The Grey Man: -Vignettes-

by JL Curtis

  The old man nodded. “Good point, and it’s not like we don’t have enough damn confiscated vehicles sitting in impound now. I’m not asking for special consideration for Jesse, but… well…”

  “John, I know you, I know Jesse. Believe me, I understand. Did Bucky say anything about that new bunch that’s pushing stuff up this way? That offshoot of the Zetas?”

  The old man leaned forward. “Not really, all they’ve been able to get out of their contacts, is that ‘somebody,’ person or persons unknown has been allowed to set up another route, probably coming up through Big Bend, since that area is wild as hell. I wouldn’t be surprised if they are using mules and coming up through Coahuila on the eastern side of the Sierra Madres. If they are trucking it up, it’s on highway sixty-seven and they’re walking it across somewhere around Ojinaga. There are way too many places to cross, and nowhere near the coverage to actually monitor that section of the border.”

  The sheriff got up and walked to the Texas map hanging on the wall. “So this takes pressure off Laredo and McAllen?”

  The old man said, “That’s what Bucky is thinking, since they’ve been hammering them pretty well lately. I’ll quit bothering you. I’ve got paperwork to do to finish that investigation on the robbery out at the truck stop.”

  The sheriff chuckled. “Ah yes, we also serve who file paperwork don’t we.”

  The old man shook his head and left the office. Wandering the halls rather than going back to finish the report, he stopped by intake and flipped through the intake photos of the arrestees from the weekend. It looked like the usual suspects, until he got to the last two pictures.

  Calling the sergeant over he asked, “Willie, where did these two come from?”

  The sergeant spun the folder around, “Oh those are the two that were arrested for the kilo of grass on Saturday night. I think Jesse was in on that one. We’re waiting to transfer them to state custody later today.”

  “No wants or warrants, I take it?”

  “Nothing, Captain, or at least nothing under the names we have on them,” the sergeant said.

  Tapping one of the pictures, the old man said, “Can you shoot that one to my email, Roberto Hernandez? He looks familiar for some reason.”

  “It’ll be there by the time you get to your desk, Captain,” the sergeant replied.

  The old man swung by the kitchen, refilled his coffee cup and went back to the office. Settling into the chair, he called up the email and looked once again at the picture, and the attached documentation. The name for some reason didn’t match the face in his mind, but he couldn’t tease it out. Playing a hunch, he forwarded the email to Bucky’s DEA account down at Laredo. Picking up the phone, he tried Bucky’s office, but it went to voice mail, so he left a message asking for a callback.

  Restlessly moving around the building, the old man kept thinking he was missing something. There was something about Hernandez that just wasn’t right, but he couldn’t tease the thought out. Damn age striking again, he thought

  Two hours later, he still hadn’t figured it out when an email popped in from Bucky and his phone rang. Punching the speaker, he growled, “Cronin.”

  Bucky’s voice came from the speaker, “Good morning grumpy, what the hell are you doing sending me a picture of Iggy?”

  “Iggy? Ah shit, that was what was wrong! I thought we killed that sumbitch years ago in that gunfight down in Guadalajara,” the old man exclaimed.

  “Nah, we got lead in him, but never did find a body, and he showed back up again about ten years ago. He’s a mid-level mule and crew boss, or was, for the Zetas,” Bucky replied. “What did y’all get him with?”

  The old man looked through the papers on the screen, “Apparently, not much. He was in a van where the driver was busted for a key of grass.”

  A hacking noise came over the speaker, and the old man realized Bucky was laughing. Bucky ran down and said, “You missed something John, that sumbitch never shows his face outside ol’ Mexico unless he’s got a major deal going down. You must be slipping in your old age.”

  The old man rocked back in the chair thinking, “Hell, Bucky, I didn’t even get involved. This was a routine traffic stop Saturday night. Guess I better go investigate this one a bit more.”

  Bucky said, “Yeah, I’ll send you some particulars in a few, but I’d bet he was up to something.”

  The old man hung up, and looking at his watch, called Jesse, asking her to come to the sheriff’s office at lunch. When she asked why, he said he’d discuss it when she got there.

  Walking down to dispatch, he asked Lisa, “Where is Roberts patrolling today, and do you know if he’s got Roscoe with him?”

