The Grey Man: -Vignettes-

by JL Curtis

  “God, you are grumpy this morning aren’t you John? What’s got your tits in a ringer?” Jose said as he turned on to 18 South.

  “If you really want to know, I don’t like the timing of this trip. Too much stuff going on here, especially that last bust Jesse was involved in. Honestly, I don’t feel like I’m really qualified to sit on this damn panel. I know a bit about smuggling but I’m not a damn expert, and I wish they’d never published that damn paper we wrote,” John answered.

  Jose laughed. “You don’t realize how good you really are. How many busts did you have when you were with DEA? Both ships and trucks, and how many coyotes have you caught on ten and twenty while helping out DPS? Or the smugglers you and Antonio got when you went over there? And how many years of working with the Marshals, on both personnel and drug smuggling? Hell, how much did you teach my old fat ass when I was a young rookie?”

  The old man had to smile at that. “Not a damn lot, you were too lazy! And anybody who runs for office just to get outta work needs their heads checked!”

  Settling back they chatted through the hour plus trip up to the Midland/Odessa airport, where the sheriff pulled into the drop off lane. Stopping the truck, he reached into the back seat and handed John a folder, “Here are your ‘orders’ if you will, permission to carry your piece, and PO’s to pay for the hotel in Virginia, but if they won’t take them, use the credit card.”

  Looking at John he asked, “You did bring a suit didn’t you? I know you hate like hell to wear anything other than those ratty ass old Dickies, but you DO have a reputation to uphold ya know.”

  Grabbing his bags, the old man grinned. “Suit, I don’t need no stinkin suit! What they see is what they get; hell they’re going to think I’m some kinda redneck cowboy, so why not live up to that image? Of course I’ve got a damn suit Jose, and shirts and ties, and I’m even wearing my barbecue rig, happy now?”

  Jose just shook his head. “Fly safe John, and I’ll pick you up Friday afternoon at five.”

  Putting the truck in gear, the sheriff looked over, waved and then drove off.

  With a wave, the old man opened walked into the airport. He checked his bag and looked around until he found the on duty police officer, showing him the travel authorization and the officer got him through security with a minimum of hassle although TSA did want to search his briefcase.

  Five hours and one lousy airline meal later, he landed at Washington National, grabbed his bag and headed for the rental car agency. Picking up the rental car, he looked at the map and figured out what he thought was the best way to get out to Dulles to pick up Sergi and Antonio. Looking at the time, he realized he was going to be right in the middle of rush hour, so he just gritted his teeth and hit the road.

  An hour later, he finally made it to Dulles and pulled up in front of the arrivals level. He remembered from his previous trip to Italy that they had come out at the west end of the terminal, so he pulled in front of the police car and parked.

  Getting out, he walked over to two airport police and pulled his jacket back far enough for them to see the badge. “I need to pick up a couple of LEOs coming in from overseas. Is this the best place to get them?”

  The older of the two nodded saying, “Sure, you know if they are coming in on the same flight?”

  The old man nodded, pulled out his wheel book, the little flip top notebook that went everywhere with him, a habit that was as ingrained as putting on his pants or his gun. He read the flight number from the appropriate page, and the officer called on his radio and confirmed the flight had landed about thirty minutes earlier saying, “They should be clearing customs in about fifteen minutes, if they haven’t already. Leave your car here. Go in that first door and straight down to the main floor; that is where the international passengers come out, and you should be able to find them with no problem.”

  After about ten minutes, he saw Sergi and Antonio coming out together. He waved at them, and he couldn’t help but laugh, since they truly resembled Mutt and Jeff.

  Sergi stood at least six-foot-five, was blonde, blue-eyed and in great physical shape, looking like a movie star or model; Antonio, on the other hand, was only about five-foot-six, with grey hair going in all directions, a soup-strainer moustache, rolly polly like a beach ball and looked like he’d been sleeping in his clothes for a week.

  After a round of handshakes, back-slapping and John threatening to shoot Antonio if he tried to kiss him, they trooped out to the parking lot. The older officer was still standing there, obviously keeping an eye on their car. John got the trunk open and looking over at the officer, realized he was curious as to who was who.

  John motioned him over. “Sergi, Tony, this officer was nice enough to let me park here to retrieve y’all, so introduce yourselves and we can head to Quantico and dinner.”

  Sergi came to attention, shook the officer’s hand and introduced himself. “Sergi Laine, Keskusrikospoliisi or NBI, our equivalent of your FBI. Thank you for letting the Cowboy park here!”

  Tony strolled over, sticking out his hand and said, “Antonio Russo, Carabinieri, Direzione Anti Droga, our anti-drug task force. And, yes, thank you for not arresting the Cowboy. He has to drive because we are too scared to!”

  The officer took the men’s hands, shook his head and then just waved them on. Sergi and Tony finished grabbing knives and other assorted things out of their bags, and closed the trunk. As usual, Sergi grabbed the front seat and just as typically Tony bitched at him about it. On the drive in, they caught up with each other, and Tony pushed the idea of grabbing Italian food, as this would probably be the only chance they had, since they had to return to Filomena in Georgetown.

