It’s morning. The money mule—or lavador, as the cartels call their pet launderers—steers into a sweltering strip mall parking lot somewhere in Miami. He pulls into an open space, looks around, opens his trunk. Before long the adjacent space is occupied by a bagman, who emerges with a package full of cash. A silent greeting, or maybe a quick pleasantry, and the bag goes into the trunk before the two men roar off in opposite directions. Easy as that, and several hundred thousand dollars changes hands. Glance at your phone and you might miss it.But 50 yards away, a chic,…