by JL Curtis
The Grey Man
-Partners-
JL Curtis
Books by JL Curtis
The Grey Man- Vignettes
The Grey Man- Payback
The Grey Man- Changes
Short Stories by JL Curtis
Rimworld- Stranded
(Kindle only)
© JL Curtis 2016
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, contact the author, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the address below:
[email protected]
Author’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.
Published by JLC&A. Available from Amazon.com in Kindle format or soft cover book. Printed by CreateSpace.
The Grey Man-Partners/ JL Curtis. -- 1st ed.
ISBN-13: 978-1535583213
ISBN-10: 1535583215
DEDICATION
Dedicated to the ‘graybeards’ who’ve been there, done that, have the t-shirts to prove it, and continue to pass along those hard won lessons to the younger generations.
Train up a child in the way he should go: and when he is old, he will not depart from it.
Proverbs 22:6 KJV
Whom shall he teach knowledge? And whom shall he make to understand doctrine? Them that are weaned from the milk, and drawn from the breasts.
For precept must be upon precept, precept upon precept; line upon line, line upon line; here a little, and there a little:
Isaiah 28:9-10 KJV
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thanks to the usual suspects. I owe my success to y’all.
Special thanks to my editor, Stephanie Martin.
Cover art by Tina Garceau.
Table of Contents
Prolog
SOBs
Lawyering Up
Back with the Team
A Strange Note
Training, Training, and more Training
Shooting Class
Depositions
Ungood Things
Back in the Saddle
Beatings will Continue
What to Do
Wives Club
The Meeting
Scrambling
Pushing a Rope
Plotting and Scheming
Hell in a Handbasket
CBP San Diego
Medical Boards
JAG and Lawyers
Bad Day at the Office
It’s Going to get Drunk Out
The Morning After
Now What
Road Trip
Winding Down
Heads or Tails
Going Home
Gearing Up
Orders
Side Trip
Decision Time
Can’t Win Them All
What to Do
Team Meeting
Confluence
In Hot
Back on Patrol
AAR and Plan
Changes
Firefight
Breaking it Down
Home Sweet Home
Epilog
Prolog
Bob, just Bob, the head of the temporary security detail at the ranch, came up to John Cronin, Pecos County deputy sheriff, currently on medical leave, as he sat in the ranch kitchen. The old man, as he was known and how he referred to himself, now sixty-eight and feeling every year of it, was drinking a cup of coffee and slowly rotating his left arm as he felt the repaired chest muscles pulling against the newly formed scar tissue.
Bob asked quietly, “Is there anything close to you on the north side? Like within five or ten minutes?”
The old man thought for a second and said, “No, not really. It’s ten to twelve miles up to the cut off.”
Bob nodded and left, as the old man sat grimly sipping his coffee lost in thought. What the hell am I going to do? I should have retired three years ago… Getting skewered by that damn knife because I wasn’t paying attention…
Duck Drake, the former SEAL corpsman, strolled into the kitchen and greeted the old man with false heartiness, “Morning, Captain. Ready for a light workout?”
The old man rolled his eyes at Duck. Working on resistance drills with Duck to rehab from his stabbing wasn’t pleasant, and that was putting it mildly, “Duck, do you even know the meaning of light?”
Duck grinned, “The only easy day…”
“Was yesterday. Alright, let’s get the morning torture over with,” the old man replied. Duck continued to push him hard, and the old man was soon sweating like a stuck pig.
Finally, Duck said, “Enough for today. I think you’re about seventy-five, maybe eighty percent back. We can try the range tomorrow and see how your shooting is.”
The old man grunted, “Fine. I swear it didn’t take this long the last time I got hurt.”
Duck laughed. “Smaller hole, smaller repair, fewer problems. And there is the age thingie…”
Suddenly, the front door popped open and Bob came in dragging a man in by the back of the shirt with his arm in a hammerlock. The man was whining, “Hey, lemme go. I didn’t do anything. I was just minding my own business. Ow!”
