Willobee's World

by Wendell Vanderbilt Fountain

  “Not really, I got no reason ta try somethin’ else. It took me a long time to get my own rig.”

  “I bet that nice rig of yours would bring a pretty penny if you ever decided to sell it,” Haylee said.

  “Yep, I’d have to have at least a couple hundred thousand for her. She’s in perfect condition, and I make shor she stays that way,” he said proudly.

  “That’s kinda what I thought. More coffee?” She asked.

  “Yeah, I’ll have another cup. By the way, I’m sorta curious ’bout your questions.”

  “I’ll get ya some coffee,” she said and went to get a carafe.

  “What about them questions?” He asked when she returned.

  “Oh, uh, it was nothin’ special. I was just curious. You told me once you wanted a little ranch in the Santa Fe area, and I thought the price for your truck and trailer might go a long way toward buying it.”

  “Well, you’re right to a point, but I was gonna try ta buy somethin’ I could afford, a small nonworking ranch, which would be ’round a hundred acres. I’d need at least that much ta make a livin’ off it, and that would be tough even then. I’d have to git an awful good deal to afford it, ’cause I ain’t gonna do no mortgage,” he said and took sip of his coffee.

  “So, you’re sayin’ it’s not out of the realm of possibility?”

  “Yeah, but I’d have to be awful lucky?”

  “Trent, if it’s luck, I’m sure it’ll happen.”

  “Well, sweetheart, I been real lucky lately, haven’t I?” He said with a wink.

  “Trenton Willobee, you never mind ’bout that. Maybe we were both fortunate,” she said while blushing and smiling.

  “I consider that to be a real compliment.”

  “You should, ’cause that’s what it was intended to be.”

  “Haylee-Girl, I find it interest in’ you brought up my ranch plans,” he said with a big smile.

  “I didn’t mean nothin’ by it. I was just thinkin’ ’bout your long-term goal, that’s all.”

  “That was not exactly my only goal. I believe I talked ’bout a wife and kids, too. I want a family, animals, and stuff.”

  “At least I was partly right.”

  “Yeah, you were at that,” Trent said.

  “Am I gonna see ya again before ya leave?” She asked as her eyes met his.

  “I shor’n hell hope so,” he said, taking a final sip of coffee.

  “Would ya like to take in a movie tomorrow evenin’?” She asked.

  “Yes, I really would if I don’t have to go by myself.” he said, grinning.

  “Trent, you know what I meant!”

  “Yeah, I was just jokin’.”

  “It’s hard for me ta tell when you’re serious or not.”

  I’ll pick ya up ’round six tomorrow evenin’, and we’ll get a bite to eat first, and that’s no joke!” He chuckled.

  “That sounds good.”

  “Got some mechanical things ta take care of on mah truck. Tell your momma I send my best,” he said, getting up from his stool “See ya tomorra, sweetheart.”

  Haylee and Trent were not so much concerned about where they were going to have dinner or about the movie they were going to see. She didn’t even mind riding in the cab of the truck. They just wanted to spend time together. It had become obvious to both of them that their association had become a budding relationship of love and care for one another. When they got to the theater after dinner, they checked the marquee and decided they preferred a comedy. Since they both liked Ben Stiller and Owen Wilson, they chose Zoolander 2.

  “Did you like it?” Trent asked as they were exiting the theater.

  “I thought it was great!”

  “Me, too, them guys are real funny,” he said, checking his watch “We told Kathy we’d be back by ten. I don’t wanna upset your momma, but we got a little time. Would ya like ta have a drink before goin’ home?”

  “Yes, I’d like that very much,” she said, squeezing Trent’s hand.

  They stopped at a little restaurant-bar on Highway 95 which was on the way home to have a libation. They chose a table away from most of the clientele patronizing the place. Both of them seemed to prefer some space and a little privacy.

  “Trent…how long are ya gonna be gone this time?”

  “No more’n a couple a weeks, but I plan on talkin’ with ya a lot more than the past,” he said, reaching for her hands.

