“John, if you hadn’t taken Bud with you…”
“Timing is everything.”
“Yes, it is…did you know this was going to happen?”
I shook my head.
“No, I only knew Bud was supposed to come with me.”
“How… how could you know that?” Bud asked.
I looked him in the eye.
“God speaks to me.”
“No way, no way, man! If that’s true then your God just let my friends die.”
We were all silent for a moment.
“Or are you saying God killed them to get my attention?”
“Bud, this was not an act of God. Not in the sense you’re suggesting. He knew the choices that would be made tonight. He knew what the consequences of those choices would be. He allowed me to intercede on your behalf.”
“And he just let them die? Why didn’t you intercede for them?”
“They are sheep of another pasture.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“God has plans for you, Bud. He is calling you and He directed me to this time and place. He allowed me to give you this opportunity. This is my graduation gift, but I’m just the delivery boy. The gift is from God.”
“My friends are dead! What kind of gift is that?”
“It is the gift of life. You and you alone must choose what you will do with it.”
“Dad, do you believe this shit?”
“Bud, you’re upset. This is the most horrible thing that has ever happened in your life, up to this point. You’re alive and they’re dead. I know how it feels. I know how shocking it is and how unfair it all seems. Do I believe this is a gift and an opportunity? Yes, I do, Bud. I sure do.”
“I too, Bud, Honey, I believe it is a gift. It’s a gift we don’t deserve, just as all of God’s gifts are undeserved. I’m grateful and heartsick at the same time. I’m so sorry Scott ran the red light. I’m so sorry Scott and Bill died, but I’m also happy you weren’t with them,” Josie said.
“I, I just can’t believe it…”
“It takes time to deal with all of the questions. It takes time to recover from the grief. Time is part of the gift God has given you.”
“Stop it! Stop all the God talk. I don’t want to hear it.”
I nodded.
“I’m going to bed. Good night y’all”
Chapter 8.
The next morning As Buddy and I were having breakfast and discussing the events of the previous evening, my phone rang.
“Mr. Tucker? It’s me, Diondro Taylor. I’d like to talk to you.”
“Hey, Diondro, how are you?”
“Fine, I guess, can we talk?”
“Sure, go ahead.”
“Uh…no, I mean I want to meet you and talk about this stuff.”
“OK, when and where?”
Buddy was watching me intently.
“Can you come here?”
“Sure, but I don’t know exactly where you are. Don’t tell me. Let me ask you a question…Are you with your family?”
“Yes, if you’re coming from town, you just head…”
“Hang on. I know where they live and how to get there. Don’t tell me over the phone. Just tell me which one is the house where you are staying. I mean is it the third one on the right or the second on the left? You know, like that.” I interrupted.
“Oh, OK. I’ll be at the last house on the end of the road. You know where it is?”
“I do. What time do you want me to come there?”
“Can you come now?”
“Yes, Diondro, I can. It will take me about thirty minutes to get there though. Is that alright?”
“Yeah, come on. I’ll be waiting.”
I looked at Buddy.
He nodded.
“Well, Watson, it appears the game is afoot.”
“Yes it is, Sherlock. God willing, I should be able to get him to leave with me today. Hopefully without any encounters with whomever the street gang sent to kill him.”
“Whomever, really, Sherlock you said whomever? If the goal is simply to get him out of there, I could still place him in protective custody.”
“No, Buddy, we talked about that. You can’t spend Columbia County resources on an out of state citizen who has committed no crime, at least not for very long. Meanwhile everyone would know exactly where he was.”
“Have you given any more thought to me going along with you?”
I shook my head.
“If the County Sheriff shows up out there, it could get complicated.”
“Not if I’m there in an un-official capacity.”
If Buddy knew what I knew, he would understand why the Sheriff would be the last person they would want to see out there.
“Diondro and his family are expecting me to show up alone. I don’t want to scare them into doing something stupid.”
“I’m not that scary, John.”
I grinned at him and held my hand up with my thumb and forefinger about an inch apart.
“Yeah, you are…a little bit.”
He chuckled.
“Are you really thinking their phone might be bugged, or mine? Or maybe somehow your cell phone signal is being monitored?”
I shrugged.
“Not likely, but I like to be careful.”
“There has to be a reason you don’t want me to go with you. Is there something you haven’t told me?”
I was afraid he would ask that question.
“It’s hard to slip something past you, isn’t it?”
He narrowed his eyes at me as he made a rolling gesture with his hand.
“Well, when I did my little recon run out there the other day, I made an unexpected discovery.”
“And that was…?”
“You know how you told me the Taylors and Carlisles get their income from timber sales and hunting leases?”
He shrugged.
“I found another source of revenue.”
“Oh no…..”
I nodded.
“Yep, I had seen on the satellite image an old logging road that goes out to the county road on the other side of LaSalle Bayou. It appeared to have had enough traffic on it to stay open and in good repair, but there is about thirty yards of brush and saplings growing up right at the end of it, where it ought to join the county road. All that brush forms a screen and prevents people from driving in there from the county road. It seemed odd at the time, but I figured to check it out as a possible emergency escape route.”
