“Willobee, this is Dobson. You woke me from a sound sleep. This’d better be good,” he said groggily.
“It’s not good at all, but this can’t wait!”
“What’s the emergency?”
“What I learnt over the past two nights is hard for me to believe. The DEA is supplyin’ 700 guns and ammunition to some rag-head ISIS Syrian terrorists. They’re tradin, AK47’s and AR-15’s for drugs.”
“I can’t believe you woke me up to tell me such a whacko story. Willobee, are you losin’ it or just drunk?!”
“Mr. Dobson, you can prove me wrong by havin’ your people ’long the border between San Ysidro and the Otay Mesa crossin’ next Saturdy night. That’s when the deal’s goin’ down. You sent me out there to collect intel, and I have. Sorry ’bout wakin’ ya up, but I’m doin’ my damn job here, and you’re pissin’ me off big time!”
“Now listen to yourself, Willobee. You think what we should do is swarm up behind DEA agents and interdict in this illegal activity, right?”
“Right!”
“Wrong! These are only Syrian foot soldiers, if what you’re sayin’ is true. No, the deal will go down as they originally planned. We have bigger fish to fry. We have to investigate on our side of the border and you have more work to do on the Mexican side; however, we will have some undercover agents on our side of the border ensurin’ what you’re claimin’ is correct. You nor I can’t be sure you weren’t made by these guys and just set up.”
“Yeah… I guess you might be right,” Trent said as his voice trailed off.
“We’ll know after Saturday night if your intel can be trusted. You might’ve stumbled upon good dope, no pun intended, but we have to make sure. As President Reagan once said, “Trust but verify.”
“Gotcha,” Trent replied.
“Now I need to try to get back to sleep, and if you’re gonna be drivin’ truck in a few hours, I suggest you do the same. Good effort, Willobee. We’ll soon know just how good. When you get back home, give us a detailed written report on this entire episode,” and he hit the off button. Ole Dobson just might be right, if he is, I sure look like a fool. At least I know the phone works, but boy he didn’t give me a warm fuzzy feelin’ he thought: then undressed and climbed into bed.
Even though Trent was tired enough to have been picking cotton on a hot muggy summer’s day in the south, his sleep was restless. He got about five hours of shuteye before he rolled out of bed. Light would soon begin creeping through the curtains, and he wanted to be on his way by eight. He took a quick shower, shave, packed his overnight bag, and down the stairs he went. He grabbed a cup of java in the lobby before crossing the border on foot to his truck, which was practically a wave-through. After he picked up his load of tomatoes, when he got to the customs and immigration people at the border, an official took a quick look at a clipboard, and then they did a cursory examination of the contents and just motioned him forward. He thought about what Dobson had told him regarding easily crossing back into the U.S., because those folks were usually a pain in the ass—but not this time.
Trent continued on his way to Albuquerque. He made good time even though he had an extra stop for coffee and sandwich in between. He took that opportunity to call Haylee. She was on duty at the restaurant and busily serving customers when her cell phone rang. She always kept it in her apron in case of an emergency.
“Haylee, ya busy?”
“Yes, I am,” she replied.
“Well, I’ll git off the line and call you later.”
“No, no, Trent, I can do more than one thing at a time. I’m good at multitasking. Besides, it’s so good to hear your voice.”
“That mean you been missin’ me?”
“Yes, of course! When’re you due back?”
“Three days or so.”
“Are we gonna spend some time together?” She asked.
“That’ll be up ta you.”
“If it’s up to me, then yes!” She replied.
“That’s music to mah ears,” he said with glee.
“Back to work, see you in a few days,” she said cheerfully.
He sat back in his seat, sipping his coffee, eating his sandwich, and thinking about Haylee and his past relationships. To him, she was so different. He revved up his engine and headed north toward Phoenix. He was about 20 miles south of the city when he heard Slinger on his Citizens Band—CB radio.
“Rodeo Man, this’s Slinger, are ya out there?”
“Yeah, I am, over.”
“Near Phoenix?” Slinger asked.
“’bout 20 miles south.”
“I’m not far behind ya. I need to talk to ya. Let’s get together at the next rest stop, over.”
“Okay, but don’t have a lotta time. I’m running a little behind, over,” Trent replied.
“Won’t take long, over’n out.”
Trent thought it was ironic that he hadn’t talked with or seen slinger in more than a year until a few weeks ago, and now they had run into each other again after such a short period. About 15 minutes later, the rest stop came into view, and Trent pulled in. He got out of the truck, found an empty table nearby, and waited. While sitting there, he wondered why Slinger wanted to talk with him. He also thought they could have discussed most things on the CB. Trent kept an eye on his watch, because he really needed to get back on the road. About 20 minutes later, Slinger’s truck pulled in, and he immediately got out and greeted Trent. Slinger sat on a bench across from him. The rest stop was essentially empty, so they had some privacy.
“What’s up Sling?” Trent asked.
“A few weeks back you told me ’bout some strange things goin’ on. Did ya ever figure it out?”