  Grumbling, John finally got down into Georgetown, and couldn’t find parking anywhere close, so ended up in a public lot. John decided to lock his hat in the trunk rather than call any additional attention to him or them.

  Just like the last time, Tony broke into Italian walking in the restaurant, and disappeared into the kitchen while Sergi and the old man were escorted to a private table. A few minutes later Tony reappeared, and pronounced that he had taken care of everything.

  Sergi just rolled his eyes, and John just shook his head. “Dammit, Tony. I told you last time we would split the bill, I know this place is expensive and you aren’t made of money; Angela does get most of what you make and you spend the rest on the kids!”

  During dinner, they chatted over how to handle the panel during the seminar, deciding whom would take the lead on the various sections and who would lead the discussions. They decided to wait until they were at the conference center tomorrow to get a look at how things would be set up. By the time “only” a five course dinner was over, it was dark and being a Monday night, not that many folks were out.

  Walking back to the car, John realized something didn’t feel right, and looking quickly at both Sergi and Tony he realized they had picked up the vibe also. John said quietly, “.45 on my right hip.”

  Sergi responded, “Knife only. I have right.”

  Tony chimed in, “Knife and baton, I have the left.”

  Rounding the corner at the parking lot, John realized the lights were out in the lot, either broken or just out. Behind him he heard a scuff of feet, and bouncing of a ball.

  Turning, he realized they didn’t have any place to go, trapped between a building and a large truck parked on the street, unless they backed into the parking lot, but he had no idea who or what was in there. Cussing himself, he decided to see what was going to happen here and now, rather than later. All three of them stopped and turned around as John motioned for the young guys with the basketball to go on by, but they didn’t; stopping and blocking the sidewalk, the one on his right continued to bounce the basketball, while the one on his left turned and looked quickly over his back.

  The one in the center, obviously the leader spoke softly, “Ol’ man, you needs to give us yo’ money, an’ yo’ watches right now fore we hurts y’all.”

  Sergi,
bless his heart, rattled off an answer in Finnish that did nothing but confuse the punks, and the leader said, “Get ‘em, quiet like.”

  Tony answered in Italian with a querulous response, and once again confused the punks. They started to move in and John held out a hand. “Wait, I’ll give you my wallet and watch, just let my friends go,” and started fumbling with his watch band.

  Hearing the snick of a blade opening on the right, and a pop on the left, he assumed both Sergi and Tony were ready to act as necessary. The one facing Sergi suddenly threw the basketball at him, and started to rush. Sergi caught the ball and a hissing noise sliced through the night, momentarily stopping the rush. “Oh, it looks like your ball has a leak. I’m sorry for that!”

  Using the distraction, John drew his .45 and pulled his tac light from his pocket with his off hand as he dropped into a combat crouch. The punk on the left realized what happened seconds too late and yelped, “Bro, he got a gun!” His eyes widening and half blinded, as he reached for John’s arm; he didn’t see Tony’s hand move as Tony cracked him across the wrist with the ASP baton, and the punk dropped to his knees in pain.

  Sergi dropped the now deflated basketball off the end of his knife seemingly ignoring the three punks and asked, “Well, do we shoot them, cut them or just beat them, Cowboy?”

  The old man was still in a combat stance, light in the leader’s eyes and the punk’s arms were now at shoulder level and he was wavering between offensive and defensive posture.

  “Well, if we shoot ‘em, it’s gonna take all damn night to do the paperwork, but it would take em off the streets permanently.”

  Tony said in a thick Italian accent, as he waved his knife in a comedic parody of fighting. “I want to cut them; I haven’t had any fun since I left Sicily!”

  “But that looks like a police car coming now, we could cut them and give them to the police right?”

  The three punks broke and ran at that point, and John, Sergi and Tony retreated to their car and slumped in their seats, letting the adrenalin drain off. Sergi folded his knife and John, seeing it out of the corner of his eye asked, “How BIG is that damn thing?”

  Sergi flipped it open and chuckled. “Cowboy, do you not recognize the knife you gave me for Christmas a few years ago? It’s a Creekit M-16? I like this knife. It fits my hand well!”

  Shaking his head, John looked down at the floorboard of the car. “What’s that Tony?

  “Oh, I thought since they left their basketball, it would be a good challenge for some folks to see if they might get prints off it. Did I do wrong? Should I have returned it?”

  John just threw up his hands as both Tony and Sergi laughed.

  While the old man navigated the freeways down to the Garrisonville exit, Tony and Sergi brought each other up to speed on their respective activities since they’d seen each other, and they all discussed the family status and bemoaned how much money it cost to feed the families and cars and animals. They finally got to the hotel late, at nearly eleven. They checked in and agreed to meet in the lobby at 0600 and go find breakfast from there.

  4 Quantico

  After a breakfast at Waffle House, they rolled out to the back gate at Quantico and onto the FBI’s portion of the base. Pulling into the parking lot in front of the complex, Antonio shuddered. “I still have nightmares about this place. It is no wonder I couldn’t sleep last night!”

  Sergi just grunted and the old man laughed. “Hey we’re back as the pros from Dover now, so we don’t have to play their games. And the reason you had nightmares was all that damn food!”

