Sotello: Detective, ex-FBI, ex-Secret Service (DeLeo's Action Thriller Singles Book 1)

by Bernard Lee DeLeo

  “You know the zero tolerance rule around here, you ingrate,” Sotello said. “If you drink, then you do not drive, simple as that. Because I know you were just baiting me, I will let this go. How does your head feel?”

  “Better,” Craig replied. “I iced it after I came home from class, and re-bandaged it. The ice felt like it took down the swelling. Does it look swelled up?”

  Sotello laughed, as Craig buried his head in his hands. “Oh my God, did I really give you an opening like that? I must be injured.”

  Sotello put his arm around Craig’s shoulders. “I won’t touch it Number One. I know you are not yourself today, and it would be inconsiderate for me to comment on the term swelled head in reference to your lead in. I would not recommend giving your sister any openings like that. She can be merciless. Anyhow, I’m glad you feel better. This morning was a wakeup call for all of us.”

  “When I leave the office from now on,” Craig said. “I’ll light off the 400,000 volt stun gun on my way out. That blue arc will get me the respect I did not get today.”

  “It’s unfortunate…”

  Ellen came in the front door, and waved at her Father and brother, as Tinker attacked her with enthusiasm, until Sotello called the dog to a halt. “Hey guys, let’s eat.”

  Sotello gave her a hug. “Don’t you two eat anything at your own places?”

  “Hey, we work for a living, and go to school,” Ellen admonished. “Not everyone lives the life of Riley, like you, and this mutt do, Dad.”

  “Oh, that’s right,” Sotello agreed sarcastically. “How silly of me to comment on such important life styles, such as yours and Craig’s. Please accept my apology, oh Shining Princess of the light. Oh vast, all-knowing, blessed…”

  “Enough,” Ellen broke in, covering her ears. “You win. Let’s eat.”

  “As I told this other wretch, we have guests coming. Darren and Gina will be coming over for dinner. They will arrive shortly.” Sotello walked into the kitchen, and brought them both back a diet soda. After checking on his simmering process, Sotello gave Tinker some fresh water.

  Ellen set the table, while Craig regaled both of them with his imitations of Johnny Denton, which had them gasping for breath. The doorbell rang, and Craig answered it, holding back Tinker. He beckoned Sanders and his daughter inside. He took their coats, while Tinker introduced herself. Sotello came out of the kitchen to welcome them.

  “You must be getting tired of seeing me,” Sotello joked.

  “You certainly have managed to find a new way to get name recognition. I really like the demonstrator toss you adopted for the campaign,” Sanders laughed. “It will undoubtedly replace Dwarf tossing in the bars out here. I hadn’t seen that clip before I saw you this afternoon.”

  Sotello put a hand to his head. “My God, I had forgotten about that in the heat of the moment. I must have looked like some crazed fiend.”

  “You just look like one pissed off guy, who wouldn’t be taking any more crap,” Sanders replied, as he and Gina sat down on the couch. “I thought it did you more good than harm.”

  “I saw it at the student union,” Craig put in, “and it drew cheers. The instructors were not happy over the positive buzz. They were watching years of liberal brainwashing disappear in mere moments.”

  “Well, in any case, I hope we never have to repeat the show from this morning,” Sotello said. “Would you two like something to drink before dinner?”

  “Actually, Gina was telling me on the way over she was starving,” Sanders replied, which put him on the receiving end of a push from his daughter. “I could eat right away myself.”

  “Great,” Craig added. “Let’s get to it. I’m with Gina. Starving is the key word.”

  Having said that, Craig led the way into the kitchen, where they all sat down to dinner. Sotello fed Tinker, so the dog would calm down and let them eat in peace. Sanders shared his plans to buy into another restaurant in San Francisco, and promised to have the celebration there after Sotello’s election victory.

  “I heard Adrian was injured this morning too,” Sanders remarked. “I forgot to ask you about him earlier. Is he okay?”

