Confidential Source Ninety-Six

by C. S. 96

  I found myself sitting in a corner watching all these agents mingle. Mike sat next to me, popping open two cans of soda. He handed one to me and held his out for a toast. “You see all of this—this is all you, baby. After tomorrow—your first arrest—you’re forever one of us. How’s it feel to be on the other side of the law for a change?”

  I took in all of the men who seemed like they were at a reunion party, none of whom seemed worried that tomorrow might turn into the gunfight at the O.K. Corral. I said, “It feels good, Mike, really good.”

  We tapped cans together and drank. “Let me ask you a question, Mike. It’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you since the first day we met. How come you accepted me right from the jump? You know my background, you’d been on me for almost two years. And clearly some of your colleagues weren’t so happy about working with me.”

  “I been doing this a long time, man. So long, in fact, my philosophy is this: We’re all in a war and it’s us against a much larger, stronger, and sometimes smarter army. If you’re lucky enough to capture an opposing soldier who is holding a white flag giving up, you work with them. I know your story. We all do. You had that case beat out there in Utah but you said, ‘Fuck it, I’m done and I’m joining the other army,’ and with a big ass bull’s-eye on your back. So what does that tell me? You’re at least trying to do the right thing, help our soldiers win this thing. Why would anyone turn down help from a one-time enemy combatant who knows a hell of a lot more than we do about the force we’re fighting?”

  We tapped cans once again when Al Harding suddenly called everyone into the room. All of these cops and agents filed in, all eyes on him. Al looked at me and asked if I would stand up. I did, and he introduced me only as C. S. 96 and told the men that I would be making the initial pickup. I noticed the men whispering about me. The riddle of why I was there had been solved.

  Al explained how Mike and I would make the deal and the takedown would then unfold.

  It was just after midnight when I slipped into bed, far too jacked up to actually get any sleep. I called Inez and told her how the evening went. She was exhausted from packing and moving the kids to a hotel in Santa Monica and she fell asleep in the middle of our conversation. I listened to her breathing, that occasional snore that to this day she denies being afflicted with. I finally clicked the phone off and tried in vain to get some sleep myself.

  I didn’t know how early Robbie would call; it could be any time from the wee hours of the morning to early afternoon for all I knew. He was cagey and might try to rouse me early like he did the last time to keep me off balance or from mobilizing men at such an early hour. So sleep was out of the question.

  My biggest fear was knowing that Robbie would never come to a meet like this alone. He’d have backup watching, just in case I decided to double-cross him by putting a bullet in his head and taking off with all that gack. So what would happen once I made off with the coke and they saw Robbie get taken down? They’d assume I was a part of it and come after me, shooting first and asking questions later.

  That is all I thought about for the next five hours.

  The phone rang, and I jumped up as if someone had kicked open my bedroom door with guns blazing.

  “Hello?”

  “Yo, my man, I almost hung up, thought you had second thoughts about our deal.” Again Robbie sounded like he’d been up for hours, just raring to go.

  “Really. Why would I do that? Are you kidding me? This is one of many, partner.”

  “Bien, bien,” he said. “Okay, so do you know Oxnard?”

  I said, “Yes, know it well. What guy in our position doesn’t know Oxnard?” I laughed.

  “Good. How well do you know the area around it?”

  “Same.”

  “Bien, you know a little town called Camarillo?”

  I was now standing and my knees almost buckled. Of all the towns he picked, it was the place that we picked for the base of operations.

  What happens if he’s already in town, what happens if he’s in the same hotel we are in? This was bad, very bad. As it was, there had to be at least ten DEA and customs agents, all looking the part, in this hotel; hell, half of them might be downstairs in the restaurant at this very moment talking up today’s operation with Robbie sitting at the next table, sipping a mimosa in between bites of his eggs Benedict.

  I leveled off my breathing. “Yes, beautiful town. I know it as well.”

  “Good, you know Santa Rosa Road?”

  “Yes.”

  We agreed to meet at a McDonald’s there. “Don’t be late,” he said. “We don’t want to be sitting around with a carload of my finest product just waiting for some Mickey Mouse cop to nose around.” He chuckled at his joke.

  I laughed with him. “No, we don’t. I’ll be there on time. Don’t you worry.”

  The line clicked dead.

  He had said “we,” indicating more than one man with him. In the back of my mind I secretly hoped his wingman wasn’t his son. I knew how this was going to go down—fast and violent, and someone could easily get hurt.

  I grabbed the hotel phone and gave Al the details. He took it all in stride and told me to meet him in his room as soon as possible. He was going to mobilize the rest of the men to the room and call in the locals.

  We all met in Al’s room. None of the local agents looked thrilled to be there so early in the morning.

  Mike was strapping on his “Kel” between his legs, a smallish rectangular metal object about the size and width of two double-D batteries that would transmit our conversation to all the teams and back to the comm base here in Al’s room. “Mexicans are very macho,” he said, catching me staring at his uncomfortable-looking recording method. “If they’re going to toss me, they ain’t going nowhere near my cock, balls, or taint.”

