Fortune and Pride

by Stephen John

  “That’s because you are in the executive suites,” Consuelo said. “They are on a different wing on this floor. Very overpriced.”

  “I know,” Gertie said. “Can you tell me if you know, what is the daily rate for this room you are cleaning now.”

  “One hundred and sixty-nine dollars.”

  I thought Gertie would come out of her camo undies. You could almost feel the temperature in the room rise.

  “I’m going down there,” she said, seething.

  “No, you are not,” Ida Belle said. “We are here on a mission and caught a break. Remain focused.”

  “Consuelo,” I said. “Could we get you to let me into Carter’s room, now?”

  “Yes.”

  As we walked down the hall, I couldn’t help but feel sorry for poor Clerk Kent. Gertie was not about to let this go. Five minutes later, I was in Carter’s room, in his computer and accessing his email. The password plan had worked to perfection.

  “I‘ll take Gertie back to the room while you fish around in Carter’s computer,” Ida Belle whispered to me. “Maybe I can calm her down.”

  “That’s a good idea,” I replied.

  Five minutes into reading the emails from Paul Pride’s sister to Carter, all I could think is, “Oh crap!”

  Chapter 6

  I spent about thirty minutes reading Carter’s emails from Ariel Pride, Paul’s sister. There were nine emails total but only two were long and detailed. I took a picture of the emails on the computer screen with my phone. Ariel had also sent recent snapshots of what Paul looked like today. Paul was ruggedly handsome, but his face was careworn. He had moppy brown hair and a thick goatee.

  One picture she sent was of Ariel herself, standing alongside Paul with the Space Needle serving as a backdrop. I had to do a double take. Ariel was gorgeous—not just pretty, but fashion model, movie star, Miss Universe gorgeous. She looked to be under thirty-years-old, with deep brown eyes, long, silky flowing brown hair, olive skin, and a body that would make Scarlett Johansson give a nod and a wink of appreciation. I wondered just how close she and Carter had become.

  I carefully shut his computer down and put sure everything back the way it was so Carter would not know someone had been in his room.

  As I was making certain the room appearance was the same as when I arrived I noted that Carter’s room was in fact, one of the less expensive rooms, not the deluxe suite, but another thing caught my attention I thought was odd. Consuelo told us that when she met Carter, he asked for more towels. I looked and saw that the room had more than enough towels, yet they had all been used. Did Carter need to shower more than once a day, and if so, why? I made another mental note for later.

  I walked out of his room and closed the door behind me. As the door latch clicked, I saw Ida Belle rounding the corner.

  “Fortune, we have a problem,” she said.

  “What is it?”

  “Gertie has gone ballistic,” she said. “She is still fuming over the price of that stupid room. I haven’t seen her like this since the day she and Celia got into it before the election. She ended up in jail that day, you know?”

  “Yes, I remember. Where is she now?”

  She went down the elevator.

  “Let’s go,” I said, leading the way.

  By the time we reached the front desk, Clerk Kent was in full DEFCON FIVE mode. Gertie was yelling at him, flailing her arms and pointing her finger in his face.

  “Gertie,” I called out, “what seems to be the problem here?”

  “This goofy looking SOB ripped us off,” she said.

  “I’m so glad you’re here,” Kent said. “I don’t want to have to call the police, but if she doesn’t settle down...”

  “Well,” I began, “please look at this from her point of view, Kent. You knew the price of the room concerned and yet you put us up in a luxury suite for almost four-hundred-dollars a night.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said, “but the room you are in is what I had available given the conditions you gave me. You wanted a room on the same floor, and near your boyfriend. There were no smaller rooms on the eleventh floor available at the lower rate, or I would have offered you one.”

  “Were there rooms available at the lower rate on another floor?”

  “Why... yes,” he said.

  “Couldn’t you have at least given us the option of choosing?” I asked.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, stiffly. “I didn’t think about it.”

  “I‘m going to punch him in the nose,” Gertie yelled.

