Damon asked, “Did the CRIPS really administer the beating to Pincher?”
Veto was a statue, he didn’t say anything. That was enough of an answer. We gathered he’d had some Mexican therapy. Following everything in chronological order there wasn’t room for it to be any other way. They beat him down and orchestrated the whole thing, a pretty classic, ugly and desperate move. Both Damon and I had used similar fake left racial strategies like robbing drug dealers dressed as their enemy gang members all the way down to faking skin color, even if the only skin showing were hands, even with a fake gang tattoo on one or both of the hands, but thank God, that was in the past. It was time for me to see how Veto responded to my end game scenario.
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Bat monitored Diablo while driving south on the 5 freeway to Mexico. He was slumped in the passenger seat mumbling almost incoherently… “I shouldn’t have drunk from that cup…Where are we going?”
The truth serum in the wine was working but the acid in the ear was also. Diablo’s mouth was foaming and Bat knew he only had a little more time before the acid would eat away too deeply into brain matter.
Diablo kept mumbling truth to questions like, “Where is your ranch in Mexico City?”… “My cell phone and laptop have a GPS location stored for my ranch and everything else important, directions from anywhere.”
Bat continued to ask questions like, where is your money kept? Where is the safe? What is the combo, and where are the important keys? On and on, Bat learned what he needed until it was over. They had made it 2 hours into Mexico when Diablo breathed his last.
The town looked like a tiny discreet spot in the middle of a stretch of wild uninhabited desert. Bat pulled over to get something to eat and bury Diablo. He decided to eat first.
After a Muchaca burrito and a couple of Coronas, Bat opened the passenger door. Diablo’s slumped body strained against the seat belt and his skin was already turning a bluish pale color. His chin had foam dripping on his chest and brain matter was hanging out of his ear like a piece of cauliflower. Bat laughed at death and focused on the job at hand. He used his body to move Diablo in positions to pilfer through his pockets. After vacuuming out a complete withdrawal he closed the door and calmly walked to the driver’s side.
Bat took a dirt road headed nowhere and drove for 20 minutes. He tried to remember how many bodies he’d put to rest. He couldn’t keep track after the first couple years. From there it was a blur and the number and identities got lost in a black void. He shoveled dirt over Diablo and realized something was wrong. He felt incredibly empty and shouldn’t! He just took down a major narco-smuggler the likes of Al Capone in stature. He also had his ranch, toys, money, possible networks, everything. He wondered why he wasn’t excited about all the new adventures headed his way in Mexico. Why all of a sudden is everything pointless? Why is nothing able to bring me satisfaction? Diablo was almost covered when Bat’s cell rang. It was Veto. He had another adventure. Something about a load coming across that was going to get stepped on first. Someone was getting burned big. Then, something about meeting B.J and splitting it three ways, One for me, one for Veto and one for this white B.J.
Bat hung up the phone and shoveled some more dirt over Diablo and realized there was enough room for one more person to fit. He got back in his car and said, “Splitting only two ways is better than three ways.”
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CHAPTER—45
Crystal drove a rental from Santa Monica. Her hair blew out the convertible Porche, sporting black Gucci shades and a lolly-pop between her lips; she was focused on the task at hand. She pulled off the 5 freeway at El Toro Road to meet Pincher. He needed more dope and Veto had plans for him. She spotted Pincher’s rental Ford Taurus at the In n Out Burger. He noticed her and got out as she pulled next to him. She said, “I’ve got $220 worth of the bomb shit for you. You got the cash?”
Pincher looked horrible. He was dressed in his police uniform but it was haggard and hadn’t been washed in a long time. His face looked pinched and confused. He looked like a drug addict. He said, “I’ve got the money but I have to break one of my hundreds. You want anything from the burger joint?”
Crystal noticed the Taurus had the window open. Hopefully it wasn’t armed with an alarm. She said, “Yeah, get me a double-double animal style.”
Pincher walked inside and Crystal got out and waited until he was inside with his back to her in line. She popped the trunk and found two suitcases. She rifled through them.
Pincher came back out carrying two bags of burgers and fries. He handed Crystal one and said, “The money is in the bag.”
Crystal nodded her head with her sucker in her mouth and said around it, “Put your bag on the hood.”
He did as he was told and watched her put something in his bag. He asked, “Was that my medicine?”
Crystal began chewing on the sucker’s candy and through crunched up pieces said, “Yep and Veto’s got some more medicine for you he said you were getting for free. Are you going to meet him right now?”
Pincher nodded his head, “Yep right now.”
Crystal climbed back into the Porche and said, “Good luck with everything.”
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CHAPTER—46
He sat in a crawling line of traffic and stared through the Peterbilt’s windshield with the sun visor extended to block as much of the sun as possible. Vehicles jockeyed for position for the 8 lanes of bumper to bumper traffic. It felt like an ant pile. Heavy perspiration poured down his face and neck staining the white T-shirt underneath the uniform. Start…And stop…Start…And stop…over and over again for two hours, then finally, the gates of Tijuana.
