by H. L. Valdez
“I could’ve used Spanky in the field,” Primo said, watching Butch feed Spanky a spam sandwich that he didn’t like.
“Life comes in many faces, and many forces,” Butch replied, wiping his hands with a napkin. Sipping his scotch, Primo observed Butch pondering what he said. Butch could be a walking paradox of loose nerve endings. His body was muscular and diamond hard. He was clean and articulate; one always felt safe around Butch. It was an uneasy security in a way. Cunning and street smart, he trusted his instincts. He seldom misjudged a person or a situation. His keen sense of intuition had been shaped by a parade of violent episodes that made action and thinking automatic.
“Has the meeting started?” Marshall Velvet Valentine asked, entering the wardroom and evaluating the group’s energy level. Justin closed his book, gawking at Velvet's robust and voluptuous figure. She had well-proportioned upper body strength and leg strength. In a fight, she was quick, and had won her share of fights against averaged sized men: she had more than held her own. Justin, consumed in fantasy projection, savored her sensuousness, and strange blend of femininity and sultry movements. His insides screamed for her, but within moments, his inner smile turned into a neutral stare, watching Velvet remove her tan safari jacket, revealing a shoulder sling supporting a 9mm Beretta sub-machine gun nestled inside a custom-made chamois holster.
Velvet was a survivor from childhood. Every summer, her diamond dealer father and grandfather would take her to South West Africa on business boating trips down the 1,000-mile Cabango River. During these excursions, Velvet would mingle with African safari crews and native tribesman. The tribal warriors taught her hunting skills, trapping techniques, and how to overcome fear. She found joy in defying the feelings of danger. During night hunts, she was fascinated by the distinct animal sounds, and smells of the vast grassland. Her senses went wild with as rolling surges of anticipation tingled and rushed through her body during the hunt. It was those early experiences that provided her with international contacts, and access to key resource people. She was confident and comfortable with herself, and possessed a keen self-awareness. She was well suited to be sitting between Butch and Primo as she organized a series of documents while Butch looked at Spanky, Rita looked at Butch, Primo at Rita, and Justin at Velvet.
“It’s going to be a long afternoon,” Velvet informed the group, looking at each person. With a high I.Q., she always wanted maximum incentives. She wanted a lifestyle created by her, not by circumstance.
“It seems the women are the hunters and men the hunted,” Justin replied, grinning.
“And you are the occasional true intellectual, I assume?” she asked academically, sitting back in her chair, forcing Justin to gather his thoughts.
"Excuse me," Primo interrupted, "Anyone for a drink or coffee?" He asked casually, pushing his chair away from the table and standing.
"OK, a whistle wetter might be good," Velvet answered, as Primo walked toward the small refreshment table stocked with liquor, water, glasses, ice cubes, mixes, and juice.
"Would you care for a drink, Captain?"
“No thanks. I’ll stick to coffee,” Rita answered, surreptitiously removing the psycho stimulant tablet, Dexedrine, from her leg pocket.
"Attention on deck!" The Command's Master Chief announced, as the ruggedly handsome Admiral entered the wardroom dressed in his summer white uniform.
"Carry on, stay seated,” the tall, thin, gray haired Admiral instructed, accompanied by two Federal agents. Walking up to the portable chalkboard he wrote, "Operation Tense." Primo looked around then quickly returned to his seat.
“Ladies and Gentlemen you have been selected as the first government sponsored Crisis Response Team to confront the problems of international drug trafficking. You will deal with the proliferation of heroin smuggling groups coming out of Asia. Your mission is to uncover the International Narcotic Commission's political connections, and prove that a specific structured organization exists for the purpose of committing crimes. And to start things out, I want to introduce Danny Delight, with the National Security Council. Mr. Delight will start out,” he concluded, walking to the rear of the room. Sitting in a large brown leather chair, lighting his pipe, Philippino mess attendants served the Admiral coffee as he nodded for Danny to begin, watching him wipe his bald scalp.