  She lunged toward the counter. At five-foot-two in shoes, there was little danger she could climb over the counter to get to him but it looked like she would try. I had to restrain her. I pulled her away from the counter and positioned my body in between Gertie and Clerk Kent.

  “Look, Kent,” I said, fully understanding why Consuelo thought of him as an idiot, “we’ve only been here for a little over an hour, and like Gertie said, it was a little misleading for you not to have told us about the cheaper rooms that were available. What do you say to us leaving now and you refunding us say, half the price of the room?”

  Kent thought for a moment. He looked to his right and saw four guests waiting to check in, all having witnessed him squaring off against a little old lady.

  “Okay,” he said. “But I don’t want her back here.”

  “Done,” I said.

  Clerk Kent processed the refund on Gertie’s card and away we went. Gertie huffed through the front door. I was praying she wouldn’t moon anyone on the way out the door. I’d seen enough camo underwear to last a lifetime.

  Chapter 7

  We walked across the street to, where else, Starbucks. In Seattle, you can’t swing a Gucci purse and not hit a Starbucks. I think they have a guiding marketing principle in the Northwest. You can step outside of any given Starbucks and walk down the street with a cup of coffee, and you will find another Starbucks by the time you finish drinking it.

  Gertie seemed to simmer down after two sips of her Caramel Macchiato. She seemed to forget the whole room fiasco when I told them what I’d learned from Carter’s emails.

  “It turns out Paul Pride has been working as a smuggler for the most powerful drug dealer in the Northwest,” I began.

  Ida Belle and Gertie both formed open-mouthed “Oh, my god” expressions on their face.

  “Oh, my god!” Ida Belle exclaimed, right on cue.

  “No,” Gertie said, in a loud whisper. “You mean he’s a—drug mule?”

  “No, I didn’t say that. He’s a smuggler.”

  “Don’t the drug mules smuggle?” Gertie asked.

  “Yes, but if you’re a mule, it implies you’ve hidden the drugs inside your body by putting the drugs into balloons and swallowing them or sticking them up your—”

  “Okay, okay, okay—thank you for the visual,” Ida Belle chimed in. “So, Paul Pride smuggles drugs into the country? From where? Mexico?”

  “Correct,” I replied. “When the Marines released Paul, he came home and found it tough to find work. As we all know from our brief little stay here in Seattle, the cost of living here is high. Odd jobs were not paying the bills.”

  “Why didn’t he go live someplace cheaper?” asked Gertie.

  “He is from here, and his sister is his only remaining family,” I said. “She lives here, too. Paul ended up working odd jobs and staying in a cheap efficiency apartment in a seedy part of town. As money became more and more of a problem, he slipped into depression and used drugs. The drug use made things even more expensive, and he fell behind on his rent and his other bills. He was getting desperate when his drug dealer told him about an employment opportunity moving drugs into Seattle from Mexico for his boss, a man named Manny Montoya.”

  “He’s the big boss?” Ida Belle asked.

  “Yes,” I replied. “So, Paul was working and doing his job well for Montoya. They had a good system for getting Paul into Mexico and getting him back across the border
without getting caught. That all changed about a month ago when Paul went into Mexico as normal, picked up the cocaine, came back into the U.S., but never dropped off the product to Montoya’s people in Seattle.”

  “He disappeared?” Gertie asked.

  I nodded, “Along with about six-kilos of cocaine valued at close to $200,000.”

  “Holy crap,” Ida Belle said. “That will not go unnoticed.”

  “You’re right,” I said. “Manny Montoya has been on a tear trying to locate Paul Pride.”

  “What has Carter been doing?” Ida Belle asked.

  “Does Ariel Pride know where Paul is?” Gertie chimed in.

  “One question at a time,” I said. “No, Ariel does not know where Paul is, other than he is in Seattle. He’s told her that much. She knows he’s missing. She knows Paul has been serving Montoya as a drug smuggler but has been powerless to stop him. To answer your question Ida Belle, Carter spent the first three days of his visit trying to find a safe house for Ariel and helping her move into it. He felt it was likely that Montoya would try to grab her and use her as leverage to find him. He tried to locate Paul, but has had no success.”