  Getting out of the car, they stopped momentarily to look at those faded brick buildings, each dealing with their own memories of the place. Automatically, they all slipped on and straightened their suit coats, and the old man put on his cowboy hat. As they walked up the walkway to the entry, a familiar figure stepped out.

  “John Cronin, you old bastard, I wondered if that was really you! I see that it is, and you’re as ugly as ever,” SAC[2] Miller said with a smile, as he extended his hand. The old man proceeded to fold the SAC into a bear hug and pounded him on the back. “Milty, who the hell let you up here? Goddamn, it’s been, what, twenty years? These are my co-authors, Sergi and Tony!”

  Handshakes and introductions followed.

  “Hell, John, I’m so old they put my tired ass out to pasture and this is the pasture,” the SAC said. “I’m the lead instructor and for my sins, the damn coordinator for this cluster fuck we’ve got this week. C’mon, we’ll get some coffee and I brought donuts for all you cops!”

  Leading them into the building and the theater, they caught up with each other and discussed the plan for the seminars and their panel. Since they weren’t on until eleven, they could either attend the first panels or come back. They decided since they’d already come out, and there was really nothing to do at the hotel, they would sit in on the earlier portion of the seminar.

  Sergi and Tony wandered off, talking with a few of the early arrivals as the Miller pulled the old man to the side. “Just to give you a heads up,” the SAC said, “Klopstein is going to be here, and he’s been writing a lot of memos on how flawed your paper is, so be prepared. Also, I’m pulling you guys out after lunch, we’ve got another meeting y’all have to attend. Don’t say anything to anybody else about that. I’ll come get you when we need to leave.”

  “Klopstein?” the old man replied. “I thought that bastard got fired! How the hell did he get his nose back under the tent?”

  Shaking his head, the SAC said. “Oh, he wangled a position at Columbia in their Criminal Justice program,” he said. “BS’ed his way into a department chair in Forensics and Analysis. You know about his whole model and simulation spiel, right? Well, he’s managed to keep pushing that shit down here and the head shed keeps giving him money to expand it into a real study.”

  “Can I just shoot the bastard and be done with it Milty? I never could stand that sumbitch when he was trying to BS us in the forensics classes down here back in the day.” Miller laughed. “Hey, any chance we can sneak over to the range? I still owe you a chance to get your money back from our last little competition,” the old man said with a grin.

  Tony came back over and borrowed the keys to the car, saying he’d be back in a couple of minutes. As Tony came back with a laundry bag in his hand, Sergi wandered up from the front of the theater. When he saw Tony he started laughing. “Mr. SAC, we have a little challenge for you, if you please. We would like to know if your great lab here can get fingerprints for us.”

  The old man shook his head. “Milty, we had a bit of a set to last night, and they left a bit of evidence behind. Not sure how you want to handle this or if you even do.”

  The SAC held out his hand and Tony passed him the laundry bag, opening it and seeing the basketball he looked at the three of them with a quizzical expression. “Evidence? Are there bodies to go with this, or is this it?”

  After a humorous retelling of the events of the previous night, the SAC chuckled with them and said he’d see what he could do, and knew just the person at Metro DC to pass the info to if they came up with anything.

  He glanced at his watch. “Well, time to get this show on the road, if you guys want to go or hide in the back feel free, I doubt you’ll need to be back before ten- thirty.”

  Shaking hands all around, they broke up; the old man decided to stay and see what the other presenters were going to say, and Tony and Sergi decided to go visit the museum and stretch their legs.

  After the first presenter and panel, the old man snuck out the back and wandered around the buildings, letting the memories wash over him. It was hard to believe it had been almost thirty years since he’d last been here and that was for ten long weeks. Homesick, damn near ready to leave after the second week, but determined to stick it out after Amy chewed his ass… But the folks he’d met had opened his eyes to the world-wide fraternity of good cops.

  And the classes got him interested and back in the b
ooks, especially the forensics classes, which focused on how to correctly collect evidence and pursue investigations. That had opened up a whole new world for the young deputy back then, and taken him down the road that had now brought him back here. As the Chief Investigator for the Sheriff’s Office, he’d worked with so many different departments over the years and managed to put some truly bad guys behind bars, and a couple in the ground too. But his fascination with smuggling started right here, well that and the two years with the DEA in South America and the raids on labs and smuggling operations.

  He realized he was standing in front of the old forensics classroom and there were still exhibits outside the door, but he didn’t recognize a single one of them. He wondered what had happened to the old ones, and figured they were in some storage unit somewhere on the compound. Hell, they’d had stuff from Dillinger here when he’d gone through. Looking at his watch, he decided to head back and make sure he was ready for the panel discussion that was to come.

  At 10:45, the seminar stopped for a fifteen minute break and the SAC came out the back. Seeing the old man, Sergi and Tony he motioned them over and told them, “Okay, you guys are up, and I’ll introduce you then we’ll give you about fifteen minutes to give your open and then open the floor for questions, y’all got that?”

  They nodded and followed the SAC back down to the stage, and he showed them the computer controls and gave them each their mikes and had them each do sound checks.