As soon as he returned home, he checked the top shelf of his closet, and the bag and guns were still there. Then, he began wondering about when and where he was going to be contacted again. He poured himself a Scotch and water and sat at the table sipping his drink. Trent had become so uneasy that he carried his .380 with him. He was hungry by now but didn’t want to go into town to eat. He got up and opened the refrigerator door, rummaged around, and found some nearly bad stale bread, bologna, and cheese, and made a sandwich. After eating the sandwich, he went to the shed to check on, Rocket One, his Harley. The sun had begun to dip below the mountain tops, so he went in to watch some television and poured himself another Scotch and started flipping through the channels but couldn’t find much of interest. After an hour or so, he decided to go to bed.
Just before 2:00 A.M., he was awakened by a noise, a rustling sound. He picked up his .380 from the night stand, pulled on some trousers, and began peeking through the windows, but he saw no one. Finally, he went to the door of the trailer, and gradually opened it as he stood to one side.
“Anybody out there?!” He asked, waiting impatiently.
“I said is there anybody out there?!”
“Are you armed?” A voice responded in almost a whisper.
“Damn straight I am, and if you want some lead poisonin’ you come to the right place!”
“All I wanna do is talk,” was the reply.
“Yeah, ’bout what?!”
“This is confidential,” the voice replied.
“Stand out there where I can see ya.”
“Don’t turn on the outside light, okay?”
“Alright, but you better not have a weapon in your hand, ’cause you’ll be deader’n a skunk in the middle of the road soon as you clear this door.”
“I’m coming in, my hands are up and empty, don’t get trigger happy.”
“Come on, step in, and don’t move, and close the door.”
The man stepped in, and when the door closed, Trent flicked on a light. “Okay, Mister, have a seat at that table over there. I wanna see what’s on your mind, ’cause I don’t like it when my sleep gits interrupted. You fucked up my meal in Albuquerque, so you owe me an explanation.”
“Willobee, you can put that gun away. I am here to talk with you about things far more important than you and me,” he said, pulling out a chair.
“You packin’ heat?”
“Yes, of course, we live in a dangerous world, Willobee. Hasn’t anyone ever told you that?”
“Nobody has to tell me ’bout danger on this planet. I spent four years in Iraq and Afghanistan tryin’ not to git killed and killin’ al-Qaeda trash and a bunch of other rag-headed terrorists. I don’t ’member seein’ you there,” Trent said as the stranger sat down at the table.
“I’ll give you that. I know about your bronze and silver stars, even your purple heart, but the Middle East is not the only hot spot and place for heroism. We have plenty of problems right here in the U.S.A.,” the stranger said.
“You know who I am, now tell me who the hell you are.”
“Who I am is not important.”
“It may not be to you, Mister, but if you don’t level with me, I’ll throw your ass right out that damn door,” Trent said, glaring at the stranger.
“Relax, don’t get excited.”
“I will just as soon as you, very carefully, remove your weapon from your jacket, and lay it right here in front of me on this table,” Trent said, keeping his .380 trained on the stranger.
“Alright,” he said slowly removing his 9mm from his shoulder holster with two fingers.
“This is like dealin’ with them camel humpers overseas. I don’t know who’s a bad guy or who’s a good guy.”
“I can assure you I’m one of the good guys,” he said.
“We’ll see ’bout that, as soon as you tell me who you are and who you work for.”
“What difference does it make? I’m a patriot who loves this country, just like you do. I’m a federal agent of the United States. Does it matter if I work for the FBI, NSA, CIA, ICE, DHS, or any other agency? I’ll show you my identification, but I have to get it out of my pocket, and I don’t want that thing you’re holding to go off.”
“Once agin, with your left hand and two fingers take it out of your coat very slowly.”
After the stranger complied, Trent took the ID and carefully examined it. “From what I see here, you work for Homeland Security D-H-S, and you’re Farley D. Dobson, that right?”
“Yes, that’s correct. My colleagues call me Dobs.”
“For some reason, other than the other day in Albuquerque, it seems like I’ve seen ya someplace else.”
“You have, but only briefly at the Oatman Hotel a couple of weeks ago. Remember breakfast?”
“Okay, Mister Dobson, tell me what this is all ’bout,” Trent said, raising his eyebrows.
“We, the United States government, have problems in and around Tijuana and Mexico in general for that matter, and we need your help, Willobee.”
“Wait just a minute here; I’m done riskin’ my life for my country. I served and did my job, but nobody’s got the right to ’spect more from me.”
“I understand how you feel, but even George Washington was called back out of retirement to help when the government was having problems.”
“I’m a truck driver, not some kinda undercover fella. I don’t see how I fit into this secret agent cloak and dagger stuff.”
“We know what you do, and that is one of the reasons you could be very effective. We have been keeping tabs on you for nearly two years.”
“Are you serious? What’s it you want me to do?”
“Be our eyes and ears on the ground. We need human intelligence.”
“You want me to risk my life, for what?”
“Your country.”
“You know I did that for four years. At least they paid me for it.
“We’re not asking you to do this for nothing. We’re willing to pay.”