  “I hope the place he found for Ariel is safe,” Ida Belle said. “Montoya could well kill her to send a strong message to Paul Pride.”

  I nodded, “I thought of that, too. From the tone of the emails it sounds like Carter has found a good spot for Ariel and settled her in. He’s focused on finding Paul now.”

  “Why doesn’t Carter just go to the police?” Gertie asked.

  “That was described in email number two,” I said. “There are two reasons for him not to go to the police. Paul has already been arrested twice for drug possession. The last time was two years ago for a small amount of marijuana. This would be a third offense, a much more major offense. In Washington State they have a three-strikes, you’re out, rule. If he gets convicted of a felony, it would carry a mandatory sentence of life in prison without parole.”

  “Life without parole?” Ida Belle chimed. “Wow. Harsh. I thought Louisiana justice was tough.”

  “You said there were two reasons,” Gertie piped in.

  I nodded.

  “In one of Ariel’s emails, she indicated that Montoya may have a snitch inside the DEA,” I said. “Carter is worried if he tries to negotiate a deal for Paul ahead of time that word will get back to Montoya. Montoya might get to Paul first and kill him.”

  “So, the best option is for Carter to find Paul first, get DEA protection, and then cut a deal for him to testify against Montoya,” Ida Belle said.

  I nodded.

  Gertie nodded, “What’s his plan, then?”

  “The emails only address two things: Carter finding haven for Ariel and then him finding Paul Pride. The rest is pure speculation.”

  “That sounds dangerous,” Gertie said. “No wonder Carter didn’t want you involved.”

  “Yes,” I admitted. “Carter is racing against the clock to find Paul before Montoya does. If Montoya finds out Carter is interfering, he’s dead too.”

  “Isn’t it possible that Montoya has already found Paul and killed him?” Gertie asked.

  “It is possible, but remember, Paul Pride served with Carter in Force Recon,” I said. “Paul is an expert in covert operations, which includes staying hidden.”

  “This is horrible,” Ida Belle said. “I’m glad Walter is not here to hear this,” Ida Belle said.

  “The DEA knows Paul Pride is missing and they know Montoya is looking for him. In their last email exchange, Ariel told Carter that the Feds came around looking for Paul and told her they knew he was missing. They also said Montoya was furious and would spare no resources or costs to find and kill him.”

  “That may have been a scare tactic to see if Ariel knew where he was,” Gertie said.

  “Regardless, it sounds like it worked,” Ida Belle added.

  “Montoya knows Paul Pride will strike a deal,” Gertie said.

  “And Montoya knows the only way he gets out of this is to find and kill Paul Pride before the Feds find him and work out a plea deal,” Ida Belle said. “Do we know if Montoya knows about Carter; and that Carter is looking for him?”

  I shrugged, “Doubtful.”

  Ida Belle sat back, “Well, this is not your typical someone-in-Sinful-gets-in-a-snit-and-murders-someone-else case, is it?”

  “The stakes are high,” I said.

  “I know we said we would sit back on this and let you and Carter handle it, but can’t we help... a little?” Ida Belle asked.

  “I’m counting on it.”

  “What about Carter?” Ida Belle asked. “Do we let him know we know what’s going on?”

  “Not a chance,” Gertie said.

  “I agree,” I replied. “Carter would be furious if he thought we knew any of this. He would lose focus wondering if we were all right. No, Gertie is correct. If we do this, we need to be behind the scenes and not let Carter know we are around.”

  “What kind of progress has Carter made in finding him?” Ida Belle asked.

  “None, from what I can tell,” I replied. “He needed to get Ariel safe and settled first. And remember, Paul Pride is well-trained. Montoya has an advantage over Carter. He knows the area and has way more resources and way more people looking.”

  “But Montoya doesn’t have Carter’s investigative chops—or ours,” Gertie said.

  “That’s the hope,” I replied.

  “Is there anything at all to go on?” Ida Belle wanted to know.

