by Glenn Trust
“What do you mean, south of the border?” Vernon had George’s attention.
“South, you know…like them fellas last year…the sex slave thing out in the swamp.” Taft took a deep breath and looked George in the eye as firmly as he could manage. “I saw them, George. When I was driving by Pete’s. One at least...Mexican or something like that. Other could have been, but he was older, talking on a cell phone. They was dressed nice…too nice for Pete’s Place.”
George took a notepad from his pocket. “Start from the beginning, Vernon. Tell me again.”
For another hour, Vernon Taft spilled what he knew about Budroe’s operation and plans. George took notes and asked questions. Drugs. Whores. People dying. The sex slave ring coming back with Lonna running it. She was frightened by that. She should be, George thought.
When they were done, George pulled out his cell phone and dialed Andy Barnes’ personal number. The meeting with the governor and approval of the request for an undercover operation in Pickham County was not a certainty. Vernon’s report might be enough to push it over the edge and get things set up. It was clear that they had to act quickly. Once Budroe set his plans in motion, he was not one to move slowly. He would come rolling through Pickham County, like an out-of-control freight train, leaving his victims in crumpled heaps along the sides of the tracks.
Waiting for Andy to answer, George looked over at the unlikely hero of the day. Vernon Taft, spent and trembling, slumped against a tall pine, trying to stay on his feet.
43. Doing Business
“Tell him I want to see him.”
Roy Budroe sat on the large sofa in the family room of the Heron Run house. It had become his throne, the sofa, when he wasn’t wandering the old rooms or yard, planning the next move to expand his empire, full of pent up energy like a tiger looking out at the world through the bars of its cage. Passersby regarded him with interest for a moment, pointed a finger and moved on. They never realized what plans the tiger had for them if, when, the bars were gone and it was free to roam. To the world, the pretty, orange and black striped kitty was a curiosity. What they never seemed to realize was that it was a goddamned tiger, and without the bars he would eat your ass.
To Roy Budroe, the world was his prey. Once released from his self-imposed prison of seclusion, he would feed…and profit. It would be soon. For now, he waited, pacing and planning.
Marques Peña rose and stepped through the sliding glass doors open to the early morning breeze. He crossed the yard to a small patio made of stone pavers. It had been added recently at Guzman’s request, a place for him to sit while waiting to be summoned into the presence of the king.
Now, he sat quietly in one of the thickly cushioned yard chairs he had paid for from the money Budroe allowed him, sipping coffee and smoking a Dominican cigar. Torches that burned citronella oil at night to keep the mosquitos away surrounded the pavers. A large propane grill to one side had become Guzman’s hobby and he had taken to preparing evening meals outside, even inviting his guards to join him. After some discussion with Peña, they had been allowed to sit at the patio table in the evenings with Guzman and share dinner. He sipped wine. They were not permitted to drink. They well knew the consequences of failing to keep watch over their charge.
If the house and sofa were Budroe’s palace and throne, the patio was Guzman’s small piece of the kingdom. It had become his home at the Heron Run house. If he wasn’t invited into the inner circle, he at least had his own place, his territory to wait for the pleasure of his patron.
“He wants to see you.”
Guzman lifted his eyes from the bay and the cabin cruiser passing slowly down the channel. He smiled at Peña standing in the grass at the edge of the pavers. “Welcome to my home. Come in, please.”
Peña’s eyes roamed the yard. His two men were close, but not as close as they once were. Guzman had taken his advice and was asserting himself, waiting for the opportunity to win additional trust from the man who held his life in his thick fists. Having made the decision, he seemed more at ease with his fate.
He stepped onto the patio and nodded at the Dominican. “You are making progress. It’s a good thing.”
“Yes, well, I am not too old to learn a lesson.” He puffed a cloud of blue-gray smoke into the morning air and looked up at the Cuban. “Or to take advice. Thank you for that.”
“There is no need for thanks. We all profit from your involvement. It was time for you to realize that. I merely explained what was needed.”
“Trust.” Guzman nodded, the gray ash of the cigar clamped in his mouth bobbing up and down. “I know. I remember. It is the code of the business…our business.” He rose from the chair. “And if I am to be trusted we should not keep El Jefe waiting.”
Watching from the house, Roy Budroe wondered what the hell they were talking about; it was a lot of words to say ‘get your ass inside’. They walked side by side through the grass. He took note of their posture, body language, distance from each other, smiles, any sign that might give him concern about their loyalty. It was the price for being the boss.
Budroe was not an educated man, but he was astute, cunning and, in his own way, highly intelligent. He knew that loyalty was fickle. The weight on the shoulder of every tyrant was constant vigilance.
“Took you long enough.” The glass door to the yard slid open and Guzman led Peña into the room.
“We were just enjoying a bit of the morning air, before the heat of the day.” Guzman smiled and took a seat in a chair to the side of the sofa.
“You were talking.”
“Just friendly chatter.”
Looking up at Peña’s stern face, standing to one side, Budroe doubted that the Cuban ever engaged in friendly chatter, or even knew what it was. “Uh huh…” He motioned for Peña to sit in the chair across from Guzman. “Let’s go over it. The meeting tomorrow with your buddy from Trinidad.”