  “He ended up having to stay at the hospital overnight,” Sotello answered. “I would have mentioned it, but I figured it might be a little early to bring his name up with you. Except for some cosmetic stuff, and some stiffness, he should be ok. He really knows this business inside and out. He gave me instructions for perusing the news stations tonight.”

  “I imagine you can glean a lot from how they handle what you said and did today,” Sanders acknowledged.

  “I’m glad he’s okay,” Gina added. “He…”

  “We don’t need to open up any old wounds tonight Gina,” Sotello said quickly. “Have you decided what you want to do about school?”

  “I signed up for next semester on-line,” Gina answered smiling. “I decided to go for my teaching credential. Dad likes the idea.”

  “I like any idea involving you going back to school,” Sanders remarked.

  “I never understood how important good teachers were until I saw the pap they were trying to brainwash the kids with nowadays,” Sotello added. “The teacher’s union keeps hiding behind the curriculum, but I have never read any orders coming down, from on high, to either teach lies or be fired. They may get directions to use a slanted text, like these science books, which accept Global Warming as an established fact; but a good teacher can help a class to uncover the truth. Too many never go beyond their preconceived opinions.”

  “You make it sound exciting, Mr. Sotello,” Gina replied.

  “If you make teaching your career Gina, you will touch thousands of lives,” Sotello continued. “People remember teachers, who gave them the tools they would need to get ahead in life. I think in this day and age of the Internet, a teacher can expand the boundaries of learning to an infinite set of possibilities, and incorporate the ability to seek the truth.”

  “Why didn’t you become a teacher?” Gina asked.

  “I found a passion for something else first. My respect for teaching began when I found out how difficult it was teaching my own kids how to read,” Sotello replied. “I never said everyone could do it Gina, only that it can really shine as a profession. Any endeavor, you can see the products of your labor become apparent almost instantly, has a very enticing quality. Teaching with passion and truth infects students with a thirst for knowledge.”

  “I thought of becoming a History teacher,” Ellen remarked, “after the battles Dad helped me with in that goofy Cultures and Identities class I took in high school. The School Board experimented on ways to combine history and literature into an all-encompassing brain washing session. It seemed so easy to turn the duet of America hating PC teachers on their heads, I often wondered why they never just relied on teaching the truth. If you could have seen their faces when I would bring in facts contradicting their curriculum, you would understand what real culture shock means.”

  “When I took the class, I could see the impact they were having with their lies though,” Craig put in. “Hardly anyone said anything, and the students who disagreed were always hung out to dry by the teacher. I always thought the truth was so obvious, the rest of the class could see it, and so I went along with the program to get the grade. Since getting into college, I have begun to realize how corrupting an influence twelve years of grade school can be on the minds of the classmates I thought would see through the politically correct veil. I guess that guy from back in Nazi Germany had a point: if you repeat a lie often enough, people do come to see it as the truth.”

  “You’ll get to see how true that statement really is as we draw near the election,” Sanders added. “Red Davidson’s organization will repeat as many lies about your Dad as many times as they get opportunities.”

  “If they really believe the stuff they keep pedaling,” Ellen said, “why don’t they just put out the facts supporting their positions?”

  “Because, in many cas
es,” Sanders answered, “such as reasons for the power shortage, they have nothing to justify their inability to solve the problem. Their only recourse depends on them being able to tear apart anything your Dad comes up with, and blame the whole thing on someone else.”

  “Besides El,” Sotello added. “How would Davidson explain being for allowing a stated enemy of the United States, in the form a Red Chinese puppet like COSCO Shipping to own a port at Long Beach. Would he really be able to speak passionately about allowing our borders in this State to become so porous, we have become home for a foreign advocacy group like La Raza? They want to dictate our domestic policy, while calling for secession of the Southwestern portion of the United States. God, I am starting to sound like I’m at the auditorium again.”

  “It had better be a reflex action Jim,” Sanders replied. “When you speak, people write checks. The riot at your office this morning probably earns money every time they run the clip of you pitching that guy back into the crowd. All the people watching the TV show you were on went home and wrote checks. People are sick of the hype. They want someone real to shout and fight for what they want.”