"Hello everyone, let me introduce Detective Butch Moriguchi with the Narcotics Division, of the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department," Mr. Delight began, gesturing toward Butch. “To his left, United States Marshal Velvet Valentine who is assigned to the Senate Foreign Relations subcommittee on narcotics and international operations. And this is Mr. Mimo Cruz, senior narcotics Chief for the Mexican Federal Judicial Police. Take a few moments and get acquainted,” Danny said, as ship stewards entered the room serving fresh coffee, sandwiches, donuts, and cookies. Primo, wearing camouflage fatigues, readjusted himself in his seat as a steward attempted to pick up two half-full glasses of scotch sitting in front him.
“Hold on,” Primo said, grabbing his drinks from the steward as Danny loosened his blue silk tie walking toward the flip chart. With a blank expression, he faced the group with his hands in his pockets. The team remained silent. Spanky, a fastidious dog, sat next to Butch, licking his paws.
“Violent protests seem to grow most directly from the struggle for places in the structure of power. Narcotic traffickers change the levers of power by using collective violence as a part of their struggle,” Danny began, wiping his forehead with a napkin as Mimo sipped his coffee, making eye contact with Rita who casually put on her aviator glasses.
“Dum-de-dum-dum,” Rita mumbled, looking at Justin, sitting upright, her senses on fast-forward.
"Different rules produce different results; the rules themselves are a frequent conflict issue. Approaches to conflict are basically related to the nature of the conflict,” Danny stated, as Mimo scratched his head, admiringly looking at Rita.
“The critical limiting factor of an organization is its capability to handle the non-routine, consequential events that cannot be anticipated,” Velvet volunteered. Mimo chewing his doughnut, slurping his coffee, watched the group, as they remained silent, watching him.
“Resistance increases the probability of violence," Mimo said, sipping coffee, his mouth filled with crumbs. "It's that simple,” he mentioned, carefully selecting a quartered ham sandwich from the silver platter.
“Violence doesn’t flourish by itself. It’s intertwined with lying,” Butch said, looking at Mimo. Rita pushed her chair back, stood up and went to the refreshment table as the group responded to Butch. From a jumpsuit pocket, she quickly withdrew two prescription Dexamyl tablets, a powerful amphetamine-tranquilizer, to elevate her mood, quickly ingesting them along with a Dexedrine, while stretching for an empty glass.
“Let’s go for a ride,” Rita mumbled grinning, as Danny studied Velvet’s profile for a moment, and then turned his gaze to Mimo, sensing from him a detachment from the here and now, as though some inner conflicts were being fought within his soul.
"Everyone will find out there are no rules. You don't know when you cross the line. Everyone is trying to guess how far they can go," Mimo said gravely.
“It’s difficult to cope even if you have skills. But when tension is too high people are busy trying to survive psychologically,” Danny said, edging closer to Mimo. Rita sat down after pouring herself coffee, to accelerate her high, with a glass of water, to quench her dry mouth from the amphetamines effects, in turn, Velvet stood up, and walked to the small table.
"Way too much theory," Primo blurted. "Combat doesn’t work that way. Please give me some answers. What’s the problem here?" What’s the mission? Why am I here?” he asked, setting his drink down.
"Good questions. Good questions.” Velvet quickly stated. “Recently, Interpol agents seized 250 pounds of heroin from a shipping trawler docked in Hong Kong destined for New York City.”
“The alleged head of a Chinese heroin ring was the prime tar
get of federal agents for two years.” Danny continued. “This Triad leader had over seventy people murdered in Thailand, Hong Kong, and the United States. He used a former New York policeman as his point of contact to import heroin valued at over $16 million in just over four years. Federal agents suspect this influential leader of distributing over two tons of heroin into New York."
“That’s pretty good,” Rita mumbled under her breath.
"In the last sixty days, federal agents seized another two tons of heroin coming out of Southeast Asia destined for New York City," Danny added.
“I’m not a cop,” Justin replied. “This mess ain’t my fight.”
“It’s all about resolving conflict,” Danny replied glancing at Justin. “The ability to resolve conflict may be one of the most important skills a person can possess on this team."
