As we entered the concourse, we were directed to a table that was being manned by personnel from the U.S. Consulate.
A perky young woman greeted us and assured us they were there to help with our journey home. She said that since this was an emergency evacuation, and that we had ‘refugee status,’ all the major airlines were cooperating with one another and honoring each other’s reservations. This was good news since our reservations on Air Tran were scheduled for Saturday, three days hence.
She handed me a list with the names and numbers of a half-dozen U.S. airlines and said that if we called any of them, they would get us flights back to the States.
We took the numbers and found seats in the concourse.
I powered up my phone and had plenty of battery and lots of bars for the first time since the storm hit.
My first call was to Kansas City.
“Dad, it’s Walt. We’re all okay. We’re all alive and well.”
“Walt! Thank God! We’ve been worried sick. Where are you?”
“We just landed at Guadalajara. You were my first call.”
“When will you be home?”
“No idea. We have to try to book flights, but there are thousands of us trying to get home. As soon as I know something, I’ll give you another call. You’ll let everyone else know?”
“Of course.”
“The captain, too. Please give him a call.”
“Will do --- Walt.”
“Yes, Dad.”
“I love you, Son. I’m so glad you’re safe.”
“I love you, too, Dad. I’d better go now. I have no idea how long it’s going to take to get a flight out of here.”
“Gotcha. See you soon.”
After Ox and Judy had finished their, ‘I’m safe’ call, we divided up the list of airlines and started dialing.
I made call after call, but all I was getting was a Mexican recording most likely telling me in Spanish that my call couldn’t be completed, because none of them went through.
Ox was having the same problem.
I went back to the gal at the Consular table and explained my problem. She had no explanation and suggested that we keep trying.
I had spotted a clerk at the American Airlines ticket window, so I approached him and asked if we could book flights.
“No, sorry. We can’t sell tickets.”
“Why not?”
“Just can’t.”
I saw another clerk at a United Airlines counter and got the same answer. It just didn’t make any sense.
By this time, it was seven o’clock and after our grueling day, we were all pooped and frustrated at not being able to reach an airline.
We concluded that there was no way we were getting a flight right away, so we might as well find a hotel room.
I went back to the gal at the Consular table. She informed me that all of the hotels closest to the airport were filled with other evacuees that couldn’t get flights either, but there was a Hampton Inn that still had vacancies.
She gave us the address and we hailed a cab. What she failed to tell us was that the Hampton was on the opposite side of town, a half hour’s drive away. The cab ride cost us thirty bucks each.
After checking in, we were all starving. A bag of pretzels for breakfast and a bag of nuts on the plane was all we had eaten the entire day.
The desk clerk directed us to a restaurant within walking distance, and we enjoyed our first real food in days.
After returning to the hotel, we enjoyed another first --- our first shower and my first shave in four days.
I was beginning to look like Festus, Matt Dillon’s sidekick on the Gunsmoke TV show. There was also a pretty good chance that I was smelling a lot like his horse.
By the time I had showered, shaved and dried off, it was eleven o’clock.
I decided to give the airlines one more try.
I started dialing the numbers that I had been given, and to my surprise, I finally reached a Delta Airlines reservationist.
I explained our situation in great detail, using the terms given us by the Consulate, ‘emergency evacuation’ and ‘refugee status.’ I told her we had reservations on another airline for Saturday and hoped that she could work with us.
The woman had no idea what I was talking about.
She punched some keys and said she could get us from Guadalajara to Mexico City, then on to Atlanta and finally to Kansas City, for a mere $510.00 each. Take it or leave it.
Our one way ticket home was going to cost us over a thousand dollars and our original round trip ticket had been less than $800.
Unbelievable!
I asked the lady to hold and we discussed the situation with Ox and Judy.
They weren’t thrilled with having to fork over another grand to get out of Mexico either, but we really didn’t see that we had other options.
I booked the tickets, and at midnight, our heads finally hit the pillows.
We had to be at the airport at seven the next morning, and with the half hour cab ride at another thirty bucks each, we asked for a wake-up call at 5:30.
With only five and a half hours sleep after our grueling day, we arrived at the airport bleary-eyed and cranky. Thankfully, there were no hitches and we arrived in Mexico City just before noon.
We found the gate to our connecting flight and had just settled into our chairs to wait, when Maggie tapped me on the shoulder.
“Walt, my tummy feels all gurgly.”
We were finally just hours away from leaving this foreign land, and it looked like Mexico was giving us a parting gift --- Montezuma’s Revenge!
Swell! Just what we needed to top off our crappy vacation.
I searched the concourse until I found a sign saying ‘Farmacia.’ I bought a box of Imodium and hurried back to my sweetie.
She popped a couple of the capsules and headed to the ladies’ room.
Thankfully, by the time our flight was ready to board, things had calmed down.
Better living through chemistry.
We had a five hour layover in Atlanta, so it was almost midnight by the time we landed in Kansas City and retrieved our bags.