“Right.” Guzman nodded, blowing a large plume of smoke towards the ceiling fan. “My ‘buddy’ as you call him, Armando Soto, will arrive after his men are certain that all is secure.”
“And me? I sit waiting for him?”
“No, not at all. You too will stay away from the location until we…” Guzman nodded at Peña. “Until we are assured that the location is safe and there will be no deception on the part of Soto. The house is secluded, in the country surrounded by many acres of land. The men from each side will go through the house and ensure that all is secure. When we are all satisfied, both sides, we will call you and Soto. You will then come to the location.”
“How many men?”.
“Six each.”
Budroe looked up at Peña who nodded. “Six will be sufficient. They are professional, as are we.”
Satisfied with the details, Budroe nodded. “Have you spoken to Soto?”
“Of course.”
Budroe regarded Guzman’s face carefully alert to any sign of disloyalty. A nervousness tic, averted eyes anything that might indicate betrayal. There were none.
“Good. Any feel for what he will ask for?”
“Yes.” Guzman nodded and puffed the cigar. “He wants the same deal you had with Rivera, but with certain provisions…guarantees so to speak.”
“What kind of guarantees?” Budroe’s eyes narrowed.
“Let’s say that he would like to avoid a repetition of what happened with Rivera. No more bullets through the brain.” Guzman smiled. “I can’t blame him.”
“You can’t huh?” Budroe lifted his bare feet from the floor and stretched his big frame out on the sofa. “Rivera got what he deserved, what he was gonna give me.”
“True, true.” Guzman nodded. “And it was what you were going to give him all along as well. There were deceptions on both sides, from both of you.” He looked steadily into the big man’s eyes. “This cannot be denied.”
Several seconds passed before Budroe spoke. “I suppose you’re right.” He grinned. “Old and Eduardo and me were cut from the same mold
. He just didn’t act fast enough…old age I guess.”
“Maybe old age, but I think something else.”
“What’s that?” Budroe’s eyes showed his interest.
“He underestimated you. For him, you were a redneck from Georgia. Uneducated, unsophisticated and, therefore, one easily deceived.”
“And you, Ramón? What do you think?” Hands folded calmly over his belly he examined Guzman’s face closely.
“Once, I thought as Eduardo did, I confess.” He looked thoughtfully at the ceiling, blowing smoke towards the slowly spinning fan. “No longer. We both underestimated you, Rivera paid the price with his life, I with my freedom. Soto will not make the same mistake.”
Guzman was changed, seeming to accept his fate. He spoke frankly. Was there more under the calm exterior, Budroe wondered. “So what guarantees does Soto want?”
“Not many. You and he will meet just this once. After that, he will remain in Trinidad.”
“Okay.” Budroe nodded. “And if we need to speak?”
“You do it through me.”
There it was. “Through you?” He regarded Guzman with curiosity. “And why would I trust you?”
“If this meeting goes off as planned, if you get what you want, I think I will have proven my loyalty and my value.” Guzman shrugged before stating the obvious. “And this is business. You and Rivera both wanted it all. You took Rivera’s life, but you lost the deal. Soto will not be so easy to kill, but there is a great fortune to be made in this business. He will be willing to share it with you, but you will communicate through me. There will not be a repetition of what happened to Rivera.”
Budroe was quiet, considering the terms that Soto had set. He looked at Guzman. “And you... what do you get out of all this?”
“My life…to start with.” He looked into Budroe’s eyes, serious and calm. “Then as my services become more valuable to you and to Soto, I think you will want to compensate me for my efforts.” He smiled. “I am not a greedy man. I see how you reward your people. You are generous to those loyal to you. I believe you will repay my loyalty as well.”
“That’s it? You trust me to reward you?”
Guzman shrugged. “And Soto. It is the best I can hope for. You hold all the cards, as they say here, and as I said, it is business. You are a good businessman.”
Budroe’s eyes moved to Peña’s stone-like face. “And you? You have something to say about all this?”
“Our business is separate from all of this.” Peña spoke without emotion. “I have no opinion on the matter.”
“Not telling me what you think, Marques, is not the same as not having an opinion.”
“True.” Peña nodded gravely. “Then my opinion is as he said, it is business. If it is good business, it is a good deal.”
Guzman and Peña waited quietly while Budroe thought it over. Finally, he looked up at the ceiling and smiled. “All right. Let’s do some fucking business boys.”
44. Breaking The Case
“He’s corrupt.”
Attorney General Colton Swain looked up from the files stacked neatly, like a fortress around the perimeter of his desk. “What?”
Richard Klineman cleared his throat to repeat the two words. “He’s corrupt.”
“Yes, Dick. I know that. That’s the case we are going to make.” Swain shook his head, momentarily disgusted with himself, that he had been taken in and tied himself to such a weak man. “He is corrupt. He murdered an unarmed suspect. Of course, our case would be a bit stronger if Mackey’s victim had been an innocent citizen instead of a brutal serial killer.” He shook his head again. Cunning didn’t make Klineman particularly bright. He looked back down at the file open before him.
“It’s more than that.”
