by Glenn Trust
“You ran out on them.”
“I did.”
Monty Sole made no excuses. He sat across the desk, accepting Billy’s scorn for his actions. It was that more than anything that convinced Billy that Monty was who he claimed to be. He had the same unfaltering eye as his son when examining his own imperfections. He would not make excuses for his failures.
“Alright. Let’s say I believe you.” Billy sat back in his chair, his eyes fixed on the old man’s. “Why are you here? What do you want?”
“My boy’s in trouble,” Monty said plainly. “I want to help him.”
To Snare a Wolf
The call from Alejandro Garza came in after midnight. A little drunk and a lot stoned, Chico Saludo retained enough of his faculties to recognize the number on his phone display. He answered immediately.
“Señor Garza. It’s good to hear from you,” he lied. “How may I be of service?”
“I want you to find someone and watch him.”
“Yes, of course. Give me the name and I will have my people find him for you.”
“Not your people. You will find him and watch him … personally. No one else.”
“Me?” Chico sat up in his bed and nudged the bare-assed, auburn haired woman stretched out beside him. When she didn’t move, he put his foot on her hip and shoved until she rolled off and fell to the floor. She landed with a thud on her bare backside.
“What the fuck?” She sat up, dazed, rubbing her ass with one hand, blinking her eyes.
“Get out,” Chico hissed trying not to be heard over the phone.
“What … why?” The woman looked around the room. “Ain’t nobody here. Wassamatter?”
“Get your clothes and get out … now.”
“You said something to me?” Garza’s voice growled over the phone.
“No, no , Señor Garza. Just a small interruption.”
“Send your interruption away.”
“I am doing so right now, Señor Garza.” Chico motioned to a wad of cash on the bedside table. “There. Take it and get your ass out.”
“Small interruption.” The stripper scooped up the cash and smirked at the flaccid member shriveled between his legs. “You got that right.”
Bottom undulating in a tantalizing way as she stumbled around the room, she gathered her clothes. At the door, she turned, giving him a full view of what he would be missing for the rest of the night and before breakfast in the morning.
“Fuck you,” she snarled, flipped him off, and slammed the door.
“Is your interruption gone?” Garza heard the door slam.
“Yes, Señor Garza.” Chico stood propped a pillow against the headboard and leaned back, scratching between his legs. “Who is it that you want me to find?
Garza’s explanation was brief. There was a lawyer by the name of William Siever in a place called Dahlonega. Chico’s mission was to go to his office, watch him without being seen, and track the lawyer’s movements and people he met. Garza concluded, giving him Siever’s office address.
Chico scribbled the address down on a pad by his bed and then ventured a comment. “I will make sure that this is done, but …”
“What?”
The acid in Garza’s tone caused him to hesitate. He took a breath and continued.
“I only wonder, that’s all, Señor Garza … just wondering if it might not be better to have others involved. More people to track this lawyer. I have people who are very expert at …”
“You,” Garza broke in. “No one else. We are out to trap a wolf, a very clever wolf with sharp fangs. The more people who know what we do the greater the chance of one of your experts giving away our intent. I intend to snare this wolf. You will do as I say.”
“Yes, of course,” Chico replied.
Any further comments or suggestions were out of the question. They might even be dangerous.
“One more thing,” Garza said.
Shit! Now what, you murderous demon, Chico thought.
“Yes?” he said mildly.
“From this point on, until the assignment is completed and we have snared the wolf, no drinking, no drugs and no whores. I do not tolerate interruptions of any kind. Is this understood?”
“Completely.”
Son of a bitch! Not even a sip of tequila!
“Good. Now, prepare yourself and go to Dahlonega. Be in position to watch the office and Siever’s arrival this morning. I will expect hourly reports from you.”
“It will be done.”
Garza ended the call without further comment or instructions. Chico sat on the bed staring at the wall for several seconds, sighed, and began to pull himself together. The day ahead would be long and God only knew many others would follow until Garza snared his wolf.
Stranger From the Past
He was a particle speeding along in a stream of particles, vehicles hurtling along the interstate. Like neutrons careening around the core of a reactor, some streamed along in the same direction. Others sped toward him in the opposite. Still more veered off at exit ramps to be replaced by others entering on another ramp.
John Sole pointed the pickup east on I-40, another anonymous particle. Other vehicles were a blur to him. Isolated in the tiny world of his pickup, he considered his next move.
Trouble was brewing. Luis Acero had lived and survived too long on the streets to make the mistake of not giving the all clear signal in his message. The question now was what kind of trouble and who was behind it.
Ignoring the call was out of the question. Luis might be a drug dealer, snitch, and a generally unsavory character, but circumstances had bound their lives together. The last time Sole heard from him, Luis was in Richmond. That meant at least another full day’s drive, time to figure things out, get closer, and come up with the best way to contact Luis and help him if he could.
He thumbed his phone and dialed the voice mailbox again. If Luis left a follow-up message, it might shed light on things. As it turned out, there was another message, but not from Luis.