  Checking her notes, Lisa answered, “Captain, he’s in sector four and Roscoe is in the back; you need him?”

  Nodding, the old man said, “Yeah, ask him to come on by the station as soon as he can and I need he and Roscoe to check a vehicle.” He leaned on the desk as Lisa sent the alert and deputy Roberts came back with an ETA of fifteen minutes. The old man headed back to the sheriff’s office and stuck his head in. “Sheriff, looks like we got a problem or maybe more than one on our hands.”

  Annoyed, the sheriff asked, “What now?”

  “Oh nothing much, just a mid-level drug crew boss sitting in the tank, and a possibility we’ve got a major drug bust missed…”

  “You’re shitting me, right? Please tell me you’re… You’re not are you? Gahdammit John, what the hell is going on?

  “Sheriff, I don’t know, but I’m in the process of finding out. This is from Jesse and the trooper’s bust Saturday night. The mid-level guy is really named Ignacio Hernandez, but the paperwork and DL said Roberto Hernandez, and obviously came back clean, so I’m betting no prints got run. Bucky said Iggy doesn’t stick his head out of Mexico unless he’s running something, so the question is what. I’m betting it’s going to be more than just a key of grass. I’ve got Roberts and Roscoe on the way in, and I’m going to go over the van with a fine toothed comb, I’ve also got Jesse coming at lunch to try to get the rest of the story out of her.”

  Disgusted the sheriff banged down his coffee cup, “Do it, and let me know if we screwed the pooch before I call the troopers in.”

  “Will do, sheriff,” the old man said as he headed back down the hall.

  The old man got the keys to the van from the evidence locker and made it to the back door of the station as Jesse pulled in closely followed by the deputy and Roscoe. As he waited for Roberts to unload Roscoe, he asked Jesse, “Did y’all run a dog against the vehicle during the stop or after it got back here?”

  “Nope, we smelled marijuana smoke ourselves on the initial stop, and the trooper pulled them out. I guarded them while he searched the van and found the kilo of marijuana in the driver’s bag sitting by the driver’s seat…. Why?” Jesse asked.

  Grimacing the old man answered, “Well, your clean passenger is in fact a drug mule and smuggling crew leader, and we may have a major drug bust that we almost missed.”

  Stunned, Jesse just looked at the old man. “Papa? What…”

  The old man just held up his hand, turning to the deputy he said, “Roberts would you please take Roscoe to that white van and see if he alerts please?”

  Roberts nodded and walked Roscoe over to the van, commanding Roscoe to search, he walked Roscoe around the van, but the dog didn’t like approaching it, and started pawing his nose and sneezing. Coming back the deputy was shaking his head, “Captain, I’ve never seen him act like that. It’s like he wanted to alert, but something was bothering him real bad. What do you want me to do now?”

  “Put Roscoe back in the car, get your gloves and we’re gonna do a search of this van.” Turning to Jesse he said, “If you can, I’d like you to help and you might learn something here.”

  Jesse wasn’t happy, but agreed. Going back to her car, she opened the trunk and got a set of gloves out of her duty bag as the old man grabbed a couple of other deputies that were standin
g outside the back door. The old man decided to make this a teaching experience for all of them and unlocked the van, popped the hood release and started walking them around the vehicle. He also got inside and pulled the engine cover from the cab, showed them what to look for and proceeded around the van. He found a piece of cardboard and got on the ground and slid under the vehicle, checking the undercarriage and talking everyone through what he was doing. Still not finding anything, he opened the back of the van to be confronted by a load of flat screen TVs that were new in the box. Turning to Jesse he asked, “Where did they say they were going?”

  “They said they were delivering these to a new hotel being built in New Orleans. But now that I think about it, I know I didn’t follow up on that. I don’t know if the trooper did or not,” she said.

  “Okay. Guys, lets pull enough of these TVs out to see the floor of the van,” the old man directed. He counted off forty-five TVs as they pulled them out.

  After that was done, he inspected the van’s floor to make sure there wasn’t a false floor, again talking the others through what he was doing. Looking at the TVs again, he asked Jesse to go get the scale out of the women’s bathroom, and asked Deputy Roberts to go get Roscoe again. Taking one boxed TV and placing it well clear of the van, he had Roberts work Roscoe against the box, with the same results.