With a sigh of exasperation, Swain closed the file and leaned back in his chair. “Are you talking to hear your own voice? We’ve been through all this. I know, he killed the deputy in the swamp last year. We will do what we can to tie him back to Budroe, make it seem that it was Mackey and not the deputy who was dirty. At least, raise a doubt in the jurors’ minds.” Removing his glasses, he rubbed the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. “Spit it out, Dick.”
“The deputy he killed, Boswell Stimes, was one of my chief men. He would have been the chief deputy if I hadn’t been forced to appoint another, Ronnie Kupman, for political reasons.”
“So, what’s your point?”
Klineman painted the picture of Boss Stimes, going down in the south Georgia swamp, dragged under the black water by an alligator. “It took the GBI two days to find the partially dismembered corpse. They had had to kill the gator to recover the body from the bottom of the creek. Mackey was there.”
“Right. Old history. We know all of this.”
“Kupman was killed too.”
Swain opened his eyes. “Your chief deputy in Pickham County was killed? Are you saying Mackey did it?”
“No, not that.” Klineman cleared his throat again. “But he was there.”
“There? You mean when your chief deputy, this Kupman, was killed, Mackey was present.”
“Yes.”
“And then he was present in the swamp when the other deputy loses his life.”
“Right.” Klineman waited for Swain to start putting the scenario together on his own. He had planted the seed. Nothing more was required.
“Still no proof that Mackey was involved or did anything other than what the official reports say.” Swain looked up at the ceiling thinking. “But it does show a pattern. Wherever Mackey goes, people die.” He looked at Klineman. “It’s something, I guess. Every little bit will help. Not sure it will be enough though.”
“What if there is more?”
“More? What do you mean?”
“What if I can give you evidence from an undisclosed source that Mackey was dirty, part of Budroe’s crime gang?”
“You can do that? How? The case is closed, the reports filed.”
“I still have my, uh…sources, connections back in Pickham County. It would have to be protected information from a confidential informant.” He tried to ignore the nervous flop in his belly. “If you can provide the necessary cover, I am pretty sure I can get evidence, in writing that will link Mackey to the Budroe crime organization.”
“What kind of game are you playing, Dick? You concealing evidence from an active investigation?”
“No. It just came to light. Like I said, I still have my sources in Pickham County.”
Swain looked at him for a minute, thinking it through. Written evidence from an unnamed confidential informant, and Swain would have to protect the identity of the snitch. Trenton Peele would challenge it immediately, would want to interview the informant. The judge might not allow it, but it was another piece of the puzzle, another doubt in the minds of the jury.
“You get me the evidence from your informant. If it’s worth it, I’ll find a way to protect him.” He shrugged. “If not, you and the informant are on your own.”
Klineman rose and turned towards the office door. “I’ll be…”
Swain cut him off. “I don’t want to know where you’ll be, what you’re doing or who you’re with.” He opened the file on the desk and looked down, sorting through the papers. “Bring me what you get. Until then, see ya, Dick.”
The heavy door closed solidly with a dull thud. He was committed now. He wasn’t sure to what…lies…deception. This last one was the biggest. It would make or break the case, or him…or both maybe.
45. The Wheels Started Rolling
“Another undercover operation?” Governor Jesse Bell looked up from the briefing summary. “In light of events the last the time the OSI went covert, Andy, do you think that’s wise? I would think you would have reservations, considering the personal cost you paid.”
“I always have reservations when we send people into harm’s way, Governor. We think…I think…it’s worth the risk.”
“Hmm.” Bell looked back at the
paper and adjusted his glasses. Andy and Pamela Towers waited quietly while the governor went through the summary a third time. When he looked up, he spoke to Towers. “And you think this is a good idea?”
“I do.” She leaned forward in her chair to emphasize that she agreed with the acting director’s assessment of the situation and request for the assets to go undercover. “This string of bodies almost certainly leads back to the south Georgia crime boss Roy Budroe. He’s been missing since the OSI broke up the sex slave operation. I agree with Andy that this could lead us to him.” She paused, separating her next statement from the discussion of the operation. “You wanted a case, some investigation that would take the focus off of George Mackey and Bob Shaklee…something that would move the media and public attention away from Swain’s daily press conferences and refocus them on the good work of the OSI…and on your leadership.” She leaned back in her chair. “This is that case, governor.”
Bell returned to the summary, making no comment. “Go over this last section for me. Information from a confidential informant.” He looked at Andy.
“Information we received just today, from a person who has ties to Budroe.”
“What kind of ties?”
“He used to work for him, in Roydon. Ran the motel there.”
“But not anymore?”
“No. Budroe no longer trusts him. He fears for his life.”
“Why do we trust him?”
“His girlfriend is a Budroe lieutenant. She is afraid of what is happening and of her involvement. She saw how the sex slave case went down last year and doesn’t want any part of it. She’s a fifty-something ex-hooker. Figures if she doesn’t get out she’ll spend the rest of her life in prison, or worse.”
“And the contact is George Mackey?”
“Yes sir. George is the person the informant contacted.”
“Why?”
“They have history from when Mackey worked the road in Pickham County…going back to the serial killer case.”