  Most of the teams were gone before 9 A.M. Al made them all leave separately, through different exits and spaced in two-minute intervals.

  The location was literally less than a mile away, so the men had plenty of time to set up at their predetermined locations, all within a two-block area of the McDonald’s. There were also two teams of undercover men and women whom I had not met, a smart move keeping their identities from me so I wouldn’t subconsciously recognize them in the fast-food restaurant and stare. Their job was to enter the McDonald’s at separate intervals, one couple at approximately five minutes before ten and then the second couple five minutes after ten. They’d order food; one couple would eat inside the restaurant, the second couple would order and move into the parking lot, sit in their car, and watch. If anything went wrong inside or outside, they were there as backup.

  We were ready. My four teammates and I were the last to go. Tim placed his hand on my shoulder and said, “You’ve done this a million times before, I’m sure. The only difference now is that you have a battalion of professionals all watching your back. Just do what you would normally do in this situation. You take the packages and drive. Don’t look back, just drive. The chase team is placed in two separate locations. If you go left, a team will wait to see if you’re followed and then catch up to you. You’ll only be out of their sight for thirty seconds so don’t make any quick turns where they can’t find you. Same scenario if you go right. As soon as you get in the car, speed dial me.”

  There was nothing left to say. Mike patted me on the shoulder, laughing, “C’mon, boys, this guy’s done this more times than we have. He knows what to do.”

  I pulled into the McDonald’s at 9:50. The parking lot was half full, though, and I didn’t see Robbie’s car, which didn’t mean anything as he could’ve been driven there or taken a different vehicle.

  I parked in the middle of the lot, where there was a space next to my car so he could pull in. If we were transferring from his car to mine, we could open the doors. We found a table inside the McDonald’s and sat to wait for Robbie.

  At 9:58 I looked up and Robbie was standing at the foot of our table. “May I sit down?” he asked.
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  “Yo, there’s my boy!” I said, then stuck out my hand, which he shook. Mike also extended his hand and Robbie shook his as well and sat down, über comfortable in his own skin, just another day in paradise—not for long. “Everything cool?” I asked.

  He nodded. “Did you hit any traffic on your way down?”

  “We stayed in my apartment in LA,” Mike said.

  “Nice, you guys do a little partying last night? Hook up with any movie stars?”

  I laughed. “Life’s one big party for my man here. He’s got a chick in every city.”

  “No, it ain’t really like that,” Mike said. “We were very low key last night. Business always before pleasure. Tonight, though, I got two honeys I’m meeting at the Roxy.” He invited Robbie to join us and mocked me for being “handcuffed” by my marriage. “There’s just too much tang out there, bro. I don’t know how you do it.” Mike tapped Robbie on the wrist. He was good, I thought—get close and personal with him, invade his space a little like old friends or new ones who will grow old and prosperous together. “You should think about it, Robbie. Trust me, you won’t be disappointed.”

  Robbie was smiling now. “I just might take you up on that.”

  “So where is the package?” I asked quietly.

  Robbie looked at me. “Paciencia, paciencia, brother. It’s coming.”

  “You want something to eat or drink, a coffee, Egg McMuffin?” I asked.

  I noticed his eyes were fixated on the parking lot when he didn’t answer me. He looked at me. “Okay. So two weeks, drop off the money at Sylvia’s. Go get the package.”

  I was totally confused, as was Mike. “Where is it?” I asked.

  “Black Explorer, right next to your Rover. Keys are on the floor. Once you drop it off, bring the car back here. Don’t worry, it’s clean—you won’t get stopped. Leave the doors unlocked and the keys under the mat. We’ll pick it up later tonight. Oh, one thing, the count was short thirty, so it’s only one-ninety, but trust me I’ll make it up to you in two weeks. Okay, partner?”

  I was looking at the Explorer that had magically appeared next to my car. If the team saw the SUV pull in, after hearing this conversation could they be tailing the dude that dropped it off? Probably not—that driver was probably as far as the 101 by now.

  Robbie was smart, too smart, to have gone anywhere near that car with all that dope in it.

  I feigned excitement. “Okay, hermosa, perfecto. Mike, you take the Rover and meet me at the warehouse.” I stood up, “I let you two ‘playas’ talk about your conquests while I go to work. I’m sure I’ll hear all about how many bitches you two slayed tomorrow. Have fun tonight, you crazy bastards.” Over my shoulder I said, “Hey, Mike, no glove no love, child support is a bitch in this state!”

  It was as if I was suddenly slapped in the face with a cold wet towel. A shiver ran down my spine as the cold reality of this potential life-threatening mistake hit me. Had he caught me calling Joey by the wrong name? I couldn’t believe that I’d put my partner’s life in jeopardy, that I’d made such an amateur and dangerous mistake.

  I squeezed my eyes closed, then I turned back to see how Robbie reacted, not knowing what I’d find. Would he be glaring at me, wondering what I’d just said, or would he be slowly maneuvering to get to his gun before Mike got to his?

  But he said nothing. He either hadn’t caught the slip—which seemed hard to believe—or was simply very cool, playing it off like he hadn’t heard and just waiting for the right moment to strike.