  Jesse came back with the scale and the old man set it on the pad. They set a TV on the scales and the old man started chuckling, “Anybody see a problem here?”

  Jesse and the three deputies all shook their heads, and the old man picked up another TV box and set it on the scale. Now laughing out loud he said, “Oh, you sneaky bastards.”

  Mystified, Jesse asked, “What Papa? What are we missing?”

  The old man shook his head, “Look at the weight.”

  Jesse read off the scale, “It says thirty-four and a half pounds. So?”

  Deputy Roberts finally caught on and looked at the box itself, “Captain it says thirty pounds.”

  “Bingo, what weighs four point four pounds more or less?”

  All of them mumbled two kilos at about the same time. “Exactly, I’m betting we’re going to find two kilos of something in these boxes or inside the TVs themselves. Go get the tool kit and let’s see what we’ve got.”

  As one of the deputies went for the tool kit, the old man was shifting the box to figure out the least damaging way to get into it. The bottom seam had both staples and tape, so he cut the tape around the box and eased the TV out of the box. Checking the Styrofoam, he set it to the side, took the plastic off the TV, opened the parts box, and finally started taking the back off the TV. Roberts jumped in and helped, and the old man eased the TV apart. He leaned down and sniffed; nodding to himself, he called to the others, “Okay, take a look at tell me what you see.”

  Jesse looked in and said, “Dammit, I screwed up didn’t I, Papa?”

  The other deputies all looked in and reacted in various ways, but it was Roberts who finally said, “Two damn kilos in the damn TV? Captain, what sent you down that track?”

  The old man smiled. “Well, Roscoe’s reaction made me wonder if something was hidden and covered up by something that the dog wouldn’t like. When the truck came up clean, the TVs were the next option and the weight gave it away. Now that we’ve got the TV apart, you can catch a whiff of capsicum. That would tear a dog’s nose up, and Roscoe was probably getting a little scent of the cocaine, but more capsicum than anything else. Jesse would you go ask the sheriff to step out here please?”

  Jesse nodded and walked to the door mumbling to herself. The old man pulled out his phone and called Bucky, leaving him a message that there was an estimated ninety kilos of probable cocaine in the van.

  The sheriff came out, took one look and said, “Damn John, you’ve lived up to your reputation one more time. Did you call Bucky already?”

  The old man nodded and watched as Roberts tested the cocaine in one bag. It turned the compound a deep blue, indicating almost pure cocaine. Jesse just shook her head, “Papa, I need to get back to work, can we talk when I get home?”

  “Yep, and don’t feel bad, you’re not to blame for this, it got taken away from you,” he said.

  Jesse spent the afternoon in a funk over the missed drugs, while the old man and deputies tore apart TVs and collected the ninety kilos of cocaine. Bucky showed up late in the afternoon with two other DEA agents, and they took control of the cocaine, the driver, and ‘Iggy’ Hernandez. The old man got Bucky off to the side, and asked him to keep Jesse’s name out of the reports, and just let the trooper have all the credit. The sheriff agreed, and also told Bucky the troopers were going to take credit for “directing” the search for the drugs too.

  ***

  Jesse was still in a funk at dinner, and nothing the old man could say seem to bring her out of it. She finally said, “Papa, I made a big mistake by not following procedures. You’ve taught me better; and I want to know, what could have happened out there?”

  The old man set his coffee cup down. “Well, the worst case is they could have blown you away. I think the trooper showing up might have diffused the situation to some extent, but you were lucky. Take that as a warning, and remember to always wear your vest to start with.”

  Jesse just stared at the old man then said, “Is this the kind of stuff you used to do? Is that where you learned all the stuff about smuggling?”

  Picking the cup back up, the old man rolled it between his hands. “Jesse, a lot of what I learned about smuggling was during my time with DEA, but a good bit was working the old back roads in this county and the border for years. A lot of it is getting a feeling for people and their actions, and I can’t teach you that. The mechanics yes, but it’s always evolving. Call it an undeclared war, call it what you want; the bottom line is we’re trying to stop the drugs, they are trying to move the drugs. We don’t always win, and neither do they.”