  “It’s just that I seem ta miss you somethin’ terrible anymore when you’re gone,” she said as her eyes welled up.

  “Haylee-Girl I understand, ’cause the feelin’s mutual. The good Lord willin’, it won’t always be this way. I know I’m just an old country boy, but I think I know where ya were goin’ yesterday when ya got ta jawin’ ’bout the ranch I been dream’ of.”

  “You do? Then, where might that be?”

  “You really want me ta say what I was hopin’? Before ya answer, let me order us a wine and a beer.”

  “Trent, it seems you always keep me in suspense. Okay, go ahead and order.”

  Since a server wasn’t available, Trent got up and walked over to the bar and placed their order. He paid the bartender for the drinks and returned to an impatiently waiting Haylee. He had barely sat down when she asked again about what he thought she’d been intimating the day before.

  “Girl, at least let me have a swig of mah beer,” he said with a grin.

  “Trent, come-on, what did you mean by what you said?”

  “Alright, alright what I was hopin’ was that you might wanna be on that ranch with me,” he said looking into her eyes.

  “Then, that means you want us to get married?”

  “Ain’t that what folks usually do?”

  “Yes, I guess so, but what people do in this day and time is sometimes quite different. That aside, it’s not gonna be so easy for me. I have to take care of momma.”

  “Think I don’t know that? I figure you can take care of Kit anywhere. Besides, you’d have me ta help.”

  “Are you proposing?”

  “Guess I’m testin’ the waters. Ya see, sweetheart, there’s some things I gotta do before I can do somethin’ like that. Can’t talk ’bout it now, but in a few weeks things should be okay,” he said, sipping his Miller Lite.

  “Trent, I’m really confused. I don’t know what you’re gettin’ at.”

  “I think I should a kept my mouth shut for a few weeks. Guess I’m gittin’ head of mahself agin.”

  “These things you have to do, what possibly could they be? Is it another woman?”

  “Lord no, I wish it was somethin’ as easy as that. Can’t tell you ’bout what I’m doin’, but there’s risk and danger involved, and that’s more’n I should be sayin’ ’cause you’ll be worryin’, and you got nuff to worry ’bout now. Damn, I should a kept my mouth shut!”

  “Trent, if you say things ’ill be okay, that’s good enough for me,” she said, reaching across the table for his hands.

  “Things won’t be okay if I don’t git you home in the next ten minutes, ’cause your momma just might go on the warpath,” he said with a chuckle.

  They were not late getting back to Haylee’s. Before she went in, they kissed and hugged tightly before saying goodnight.

  “See ya in a couple of weeks, Haylee-Girl,” he waved and drove away.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  The next morning, before Trent rolled his rig back out on the highway and headed toward Tijuana, he packed some dark clothes and a ski mask. He thought about the way he spoke out of turn to Haylee the night before. He regretted saying a word to her about anything being risky or dangerous. He really wanted to ask her to marry him, but he thought it wouldn’t be right, because he was playing with a loaded gun, and he knew it. He’d been in firefights overseas and watched as his brothers in arms
die in horrible ways all around him. Though this wasn’t Iraq or Afghanistan, what he was doing could be just as deadly. Dobson had made it clear he was on his own. The time passed quickly as his 18 wheels whirred and he roared down the highway toward Tijuana. As he was zipping along, his thoughts turned to Slinger’s invitation to join him in drug running. In some ways, it was appealing, because he could put a lot more money aside for that dream ranch. He was very conflicted, so he stopped at the first place which welcomed truckers to call Slinger and get more information about his proposition. Trent pulled his rig over at a rest-stop and called the number slinger had given him.

  “Mazerski,” a voice answered.

  “I spose I have the wrong number, sorry ’bout that.”

  “Wait, wait, don’t hang up, Trent-Rodeo Man, this is Slinger.”

  “Good grief, Slinger, I forgot yor real name. I hadn’t called you Joe Mazerski in years. How’d you know it was me?” Trent asked with a chuckle.