“With chaos, different rules produce different results. At times the rules are the problem.” Mimo suggested, sitting upright, as Rita removed her glasses, looking at Mimo with cold eyes.
“This ain’t my problem. I’m a fly boy, not a cowboy,” Justin said, sipping his coffee, as Velvet returned to her seat with a cup of coffee.
“Yeah, you just need something to ride,” Rita smirked.
“Get yourselves organized. You need to be prepared,” Mimo blurted rudely, as everyone remained silent, staring at him. Spanky began producing a steady high-pitched scream, a “Shiba scream,” as Mimo defiantly stared down at Spanky.
“Oh, you’re fun,” Rita answered, swirling in hyperactivity and a drug induced euphoria as her perceptions, and psychological acuity magnified.
“Resistance increases the chance of violence, little lady,” Mimo replied, stern faced. “You have a lot to learn.”
“I’m always prepared, hot dog,” Rita replied, instantly drawing her weapon. “You wanna play fuck-fuck with me. Go ahead,” she said adamantly, pushing her chair back. “Watch your mouth Humpty Dumpty. No second chances.”
“OK, let’s settle down,” the Admiral stated firmly, standing suddenly, annoyed with Rita’s reaction.
“Look, drug money is contaminating some governments. The drug lords have billions of dollars and have political power,” Danny said, as Mimo bit his doughnut, staring at Rita contemptuously.
“You got something to say, say it big boy,” Rita advised Mimo, scratching her forehead with her middle finger.
“Twelve members of my anti-drug unit were murdered by drug gangs,” he answered, wagging his nicotine-stained finger at her. “And I take that personal, real personal. They were good men. And I don’t need your wise-ass crap!”
“Who is this hot dog?” Rita whispered to Justin, putting on her aviator glasses. “I don’t need his attitude!”
“Easy does it,” the Admiral alerted them. “Stay steady.”
“As I said before, there are no rules in this game.” Mimo said gravely. “Everyone is trying to guess how far they can go.”
“Who is this guy?” Justin whispered, leaning toward Rita, as she shook her head.
“When bullets are flying, people have difficulty organizing their thoughts because they are busy trying to survive psychologically,” Primo said as Velvet rose, walking to the refreshment table, with Rita watching her closely.
“Competition situations are survival situations,” Mimo stated seriously.
“It can lead to death,” Primo replied, with a somber expression, staring at Mimo, thinking of the ambush.
“You have to be familiar with the dynamics of power,” Danny told the group, wiping his almost baldhead.
“Why do I need this?” Justin asked, with outstretched arms, then slapped his forehead.
“We’re coming to that,” Velvet answered. “Just hold on.”
“Give us a minute,” Butch suggested. “Let’s get through this blue print idea first.”
“Blue print? More like a Chinese fire drill.” Rita said with a heavy sign, crossing her arms over her chest.
“Have you had enough talking?” Velvet asked, still standing at the refreshment table mixing ice, water, and Chivas Regal scotch into two glasses.
“It’s about time we got into action,” Rita blurted.
“I don’t know why I’m here! I want to know what's going on!" Justin stated impatiently.
"That goes for me too,” Rita blurted, being elevated into a heightened pharmaceutical state of mental acuity as Velvet returned to her seat handing a drink to Primo, and selecting several documents from manila folders.
“I hope your fragile egos can handle some bad news,” Velvet said seriously.
“Here we go,” Rita mumbled, tapping her fingers on the table.
“I have two international arrest warrants. One is for Commander Fortune on charges of violating conflict of interest laws, and lying about the circumstances under which he negotiated contracts for buying and selling helicopter parts to foreign Governments. I have a ten count, fifty page indictment of charges given by a government informant,” Velvet informed him matter-of-fact, as Justin sat stoically.
“And the other warrant, Marshal?” Primo asked curiously.
“Dr. Rios, conversations between you and a drug wholesaler have been introduced in Los Angeles Federal court as evidence in a narcotics conspiracy trial regarding the dumping of prescription drugs into the illicit market,” Velvet said, poker faced. Suddenly, Rita sprang from her chair, knocking it to the floor.