  “Ariel seemed to think Paul had a girlfriend,” I said. “He mentioned her to Ariel a few times, but no one knows a thing about her—no name, no address, no place of work, no description. That may have been intentional on Paul’s part. In the emails, both Ariel and Carter think Paul is hiding out with this woman. Carter is putting his efforts into finding her, but he will need to find a solid lead. That’s where I’m hoping we can help.”

  “Where do we start?” Gertie asked.

  “I have one idea. In one email, Ariel gave Carter Paul’s local address,” I said. “Carter went there first after Ariel was safe but found nothing. Knowing Carter, he went through the apartment with a fine-tooth comb, but who knows, maybe we can find something he didn’t.”

  “Well then, let’s hit the road,” Ida Belle said. “There’s no time like the present.”

  Chapter 8

  Paul Pride’s apartment was dark, dank, cluttered, and downright depressing. For all of Seattle’s widespread culture and beauty, the town had it scary sections like any other major city. Paul Pride’s apartment was in the heart of the bad section.

  The lock on the door was old. I picked it and gain entry in a matter of seconds. The apartment itself was only five-hundred and fifty square feet, comprising one large living area, a loft for the bedroom, a tiny kitchen and a smaller bathroom.

  The windows were filthy; the sills caked with dust. The cabinets were old, chipped, and stained. The paint on the walls was peeling. Cigarette butts were piled high on ashtrays. Empty bottles of Fat Tire Belgian Style Ale were all over. There were fifteen old Dick’s Drive-in hamburger sacks lying about. The tile floors were yellowed and filthy. The hardwood floors were slippery with dust.

  “I’m surprised the landlord hasn’t cleared this place out already,” Ida Belle said. “Wasn’t he behind on the rent?”

  “Yes,” I replied. “In one email Ariel mentioned his eviction would take place on the twenty-sixth of the month. That’s four days away. We are just in time.”

  “Yeah, but for what?” Gertie said. “Look at this place. It’s like a demilitarized zone. No wonder Carter couldn’t find anything of use.”

  “Ugh, and it smells like the restroom at the Swamp Bar,” Gertie said. “Stale beer and cigarettes.”

  “And marijuana,” Ida Belle said.

  “Okay ladies, fan out,” I said. “Ida Belle, you take the bathroom and the kitchen. Gertie, you take the living room and I’ll take the loft.”
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br />   “What are we looking for?” Gertie asked.

  “Anything that might give us some insight where he might be,” I said.

  “From the looks of things, we might just hang out at Dick’s burger joint and wait,” Gertie said.

  “That’s not a bad idea,” Ida Belle said.

  “What are you doing, Fortune?” Gertie asked.

  Receipts were stapled to the outside of the fast food bags. I pulled them off. The receipts were all dated and time stamped. I made quick mental notes of the days and times of his visits. and something clicked.

  “There’s a pattern here. He goes to the same Dick’s on Broadway East for a burger every few days, between seven and nine o’clock in the evening.”

  “That’s a start,” Ida Belle said.

  Between the three of us, we searched every nook and cranny for something else—anything that might help us. None of us found a thing was interesting or worth following up on.

  Feeling deflated, we left the apartment and headed down the stairs toward the street. Camping out at Dick’s was a thin lead given the circumstances. A man with Paul’s training would change his habits. I wondered if Carter had any additional leads. I wondered what direction he was taking.

  “Let’s get back to the hotel, grab dinner and maybe go through the emails together to see if there are any clues I overlooked,” I said.

  As we made our way to the front door, I noticed the apartment building mailboxes, locked metal racks secured to the wall. Paul’s apartment number was 206. Peeking through the mail slot I could tell, the box was filled with mail.

  “Gertie, do you have a nail file in your purse?” I asked, knowing full well she did. The volume of stuff Gertie carried in her purse defied the laws of physics.

  “Why do you need a nail file?” she asked, fishing it out of her purse.

  “I going to break into Paul Pride’s mailbox,” I said.

  “That a Federal offense,” Ida Belle said.

  “We’re not stealing it,” I replied, knowing it was a flimsy objection. “We’re going to read it and put it back.”