They promised a “cleansing”—then the bodies started to appear. La Barredora Puebla, a CJNG-aligned hit squad, claims at least 70 killings this year and is now creeping into Tlaxcala. Officials link the cell to ex-Tabasco security figures and recent arrests, but families in Puebla still wake to narcomantas and fresh crime scenes. Can a string of high-profile captures slow the spiral, or has the group already dug in across central Mexico’s highway corridors? Here’s how the network grew, and what authorities are bracing for next.
Masked men with long guns record themselves promising to “clean” the streets. Hours later, Puebla police find another body. By mid-October, a special investigation tallied at least 70 killings tied to the same cell—La Barredora Puebla—and tracked its footprint across neighboring Tlaxcala. The group thrives on visibility: videos, narcomantas, and staged scenes meant to scare rivals and the public alike. A special report documents the spree and the group’s steady push out of San Martín Texmelucan toward the state line.
La Barredora Puebla
What began as a self-styled “clean-up” crew now looks like a regional death squad. Investigators say the network borrows CJNG branding and intimidation tactics, but operates through local alliances and former security figures who know the terrain. The playbook is simple and brutal—shootings and dump sites. Dismemberments and messages pinned to bodies. The aim is control over street-level drug sales, over fuel-theft routes, and over the story locals tell themselves about who runs their block. The result is fear that lingers long after police zip the scene and tow the last car.
The violence is no longer confined to Puebla. In August, Tlaxcala woke up to six severed heads on the Ixtacuixtla–Atotonilco road and a manta that named alleged rivals by nickname. Authorities opened a joint probe alongside Puebla, acknowledging how closely the two states’ crime maps now overlap. Local press and officials attributed the display to La Barredora, a sign the cell wants its brand to travel. The image landed like a threat across central Mexico.
On the ground in Puebla, residents describe a rhythm to the terror. Nights of quiet give way to a burst of killings, then a video or banner claims “order” is being restored. Delivery drivers swap routes. Corner shops close early. Families stop using certain roads after dark. Police raids follow, but arrests don’t always translate to calm. In early August, state authorities detained at least six suspected members during an operation in the capital’s east side. Two were linked to the murder of a corrections officer, according to officials. The message from the street, though, remained the same: someone else decides who lives here and who doesn’t.
What the arrests reveal
National security chiefs now say the cell is plugged into a deeper network that runs back to Tabasco. In September, the federal Security Cabinet announced the capture—outside the country—of a presumed Barredora boss known as “Comandante H,” a former Tabasco security official accused of building the group’s rackets and pipeline. That detention, arranged with foreign help, points to a structure larger than a single cell and more sophisticated than a pop-up crew.
Subsequent operations targeted alleged lieutenants back in Mexico. Tabasco authorities said they had detained suspects tied to the same brand, while Mexico City and Puebla police kept chipping at the middle tier. Meanwhile, investigative reporters documented the historic links between Barredora figures and Tabasco’s security apparatus, including a former state police chief whose name repeatedly surfaced in military files and later faced arrest. The through-line is not an ideology; it is logistics—who controls the routes, who siphons fuel, who moves guns, and who can order a killing without warning.
For Puebla and Tlaxcala, the stakes are immediate. The corridor they share is dense with factories, highways, and pipelines—a prize for any group that can hold it. Officials warn that the sadism—the bodies left in public, the performative cruelty—is part of the battle for reputation. It signals that those who resist will be made into a message. The question now is whether the recent captures and local arrests can slow the cycle or whether another “cleanup” video will arrive, followed by another morning that begins with sirens.
