by Glenn Trust
Now, Marco leaned back in the plastic motel chair, notepad in hand, and watched Pete’s Place. Budroe would have to leave at some point. There would be something to learn from that. How many men were with him? What direction they headed. With luck, there might be an opportunity to follow and find out where the big man was hiding, although Gary Poncinelli would give him hell for tailing Budroe without backup. Ponce was probably right. Best not to pull the tiger’s tail before the trap was ready.
Still, any information he could gather would be more than they had. He had managed to get the name of the man who had been giving the orders, Henry Schulls. That was a good piece of intelligence. Mike Darlington would be happy.
64. Make The Call
“I’ve been expecting your call, Ramón.”
“I apologize for the late hour. It has been difficult. Budroe’s men have just now withdrawn to a safe distance.”
“He continues to have you watched?”
“Yes, not like before, but there is always someone near.” Guzman leaned back in the chair in the yard of the mobile home breathing in the night breeze, fragrant with the smells of the woods. He sat in the middle of the clearing, speaking softly well away from any structure and Peña’s men who patrolled the tree line. “No doubt, they have me under video surveillance, but as long as they see me, they are content to let me do what I like.”
“Do they listen?”
Guzman appreciated that Soto was cautious about security issues. Neither wanted to end up like Eduardo Rivera, a bullet through the brain rotting and stinking in a hot car on a steamy Georgia back road. It was an outcome that was a much greater risk for Guzman than Soto, but his partner on Trinidad was careful and thorough.
“In truth, they may. However, there has never been any indication that they do. I have said things as a test before, things that would get Budroe’s attention if he or his men were listening. They have never responded.”
So, he is not listening…” Soto paused to give emphasis to his next words. “Or he is clever and allows us to speak and make our plans, watching and waiting like a fox for us to make the wrong move.”
“Yes, both are possible.” An owl hooted loudly in a tree draped with Spanish moss. Guzman looked into the dark branches knowing that the owl, invisible in the night, saw him clearly. This was the owl’s territory, and no doubt, the intrusion of the men who had set up the mobile home and taken over his range was more annoyance than curiosity to the bird. Hunting would not be the same.
Guzman returned to the call. “There is risk. I will not deny it, Armando. But where there is risk, there is reward. I thought we had agreed on this.”
“We have. I merely make the point that continued vigilance and caution must guide our actions.” Sitting on the balcony of his hotel suite in Port of Spain, Trinidad, Soto inhaled the fresh breeze off the Gulf of Paria. The winds blowing in from the Caribbean brought a pleasant mixture of fresh ocean breeze scented with the perfume of tropical vegetation. “Have you given thought to when we will make our move?”
“I have. I think about it constantly.”
“And?”
“As you say, we must be cautious.”
“Cautious yes, but there must be some movement, a resolution to the matter at some point and that should happen sooner, rather than later. When the deal is completed with Budroe, I will be committed. Once we begin our business, it is done, Ramón, and cannot be undone…not by me.”
“I understand.” Guzman nodded with the phone at his ear. “It will be soon.”
“Can you tell me when?”
“Soon, Armando. He has some personal business. He does not discuss it with me, but he is preoccupied with it. Peña is assisting him with his resources, leaving only a few of his men to see to affairs here and to watch me.” Guzman paused, thinking, and then continued quietly. “It is his weakness, this personal business, the need for blood, for revenge. It will be his downfall. When I know that he is fully committed to his business, distracted by nothing else, I will make a call.”
“That simple? You will make a call?”
“The call is simple, yes. Knowing who to call and what to say will be more…complicated.”
“Do you know who it is that you will call?”
“Yes, but I cannot tell you…for your safety.”
“I do not want to know…for my safety, of course. I only want to understand how it will be done…for the protection of our business.”
“We will use the American police to do what would be too dangerous for either of us to risk. I will let them know…carefully and anonymously…where Budroe is and what he is doing. They will swoop down on him. He is a wanted man in the United States, especially in Georgia. He will be taken into custody, arrested, or killed. Killed is preferable, but either will be sufficient for our purposes.”
“And Marques Peña?”
“If we move directly against Budroe, he will protect him. He has told me as much, but he has also let it be known that once Budroe is out of the way, his contract is fulfilled. He will honor his commitment to Budroe. It is a matter of personal integrity with him.”
“Yes, an honorable man among thieves.” Soto laughed softly at the irony.
“And a hard man. We would not want to confront Peña and his men. They will fulfill the terms of their contract and kill anyone who tries to harm Budroe, but after this is done and Budroe is eliminated by the police…Peña may be of use to us. He will then honor whatever deal we can strike with him, just as he has with Budroe.”