“Are you sayin’ the govment’s willin’ ta give me money ta do this?” Trent asked.
“Yes, by the way, we found no evidence of you having a handgun, but obviously, you do. That’s why the black bag you found had three handguns in it. We know you’re an accurate shot with a forty-five. Your military records indicate in Special Forces you earned the Navy Expert Pistol Shot Medal. If needed, we want you to have something to protect yourself with.”
“You people are purdy sure of yourself, aren’t ya.”
“We can’t afford to make a mistake.”
“This is one time you just might’ve done that, ’cause I ain’t got no dog in this fight.”
“Yes, Willobee, you do,” Dobson said sternly.
“There’s a lot more at stake here than illegal Mexicans flooding over the border. Our worries are much bigger than what Mexicans and South Americans are doing. Surely, you’re aware of what ISIS is and has been doing for years. Remember the Attack at Charlie Hebdo in Paris and the later attack in Paris by these savages which killed more than 130 people and wounded hundreds? What about the murdering savages who killed innocent people in San Bernardino right here in the U.S.A., or the Islamic terrorist, Omar Mateen who murdered 50 people and wounded even more in a gay night club in Orlando, Florida? We now have evidence that Middle East terrorists from Syria are coming in as refugees as well, and they are not here for a vacation. We don’t want them having an Islamic Muslim Convention on Terrorism Conference in the United States. The way things have been going at the top in this country, we wouldn’t discount it, if you know what I mean.”
“What you’ve just said bothers me a bit. It sounds to me like the head of Homeland Security don’t know what you’re doin’. Are you and your associates workin’ with or agin’ the man at the top? I guess what I’m askin’ are you a
rogue group?”
“Hmm…a rogue group? We think of ourselves as American patriots, because it’s obvious we’re being betrayed by the leadership of this country. We’re doing what’s necessary to preserve the fabric of America. There are some at the top who are connected and really in the know. We have their full support.”
“Mr. Dobson, I’m gonna have ta think ’bout this. What you’re askin’s a lot.”
“Okay, but don’t take long. We’d like an answer before you get back on the road. What we have discussed tonight is strictly confidential. No one is to know I was here, or we had a discussion about anything. Is that clear?”
“Alright, but next time you contact me, don’t ’spect me to be so sociable. I don’t like middle of the night interludes, unless it’s with some good lookin’ gal, and that you ain’t. Do I make myself clear?”
“Fair enough. One of these mornings, I’ll be sitting either on the second or fourth stool in the Oatman Hotel and Restaurant. It seems as though the third stool is reserved for you,” he said with a hint of a smile.
“Guess you been on my tail real damn close.”
“You might say that…Goodnight,” he said as he got up from the table.
When Dobson finally left, it was after three in the morning. Trent went back to bed, but didn’t sleep well or soundly. The shoulder where he was hit by shrapnel even had an ache. He had a lot of things rattling around in his head. He didn’t even wake up until well after eight. The sun was shining brightly. He showered, shaved, and was dressed before nine. He made his way down the hill for breakfast. When he came in, Haylee was waiting on a customer at the end of the counter. She caught a glimpse of Trent out of the corner of her eye. After she placed the customer’s order, she immediately came over to get his.
“Well, look what the burros dragged in. You must have hitched a ride on one. You’re late. She must’ve really been somethin’.”
“Sweetheart, it was nothin’ like that. I wish it had been. I’d feel a helluva lot better than I do now.”
“Where’d you go this time?”
“Had a Tijuana-Albuquerque run.”
“Missed ya, ya know.”
“Ya did, really?” He asked with surprise.
“You’ve grown on me over the years, and I had fun on Rocket One a couple of weeks ago.”
“I’m real glad ’bout that. Think maybe we could do that agin’ Sunday?”
“Maybe.”
“At least you didn’t say no,” Trent winked with a smile.
“If I know you, it’s time to eat, so what do ya want?”
“Usual’s fine.”
“Be right back with some coffee.”
Trent devoured his breakfast quickly, but continued to sit at the counter, drink coffee, and chitchat with Haylee, because the breakfast crowd had come and gone. After he left, he took a short walk out into the desert, looking for unique rocks. He’d been collecting them for years. It had become somewhat of a hobby. He found the desert and rock formations to be fascinating. He had great respect for the environment and for the desert itself. Anytime he found trash or foreign debris in the desert which inconsiderate people had thrown there, it roiled him.
He spent an hour or so making his way in and around old mines. It was treacherous, but the mines were like centurions, standing guard around Oatman. By two o’clock, he decided to walk back to his place and add a few rocks to his collection. Once he returned, he took Rocket One from the shed and headed east toward Bullhead City down Oatman Road, which was the nearest place to find some ammunition for the three handguns Dobson and company had provided him. He stopped at the first gun store on Highway 95 and purchased several boxes of Ammo for the .45 and the two nine 9mm Glocks. His Harley bags were nearly full. He knew in his heart, when he bought the Ammo, he was going to begin working with Dobson and his crew. On his return home, he thought: I must be out of my damn mind!
CHAPTER THREE
Several days later, he was back having breakfast when agent Dobson sat down beside him on stool number four. Neither of them acknowledged the other, but Dobson stoically stared over the counter, as Trent trained his eyes on Haylee.