Frog marching him in front of the old man, Bob asked, “You know this turd?”
The old man bristled, then realized what Bob was up to. “Yeah, he’s one of the local scumbags. Name’s Jimmy Hilton. Pretty sure he’s a drug dealer, but we’ve just never caught him at it. One of those with no visible means of support.”
“We’ve seen him drive by every day or so, then go back the other way about ten minutes later,” Bob said. “He tried to get away, but we caught him.”
“What are you doing out here, Jimmy?” The old man asked, dropping into full deputy sheriff interrogator mode. “You never leave town that I know of.”
Jimmy snarled, “It’s a free country. Can’t a guy go for a drive when he wants to?”
Bob banged Jimmy’s head on the table, “Answer the man’s question, punk!”
“I was just out driving around,” Jimmy whined. “I wasn’t doin’ nothing!”
Bob banged Jimmy’s head again, saying venomously, “Every day, you fucking punk? I don’t fucking think so.” Grabbing his arm, he ripped the sleeve up, and sure enough there were needle marks.
Duck said menacingly, “I can get answers. Lemme get my kit. He likes drugs, we’ll give him some good drugs.” With that he stomped out of the kitchen. Moments later, he was back with his medical bag, and started laying out syringes and small ampoules as Jimmy looked on wide-eyed.
“One more chance, Jimmy,” the old man said. “What are you doing sniffing around out here?”
Jimmy gritted his teeth. “Nothin’ I swear, nothin’. I just felt like takin’ a drive, okay?”
Duck picked up a syringe and selected one of the ampoules, drawing off twenty ccs of fluid he said, “Captain, you got a backhoe, right?”
The old man looked up and saw Bob nod out of Jimmy’s sight. He said, “Yeah, why?”
Duck continued in a soft and menacing voice, “Well, after he gets hit with this, we’ve got about thirty minutes, then we’ll need it. They don’t come back from this.” He laid the syringe on his bag and ripped Jimmy’s shirt sle
eve completely off, then wrapped a rubber band around the bicep. Bob picked Jimmy up in a bear hug and lifted him easily off the ground as Duck picked up the syringe and reached for Jimmy’s arm.
Jimmy screamed, “I was supposed to keep an eye on you. Sanch wanted to know what your schedule was. He was going to wipe my debt out!” Jimmy sobbed. “I don’t know why he wanted it, I really don’t!”
The old man asked, “Who is this Sanch?”
Jimmy started to bow up his body, until Duck grabbed his arm, “Emilio Sanchez. He lives down in Mex town. I just killed myself by telling you that.” He sobbed.
The old man nodded at Bob, and said, “I’ll be right back.” The old man walked into his office and sat down, thinking who to call and how to pass the information. Finally, he picked up the phone and dialed his boss, Sheriff Jose Rodriquez. “Jose, it’s John. Apparently one Emilio Sanchez was involved in the hit on me. He was feeding information from Jimmy Hilton to the guy that tried to take me out. That puts a direct tie back to the Zetas here in town.”
“How did you find out?” the sheriff asked. “And where are you?”
“It’s inadmissible,” the old man said. “And I’m at home. It was coerced.”
The old man heard the sheriff sigh. “Can we ring Bucky in on this? Or the Rangers? I don’t want to see this sleazebag walk.”
“Well, Bucky would have to act in probably no more than twenty-four hours,” the old man said. “Otherwise, Sanchez will probably be in the wind as soon as Jimmy doesn’t call in.”
The sheriff finally said, “Fuck it. Call him. I’ll call Clay and tell him we have a CI lead on a possible dealer. See how he wants to play it.”
“Okay. I’ll call you back.” The old man hung up and immediately called Bucky’s office in Laredo. It defaulted to the duty CBP officer and he said, “This is Captain Cronin, Pecos County Sheriff’s Department. I need to have Mr. Grant, the DEA supervisor, call me immediately.” The duty officer said he’d locate Bucky and have him call back soonest.