Buddy managed to look both worried and eager at the same time.
“I found the road alright, after I worked my way through the brush and saplings. I found out why the old road shows so much sign of use. I was walking along the logging road when I came to about a half an acre of very healthy pot plants.”
Buddy shook his head.
“The feds fly around looking for commercial marijuana production. I expect a half acre of pot plants would be hidden from aerial view by the thick forest all around it.”
I nodded in agreement
“Yes, and it isn’t the only patch of pot.”
“Well, how much is there?”
“As near as I can estimate, hidden in the woods along the edge of LaSalle Bayou, there may be as many as eight or ten plots of about half an acre each. All together it may be four to six acres of total marijuana production, scattered over about twenty five acres in surface area. The Taylors and Carlisles appear to be pretty successful pot farmers.”
“Oh brother..! At about one thousand dollars per plant and a hundred or more plants per half acre…it adds up to a fortune.” Buddy calculated.
“Yeah, so you see having the County Sheriff on their property in any capacity would probably make them a little edgy.”
“How is it the hunters who lease the land for hunting haven’t found the weed?” Buddy asked.
“When do they hunt?”
“Pretty much in the fall and winter, mostly deer and ducks in the
season.”
“The marijuana crops would have been harvested by then.”
“Yeah, but the hunters come out at various other times during the year to scout, do trail maintenance, plow feed plots and put up the blinds. They also hunt hogs, wild turkey, rabbits and squirrels and what not, depending on the season.”
I considered the possibilities.
“I guess they are either told some areas are off limits-it is only about twenty five acres out of the whole three hundred acres, or they are controlled in some other way. During a year when some of the timber will be harvested, maybe they don’t grow pot. They didn’t seem to have any of it in the pine plantation portions of the three hundred acres. It was only in the thick native timber areas, along the edge of the bayou down at the nearest point to the county road. At least that’s the way it looked to me, as I studied the satellite images in more detail.”
“So they could grow and harvest it and use the logging road to slip it out to the county road, without attracting any attention.”
“Right, and if people come to visit them where they live, the bayou is between them and the ‘farm’ just a few hundred yards away.”
“This is a huge problem, John. I’m going to have to shut them down. Commercial production and shipping across state lines is a serious Federal violation. I’ll have to get Treasury and the ATF involved, maybe even the DEA and FBI.”
“Yes, but it will have to wait until I can get Diondro out of there. He had nothing to do with the farming operation. He probably doesn’t even know it’s going on.”
“Oh, man, this is a cluster…”
“Yeah, and I’ll tell you this, I’ve never seen or heard of a pot farming operation that didn’t have armed guards. I was plenty worried when I realized what I had stumbled into. I saw a couple of armed men, but they didn’t see me. They had a rifle and a shotgun, and all I had with me was my handgun. I backed out of there, real careful like. It was only by the grace of God I didn’t get myself shot.”
Buddy heard this and it added fuel to the fire.
“This is the worst thing I can imagine. I’ll have to make multiple arrests. Kids will grow up without their parents…”
“Try to look on the bright side; this is bound to be good for your re-election campaign.”
“I can’t worry about the campaign. This will have a huge impact on the community. Nothing good will come of it. I wish they hadn’t done this.”
“There is another thing you have to consider….”
“What’s that?”
“Does Jermaine’s wife know about the pot farming? Does Jermaine know?”
“I’ll have a talk with Jermaine. I may have to bring in the state police.”
“Cross that bridge when you come to it. I’ve been invited to go in there. I’ll keep my eyes open and I’ll tell you what I learn in the process.”
“Do you think you are still the only one who knows where Diondro is?”
I shook my head, indicating a negative response.
“By now, Sergeant Wilson has had plenty of time to get a lead on the location of the Taylor place. I’m just hoping whoever he has notified will be behind me by at least four hours.
Buddy was thoughtful for a moment, and then he made a decision.
“OK. You go on. This has gotten even more complicated, so you’ll need to be double-extra careful. We’ll still go with plan A. I’ll be close by, like we had already arranged. Call me if you need any help.”
Chapter 9.
As I drove south out of Magnolia, I noted I was not being followed. It suggested three possibilities. Maybe Sergeant Kirby Wilson of the Tyler Police Department had taken the warning from Buddy seriously and pulled out of the deal. Perhaps he had already figured out where Diondro was, had phoned it in and had headed for home. Or, he had given up and figured he was barking up the wrong tree. Diondro was somewhere else, and I had just come up here for Bud’s graduation.
Whatever the actual situation, I was glad Sergeant Kirby Wilson wouldn’t be further involved.
After I had gone on to my room the previous evening, I had called my friend in the Tyler Police Department and alerted him to Wilson’s involvement. Detective Lieutenant Anthony Escalante was not pleased.