  I walked to the car, trying to remain calm. I worried about what Mike and Robbie were discussing. There were no agents running into the McDonald’s just yet.

  I made my way closer to the SUV. Could this be it, could there really be 190 kilos of pure cocaine in this truck? I almost didn’t believe it till I got to the rear of the truck.

  I stopped walking, unable to fully comprehend what I was looking at.

  Yes, there was 190 white bricks tossed inside the truck with the stamp Queen of Hearts on every package. But these bricks were in worse disarray than they had been at the safe house in Ontario.

  They were thrown in with no order, not stacked and no tarp or blanket covering them, just a mountain of white bricks that a ten-year-old could spot had he walked by. How in the hell did they get it here without getting stopped, and what balls did it take for the driver of this car to make this delivery? This implied that Robbie’s workers were dispensable to him. Now he would learn how dispensable he’d become to his own masters down south.

  I did as I was told: got in the car, found the keys, and, while trying to sneak peeks at how Mike was faring, drove out of the parking lot. I was nervous, foremost because if I pulled up next to a cop car, all it would take was a glance into the rear of the truck and they’d see half of Colombia piled into a little mountain. Then they’d pull me over with very twitchy trigger fingers.

  I rolled out of the lot and saw that Mike and Robbie were walking slowly in the opposite direction of the parking lot. Odd, I thought, but at least they were talking.

  The light had turned yellow, but there was no way I was waiting at a dead red light. I totally disregarded what Al had asked me to do—I drove my friggin’ ass off once I turned that corner. Why? Because if Robbie’s backup was following me, they’d be stuck at that light, giving me some much-needed distance. I flipped on my company phone and got Al on the line. I asked nervously, “Al, did you see anyone take off after me?”

  “Negative, the chase car has just made the turn and are coming up on your six,” he said calmly.

  He might have been calm but I was not, not even close. I continued blowing lights, making right turns, left turns, trying to scrub myself clean. I finally saw a desolate lot that was under construction. I barreled into a dirt encampment, skidding the car to a stop and kicking up dirt and smoke in the process. My eyes fixated on my rearview mirror, car in gear, foot on the brake, my other foot hovering over the gas pedal. If anyone other than a bunch of white dudes with short haircuts in minivans pulled into this construction site, I was slamming the gas pedal through the floor and hauling ass out of there, not stopping until I ran out of gas.

  I screamed out my location to Al. He responded, saying they were two minutes away. “You don’t have to yell,” he said.

  It was the longest two minutes of my life.

  I saw them, five ugly old cars, tearing ass into the lot. I sighed in relief. Drug dealers don’t drive cars that shitty.

  Smoke and dust billowed around me like I was caught in some massive haboob in the middle of the Sahara. The agents emerged from their cars like they’d just found a ticking bomb underneath their seats, doors swinging open, more dust kicking up as they charged toward the SUV, every one of them had cameras in hand while some were screaming into point-to-point radios; it was complete and utter chaos.

  They ignored me, fixated on the trunk. A number of the agents pounced on the SUV, ripping open its rear cab door like it was their only way out of a burning building.

  Once that door was opened it was as if they’d all been stunned at the sight of the holiest of Holy Grails. At first no one made a move; I saw a lot of opened mouths, heads shaking, eyes squinting. Some even took a step back as if some wild beast inside might lash out at them, tearing off a limb.

  For what seemed like minutes, no one moved. Then, gradually, I heard the sound of cameras clicking. I wondered how many times these poor guys must’ve been on ops like this that turned out to be total duds.

  Suddenly the cheers went up, like the matador had just slain the furious bull.

  Pete Davis was one of the first agents to grab hold of me; he squeezed me in a bear hug that felt as though he was trying to send me on the same hospital visit he’d gone through when he, or rather I, helped wreck his car. I actually heard the bones in my back start cracking. He was a very big, strong dude and he was holding nothing back behind his enthusiasm. He let me go and had to scream over the din of the other men who were cheering w
ildly.

  “Dude, I was going to bet you a month’s worth of paychecks that this whole thing was just another visit from the kilo fairy. Thank God I didn’t!”

  More men came to congratulate a man they’d never so much as seen but for a few quick glances the night before. It was as if we’d just won the World Series.

  I was the object behind a cacophony of cheers and praise, but for some reason I was bereft of emotion; elation had not filled me as it should have, and I suppose it was because I was as stunned as these guys were, but also because of the way I had just placed Mike’s life in danger. I’d done enough damage for two lifetimes already, and to get anyone else hurt just might have sent me over the edge.

  For the first time in more than a decade, I could cut the drug world out of my life. I’d taken Tony out and every bridge I had I’d now burned to the ground. And now my case had been worked off.

  Yet I wasn’t happy leaving it at that. I’d found the job I was meant to do, the only way to attempt to repent for drugs I’d helped flood the streets with. This score was just a grain of sand on an endless beach of cocaine and battered lives. There was so much more I could do.

  But I’d given Inez my word that with my case worked off after this bust, I was getting away from the drug world. She was getting her life back, and I wanted to watch her flourish, spread her wings to do all the good she was capable of without me holding her back.