‘You Won’t Stand a Chance’

The unwinding came sooner than expected. More than a year into the program, Mr. Capella got a new job as police chief in the state of Quintana Roo. Home to the neon hum of Cancún and boho-chic of Tulum, it was a much bigger post than Morelos.

With his departure, the witness protection program lost its steward. It was expensive, and off the books. No one wanted to oversee someone else’s pet project.

The young men continued to attend their court dates, the pastor kept turning up and the sicario’s girlfriend gave birth to their second child, a girl. But the energy of even a few months earlier began to vanish.

Nearly half of the witnesses were gone. Some had finished their court appearances and left of their own volition. Others had skipped out, content to risk the death sentence that awaited them on the street. Many had grown accustomed to the idea of an early death. To them, the program was a brief respite.

The sicario talked less about what came next. Before, he practically counted the days until his departure. Now he merely shrugged when asked.

In truth, he had grown used to the facility. He liked the respect from the guards, the prosecutors and his fellow witnesses. It was a sanctuary from the outside world, which frightened him. Not only did he worry about the cartel and a life on the run, but he also feared the temptation — that for all his talk of change, he would wind up right back where he started.

“I know that being released and forming part of society again is harder than being locked up in here,” he said after a prayer session. “The truth is, I’d rather be in here, in pain, for 10 years than out there on my own.”