By Juan Montoya
Guillermo (Memo) Longoria is a nervous man.
Once the envy of most courthouse "pistoleros," or courthouse runners, he now corners those in the know to ask their advice on what he should do to solve his predicament.
At one time, because of his connections with his boss, former judge Abel Limas, he was the cock-
of-the-walk.
Then, after his boss lost to Elia Lopez-Cornejo and the boys from Houston started flying down to Brownsville and seeking certain attorneys and former judges for informal question sessions, he found himself in demand from the guys in the suits.
In particular, they wanted to know where he took Limas' wife to pick up an amount of money estimated at about $100,000 that she allegedly later deposited in her husband's personal bank account.
"Pero yo no se nada," he wails to anyone who will listen. "Why does Mando and all those people want to talk to me?"
Mando is no one else by Armando Villalobos, the Cameron County District Attorney. According to those close to Memo, Mando told him he wants to help him. His friends have told him that Mando probably doesn't have his best interests in mind and that he should get a good attorney when he is asked to talk to either Mando or the G-men.
"If they keep bugging me, I'll spill everything I know," Memo said, and then though better and repeated his claim of ignorance.
"Pero yo no se nada."
At the moment Memo's nervousness seems to be contagious among attorneys and former judges at the Cameron County Courthouse. Talk abounds about what the object of the Men in Black from Houston are after, but at its core it seems to be the ability of a certain Eddie Lucio, an attorney from Austin with no relation to our sucios, to talk Limas into releasing convicted murderer Amat Livingston to "set his affairs in order" for 60 days before serving a life term in the pen for killing his teacher lover.
Livingston's $1 million cash bond was split between the woman's survivors and said Lucio. The trouble was that Livingston skipped out on the bond and that Lucio turned out to have been Mando's former law partner in Austin.
Was the $100,000 that was allegedly picked up by the judge's wife and Longoria the quid pro quo for the release?
"Yo no se nada," Longoria insists. "Por que me perguntan a mi?"
Guillermo (Memo) Longoria is a nervous man.
Once the envy of most courthouse "pistoleros," or courthouse runners, he now corners those in the know to ask their advice on what he should do to solve his predicament.
At one time, because of his connections with his boss, former judge Abel Limas, he was the cock-
of-the-walk.Then, after his boss lost to Elia Lopez-Cornejo and the boys from Houston started flying down to Brownsville and seeking certain attorneys and former judges for informal question sessions, he found himself in demand from the guys in the suits.
In particular, they wanted to know where he took Limas' wife to pick up an amount of money estimated at about $100,000 that she allegedly later deposited in her husband's personal bank account.
"Pero yo no se nada," he wails to anyone who will listen. "Why does Mando and all those people want to talk to me?"
Mando is no one else by Armando Villalobos, the Cameron County District Attorney. According to those close to Memo, Mando told him he wants to help him. His friends have told him that Mando probably doesn't have his best interests in mind and that he should get a good attorney when he is asked to talk to either Mando or the G-men.
"If they keep bugging me, I'll spill everything I know," Memo said, and then though better and repeated his claim of ignorance.
"Pero yo no se nada."
At the moment Memo's nervousness seems to be contagious among attorneys and former judges at the Cameron County Courthouse. Talk abounds about what the object of the Men in Black from Houston are after, but at its core it seems to be the ability of a certain Eddie Lucio, an attorney from Austin with no relation to our sucios, to talk Limas into releasing convicted murderer Amat Livingston to "set his affairs in order" for 60 days before serving a life term in the pen for killing his teacher lover.
Livingston's $1 million cash bond was split between the woman's survivors and said Lucio. The trouble was that Livingston skipped out on the bond and that Lucio turned out to have been Mando's former law partner in Austin.
Was the $100,000 that was allegedly picked up by the judge's wife and Longoria the quid pro quo for the release?
"Yo no se nada," Longoria insists. "Por que me perguntan a mi?"
4 comments:
Pinche Brownsville it is totally corrupted, they need put some of those bastards in jail.
Puros cabrones,rateros.
There you go Bea, tough language for a woman, Oh I forgot that's the way women speak here in the valley.
I will concede, Brownsville is a sick town with many compadres in elected postitions.
I will concede,
Brownsville is a sick town with
many compadres in elected positions.
Wait!
We will remember in November!
Ruben, Rick and Enrique are running again!
If our "judges" are so corrupt and people in higher authority positions know about it, why do they turn a deaf ear? Suggestion for a law enforcement student who needs a topic to research - The Corruption Behind the Bench in Brownsville. You could get a whole bunch of primary sources with ample evidence as data for an A+ paper.
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