Off to the left he noticed the bridge from the taxi stand. It crossed over the traffic to where pedestrians stood in line to make it back to the U.S on foot after a visit. Right next to the line of foot traffic, a line of bike rentals passed through a little faster for the tourist who came often enough to know that trick. Above the bridge a watch tower viewed everything coming and going through charcoal tint. On the ground, underneath, two border agents controlled each line. One looked down the line for a first glimpse to catch something out of the ordinary and the other agent focused on each vehicle personally, first at the license plate, then through the windshield to determine citizenship, then, potential criminal types. Question number one, where did you go in Mexico and why? Are you bringing anything back?
Veto had said we have a green light and will breeze through. It’s that time, I hope he’s right.
The agent asked, “What are you transporting? Let me look at the paperwork.”
“I’m transporting refrigerated cargo.”
The agent flipped pages of trucking company data and asked, “What kind of cargo?”
“Pollo.”
The agent found the page that verified where the pollo came from and laughed, “None of that pollo is alive is it?”
“No sir.”
“Why are you wearing that uniform?’
“I am moonlighting for LGI trucking and didn’t have time to change clothes.”
“Carry on.”
Maltobano was the first to see the Peterbilt from the border tower. He pulled the binoculars from his eyes and told Bonafino. “I see the truck. It’s in lane 4 right in the middle.”
Bonafino said, “I see it. I can’t see his face but it’s him in uniform. Google search LGI trucking. I see a logo the satellite didn’t pick up.”
Maltobano did it quick. “Logistics Guaranteed International, they are a Mexican trucking company that has a 41 acre ranch in Lerado Texas, they enter through all 14 major gateways into the U.S from Mexico…”
Bonafino said, “He’s the next to
cross. I didn’t think B.J would do it.”
Maltobano still couldn’t believe it and asked with a tone that said he didn’t, “Are you sure their phones are in that truck?”
“Positive, the Global Satellite Mapping for Homeland Security identified both B.J and Veto’s cells three times. Once in Rosarito and two more times on the way here. B.J was so thirsty for money he fell into temptation.”
The two Internal Affairs detectives watched the Peterbilt cross into the U.S. The sounds of helicopters in the distance were too far away to be seen but were waiting for their call. Bonafino scrolled through his phone and called Sawyer. “B.J just crossed. He’s driving a new Peterbilt…Its brown…LGI logo right front bumper…Mexican plates five straight 6’s…I didn’t see Veto but Homeland says his phone is on board…You’re welcome.”
Maltobano watched the Peterbilt until it was out of view with a sad look on his face. I thought he’d changed his life. I guess it’s too hard to turn a criminal history around like his. 3 convictions for selling drugs, 4 counts of assault and battery on jail deputies, and over 12 helicopter chases where he wasn’t caught…They always had to use a snitch to catch him until this time.
Sawyer got the call and went to work. He notified the chopper team, then the first team a mile away from the border and then started his car to signify to the other 4 vehicles in his unit parked behind him on the side of the freeway that it was time. He stared into his rearview mirror and gloried in the completion of a significant task, sure to get news coverage and add another notch, the biggest yet, to his belt. He saw the Peterbilt and as planned the first team hit their lights behind the truck and two vehicles raced past the Peterbilt and zig-zagged in front of the truck so other traffic would get out of the way. The Peterbilt passed Sawyer as he expected and his team pulled onto the freeway.
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The Alcoholics Anonymous meeting came to a close. Annette got up from her chair at one of the 12 tables and walked until she was against the wall to hold hands to complete a circle for the Lord’s Prayer. Georgia, the elderly lady B.J had escorted across the street held one hand and April held her other hand. After the prayer Georgia held on to Annette’s hand and asked, “Can I talk to you over coffee sweetheart?”
Sitting across from Georgia, Annette asked, “How can I help B.J. sell his drug war novel Roll Call? I feel so worried and powerless that I have to do something.”
Georgia smiled and Annette thought, what a God-send, what an elegant lady, and she owns Bantam Publishing.”
She took her time until Annette smiled with her so the worried expression would relax and then said, “I finished reading Roll Call. It’s compelling and I couldn’t stop turning pages. My chief editor is reading it so the wheels are in motion already sweetheart. I want you to have faith and stop worrying. We are going to have the New York Times, the Washington Post and the Chicago Tribune add their reviews to his already favorable Kirkus Discoveries review to really add some weight to his message.”
Annette’s mind still wouldn’t slow down. She imagined B.J in Mexico, desperate to solve their problems and scared that prison would separate them, it was unavoidable. What if I lose him forever? What if he does the drug run? She stopped smiling and cried out, “That is going to take too long!”
The smile on Georgia’s face disappeared as the tears of frustration flowed in front of her. She realized the beautiful loving girl in front of her reminded her of herself so many years ago, when she was newly married, fighting what seemed like the whole world, but really wasn’t. She thought…I am going to have to stay close to her. “Sweetheart, beautiful, your man loves you so deeply he walked me into a swarm of police out to get him just to get close to you. He will make the right decision. Now you just pray for God to guide you both and I am going to keep you busy with a powerful list of contacts and phone numbers to pump his novel into the media.”