“Semper Fi. You know who this is.”
Billy Siever sounded excited.
“I need to speak with you, or rather there is someone you need to speak with. Trust me on this. You should speak with this person. I know it’s not protocol or procedure or whatever you call it, but for once if you could just call me direct as soon as you get this message, I’d appreciate it.”
The message ended.
Semper Fi was the all clear signal he and Billy had arranged for their communications. A call from Luis followed by another so soon from Billy could be coincidence or they could be connected. He decided to ignore the protocol he’d put in place for once. He punched up Billy’s cell number.
Billy answered on the first ring. “Yes?”
“Semper Fi.”
“I’m glad you called.” Billy still sounded excited though he’d left the voice mail hours earlier.
“What’s up? This about our friend in Virginia?”
“What? No.” The sudden concern in Billy’s tone was plain. “Why is there a problem there?”
“You tell me,” Sole said, cautious about saying too much in the event Billy was under duress or facing a threat of some sort.
“Look, enough of the cloak and dagger shit. I don’t have any idea what you think is happening with our friend in Virginia. If there’s something I should know about for the sake of our other friends,” he said referring to Isabella and her family. “Tell me now.”
“No, if you don’t know, it doesn’t concern you or them. Sorry to have worried you. So, you said there is someone I have to speak to. Who?”
“Lamont,” Billy said bluntly.
It was a name Sole hadn’t said a dozen times in his life. He would have been happy to never say it or hear it again. He drove in silence for a minute before Billy spoke again.
“It’s a shock, I know. He showed up here at my office. I didn’t believe him at first, but I’m satisfied.” Billy paused, waiting for a response
. When there was none, he repeated the admonition he’d left in the voice mail. “You should talk to him.”
“What makes you think I want to talk to him?” Sole stared straight ahead down the highway as if he could see all the way to Billy’s office in Dahlonega. “He would be the last person in the world I want to talk to.”
“He’s your father, John,” Billy said softly, violating protocol once more by saying his name.
“He abandoned us. He’s just a man, less than that as far as I’m concerned.” He shook his head as he spoke. “No way he’s my father, not really.”
“What he did was wrong. There’s no excusing that, and I’m not saying you should forgive him, but you are carrying a lot of baggage, my friend. I worry about you.”
“You don’t have to worry about me.”
“No, but I do, and maybe it’s not my place to say it, but you need to shed some of the baggage. Tell him what you think, how you feel, why you feel the way you do, get rid of it and let it go. Then send him on his way if you want to, but don’t let the chance for some sort of closure pass, if not for you, then for Clara’s sake.”
“That’s not fair. Leave my mother out of it.”
“She’s part of it, and you know what she would tell you to do if she were here,” Billy said. “Talk to him. Air things out and get rid of some of the baggage.”
Another minute passed. Billy was prepared to end the call and concede defeat when Sole relented.
“Alright. Is he with you now?”
“No, he came in this morning, proved to me who he was, and left. I told him I’d try to get hold of you. He checked into a motel and said he’d be around until I made contact with you. He wants to meet you, John, said he believes you’re in trouble and he wants to help you.”
“Trouble? Why did he say that? What kind of trouble?”
“He didn’t say. Just that he wants to help.” Billy paused. “Are you in trouble, John?”
“I’ll be there tomorrow,” Sole said, ignoring the question. “Where is he staying?”
Billy named a fifty-year-old motel on the outskirts of town. “Call me when you get in town.”
“Alright.”
“Tomorrow then?” Billy said to reinforce that his friend was actually committing to the meeting with the stranger from his past, who happened to also be his father.
“Tomorrow,” Sole said and ended the call.
Son of a Bitch
Chico Saludo was cold, wet, and, miserable. Rain had been falling since his arrival in Dahlonega just after sunrise.
For thirty minutes, he had driven around attempting to locate the law office of William Siever. His phone’s map app kept pointing him to a residential neighborhood where he could see no offices, or anything that resembled an office building.
He was beginning to think that Garza had given him the wrong address. Stopping to ask directions was out of the question. Despite his efforts to convince Garza that he was not expert at this sort of work, he was experienced enough to realize that a newcomer in town with a Mexican accent, asking questions about a local attorney was something people would remember.
Desperate to make Garza happy, and terrified of failing, he parked on a side street and got out to walk the street in search of the office. He’d been up and down the block twice, passing the stone house with the address numbers that matched the ones Garza had given him when he noticed the sign.
“Mierda,” he muttered. Shit.
A sign carved from stone sat low to the ground, nestled under, and partially concealed by a bank of shrubbery. It reminded him of a tombstone. The lettering was highlighted in black and just barely visible in the misty, early morning light—William Siever, Attorney at Law.
A new problem arose. He’d found the office, but how in the hell did Garza expect him to watch it? He couldn’t park along the curb in this neighborhood. An office in a business district would have been different. There he could blend in and pretend to have other business. Here, there was no blending in.