“So, what you’re telling me is Wilson is working for the street punks who want to kill Diondro Taylor. I guess it’s legal, John, but it sure is low and I don’t like it. Do you think he knows who hired him to investigate Diondro’s whereabouts?”
“I would know, Tony. Wouldn’t you know who had hired you?”
“Yes, absolutely I would. I was just trying to justify his motives.”
“His motive is money. A man who would do something like this for a day rate, can’t be trusted, Tony. He will do just about anything for a buck, if he thinks he can get away with it.”
“I see that, John, I’ll pass it along to his supervisors, but I can’t promise anything. The name is vaguely familiar. I’m sure I’ve met him on the job. I wonder why he has the time to follow you around in Arkansas. I’ll make sure he gets checked out by Internal Affairs, but if he hasn’t broken any law or violated any police regulations…”
“I understand, Tony. I only called to give you a “heads up” for future reference. It’s just some useful information to have.”
“It is, but it also makes me pretty angry. A member of this department would be willing to see a kid killed-not to mention it puts you in danger.”
“I can take care of myself.”
“Yeah, I know you can, but this shouldn’t have happened. Our job is to serve and protect…”
As I turned off of the black top road onto the dirt road designated CR 3802, I was considering all the possibilities. I had dressed for a day in the woods, and prepared as best I could for any of the various scenarios Buddy and I had discussed, but it all came down to this. I could see the first couple of the old, single wide, mobile homes ahead. There was one on each side of the road.
As I drove past the mobile homes, two pickup trucks, one from each side of the road, pulled out of the dirt yards and blocked the road behind me. Clearly, this was a practiced maneuver and it did not bode well. This was a dead end road. I couldn’t go back out the way I came in and nobody could follow me in. It might be a good thing, or a very bad thing. It was interesting they had done it in a way that would ensure I saw them do it.
I passed other mobile homes and a couple of houses looking like they were about a hundred years old, weathered and run down. There were dogs running loose at most of the residences, and pit bulls on chains in front of a couple of them. Here and there, I would see a person standing by the side of the road, watching me go by.
About a mile farther down, at the end of the road, there was a big circular turn around area with half a dozen buildings scattered around the edge. The satellite images had shown these, but it hadn’t been entirely clear what the buildings were. Now that I was approaching them, I could see they were a couple of mobile homes and houses with sheds and storage buildings between and behind them. They all appeared to be dilapidated or otherwise in various states of disrepair.
There were several cars and pickup trucks parked in the area.
More interesting was the group of people milling about.
There were half a dozen young black men shooting hoops on a make shift dirt basketball court. They varied in age from about twelve to about twenty. Watching from porches and leaning against cars and trucks, there were another eight or ten older people, mostly men with an old woman to be seen here or there.
The young men ignored me as I drove up, but three of the older men were clearly there to meet me. I was relieved to see there were no guns in evidence.
I parked my car near the row of mailboxes attached to a steel post and took a moment to assess the situation.
It kind of looked as though I had driven up to a family reunion, without the food and fun. Also, unlike a family reunion, there were no young women or young children anywhere to be seen. In fac
t, other than the basketball players, there was not anyone in evidence between the age of about twenty and sixty.
I stepped out of the car and approached the three older men who were waiting for me.
“Good morning. I’m John Wesley Tucker. I believe Diondro Taylor is expecting me…” I reached out to shake hands with the first man in the group.
It was like taking hold of a dead fish. A warm dead fish, but lifeless and limp, all the same. It was the same way with each of the three men, and not one of them would look me in the eye.
They might have been brothers and I suspected they probably were. Each man was about five feet nine inches tall and had the hard, stringy look of men who have lived their lives outdoors. They were black men with heads in various stages of balding, the remaining hair now white and close cropped. They each had a little facial hair in evidence. One had side-burns another had two patches of white beard, growing on each side of his chin. The oldest man had a white moustache and a soul patch. All three wore overalls, over faded T-shirts. They had the look of farmers. These were old men who had seen the world change a lot, since they had been boys back in the nineteen forties or fifties,
The oldest man spoke up. He appeared to be about 80, but he could have been older or younger.
“Uh huh. He be ‘long, directly. He my sister’s-daughter’s, boy. You come on inside.”
I was wearing a long sleeve camouflage shirt; it was too warm to be comfortable in it.
“Yes sir, thank you. I believe the day is starting to heat up already.”
He turned without reply and led me up onto the porch of the nearest house, as the two other men fell in behind me.
The house we stepped into was not the same house inside, as it was outside. Outside it was faded and warped lumber with peeling paint. Inside, it was clean and tidy, freshly painted and had all the latest updates. There were new appliances evident in the kitchen, the furniture was tasteful and expensive, and there was a big screen TV, playing loudly in a giant entertainment center that took up a whole wall. There was a ceiling fan circulating the cool air from the air conditioner.
“Sit,” the older man said, pointing at a huge, brown leather couch.
He sat down in a big, matching recliner and began to rock. The other two men stood just inside the door.
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