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CHAPTER—48
Sawyer pulled even with the Peterbilt and yelled through the loudspeaker, “Pull over B.J! Stop running and face the music!”
The Peterbilt wasn’t pulling off the freeway. Sawyer yelled again, “We have you surrounded pull over!”
Still, the Peterbilt didn’t pull over or slow down. Sawyer tried to see B.J’s face to register his body language and wondered if he would go down in gun fire. Maybe he preferred to go out in a blaze of glory in a suicide by cop. Sawyer held his firearm with his right hand to lift it and fire through the passenger window in one fluid motion.
Sawyer watched the two sheriffs with lights and sirens blazing continue to swerve in front of the Peterbilt. They were following protocol by slowing their pace gradually. Sawyer looked at the speedometer. 40 miles an hour, time to try a choreographed bully pull over. Sawyer moved forward by getting right in front of the Peterbilt so that half of the police vehicle was in his way of forward progress. On the other side another police vehicle did the same thing. The caravan of police vehicles with helicopters hovering just ahead of the Peterbilt pulled the big truck over in a pinch. Sawyer was the first to get out with his gun drawn.
“Give it up B.J! We have you in our sights. Drop any weapons! We don’t want you attempting a suicide by cop!”
Looking inside the Peterbilt Sawyer couldn’t see B.J’s face with the visor pulled down over the passenger window. He saw one arm reach out the open window and heard a desperate shrill yell, “I’ve done nothing wrong!”
Other deputies closed in with guns drawn half way and ready-stances to fire. One of the deputies opened the passenger door and ordered, “Put what you have in your hand down! Hands where we can see them!”
Sawyer saw B.J’s head turn in the direction of the intruding officer and stole the chance to close all the way in. He opened the door and stepped up with his gun pointed and realized it wasn’t B.J.
Pincher’s right hand had something in it he was inhaling in a nostril. Sawyer grabbed Pincher and yanked him out of the truck and in one motion twisted his arm behind his back. With the other hand he twisted Pincher’s other arm behind his back and removed the item in Pincher’s hand and replaced it with a handcuff.
Behind the Peterbilt a team of canine’s barked. Another deputy cut the lock and opened the door. The dogs jumped in and found the load immediately.
Pincher sat on a police vehicle bumper where he’d put so many criminals and watched Sawyer stack heavily wrapped plastic layered dictionary sized squares of drugs on top of the hood of his Crown Vic. He pulled out his field test kit and used a spoon to place a small amount in a bottle and began shaking it. “Pincher this is some good heroin.”
Pincher laughed, “I’m deep undercover. I’m one move away from apprehending the world’s largest narco dealer. Can I have my A.D.D medication back?”
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CHAPTER—49
I thought about the chess game as I drove. Veto had exposed the lock he had on Pincher’s vices and had found his Moment of Truth that Pincher was no longer an asset, and that he would most likely turn into his downfall as an informant dealing with criminal charges where everything would come out. Damon and I had encouraged the idea of using Pincher as the drug smuggler and the brilliant design to use our phones that were already being monitored by the government as the weapons. Crystal had packed them in his suitcases and they were being called from LA and Orange County periodically. The rest of Veto’s endgame was too extravagant and I didn’t want the part I was supposed to play. I had a problem with it spiritually.
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CHAPTER—50
Deep into a mountainous hill in Mexico a few miles from a dirt poor town, a building sat all alone processing beans and tomatoes into canned goods. That’s not all they processed. Methamphetamine, heroin and cocaine was also processed
as cargo for trucking, train and air, all going into the U.S.
Chappo, also known as Houdini, was the processor and magician for the contraband. He was an expert at processing the level of purity in the heroin, the most valuable commodity per size and weight. If asked, he could turn a pound of pure China White Heroin into 20 pounds of Mexican brown tar in a way that the purity would decrease in layers so certain customers would get the best the earliest on down to other customers who would hear how good it was and buy the least pure toward the end. This time the request didn’t make any sense. He was to turn a pound into 500 pounds. It wasn’t an easy task but he was up to the challenge. He was going to make it so the police could test it over and over again and think it was very high quality and the cartel wouldn’t have to lose too much.
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CHAPTER—51
Veto had decided to help me and he was trying to insure his involvement in Roll Call as a technical director. He wanted a percentage. I had told him flat out, No, not going to happen. Damon saved me from rupturing what we had already accomplished by mediating in a way that would allow Veto an interest in the prison outreach end, and possibly a finger hold on Roll Call. Veto hit me with temptation and showed me how slick he really was. He wanted to let Pincher take the fall to remove him as a credible threat but do it in a way that would also save the drugs. Pincher was going to get pinched by getting stepped on dope, the ultimate disrespect in the drug world. Veto wanted to hold on to as great a percentage of the dope as possible. He wanted me to bring back from Mexico a million dollar chunk and keep half of it and share those proceeds after selling it. All I had to do was give him some of my vision…
Upon Release From Prison Page 20