A Nissan, Frontier, without license plates, with a burrera, was the vanguard. On the front medallion there was a sign that could be read National Guard, but it had no more signs, no insignia, a transparent turret at most, and a guy wearing a vest, painted, with a rifle at the ready, tactical helmet and goggles. It was the lookout. Just behind, a red Ford and in the rear a Dodge Ram, four doors, white, almost the same as the first, also cloning the National Guard patrols, two individuals with similarly cloned uniforms. And long guns. Behind these, two other vans with assassins.

They passed fast, without stopping, and because of the speed and the curve they quickly lost sight of the rearview mirror.

Once in Choix, the absence of the National Guard, at that time of the morning, was evident. Rather, there were no patrols. Only one of transit and another that was stopped in the municipal palace, but with a sign of the State Police.

There, in what is the truck terminal and told the sighting to a trusted man, he shouted in response: Hitman, compa, Hitman. He ran into the Hitman!



  1. In Mexico Cloning an agency is not a crime, I don't think they even take the cars.

  2. Riodoce has engaged ir reporting reports that report nothing, people get kidnapped or murdered in plain sight of the sun too and the cuicos never can do crap about anything, they just turn invisible.

    1. 8:08 Bury riodoce, it's been dead for a while and stinks too bad now.


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