Trent hesitated for a few seconds as he began to collect his thoughts. He’d told Dobson that he would not discuss anything with anyone about his work with Homeland Security; therefore, he felt no obligation to share that information. He was not given to lying, but he was on a confidential assignment which required a high level of secrecy, so he became evasive.
“What’re you talkin’ ’bout Sling?”
“You know, those things you mentioned to me a few weeks back, the guns and black car at the truck stop that made you so uneasy.”
“Oh, that! Nothing ever really came of it. Guess I’m gettin’ a little jumpy. What’s that big word people use…paranoid?”
“Trent, we don’t just have to haul legal stuff, if you know what I mean.”
“Sling, no, I guess I don’t know what ya mean,” he said, looking Slinger in the eye.
“Well… I guess I owe ya for gettin’ me in the truck thing. There’s plenty of room for you to pick up some real money. Over the past two years, I’ve stashed away a good deal of cash,” he said with a smile.
“Don’t follow ya mah friend. Maybe ya need to splain yorself,” he said with a slight smile.
“You see the same news reports I do. Surely, you know drugs are flowin’ in from Mexico like a flashflood through a desert wash. I got into this because of a dealer in Mexicali. He approached me about using my truck as a way to take cocaine, meth, and other drugs across the border.”
“Gotta say, Sling, I’m a bit surprised, ’cause you and I both know that the drugs you talkin’ ’bout ain’t legal. A fella could git some serious jail time for haulin’ that stuff, not to mention the bad guys you gotta deal with.”
“Yeah, I hear ya, but drugs are gonna get into this country one way or another. So, why shouldn’t me or you, for that matter, benefit from it?”
“You make a good argument, but what about right and wrong? As I see it, drugs are bad for people, and it’s wrong to help folks git inta trouble. I ’preciate you thinkin’ ’bout me, but I gotta give it some thought.”
“Trent, let me know, ’cause I got all the connections.”
“Sling, how you git the stuff out of
Mexico? Them guys really check out yor truck when you cross back into the U.S.”
“It’s really simple. Many of the agents doin’ the checkin’ are bein’ paid by Mexican cartels, and I usually fill the inside tires with the stuff just in case. So far, no problem.”
“Don’t think I ever heard of puttin’ drugs in a tire.”
“Oh, that’s been goin’ on for years. People who don’t know what they’re doin’ sometimes get caught when they put drugs in their car tires. People like you and me are truck drivers. It takes a lot of time for border agents to run them dogs ’round all the tires on a truck trailer. Not only that, but I put a lot of raw garlic in the tires with the drugs, especially when I haul garlic. The dogs don’t seem to like smellin’ the stuff. Like I say, since so many of the border agents are on cartel payrolls, I don’t worry much.”
“Well, Sling, gotta think about it.”
“Call me if ya wanna make a lotta money,” he said, writing his number on a piece of paper.
“Thanks, old friend, but it’s time to git back on the road,” Trent said, glancing at his watch.
When Trent pulled out on the highway, he thought about how disappointed he was in Slinger. He even felt a little guilty for ever encouraging him to get into the trucking business. He liked him and considered him to be a friend, but drug running didn’t fit into Trent’s value system. Trent wondered how much of this information he should share with Dobson and his people. He was sure he would not specifically identify Slinger as a drug-runner, but he would disclose the methodology involved in bringing drugs across the border.
Trent unloaded his cargo of celery and then spent the night in Albuquerque. He really liked the city. He recalled one time in October when he was there during the Albuquerque International Balloon Fiesta, and that was a nightmare! Hundreds of thousands of people descended upon the city from practically everywhere. There were hundreds of hot air balloons in the sky at a time. It was a beautiful sight, but it was not a trucker’s friend.
The next morning, he headed for his last stop in Flagstaff, Arizona. Before he left, he decided to call Haylee again, and much to his surprise she suggested they visit his friend, Luke Welton, in Las Vegas. He’d been planning on visiting his old buddy, and now he had another good reason—time with Haylee!
After his return, Trent had to invest time and effort chronicling detailed events in Tijuana and the things he’d learned from Slinger. Since it was all handwritten, it was quite a chore, but he persisted until it was ready for delivery at his post office box. The next day he deposited the information in the box. Later, he coordinated his visit to Las Vegas with Luke and Haylee. Luke had one day a week off from his job as a dealer, and Haylee made appropriate arrangements for the care of her mother to correspond with the bike ride to Las Vegas. He met her in front of the restaurant. He was surprised to see she had a bag in her hand.
“Sweetheart, ya bring yor lunch?” He asked.
“No, this is my overnight bag,” she said with a smile.
“We gonna spend the night with ole Luke?”
“You think he’ll mind?” She asked.
“No, I think, uh, Luke’ll be as surprised as me. You really wanna do this?”
“Yes, I do, or I wouldn’t have this bag in my hand. How ’bout you?”
“Do ya really have ta ask? Now gimme that bag, put this helmet on, and climb on this ole straddle-sackle.” He said with a big grin on his face.
