The Black Hand: The Bloody Rise and Redemption of "Boxer" Enriquez, a Mexican Mob Killer by Chris Blatchford

From Barnes & Noble

Don't look now, but there's a new mob in town. Actually, La Familia Mexicana (a.k.a. La Eme, the Mexican Mafia) has been around since the '50s, organized first as a prison gang, then expanding into a full-scale criminal enterprise numbering approximately 60,000 Latino gang members. In The Black Hand, former La Eme hitman "Boxer" Enriquez reveals the story of this dangerous, highly secretive group, arguably the most dangerous gang in American history.

From the Publisher

Rene "Boxer" Enriquez grew up in East L.A., where gang fights and drive-by shootings, fueled by rage, drugs, and alcohol, were everyday occurrences. After he was sent to prison, at nineteen, Enriquez was recruited by La Eme, the near-mythic Mexican Mafia, which is arguably the most well-armed and dangerous gang in American history. A young man without fear who would kill without hesitation, Enriquez's loyalty and iron will quickly drove him up the ranks, from Mob enforcer to the gang's upper echelons, where he would help rule for nearly two decades. Seeking respect, he devoted his life to a bloody cause only to find betrayal and disillusionment.

Award-winning journalist Chris Blatchford's The Black Hand is an astonishing look at the inner workings, secret meetings, and elaborate murder plots that make up the daily routine of the Mafia brothers—an intense and unprecedented tale of depravity, violence, and redemption.

Publishers Weekly

There is much to praise in this authorized biography of Rene "Boxer" Enriquez, penned by Peabody Award-winning journalist Blatchford (Three Dog Nightmare). While this is a superb cautionary tale about the dangers of youth falling into senseless gang violence, it also rates as a probing, redemptive story of Enriquez, a vicious, heroin-addicted killer for Los Angeles's largest criminal street gang, with 20,000 members involved in extortion, drug-dealing, vice and murder. Blatchford explores with grim accuracy Enriquez's criminal past, prison killings, turf wars and contract eliminations around the West Coast. But the book also reveals Enriquez and his crew's total commitment to hoodlum honor, the cost in lives and status, and the betrayals and intrigues both behind bars and out in society. This is a savvy account of Enriquez's arduous self-education and personal transformation from cold killer to a man who, in his own words, educates law enforcement and the public about a "prison and criminal subculture that should scare the hell out of them." (Sept.)

Product Details

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• Read a Sample Chapter

Table of Contents

Read an Excerpt

The Black Hand
The Bloody Rise and Redemption of "Boxer" Enriquez, a Mexican Mob Killer

Chapter One

Blood In, Blood Out

He had a lot of blood on his hands—from the streets and from behind bars.

Now he sat in Los Angeles Superior Court waiting for Judge Florence-Marie Cooper to set a trial date. He faced two first-degree murder charges and two attempted-murder charges. If convicted, the death penalty was a definite possibility—at the very least life in prison—and he didn't seem to care.

In fact, as a nearby television news camera videotaped the proceedings, twenty-nine-year-old Rene Enriquez, better known on the gang-infested streets of southern California as "Boxer," calmly turned toward the camera lens, softly mouthed the word "lies," and broke into shoulder-shaking laughter.

He was strikingly handsome with a personality that demanded attention, a certain presence that commanded respect. Thick, jet-black hair combed back. A full mustache turned down at the edges. A sharp, pointed nose and high cheekbones betraying his Mexican-Aztec roots. His wire-rim glasses surrounded friendly eyes that instantly could turn cold and threatening. He was five-foot-eight but carried himself like a man a half-foot taller, trim and athletic. He actually looked good in short-sleeved jailhouse blues. If not for the tattoos that marked both sides of his neck, dotted his hands, and sleeved his forearms, he could easily have put on an expensive suit and passed for one of the slick courthouse lawyers who make a living representing guys just like him—gangsters.

