Two bodies thrown from a plane in El Dorado
In the stillness of the moments right before daybreak, in Sinaloa, before the golden dawn, as the overwhelming sun casts across the ranchos of El Dorado, they heard the soft whirring of a small plane overhead.
Such planes, such sounds are not uncommon in the area, they aren't discussed in open conversation, the small single engine planes, that land, fly, and transport cargoes of cocaine, heroin, marijuana, meth, or men known across the the world, like Chapo Guzman, Mayo Zambada.
Private planes, private pilots, to destinations like Los Cabos, across the shimmering Sea Of Cortez from the roads of El Dorado. Places like La Paz, where gunmen arrive on ferries, from Sinaloa, and fight for the plaza, under the orders of these men, including Damaso Lopez.
Lopez, who came into the spotlight when Chapo Guzman was detained in Mazatlan, has allegedly formed his own group, Cartel De La Baja Sur, and declared his innocence in the escalating feud with Los Chapitos. These are rumors, passed quietly, whispered softly....as the propellers on the small plane flying low over El Dorado....
The bodies fall silently, each about 175 pounds, picking up speed, as they rush through the beauty of morning clouds, and sweeping sunrise. They hit the concrete with enough force to shatter every bone in their bodies. Did they die upon impact, or before they were thrown? Did they scream helplessly into the nothingness of the clouds? Did they pray for redemption, for safety, before they were pushed out?
The sun rises, over El Dorado, where sugarcane is produced, 54 kilometers from Culiacan, the birthplace of Damaso Lopez, his rancho, his home, his people..... The bodies lay on the concrete, bloodied, bruised, broken in all ways a man can be broken....underneath an unforgiving sun.
Sources: Rio Doce, El Sol De Sinaloa