TAPALPA, Mexico — The most wanted man in Mexico was hiding out next to a country club.
When Mexican special forces soldiers attacked the hideout of Nemesio Rubén Oseguera Cervantes — the cartel boss known as “El Mencho” — they descended on his luxurious compound in the mountains outside Guadalajara.
A cluster of seven upscale cabins situated on a steep hillside dotted with pine trees, the location offered seclusion and ensured that Oseguera’s security detail would be able to see any approaching visitors coming from miles away.
The only way in is a long, narrow, bumpy road. To maintain the element of surprise, the Mexican commandos approached from above in helicopters, supported by surveillance from U.S. Predator drones.
The raid last weekend left the 59-year-old leader of the Jalisco New Generation cartel dead following an hours-long gun battle with El Mencho’s small army of bodyguards. It also sparked a wave of reprisal attacks across the country. Mexican authorities said at least 25 National Guard soldiers and 34 suspected cartel members died, along with two government employees and at least one civilian.
The Times visited Tapalpa and gained access to El Mencho’s compound, Cabañas La Loma, in the aftermath of the chaos. The property was littered with debris and evidence that offered a rare window into the lifestyle of a fugitive kingpin and his final moments.
Remnants of the battle were visible almost immediately. A white Ford pickup truck parked at the bottom of the hill had a bloodstain visible on the tailgate. Nearby, a tactical belt with pouches for holding gun magazines was discarded on the ground alongside several articles of designer clothing, including a pair of Christian Dior underpants.
The raid, which began in the early morning hours of Feb. 22, reportedly followed an all-night party hosted by El Mencho, and signs of the festivities were everywhere. A bunch of green onions left half-charred on the grill outside one of the smaller cabins suggested the arrival of the Mexican commandos coincided with a carne asada cookout. The kitchens in other cabins also had food left out on the counters: packages of half-eaten snacks, fruits and vegetables rotting after a week without refrigeration.
Several large bullet impacts, probably from a high-powered, .50-caliber weapon, were visible on an exterior stucco wall.
Two larger cabins at the top of the hillside appeared to be where El Mencho resided. The doorway to one was blanketed with cigar-sized shell casings from a .50-caliber rifle, along with smaller spent brass from assault rifles. Scattered about were shards of broken terra cotta tiles from bullet impacts on the roof and splinters from wooden beams that were hit. A large hole was smashed through the glass of a large, arched window.
The living room of one cabin was decorated with exotic animal heads on the wall, including a zebra. The horned head of a stuffed gazelle had been knocked from its mount and was left sitting on the couch. One bedroom had a zebra skin rug on the floor.
A bedroom in another cabin had the window smashed out and several .50-caliber shell casings on the floor, along with an opened pack of Skittles strewn across the bedspread.
The main house featured an elaborate sculpture of a stallion trampling a dragon in the roundabout out front. Parked in the carport was a black Ford Raptor SUV — which appeared to have been equipped with armor in the doors and dark-tinted windows. A case for Ferragamo sunglasses sat on the passenger seat.
The house was littered with paperwork. The documents included appraisals from properties in various states, and a list of horses and the ranches where they were stabled.
Handwritten notebook pages that detailed expenses for various regional bosses of the cartel were also left behind. One listed the name “Yogurt” at the top — an apparent reference to the nickname of Abraham Jesús Ambriz Cano, a top CJNG commander in the state of Michoacán.
According to the notebook page, Yogurt’s payroll included “10 commandantes” who each got a weekly salary of 10,000 pesos (roughly $580), nine Colombian mercenaries who received 9,000 pesos per week, and 181 “chavos de tropa” — young foot soldiers — who cost a total of 3.6 million pesos ($285,000) per month, plus expenses for food and fuel. The costs listed for another CJNG commander included three “droneros” — pilots of weaponized drones equipped to drop explosives — who each earned the equivalent of around $300 a week.
Piled on the floor of an adjacent room were sundry medical supplies. Oseguera reportedly suffered from various health issues, including late-stage kidney disease, which required him to regularly undergo dialysis. The condition was said to restrict his ability to frequently change locations.
El Mencho’s connection to the location had been previously documented by U.S. authorities. The U.S. Treasury Department added it to a sanctions list in 2017 because it “provided material assistance to the drug trafficking activities of CJNG.”
The main houses showed several signs that young children had recently been present, including toys, clothes and notebook pages with the crude drawings of a grade-schooler. The compound was equipped with kid-friendly amenities, including several trampolines, a play set and a full-sized basketball court.
An adjacent property along the road in had rows of cages that appeared to house fighting cocks, another clue that Oseguera, also known as El Señor de Los Gallos — the Lord of the Roosters — had been ensconced nearby.
Mexican authorities have said their operation, which was conducted with U.S. intelligence assistance, killed six other cartel operatives in addition to Oseguera and left three soldiers injured.
The shootout rattled the small town of Tapalpa nearby, where the streets around the central plaza are lined with shops and restaurants that cater to vacationers seeking a rustic getaway from the city. Tapalpa enjoys the official government designation of a “Pueblo Mágico” — a magical place — bestowed on the country’s tourist destinations.
Multiple news outlets have reported that the shootout that killed El Mencho spread from his compound to the Tapalpa Country Club, just on the other side of a hill. A security guard who declined to give his name stood at the entrance to the gated community on Friday and insisted the reports were fake news.
“No pasó nada aqui,” said the guard, wearing a New York Yankees cap: Nothing happened here.
The post Inside El Mencho’s last hideout: Blood, bullets and a cartel boss’ life of luxury appeared first on Los Angeles Times.