  “I am beginning to believe you may be right,” Sotello admitted. “Will we have enough to fund any commercials, to rebut the lies in Davidson’s smear jobs? I know he will be running them soon.”

  “You bet,” Sanders said smiling. “I called for a figure, and we are up over the ten million dollar amount in pledges, and we’ve only begun. When the people come home from work, and see what they missed on TV about the demonstration, and your appearance with Denton, they will be adding to the fund.”

  “A lot may be writing checks to get me run out on a rail though,” Sotello pointed out.

  “Not as many as you might think,” Sanders insisted. “Look at the positive reaction Craig was telling us about at the college. Those kids are in the voting block we’ve never been able to harness.”

  “I did not hear a bad word all day about you, Dad,” Ellen put in. “It was all positive. The teachers were another story, like Craig already told you. Everyone who knew I was your daughter came up to wish you well. When the Professor asked for you to come and speak, I couldn’t believe it. She must think she can pull off some form of an ambush. There’s still time to back out of it if you want.”

  “I wouldn’t miss it,” Sotello told her. “I can deal as good as I get, even in an environment like that. Besides El, Darren says we need these young voters. I better go see if I can make any converts in your age group. If I am so out of touch with your generation, they won’t even listen; then I better find out now. If MTV plans on raking me over the coals, I would at least like an opportunity to state my case to a few of them.”

  “Let’s go help you with your homework,” Sanders said. “I’m interested in hearing what the media can do with what they have.”

  “Oh boy,” Sotello sighed. “By all means, let’s get started.

  __

  Sotello heard Tinker whine, just before the silent alarm light began blinking on the console attached to his nightstand. Someone triggered the motion detector he had set up, covering his back yard. Sotello went over to his computer desk in the bedroom, and switched on the video feed from his surveillance camera at the back of his house. Two figures were on his side of the back fence, dressed in black, with someone handing items over the fence to them.

  Sotello quickly slipped into his jeans, and loafers. He called 911, reporting a break in. He left the line open, ignoring the operator’s instructions to stay by the phone. He picked up the twelve gauge, five shot, semi-automatic shotgun he kept next to his bed. Sotello locked Tinker in the bedroom, although she wanted to go investigate with him in the worst way.

  Sotello descended the stairs quickly, moving then to the kitchen, and to the door opening to the garage. Pausing at the door, Sotello pulled on the night vision goggles, he had brought with him from the bedroom. He entered the garage, and then silently out the small side door. Sotello worked his way around the outside of the garage without a sound. The three figures were attaching small packages to the rear wall of his house. Sotello hit the patio floodlight by the side of the garage, as he removed his night vision goggles. The one nearest him pulled a handgun from inside his jacket, and Sotello shot him. The blast blew him back into his companions.

  “Get spread eagled on the ground now, or die,” Sotello ordered. He repeated the order in Spanish. The two companions dived to the ground with their limbs spread. Covering the two, Sotello turned over the body of the third. Aside from being a bloody mess, he was still breathing. Sirens wailed in the distance, as Sotello knelt down with the shotgun aimed directly at a point between the two others.

  “If either of you twitch, I will fire instantly,” Sotello told them in English and Spanish. “The blast will maim both of you.”

  An excited voice called out from the front side of his house, as the sirens destroyed the night’s silence. “Come out with your hands up. Come out now.”

  Sotello could see the lights flashing on the street in back of his house, and knew they had covered the back too. “I’m Jim Sotello, the owner of this house. I have three suspects covered, face down on the patio, with my twelve gauge. The lights on, and my back is to you. Come through the gate, and take it slow and easy.”

  Sotello could hear some agitated conversation, while the police decided what to do. He heard another voice, calmer than the first, both older and gruffer. “I’m coming through now, Mr. Sotello. Stay turned towards the people you have down. I will come up behind you with my partner. There are more on the way.”