“Yes or no?” Dobson whispered.
“Come to my place tonight at nine,” Trent whispered back without taking his eyes off Haylee.
“Done,” he whispered, as Haylee came to the counter to take his order.
“What can I get ya?” She asked the stranger.
“Coffee and wheat toast, thank you,” Dobson replied.
Trent finished his breakfast, said goodbye to Haylee, and immediately left without acknowledging Dobson. He went back to his place, laid out the handguns, and loaded them all. He also loaded the extra magazines. He thought about the four trips to Tijuana he still had to make before the end of the year and wondered how and what he was going to do for Dobson and Homeland Security. He left his .380 in the coach-trailer, and put the .45 in its place under the dashboard of the cab.
As nine o’clock neared, his anticipation grew. He opened a bag of chips and a bottle of Miller Lite and sat at the table, snacking and sipping his beer. Dobson was obviously punctual, because he showed up at nine on the dot. Trent heard a light tap on his door and greeted him. His place looked cramped with both of them still standing. Trent looked larger than life, and Dobson, though a few years older, was a fairly good-size man himself.
“Have a seat, Mr. Dobson, and let’s talk some business. Can I get ya somethin’ to drink?” Dobson shook his head no and took a seat at the table.
“No, thanks.”
“As I’m sure you know I have a lot of questions,” Trent said.
“Yes, I expected that,” he said in a matter of fact tone.
“My guess is you want me to nose around in Tijuana in the evenin’s for information ’bout a bunch of things, such as illegal immigration, drugs, cartel leaders, human smugglin’, and some of them diaper-heads crossin’ the border, is that ’bout right?”
“In a general sense you’re on target, but we need specifics—names, dates, times, places, and other pertinent intel.”
“What if they, whoever they may be, git on ta me?”
“For your sake, that had better not happen, because insofar as we’re concerned, you don’t even exist. You’re strictly on your own.”
“That sure as hell ain’t very comfortin’.”
“I’m sure it’s not, but that’s the way it has to be,” Dobson said solemnly.
“If I’m gonna risk my hide to this level, I ’spect to be paid.”
“We’re prepared to pay you $10,000 cash per visit, that is, if you can give us actionable intelligence. Since it will be cash, the IRS does not need to know. How many more trips do you have planned on your Tijuana-Albuquerque run for the rest of the year?”
“Four.”
“Forty-thousand sounds like a nice tidy sum—Cash free. You would’ve made less than $30,000 for an entire year as an E-5 sergeant. That should help with the ranch you plan to buy in New Mexico.”
“How’d the hell you know ’bout that?” Trent asked.
“Come now, Willobee, what do you think the NSA is for? We know a helluva lot more than that about you. I can tell you right now how much you have in your savings, checking, and business account. The CIA and all of our intel agencies share information.”
“Forty-thousand sounds like a lot, but when my ass is on the line, it don’t sound too good ta me.”
“Look, Willobee, isn’t helping your country worth something?”
“Yeah, course it is. I’m just used to havin’ somebody takin’ my back.”
“In this case you’re an army of one. Can you handle it?”
“I guess we’ll see, won’t we?” How’m I sposed ta communicate with ya?”
“Here’s a key to a post office box off Aztec Road in Fort Mohave across from McDonald
’s. You will give us info, and we will replace it with cash. In addition, here’s a cell phone that you are to keep with you at all times, and use it only if you get into dire straits. If there’s something we can do at that time, we will; otherwise, forget it.”
“How ya gonna know if the intel I give ya is good?” Trent asked.
“We’ll know, and it better not cost the life of a single agent. That could be bad for your health.”
“When will I hear from ya agin?” Trent asked.
“You might not ever hear from me going forward, but someone will be in touch in the near future. You just take care of your end of the bargain, and we’ll do likewise.”
“Intel could be expensive. How’d I handle that?” Trent asked.
“Right now, there’s $5,000 in cash in the post office box. That should do for starters. More will be available when needed. Before I forget, when you leave Tijuana on your runs, you know our customs people are very thorough, but your truck will easily pass through.”
“You fellas have thought of everythin’, haven’t ya?”
“No, that’s why we need you. Do a good job, Willobee, and good luck,” he said and got up from the table.
The next morning Trent walked down the hill to see Haylee at the restaurant. He had breakfast as usual.
“Has the maybe changed to yes, yet?”
“Well, where’re we goin’?” She asked.
“I thought it might be a good idea to ride down to Laughlin. Maybe take a walk ’long the river, have lunch, play a little video poker or slots at one of them casinos. If you’d like, we could take the USS Riverside and cruise down the Colorado to the Davis Dam and back.”
“That all sounds good. I knew you were going to remind me, so I already made arrangements for mom. We have a great neighbor, and they’re also good friends. Kathy, our neighbor, and mom used to do a lot of things together, but that was before the stroke.”
“I’m real glad the answer is yes. I’d been hopin’ for that. I’ll pick ya up out front here at nine o’clock tomorra mornin’, that’s Sunday, ain’t it?
Willobee's World Page 3