  “I’d know that voice anywhere. What’s up?”

  “Got to thinkin’ ’bout yor proposal and thought I’d like to git more details.”

  “Where’re you now?” Slinger asked.

  “Two hours west of Tijuana.”

  “You makin’ that Albuquerque run?”

  “Yep, shor ’nuff.”

  “When you gonna be in Flagstaff?”

  “Be ’bout four days.”

  “I won’t be passin’ that way for the next five. I’m in El Paso now. I’m doin’ some loads in Texas. I know you don’t like wastin’ time, but I got somethin’ even better! How ’bout stayin’ over an extra day?”

  “Man, I really hate to do that, but if it’s that good… I’ll be at the Quality Inn at 40 and 17.”

  “I wish I could tell ya more now, but I’ll do that when we meet,” Slinger said.

  “I look forward to seein’ ya agin. Take care out there.”

  “Likewise, and you do the same.”

  As he drove, he wondered about Slinger’s comment that he had something better? He couldn’t imagine what he meant, but if it paid better than drugs, it might be well beyond what he could do. The closer he got to Tijuana the more he wondered why he was even considering getting involved in drug trafficking. He knew he couldn’t do that. What in the world possessed me? Told ’em I’d meet him, and I will, but I can’t run drugs.

  Maria was on the desk at the Americana Inn when Trent checked in.

  “Hello, Señor Trent, good to see you,” she said with a smile.

  “Good to see you, too,” he replied.

  After she handed him the key, he began walking toward the elevator when she called out for him.

  “Señor, Trent, wait! I have a message for you,” she said, holding up a piece of paper.

  “For me?” He asked quizzically as he returned to the counter.

  “Si, yes,” she replied, handing him the paper.

  Trent stood there for a minute or so perusing the note. He didn’t like what he read, because someone knew he was staying at the Americana and wanted to meet with him at 10:00 o’clock tonight in the lobby—some person by the name of Escobar. He went back to speak with Maria.

  “Maria, do you know who left this message…ah…note?”

  “No, it was left with Mr. Hernandez. He was on the desk when I wasn’t here.”

  “Okay, thanks,” he said as he headed for the elevator.

  When he got to his room, he dropped his bag, sat on the bed, and read the note again, and his mind began racing. Have I blown my cover? Are these guys on to me? This is not good…this is not good.

  Despite his worries about the note, he was hungry. He checked his watch, and it was after six, and he still had four hours before meeting with this fellow Escobar. He freshened up, checked his Glocks, one in his ankle holster and the other in his jacket and then went on a short walk for food. He liked Mexican cuisine so he looked for a nearby locals’ favorite out of the tourist and Frontero Zone. It was a little hole in the wall, dark, very Mexican, and very busy. He had beef burritos, refried beans, and mugs of Cerveza. He actually had a pretty good buzz on when he left.

  He was back in the room by nine o’clock. He watched a little TV news being broadcast out of San Diego before heading down to the lobby. He found a place to sit with his back against the wall where he had good vision of anyone who approached him. He didn’t want to end up like Wild Bill Hickok. He made sure no one was looking, and duct-taped his ankle-holstered Glock to the underside of the table, checked his watch, and decided he had time to call Haylee. She answered her cell on the third ring.

  “Hey sweetheart it’s me.”

  “I was just thinkin’ ’bout ya,” she replied.

  “Hope them were good thoughts,” he chuckled.

  “Of course they were, you silly man,” she said with a smile.

  “Whadaya been doin’?” He asked.

  “After dinner, mom and I watched the news, but it was the usual political stuff. One person insulting another. I’ll be glad when presidential politics aren’t on all the time,” she said with a sigh.

  “No matter who gits elected, people ’ill still be unhappy. It’s human nature,” he said.

  “Yeah, guess you’re right. I’m just tired of it. What ya been doin’?”

  “Actually, I was watching TV a little while ago, too. I gotta meet a fella in a few minutes. Had some great Mexican food and a few beers earlier at a little locals’ joint.”