Ten minutes later, the old man’s phone rang, and he related the entire story to Bucky, who promised to be in Fort Stockton in six hours with a TAC team. The old man called the sheriff back and relayed the information, then walked back into the kitchen. He told Bob, “We need to keep young Mister Hilton here for the next six or seven hours. I have somebody coming in to take care of him. Where’s his car?”
“It’s up by the gate,” Bob replied. “Where can we put it?”
The old man thought for a second, then said, “Put it between the barn and the bunkhouse. It can’t be seen from the road if it’s sitting there. Who is going to sit on Hilton?”
Bob shrugged. “I will. You got a spare pair of cuffs?”
The old man nodded. “Be right back.” He got a spare pair of handcuffs out of the office and Bob put them on Hilton, then led him out of the house. The old man turned to Duck. “What were you going to hit him with?”
Duck chuckled. “Normal saline. I keep a couple of ampoules for flushing an IV. It might have burned a little bit but it wouldn’t have actually hurt him.”
***
Seven hours later, Bucky pulled into the yard in an unmarked Tahoe, and walked quickly up to the porch. The old man met him at the door saying, “Come on in. We’ve got Hilton and his vehicle on ice. What’s going down?”
“Got any coffee? I could use a cup.” Bucky asked.
The old man led him back to the kitchen and poured him a cup. “Have a seat.” He poured himself one, and turned to see Bucky leaning on the center island.
“I’ll stand,” Bucky said. “Seven frikkin’ hours in the truck and my ass is asleep. I’ve got six guys and we’ve been pulling info since I got your call. I’ve got the rest of them stashed at your office until dark. We’ll hit Sanchez when he leaves to go have dinner. I’ll take Hilton off your hands, and maybe I can get him to turn. Worse comes to worst, we can get him in Witness Protection.”
The old man said, “What about his car?”
Bucky laughed. “I’m going to use Hilton to point out Sanchez to us. That way we don’t have any poisoned fruit. We’ll make the car disappear tonight or tomorrow.”
The old man nodded. “Good. We screwed the pooch on Hilton. We thought he was getting drops. Didn’t realize he was getting the stuff locally.”
Bucky shrugged. “You can’t win ‘em all. In addition, the Hispanic community hides a lot of shit from us Anglos. They always have, and always will.”
***
The old man had just watched one of the marshals drive off with Hilton’s car when his cell phone rang. He pulled it out and punched the speaker as he recognized the sheriff’s number. “What’s up, Jose? Isn’t it a little late for you? The marshals just left with Hilton’s car and Bucky said they’ve got Sanchez and a good haul of drugs.”
The sheriff said, “Are you where you can talk, John?”
The old man sensed something wasn’t right. “Yeah, I’m out by the barn, what is going on?”
“We’ve had complaints filed against us,” the sheriff said. “Remember Roland? Missy Roland? Well, Hector Rodriquez has filed a false arrest, fourth amendment violation, and excessive use of force civil suits for her over in Alpine with the US Attorney naming you as the perpetrator. He filed a complaint for brutality against us with the Rangers over in El Paso too.”
The old man balled his hand into a fist. “Jose, you know that is a bullshit setup. Hell, both of them are! There was plenty of probable cause, and the excessive force wasn’t even mine. And she was resisting arrest at the time. When were they filed?”
“They filed this afternoon.”
“Okay, lemme call Billy Moore. I assume I’m on administrative hold? Just out of curiosity, how did you find out? ”
“Yeah, I gotta do it, John, even though I know its BS,” the sheriff said. “I gotta play by the rules. Major Wilson called me wanting to know what the hell was going on. I guess his daughter hadn’t told him what went down that night.”
The old man exhaled loudly. “Roger all. Billy will contact you tomorrow about my official status and request copies. Do I still have access to my office and files?”