  “Is that why you co-wrote that article I read about smuggling?” Jesse asked curiously.

  “Yeah, I’m trying to pass on some of the hard earned knowledge. Hopefully without all the hate and discontent I went through to get that knowledge. I’m leaving in the morning, and I’ll be back by the weekend, okay?” he asked.

  Jesse nodded, “Okay, I’m on Saturday day shift, and maybe I need to stay there for a while until I get some more training.”

  The old man leaned forward. “No, you need to get back on that horse, if you don’t go back on nights and make stops, you just need to quit now. Understand? You know what to do and how, this was one case. You can’t let it get to you, okay?”

  Jesse got up and took her plate to the sink, then came and hugged the old man. “Yes, Papa. I won’t let it get to me. I’m not getting up at zero dark thirty to see you off, so have fun on your trip.”

  The old man hugged her back, and gave her a peck on the cheek. Jesse headed off to bed, while John and Francisco did the dishes to give Juanita a break.

  3 Road Trip

  John looked up as Juanita slid a plate on the counter in front of him.

  “The sheriff called and he’ll be here in thirty minutes to pick you up John, so eat,” she said. “I know they don’t feed you worth a damn on those airplanes.”

  John took the plate and coffee to the table. “Thanks Juanita, I didn’t mean for you to get up and fix me breakfast, but I appreciate it.”

  “De nada. Francisco was already up since he wanted to check on that cow in the barn, he’s afraid she’s breech with that calf, and he’s trying to make sure he’s got everything he needs when she drops it,” Juanita replied.

  John sighed. “Yeah, this is not the best time for me to be leaving, but I’m stuck with being on this panel with Sergi and Antonio and it’s been scheduled for four months so there is no way to get out of it.”

  John finished the plate and took it to the sink, rinsed it and shoved it in the dishwasher. “Well, if anything comes up, you know how to access the operating accounts to get what you n
eed, and keep an eye on Rex will you?”

  Juanita harrumphed. “John how many damn years have we worked for you? Of course we can do what we need, and I think that damn dog has no idea who he belongs to. Everybody and their damn brother feeds him, or lets him out, or lets him in.”

  Francisco limped into the kitchen in time to catch the last of Juanita’s rant. “Thanks a bunch John, spin her up and leave me to deal with it why don’t ya,” he said with a smile as he grabbed a cup and poured coffee.

  “Hip bothering you again Francisco?” John asked.

  “Ah, damn weather change is kicking my hip, shoulder, ass, you name it; it’ll quit sometime.” Francisco slipped into a chair as Rex came over and laid his head in Francisco’s lap. Petting the dog without thinking, Francisco added, “You’re gone a week right? Do you need me to pick you up at Midland?”

  “Nah, I’m going to make the sheriff—” John was interrupted by the sound of a car horn. “Helluva watch dog there, Rex.” He glanced at the dog. “I’m going to make him come get me.”

  Rex sighed, and followed the old man out of the kitchen as he went into the living room and picked up his suitcase and briefcase. Carrying his gear, he walked down to the sheriff’s SUV, opened the back door and dumped his bags in the back seat.

  Juanita handed him a thermos of coffee as he got in the truck.

  The sheriff leaned over and said with a smile, “Thank you, Juanita. I’ll say it ‘cause I know this grumpy old bastard won’t! And tell that hubby of yours to stop by and pick up the renewal of his reserve deputy commission.”

  “I’ll do that, sheriff, thank you.”

  “It’s Jose. You’ve known me long enough to call me that, and known me long before I was sheriff, just like grumpy here has.”

  That prompted Jose to think back over the last twenty-odd years, first as a young deputy who was scared to death of John as a training officer, then as a co-worker and now as the sheriff. Hell, I’m still scared of him, Jose thought. John was rich and didn’t need to work, and spent weeks sometimes months on strange, sometimes secretive trips. He flew around as a “consultant” to different law enforcement agencies. Damn, his Spanish is better than mine, and I’m a damn native! Jose thought. I know he talks with Toby in Toby’s native language, I wonder how many languages he does speak. Shaking his head, he put the thermos of coffee where they could both reach it as John, nodding to Juanita, climbed into the truck and slammed the door, buckling his seatbelt as he slumped back in the seat.