  “You goin’ to bed soon?” She asked.

  “Don’t know how long my meetin’s gonna last, but I’ll git there. It’s ’bout time for me to git goin’, ’cause he should be here any minute now, so I better be hangin’ up. Love ya, Haylee-Girl. Talk with ya later.”

  Ordinarily, Trent was a patient man by nature, but this whole thing seemed a bit sinister, and he had no idea who Escobar was or what he wanted, which left him very uneasy. He was sitting and observing when a dark man approached his table. He was short, overweight, wore a rather colorful shirt, and would stand out in a crowd.

  “Mister… Willobee… I guess,” he said in impeccable English, extending his hand.

  “You, Escobar?”

  “Yes,” he nodded.

  “Grab a chair,” Trent said.

  “Thank you,” he said, pulling out one.

  “I find it interestin’ you know who I am. Guess I’m a bit curious ’bout that.”

  “We know quite a bit about you.”

  “Really? Please tell me what you or should I say we know,” Trent said with a smile.

  “The most important thing we know is you’re a truck driver and come here often. It’s also true that border agents seem to be cooperative when you pick up your load and go back across the border,” he said in a serious manner.

  “What about my boot and hat size, you know ’bout them, too?” Trent replied, locking eyes with Escobar.

  “I didn’t come here to play games. I came here to offer you a simple business proposition.”

  “Okay, tell me what’s on your mind.” Trent said.

  “Since you seem to cross the border without much inspection, we have some cargo we’d like for you to take back with you,” he said boldly.

  “Guess it’d be too much to ask ’bout that cargo, right?”

  “Right now, I want to know if you’re interested, before I go on.”

  “For argument’s sake, let’s say I’m interested, but I’ll be the final judge ’bout what I take ’cross that border.”

  “We have some…people who need to cross, and it would seem to be a simple matter if they accompanied your cargo when you go back over the border.”

  “You must be talkin’ ’bout human smugglin’,” Trent said.

  “That’s one way of puttin’ it.”

  “Guess I have a couple of questions. To begin with,
who are these people? Lastly, and most important, what’s in it for me?”

  “I’ll address your last question first—money and lots of it! Without identifying the people you’d be carryin’ across the border, let’s just say they want to get into the USA. For every one of them, we’ll give you $2,000 cash.”

  “More questions. The same price the for women and children?” Trent asked.

  “None of them will be women or children.”

  “So, let me git this straight, only men will be aboard, right?”

  “Yes,” he said, shuffling in his chair.

  “Just how many we talkin’ ’bout?”

  “Could be fifty or more, and that’s a lot of money, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Yeah, I’d say so, but you ain’t told me nuff ’bout who these men are? Ya don’t spect me ta take people over I know nothin’ ’bout, do ya?”

  “All I can tell you is they’re not Americans or Mexicans. Beyond that, I can’t say more,” Escobar said.

  “When you gotta know my answer?” Trent asked.

  “As soon as possible.”

  “What about when I come back? Gotta give this some serious thought.”

  “When’re you returning?” Escobar asked.

  “Probly ’bout three weeks.”

  “That’s a little long for us. How about you call me by the end of next week and give me your answer?” Escobar asked, writing down a phone number on a piece of paper.

  “Okay, fair ’nuff,” Trent replied, reaching for the number.

  Escobar stood, turned to leave, then looked back. “By the end of next week, right?”

  Trent nodded his head in agreement.

  After Escobar departed, Trent continued sitting at the table and thinking. If there’s no women or children, no Americans, and no Mexicans, not too many other possibilities other than diaper-heads. They want me to smuggle into my country Middle East diaper-headed ISIS jihadists! With that thought, Trent took the elevator up to his room to get the things needed regarding that bunch of uncivilized Syrians that had been meeting in that little adobe house. He packed his ski mask and crude listening device in a travel bag and then went back down, using the stairs, and headed in that direction.