“Of course you do, John,” the sheriff said. “I’ll be waiting for Mr. Moore’s call. I’m sorry.”
“Understood. Thanks, Jose. ‘Night.” Hanging up, the old man looked up at the stars and leaned against the corral rails. Why now? Shit, that was almost what, nine months ago? And she has to know I didn’t touch her. What in the hell is going on here?
He savagely punched Billy’s number and waited, when Billy answered he said, “I’m being sued. That little bitch Roland got Hector Rodriquez to put a couple of BS suits up. They apparently filed in Alpine and with the Rangers in El Paso.”
Billy Moore, Cronin’s long time lawyer, was sitting at home in Houston. Grabbing one of his ever present yellow pads, he scribbled down the information and finally said, “John, go to bed. I’ll handle it tomorrow. I’m betting they’re going to try to bum rush you on a deposition. Don’t do shit ‘til I get there. I’ve got copies of what you gave me the last time you were here. Is there anything else you want to add?”
“Not that I can think of right now,” the old man replied.
SOBs
Meanwhile, in California, Gunnery Sergeant Aaron Miller was finally out of rehab and with a newly fitted prosthetic for his missing left calf and foot. He didn’t feel quite so disconnected when he reported back in to the Marine Special Operations Battalion at Pendleton on Monday, thanks to Master Sergeant Matt Carter’s data dump over the weekend.
First Sergeant Brill just looked up and nodded. “Welcome back, Marine. You’re on LIMDU[1] for thirty days. Your team’s on a field exercise, so for now you can help out here. Captain Ragsdale is checking out Friday. Ten bucks for the kitty for his gift. Get yourself a cup and come on back.”
Aaron went down to the mess and got a cup of coffee and stuck his head into the captain’s office. Other than a few new pictures,
it looked the same. He went back to the admin office and Brill directed him to a chair.
Aaron laughed in relief. “First Sergeant, I’m glad to see nothing changes,” he said quietly. “And thanks for letting me know everybody made it when I called from Germany. I probably wasn’t real coherent, but I was worried about the troops.”
“Aaron, I didn’t blame you for calling,” Brill replied. “You did what was right, and what I’d expect out of a Marine in charge of a team. In your mind, you hadn’t turned over command.”
“Speaking of the team, who’s running it now?” Aaron asked.
Brill smiled. “One of your old runnin’ buddies. ‘Snake’ Venman.”
Aaron’s eyes grew wide. “He’s onboard now? God, I haven’t seen Snake since Iraq.”
“He’s a Gunny now, too.” Brill said. “He got seconded over from three/one the day after you got hit. Since he was on orders here anyway, they just moved him to us early. Pissed his wife off; she had to finish the check in here by herself.”
“He still married to Patti?” Aaron asked.
“Yeah,” Brill said. “She and the kids stayed with Darlene for a couple of weeks while she got quarters and their stuff moved in. Them damn rugrats would have had me pulling my hair out if I’d been here.”
***
After dinner, Jesse Miller nee Cronin, John Cronin’s 27 year old granddaughter, and Felicia Carter nee Lopez, one of Jesse’s friends from Texas and now married to Matt, caught up as Felicia cooed over Jace, Aaron and Jesse’s son. They were sitting in the apartment off base at Pendleton that Matt and Aaron had originally gotten almost three years ago. Felicia quietly told Jesse she thought she might be pregnant. Jesse smiled and said, “Does Matt know?”
Felicia shook her head. “No! And I’m not telling him until I’m sure. But I wanted to talk to you about moving in.” Felicia rushed ahead, “Jesse, I want to sell my little house. It’s too far out and living here is damn near as close to work, time-wise. And the market is tanking, so I need to sell it now. Matt’s going to ask Aaron if he would mind. It’s not like I have a bunch of stuff, but what I do have is better than some of the furniture here. I’d be willing to move it over here if that’s okay with you.”