I had seen photos of people who had been rescued at sea or had returned from some other tragic event, kissing the ground upon their return, and that’s exactly how I felt when my feet touched good old Kansas City earth.
The old saying, ‘there’s no place like home,’ took on a whole new meaning for me.
It was almost 1:30 in the morning when Ox dropped us off at our apartment. I had called Dad and told him that we had booked flights, and what time we would arrive. I kept my fingers crossed that there wouldn’t be a welcoming party waiting for us. As much as I wanted to see everyone, I wanted to hit the hay even more.
There would be plenty of time for hugs and kisses the next day.
Thankfully, the building was quiet, but taped on our door was a ‘Welcome Home – We Love You!’ sign.
When we were finally in our own bed, in our own air-conditioned apartment, I reflected on our incredible adventure.
We had survived the storm’s fury and the hardships of its aftermath, and had somehow made it home safe and sound.
I whispered a quiet ‘thank you,’ and drifted off to sleep.
I had been hoping for a good night’s rest, but it was not to be.
In my dreams, I was in the long line at the airport. I was being pushed and shoved and I could see Maggie in the distance reaching out to me and I could see the fear etched on her face. I called out to her and struggled to reach her, but there were just too many between us.
I called out again and was suddenly awake, my body tense and covered with sweat.
It was then that I realized our ordeal might not be over quite yet.
CHAPTER 14
Dad had been good at his word. We had been bone-weary from traveling and he had let us hit the sack without incident.
The next morning was a different story altogether.
Hearing
a banging on the door, I peeked at the clock. It was just past eight.
Bleary-eyed, we crawled out of bed, threw on our robes and headed to the living room.
I opened the door and we were met with a chorus of ‘WELCOME HOMES’ by a half-dozen smiling faces.
Dad and Willie were carrying steaming stacks of hot cakes, the Professor had a pot of coffee, Bernice had butter and syrup and Jerry had a plate piled high with bacon.
Thankfully, Mary’s hands were empty as she charged into the room and engulfed me in a bear hug.
“Oh, Mr. Walt! I was so scared for you and Maggie. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t come back to us.”
After extricating my nose from her ample cleavage, I muttered, “Thank you, Mary. It’s good to be home.”
“Yeah,” Dad said, “when we didn’t hear from you, we thought you were goners. You scared the crap out of us for sure.”
“Sorry about that. I assure you it wasn’t intentional.”
Jerry, of course, was right on point. “I found out why it took them so long to get you out of Mexico.”
“Oh, really? Why?”
“Because nobody likes premature evacuation.”
“Okay, okay,” Dad said, “let’s eat before the flapjacks turn into hockey pucks. Then Walt and Maggie can tell us everything.”
For once, our little group was speechless as we shared our incredible story.
Finally, Dad said, “I knew it was bad, but I had no idea. Okay, everybody, let’s get out of here and let these kids get unpacked. Walt, if there’s anything any of us can do --- .”
“Thanks, Dad. We really appreciate all your prayers and your concern. Right now, we just need to unwind and try to put all that tragedy behind us.”
The door had just closed behind them when the phone rang. It was the captain.
“Walt, it’s really good to finally hear your voice again. The whole precinct was rooting for you.”
“Thanks, Captain. Dad told me you tried to help us out. I really appreciate it.”
“Sorry we couldn’t have done more, but the Mexican military was running the show and wouldn’t let anyone else in. Listen, we need to talk. Can you have Ox at your house in say --- an hour?”
“You don’t want us to come to the precinct?”
“No, I think it would be better if I came to you.”
“Okay then. See you in an hour.”
After welcoming us back, the captain got right to the point.
“We’re still a long way from being out of the woods on this Tyrell Jackson thing. The two of you are pretty much off the hook thanks to the video that Vince uncovered. No one can dispute that Jackson had a knife and Walt would have been seriously injured, or worse, if Ox hadn’t fired.
“The problem is there are two factions that won’t let this thing go. Thankfully, the TV reverends left town, but they were replaced by other organizations that use incidents such as this to further their fight against racial injustice and profiling.
“One of them is the Dream Defenders. They sprung up during the Trayvon Martin shooting in Florida and staged a thirty-one day occupation of Florida Governor Rick Scott’s office to demand a review of Stand Your Ground laws, the destruction of the school-to-prison pipeline, and the elimination of racial profiling by police.
“Also on the scene are representatives of The Advancement Project. Their agenda seems to be getting more minorities involved in the political process and campaigning for quality education for all.
“These groups aren’t the main problem. Yes, they’ve been holding rallies and vigils, and other than folks marching with signs saying, ‘How many more?’ they really haven’t stirred things up too bad.
“The real problem is the thugs that are using the incident as an excuse to break the law. These guys don’t give a crap about racial profiling or injustice. They’re just looking for an opportunity to loot, pillage and terrorize the community.”
“So how can we help?” Ox asked.
“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about --- you can’t. I figured the first thing the two of you would want to do was get back to work, but that’s just not going to happen right now.