  “I will not move,” Sotello agreed. “You will need to call an ambulance too. I had to shoot one of them.”

  He heard the police officers coming up behind him. One stopped to the left of his field of vision, while his partner stayed behind him. “Lay the shotgun down Mr. Sotello,” the older voice said from behind him.

  “You had better search these other two, while I keep you covered with the shotgun,” Sotello replied.

  “My partner has a riot gun, and I’ll have the others here in a second. My name’s Officer Vance,” the older officer said.

  “If your partner has never shot anyone, you may want to search them while I cover you,” Sotello urged. “They planted what looks to be explosive devices there on my back wall, and one of them may have the detonator within reach.”

  “Get in here now,” Vance said over his shoulder com.

  Sotello heard his back gate slam open, and then rustling movements of more than a few people rushing into his backyard. “Stay back,” Vance cautioned them. “We have one perp down and wounded. Two more are spread-eagled. Either of them may be holding a detonator to the explosive devices attached to the rear house wall. I need both spread-eagled perps covered up close and personal.”

  Three officers rushed around to the bodies, and covered the two unwounded men with their weapons next to the men’s heads. Two more pinned the men’s hands, and then cuffed them behind their backs. As an added precaution, they plastic tied their feet together.

  “Okay,” Vance sighed. “Put the shotgun down Mr. Sotello, and step back onto your lawn. The rest of you search these guys for anything remotely looking like a detonator, and search those bags they have lying near them.”

  “Can you send someone to check on my kids?” Sotello asked quickly. “They have their own residences, and may also be in danger.”

  “Give me their addresses and phone numbers. I’ll get right on it,” Vance said. He jotted down the information Sotello gave him, and then relayed the information. “You think they might hit them too?”

  “God, I don’t know. I never thought anyone would try and hit me,” Sotello replied.

  Sotello carefully put the shotgun on the ground, and stepped back into the grass of his backyard. The sounds of an ambulance wail added to the din at the front of his house. He watched the officers go over each suspect from head to toe with great deliberation. Sotello saw them carefully empty
the contents of the bags, the men in black had brought with them when they came over the fence.

  What looked to be more than one electronic device was laid out next to the bag. The officers then put everything into evidence bags. One of them collected his shotgun. Vance directed them to take the prisoners out, after the ambulance crew arrived and removed the wounded one. He stepped back over to Sotello, with his partner following, whose nametag read Whithers.

  “I put in a call for the bomb squad, Mr. Sotello,” Vance informed him. “I’m sorry, but you’ll have to come with us down to the station.”

  “Could I get dressed first, Officer?” Sotello asked.

  “Sure,” Vance replied, “but we’ll have to wait for the bomb squad to collect whatever you have on your walls there. They’ll be here soon. You’ve had a busy day today, Sir.”

  “I take it you’ve seen some of my Kodak moments on the news, huh?”

  Vance laughed, as Whithers shook his head. “Man, you made more enemies today than anyone in history. I know this ain’t no laughing matter, but did you ever consider the fact you may not be cut out for this campaign life?” Whithers added questioningly.

  “You may be right,” Sotello admitted. “I bet you never thought anyone would go after a political candidate the way they have gone after me the last couple of days. These folks usually just try to destroy you with lies, or skeletons in the closet. I didn’t know bombs had become part of the political scene too.

  “I have to say,” the young black officer replied, “some of what you said the other night up in Oakland pissed me off, but I’m beginning to wonder now.”

  Sotello looked at the lanky officer, who stood just a few inches shorter than Sotello. In the darkness, he couldn’t tell if the man was smiling or not. “Wondering what, Officer Whithers?”

  “He’s wondering the same as me,” Vance replied, who was white, and a few inches shorter than his young partner, but with a heavier build. “With this kind of response, you can’t be all bad.”

  Whithers nodded in agreement, laughing. “Yea, that’s it. Like, they keep calling you a racist, and yet I never heard you say anything actually racist. You look like you have a couple of great kids, and what in the world could you have done to make them think they need to blow you up over an election?”