It didn’t take long for them to zip down 95 North until they came to Searchlight, Nevada, which Trent always considered to be a speed trap, because the speed limit went from 75 miles per hour to 25 in about a half-mile. That little town was the birthplace of the famous or infamous Senator Harry Reid, depending upon one’s political view. In less than an hour they took the second exit to Henderson, Nevada, just outside of downtown Las Vegas. Within minutes they pulled up in front of Luke Welton’s place and rang the doorbell and he answered.
“Man, am I glad to see ya!” Luke exclaimed as Trent and Haylee entered.
They shook and hands and gave each other a big hug. Luke then greeted Haylee.
“You, young lady, are absolutely beautiful!” Luke said as he gave her a gentle hug.
“Thanks, Luke.” Haylee replied and feeling a little embarrassed.
“Haylee, I can’t believe you got hooked up with this big oath. I bet ya even think he’s handsome, charmin’ and all that stuff.”
“He is and more,” she replied with a smile.
“Now we got all that settled are ya gonna offer us a drink?!” Trent asked with a big grin.
“You two just sit down. I’m at your disposal. Trent I know you want a Miller Lite; I picked some up last night. Haylee, what’d you like?”
“Same.”
“You two are easy. I thought Haylee would want some exotic milk drink I don’t have,” he said, making eye contact with her.
“Luke, I know you’re a card dealer, but Trent has never said where.”
“Bally’s; been there quite a while. I like it. Sometimes I work as a pit boss,” Luke said.
“I think I understand what dealers do, but I don’t know ’bout pit bosses.”
“In simple terms, the pit boss sort of manages what goes on with the dealers and table games.”
“What he really does is strut around in a tux like a peacock look’n important,” Trent guffawed.
“Now, Trent, I don’t make fun of you with your cowboy boots and hat in that big ole rig of yours,” Luke shot back with a big chuckle.
“Touché!” Trent replied with a big smile.
They sat around talking about the old days, sipping beer, and what was going on in their lives for nearly two hours, but Trent never said a word about his work with Homeland Security. Luke primarily concentrated on Trent’s job as a trucker and what was new about the strip in Las Vegas. Haylee mostly listened. She interjected where and when she could.
“I’m sure you’re probably gettin’ hungry, and I have a good suggestion for a place for dinner. It’s just behind Bally’s; the price’s right, and the food’s great. I don’t know, but either or both of ya may have eaten there before. It’s called Ellis Island. A lot of us locals go there.”
They both shook their heads no and indicated they were looking forward to dinner.
“I’ll call Cir and we can make it a foursome,” Luke said.
“Man or woman friend?” Trent asked.
“Cir is not a man. Cir is a her. Ya know I don’t date dudes. Her name is Abelina Cirella, C-I-R-E-L-L-A. We just call her Cir. She can be a bit bossy, but she’s one good-lookin’ Italian babe. She deals at Bally’s, too. We both usually have the same day off. Lucky me.”
“You’re just full of surprises. You never mentioned you had a steady.” Trent responded in his characteristic deep-voice.
“I don’t, but Cir is in my top five.”
“Five? I’d be lucky to have one.”
“Looks to me like ya have one,” Luke said with a smile.
Trent and Haylee just looked at each other peevishly without denial.
“Guess we’ll have to go in your FJ, ’cause Rocket One ain’t big enough for the four of us,” Trent quipped with a smile.
“No problem, I’ll give her a call, and we can be on our way in minutes,” Luke replied.
Cir only lived a short distance from Luke’s place, so they all freshened up and headed out to pick her up. When they arrived, she was ready and waiting. When she got in the car there were introductions all around. Haylee thought to herself that Luke was right about her attractiveness. She also noted that Cir appeared to be an extroverted personality who did not mince words. She was somewhat opinionated and independent. When they arrived at the restaurant-casino, menus were readily available.
“I want my favorite. The fried cod is outstanding,” Cir proclaimed.
&nb
sp; “That’s mine, too,” Luke added.
“If cod seems to be your choices, make that three orders,” Haylee said.
“I’m a meat man mahself, so I’m gonna have a medium rare rib-eye,” Trent said as he folded up his menu.
“Haylee, whadaya do for a living?” Cir asked.
“I’m a waitress in Oatman, Arizona,” she replied.
“Waitress in Oatman? I’m surprised. With your looks, it would seem you could do better,” Cir responded.
“I like my job and Oatman. I feel lucky to even have work in these times. Oatman has been home for me and mom for a long time.”
“You still live at home?”
“Well, uh, yes, you see my mom needs me right now. She’s not been well for quite some time, so I sort of look after her.”
“I suppose that’s commendable,” Cir replied.
“Years ago, as a waitress, I met Trent and Luke at the Oatman Restaurant. They used to come in on a regular basis.”
“They did, did they?” She asked quizzically.
“Oh, yes, I used to see them two or three times a week until Luke moved away. I always liked serving them.”
“I bet you did,” Cir replied.
“Yeah, ole Luke and I thought Haylee was very special. She always did a great job,” Trent added with a smile.
“I can imagine she was very good,” Cir replied with hint of sarcasm.
The waiter came over and took their drink and entree orders simultaneously. He was used to that, because the locals usually had to get back to their jobs.
“Uh, Trent, I’ve never heard Luke talk about your line of work. Whadaya do?” Cir asked.
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