While on parole a year and a half earlier, he had ordered the death of ayoung woman for stealing drugs from him, and several days later he put five .357 Magnum bullets into the head of an errant mobster who had shown cowardice. Then, while awaiting trial, he did two other bloody hits inside the Los Angeles County Jail—stabbing the rival mobsters so many times that it was only a stroke of fate that kept them from making an early trip to their graves. In truth, authorities believe he had participated in at least ten murders and had personal knowledge of seven times that many.

Boxer Enriquez was a full-fledged member of the ruthless Mexican Mafia, also known as La Eme, a regular modern-day Murder Incorporated. And he was proud of it. "Eme" (pronounced EH-meh) is the Spanish phonetic pronunciation of the letter "M"—for Mafia. He has eme tattooed on his left hand. The word emero, also for "M," appears on his left bicep. A butterfly, or Mariposa, also signifying the letter "M," is on his neck. An actual life-size black hand is tattooed over his heart with a small "eMe" emblazoned in the middle of the palm—the e on each side lightened in color to give prominence to the letter M. La Eme has a saying that, "when the hand touches you, you go to work." That means murder, maiming, mayhem, extortion, drug dealing, robbing, burglarizing, kidnapping, or anything else the Mexican Mafia brothers want done. And Boxer had done them all.

He moved his chair back and forth on its hind legs and stared at Judge Cooper as she set his murder trial date for January 1, 1993. This was no sweat. He stood up straight, already handcuffed and waist-and-leg-chained, and was escorted out of the courtroom under heavy guard. That was the way he would go anywhere outside his cell for the rest of his life. There was the sound of chains clanging as he walked, and he turned and nonchalantly waved as he neared the prisoners' exit door at the side of the courtroom. There would be no bail. Again, he didn't seem to mind. Already Boxer had spent about one-third of his young life locked up. He was reasonably comfortable in prison. Besides, he was a feared killer—even in a world of killers, he knew he would never hesitate. Others would. He was a killer's killer and proud of it—a warrior.

He also knew that the Mexican Mafia controlled not only County Jail but the largest inmate population in the world and all the prison rackets, including drugs, extortion, and gambling. The California Department of Corrections had 160,000 inmates, and La Eme used murder and fear to keep them in line. Yeah, he would be just fine.

By his own admission, it was a "twisted" existence, but he was smart and confident. He knew he not only looked like a gangster, he was one. And after all, it was a life he had bargained for, and there was only one acceptable way out. He'd taken an oath with his Eme brothers—"blood in, blood out." In other words, the only way out of the Mafia was in a pine box.

That was the cardinal rule in this deadly game he played, and he felt he was a player at the top of his game.

And besides, the Mexican Mafia had a Spanish word to describe the position of its members: rifamos. Translation: "we rule, we control, we reign." The line that divided life in prison and life in the outside world seemed blurred.

Boxer's criminal career was indicative of the lifestyle of the Mexican Mafia, which did outrageous crimes with impunity, not caring if the brothers got caught or went to prison. They adapted, becoming creatures of the penal system and the cruel streets of the underworld. They had no regard for human life, and still don't.

Rene Enriquez, aka "Boxer," enjoyed being one of them. And to more completely understand what Boxer had become, it's important to first know the bloody history of the organization that spawned and shaped him.

Read a Sample Chapter

Chapter One

Blood In, Blood Out

He had a lot of blood on his hands—from the streets and from behind bars.

Now he sat in Los Angeles Superior Court waiting for Judge Florence-Marie Cooper to set a trial date. He faced two first-degree murder charges and two attempted-murder charges. If convicted, the death penalty was a definite possibility—at the very least life in prison—and he didn't seem to care.

In fact, as a nearby television news camera videotaped the proceedings, twenty-nine-year-old Rene Enriquez, better known on the gang-infested streets of southern California as "Boxer," calmly turned toward the camera lens, softly mouthed the word "lies," and broke into shoulder-shaking laughter.