"What are you talking about?" Rita shot back, instinctively reaching for her pistol.
"Don't even think about it. I'll drop you right where you stand sister," Velvet shouted jumping to her feet, reaching for her pistol, as each woman became an ice queen in a deadly psychological standoff. Rita remained calm, knowing in her heart that she could have killed Velvet if she wanted to. Each man remained silent, witnessing the discontent and contest of wills. The Admiral sat quietly, anxiously puffing his pipe, watching the women.
"You buy black market amphetamines at 75 cents per hundred tablets wholesale, then jack-up the price, and sell at a fraction of the cost of cocaine. You still make a huge profit," Velvet said, resting her hands by her side, watching Rita's eyes. "You let us in. We'll pull you out." Velvet encouraged, as they faced each other, ready to draw at the slightest provocation.
"You want to make a deal, is that it?" Rita muttered defiantly, remembering Karl’s suggestion to make a deal and get the money. “What’s the deal?” she asked, turning around, picking up her chair, and sitting down.
"When you have justice, you also have injustice," Velvet replied irritated, picking up her drink, staring at Rita. Here’s the deal. You can plead guilty to conspiring to unlawfully distribute drugs and laundering profits and distributing controlled substances for no legitimate medical purpose.”
“You’re boring me,” Rita blurted, shaking her head, removing her glasses.
“You’re facing 20 years in prison and a $1 million fine. Too bad one of your drug addicts got caught selling morphine and opiate pain killers.” Rita smirked.
“Here’s the plea agreement,” the Admiral interrupted, rising from his chair. “You both either join this operation or go to prison. That’s the deal,” he said in an even tone. “Take a break and decide your own fate. After the break, we’ll talk about “Operation Tense," the Admiral directed, quietly leaving the room with the Master Chief in tow.
“When the Admiral speaks, it’s a good idea to listen,” Justin encouraged Rita, blinking his eyes repeatedly. With deep intensity, the somber group examined itself with renewed interest, and the unspoken awareness that life was unfolding a new twist of fate and presenting a new opportunity.
Two Hours Later
A rotund Danny finished placing memo pads on the table as the team entered the room. Spanky, sniffing and growling, stared cautiously up at Mimo who looked down at him, grimacing, as they passed each other.
“We may have some facts out of context, or maybe it’s a perception lag. I don't know,” Danny stated, shrugging his shoulders as Mimo gaze
d at him from the corner of his eye. At times Mimo would disassociate from reality. He had a borderline personality, he was defiant, and had a conduct and antisocial personality disorder. Frequently, he would be irritable and angry, displaying a hot temper leading to physical fights. His mood shifts were unpredictable. But when Mimo was stabilized on his medication, he could mask his psychological and character defects. He was a master at performing his craft. But when he was bad, he had fossilized emotions, and was pathetically sick.
“What am I doing?” Danny asked smiling, walking around the room rubbing his hands together. The group sat with indifference, staring curiously. “Tension: I’m creating tension. You're going to have your hands filled with tension breeding factors. Operation Tense is comprised of a six-member team that will be the first stage of a front line infiltration unit assigned to detect and capture the power source of international narcotic planners and money men,” he reported, stopping in back of his chair.
“Gee thanks,” Commander Fortune mumbled to Rita casually. “So do this or go to jail, right?”
“I don’t know if I trust this arrangement," Rita blurted, with her heart pounding in response to the pharmaceutical drugs racing through her body. "In fact, I know I don’t.”
“We know you’re fatigued and caught in a cycle of deceit. What we ask is not unreasonable,” Danny stated picking lint from his starched white shirt, as Mimo blew his nose, drawing negative attention to himself, as Spanky stared at him growling, while Mimo frowned back, sticking his tongue out at him.
“I don’t trust it,” Justin replied, hitting his forehead with his open palm.
“I’m being roped into a bum deal,” Rita chimed, her mouth dry from the speed as a massive surge of dopamine was causing an intense rush.
“You could spend the next twenty years of your life in prison,” Velvet suggested, holding up her handcuffs.