Walking along the sidewalk, he passed a small park. It was at the end of the block across from the corner where he’d left his car out of sight on a side street.
It wasn’t much of a park really, just a fifty by fifty patch of grass with a swing set and slide for children, but there was a bench under a small gazebo, where he could sit and watch the house down the street. Everything was wet from the blowing overnight rain and drizzle that continued to fall. He wiped the bench off as best he could and sat.
The water soaked through his pants. Chilled to the bone, he trembled and waited. There was nothing else to do. The thought of calling Garza to complain of his situation was out of the question.
At eight o’clock a large sedan driven by a matronly, gray-haired woman who reminded Chico of his mother’s sister in Mexico passed by the park and pulled into the house-office driveway. It disappeared around the rear, and a few minutes later lights came on inside the building. Chico noted the time on a memo in his phone.
A half hour later, a BMW driven by a male passed on the wet street. He was in his late forties or early fifties. The car pulled into the driveway as the woman had, to disappear around the rear.
Chico made another note. It was time to call Garza.
He answered on the first ring. “Yes?”
“I am watching the office, as you directed. Two people have come and parked behind the building. The lights came on. One is a woman the other a man. I believe that is the person, you are looking for, this William Siever.”
“Is there a way to verify who he is?”
“Not that I can see. I would have to go inside and make inquiries, and that would make them suspicious, I believe.”
“Of course it would,” Garza snapped back at the obvious and unnecessary comment. “Remain in place. It is probably the lawyer. When he leaves, follow and see if you can verify.”
“Yes, as you say,” Chico said, then thought he might at least hint at the uncomfortable conditions he was forced to endure. “It is raining at the moment, has been raining since I arrived and I am very …”
The call disconnected without any further comment from Garza.
“Hijo de puta.” Son of a bitch, Chico muttered, pulling his light windbreaker tight around his shoulders.
A few more vehicles came and went during the day. Once, an old, white-haired man cruised by slowly in a pickup truck. He seemed to be searching for an address as Chico had been earlier. He braked as he passed the lawyer's office, put the truck in reverse, and then turned up the driveway. He was inside for more than an hour before the pickup came down the drive, drove past Chico once more, and left the area in the direction it had come.
Chico noted it all in the memo app on his phone, muttering all the while about the man who had sent him out to sit on a bench in the rain until he was as waterlogged as the bench.
“Motherfucking, son of a bitch.”
Prisoners
“How much longer?” Bebé Elizondo’s usually tranquil tone held just the hint of an edge.
“Soon,” Alejandro Garza replied, unruffled. “I have a plan to bring things to a conclusion in the next few days.”
Elizondo did not ask about the plan. Garza would never go into details over the phone
“So I can expect you back in a week.” It was a statement, not a question.
In his subtle way, Bebé hinted that the mission to find John Sole and eliminate him was becoming an obsession for his chief lieutenant and cartel partner. It was time to get back to work. The trail of dead drug dealers left by the American was of no consequence and had no real effect on their business.
Los Salvajes had been taken by surprise, but now that they knew his methods they were alerted and more watchful. Sooner or later, he would make a mistake, and one of their people would end his rampage and collect the million dollar reward Elizondo had offered for his head. Until then, John Sole was nothing more than a distraction.
“Yes, in a week or so, but I cannot promise the ti
me exactly,” Garza replied with his usual scrupulous adherence to the truth, despite Elizondo’s obvious impatience for his return.
“I see.”
Bebé sat back in the chair on his veranda, puffing hard on his cigar, looking out over the Pacific, taking the time to renew his patience with his deputy. A minute passed as he considered how to handle the situation.
Despite the unalterable fact that both men were ruthless killers, the bond of brotherly affection between them was real. They had grown up on the streets together, protected each other, even fought for each other. As time passed, their roles evolved. Elizondo became the senior business partner and planner. Garza took on the role of chief enforcer and protector of all business decisions and activities.
The arrangement worked well, but on this one issue of the American, they disagreed. Garza considered him to be the cartel’s premier long-term threat both to their persons and their business. Elizondo thought of him as a sideshow, a lesson from which to learn and then to move on.
Patience restored, Bebé took a breath and asked, “What is your plan to end this and come home, Alejandro.”
Garza reviewed the steps he would take over the next few days. Elizondo listened, a blue-gray cloud of cigar smoke circling his head to be whisked away by the ocean breeze. When Garza finished his review of the plan, Elizondo nodded.
“As always, my friend. Your planning is meticulous, and I look forward to your report of its success.” Bebé stared into the distant blue horizon as if he could see into Garza’s eyes. “Now I have something to ask of you.”
“Ask it.”
“I am worried about you, Alejandro. I can’t rest peacefully until you are well away from the North Americans and safely back in our country. Besides, the children miss Tio Alejandro.” He paused, knowing that Garza maintained a stern but sincere affection for Bebé’s children. “When your plan has been executed, and I have confidence that it will be successful, it is imperative that you come home.”