He was strikingly handsome with a personality that demanded attention, a certain presence that commanded respect. Thick, jet-black hair combed back. A full mustache turned down at the edges. A sharp, pointed nose and high cheekbones betraying his Mexican-Aztec roots. His wire-rim glasses surrounded friendly eyes that instantly could turn cold and threatening. He was five-foot-eight but carried himself like a man a half-foot taller, trim and athletic. He actually looked good in short-sleeved jailhouse blues. If not forthe tattoos that marked both sides of his neck, dotted his hands, and sleeved his forearms, he could easily have put on an expensive suit and passed for one of the slick courthouse lawyers who make a living representing guys just like him—gangsters.

While on parole a year and a half earlier, he had ordered the death of a young woman for stealing drugs from him, and several days later he put five .357 Magnum bullets into the head of an errant mobster who had shown cowardice. Then, while awaiting trial, he did two other bloody hits inside the Los Angeles County Jail—stabbing the rival mobsters so many times that it was only a stroke of fate that kept them from making an early trip to their graves. In truth, authorities believe he had participated in at least ten murders and had personal knowledge of seven times that many.

Boxer Enriquez was a full-fledged member of the ruthless Mexican Mafia, also known as La Eme, a regular modern-day Murder Incorporated. And he was proud of it. "Eme" (pronounced EH-meh) is the Spanish phonetic pronunciation of the letter "M"—for Mafia. He has eme tattooed on his left hand. The word emero, also for "M," appears on his left bicep. A butterfly, or Mariposa, also signifying the letter "M," is on his neck. An actual life-size black hand is tattooed over his heart with a small "eMe" emblazoned in the middle of the palm—the e on each side lightened in color to give prominence to the letter M. La Eme has a saying that, "when the hand touches you, you go to work." That means murder, maiming, mayhem, extortion, drug dealing, robbing, burglarizing, kidnapping, or anything else the Mexican Mafia brothers want done. And Boxer had done them all.

He moved his chair back and forth on its hind legs and stared at Judge Cooper as she set his murder trial date for January 1, 1993. This was no sweat. He stood up straight, already handcuffed and waist-and-leg-chained, and was escorted out of the courtroom under heavy guard. That was the way he would go anywhere outside his cell for the rest of his life. There was the sound of chains clanging as he walked, and he turned and nonchalantly waved as he neared the prisoners' exit door at the side of the courtroom. There would be no bail. Again, he didn't seem to mind. Already Boxer had spent about one-third of his young life locked up. He was reasonably comfortable in prison. Besides, he was a feared killer—even in a world of killers, he knew he would never hesitate. Others would. He was a killer's killer and proud of it—a warrior.

He also knew that the Mexican Mafia controlled not only County Jail but the largest inmate population in the world and all the prison rackets, including drugs, extortion, and gambling. The California Department of Corrections had 160,000 inmates, and La Eme used murder and fear to keep them in line. Yeah, he would be just fine.

By his own admission, it was a "twisted" existence, but he was smart and confident. He knew he not only looked like a gangster, he was one. And after all, it was a life he had bargained for, and there was only one acceptable way out. He'd taken an oath with his Eme brothers—"blood in, blood out." In other words, the only way out of the Mafia was in a pine box.

That was the cardinal rule in this deadly game he played, and he felt he was a player at the top of his game.

And besides, the Mexican Mafia had a Spanish word to describe the position of its members: rifamos. Translation: "we rule, we control, we reign." The line that divided life in prison and life in the outside world seemed blurred.

Boxer's criminal career was indicative of the lifestyle of the Mexican Mafia, which did outrageous crimes with impunity, not caring if the brothers got caught or went to prison. They adapted, becoming creatures of the penal system and the cruel streets of the underworld. They had no regard for human life, and still don't.

Rene Enriquez, aka "Boxer," enjoyed being one of them. And to more completely understand what Boxer had become, it's important to first know the bloody history of the organization that spawned and shaped him.

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