“The reason we sent you off to Cabo was to get you out of the public eye until this thing cools down. You were supposed to be down there two weeks, but with this damned hurricane, you haven’t even been gone a week.
“We can’t have you out on the street just yet. All we need is for some hothead to recognize you and initiate a confrontation. We’ve got enough problems without asking for more.”
“So what are we supposed to do?”
“You still have the rest of your vacation, so go somewhere --- Branson, Vegas. I don’t really care as long as you’re miles away from our ‘hot zone.’”
“But that’s just not fair!” Ox protested.
“Nobody said that life’s fair,” the captain replied. “Just ask Tyrell Jackson’s mother.”
After the captain departed, we both sat in stunned silence.
Finally, Ox spoke. “The last thing I want to do right now is go somewhere. Just the thought of getting on another plane or standing in a long line gives me the willies.”
“You, too? I wondered if it was just Maggie and me. I didn’t get much sleep last night.”
“Me either --- nightmares. Judy slept okay, but she’s been through a lot worse in Afghanistan. When I told her about my dreams, she said that all of us would probably suffer from some post-traumatic stress disorder.”
PTSD.
I had had a taste of it about a year ago. I had been forced to leap from the top of a building into a fireman’s net, and for several nights afterward, I awoke in a sweat, thrashing about, entangled in the sheets. It scared the living daylights out of Maggie.
Judy recognized my symptoms and took me to a group therapy session at the V.A. hospital. Just listening to how the brave men that had endured far worse than me had handled their problem helped me get through that trying time.
About that same time, we crossed paths with another veteran, Ben Singleton, who had witnessed unspeakable atrocities in Afghanistan, including the death and disfigurement of men in his squad. Unfortunately, like many other veterans, Ben never fully recovered from the terrors that stalked his dreams at night.
Just then, Maggie came in carrying a bag of groceries. I could see she was upset.
Knowing the captain was coming over, she decided to go to the super market to restock our refrigerator after our trip.
I grabbed the bag of groceries, and Maggie collapsed on the couch.
“I --- I nearly panicked.”
“Why? What happened?”
“Everything was just fine until I got to the registers. There were a lot of people in the store and it seemed that all of us arrived at the checkout stand at the same time. There was pushing and shoving and people were cutting in line. All of a sudden, I wasn’t at the grocers any more. I was in that horrible line at the airport. People were shoving and shouting and I couldn’t find you anywhere. Walt, I was scared. I almost left my cart and ran out of the store, but somehow I pulled it together.”
I held her close. “I’m so sorry. I get it. It’s all part of this post-traumatic stress thing. Ox had nightmares last night too.”
“How long before we get over that horrible experience?”
“That’s hard to say, but what I want you to do now is give Judy a call. She’s dealt with this a lot and I know she can help you through this.”
“Wow!” Ox muttered. “This vacation just keeps getting weirder and weirder. So what do we do now, Partner?”
“I just don’t know, but for sure not another road trip, but I’m just too jittery to hang around the house for another week.”
At that moment, there was a knock on the door.
It was Willie.
He nodded to Ox. “Mr. Walt, I’se glad you bof’ here.”
“What’s up, Willie?”
“It’s Louie. He’s got a situat
ion.”
Louie the Lip was a friend of Willie’s from his days on the street as a con man. Willie gave up the life when he came to work for me, but Louie had always been a hustler. In spite of his flaws, Louie was basically a good person, and had not only become sort of a confidential informant to me, he had actually saved my life on several occasions. I owed him.
“What kind of situation?”
“His sister and her husband run a little convenience store on Troost. De word on de street is dat dem punks what been causin’ a ruckus since dat Tyrell thing, is gonna hit de store tonight.”
“Have they called the police?”
“Dey did, but it didn’ do no good. The cops said dey had dere hands full wit all dat vigil stuff, but dey’d send a car around ever once in a while. You know how much dat’s worth.”
“Yeah, unfortunately, not much. Maybe we can help. What do you think, Ox?”
He grinned. “I think maybe we just figured out what to do until the captain lets us back in the squad.”
CHAPTER 15
“The captain will have a cow if he finds out that we’re anywhere close to the scene of the shooting,” Ox said.
“That’s why I’ve got these,” I replied, pulling a box out of the hall closet.
I had been undercover many times and on each occasion I had dressed as something different, a transvestite, a dying man, a corpse --- you get the idea. Each time, I put away the accoutrements of that particular adventure just in case I needed them again --- like now.
I handed Ox a handlebar moustache and picked out a Clark Gable for myself.
“It’s lopsided,” I observed after he glued it on.
“Well I wouldn’t talk. It looks like something crawled up on your lip and died.”
After the proper adjustments, we looked in the mirror. We looked like a couple of Keystone Cops.
Willie had been watching the whole thing trying not to laugh.
“If you guys is through primpin’ we better get over to Troost. It’s getting’ dark an’ dat’s when de cockroaches come out.”
[Lady Justice 18] - Lady Justice in the Eye of the Storm Page 10