“An interesting sense of duty, it seems. Very literal. He will protect Budroe from a direct threat but will ignore an implied one, or one that comes surreptitiously through a phone call. Such threats do not offend his sense of duty.” Soto chuckled. “Budroe’s contract with him should have been more comprehensive and specific. Yes, Peña will be a useful man to have on our side now that we know how his mind works.” Several seconds passed quietly as Soto considered the plan Guzman had laid out. “So, the ball, as they say Ramón, is in your court. It is your move…to make the call. We will speak again when you have made it. Make it soon.”
The line disconnected and the lighted display on the cell phone went dark. Seated alone in the clearing, Guzman became aware of the night sounds, humming insects, some birds rustling leaves and changing perches in a tree overhead, the sound of a fish surfacing and splashing out in the stream that ran nearby in the woods. He considered Soto’s last words. Make the call…soon.
Guzman fought down the nervous feeling in his belly. Planning and talking late at night on the telephone were one thing. But that one thing was leading inexorably to another.
For once, Ramón Guzman would have to stand on his own and take the risk. He would be acting as an independent player winning or losing by his own wits. It was a frightening, and, at the same time, exhilarating sensation. He held his destiny in his own hands. All he had to do was make the call…and survive.
65. It Was Understood
“Hold on a minute.” Bleary-eyed and groggy from only three hours sleep, Andy Barnes whispered into the phone that had been buzzing annoyingly on the bedside table.
He sat up in the bed and stepped to the floor as gently as possible, trying not to wake Deirdre. Tiptoeing past the kids’ bedrooms, he went downstairs and sat at the dining room table, propping his weary head on one hand, the other holding the phone to his ear. He yawned once and then spoke.
“Okay, so who’s on the line, Sharon?”
Sharon looked around the small group standing on the dirt road in the woods in the middle of the night. “Got Sheriff Davies, Mike Darlington and Gary Poncinelli with me here. Rince is on the line from his house in Atlanta…and you, Andy.”
“Okay.” Andy nodded, eyes closed. “What do we have?”
Sharon looked at Poncinelli. “Make your report, Gary.”
It was late. Everyone was tired. Poncinelli kept it simple. “Roy Budroe is back.”
Andy’s eyes opened. “Say again. Confi
rm, Ponce. You saw Budroe?”
“I did. Marco and I both saw him…at Pete’s Place.”
“Son of a bitch has balls…gotta give him that.” Mike Darlington shook his head in disbelief. “Much as I wanted to get my hands on him, I never thought he would come back to Pickham County, not with every law enforcement officer in the state looking for him.”
“He’s motivated.” Sharon put it all together for them as usual. “Something is coming down…something big. We knew he was expanding operations, but something has him feeling that showing up in Pickham County is worth the risk.”
“Yeah.” Andy stared at the wall across the dining table thinking. “Something big enough that the risk was worth it. Something he needs to do. What could that be?”
“Not sure how big the risk was.” Ponce looked around the circle as he spoke toward Sharon’s phone on the hood of her car.
“What do you mean, Gary?” Andy prompted him to finish the thought.
“He’s got a shitload of security around. Bikers, his own boys, some ex-military types that speak Spanish, mercenaries maybe.” He shook his head thinking it over. “He waited until late at night, came in the back way and I’m pretty sure his people had scouted things out before they brought him in. Put all that together, the risk was minimal.”
“I’d give anything to have done a drive by, maybe walked into the place while he was there.” Mike Darlington’s voice sounded disappointed, like an athlete who missed the big game. He had always taken Budroe’s use of Pickham County as his headquarters as a personal affront to the county and its deputies.
Ponce shook his head. “Wouldn’t have done any good. His people would have seen you coming long before you got inside. They would have taken him away before you got a glimpse of him.”
“Still…” Darlington persisted.
“Mike, they would have killed you if they thought you were coming for Budroe, and any backup you brought along. We’re outnumbered, for now.” Ponce looked the chief deputy in the eye. “No, this is an undercover operation for a reason. Only way to do this is from inside, get the intel and then take them down on our terms. Any other way and people die…the wrong people.”
“I agree.” Sandy looked at his chief deputy. “Let’s not take chances, Mike. Ease back some until we’re ready to move.”
Mike nodded. “Yes sir.”
That resolved, Sharon looked at Ponce. “So the question is where’s Budroe holed up, or is he just passing through?”
Gary shook his head. “No way of knowing yet. I left Marco there watching so I could report in about this. Maybe he’ll come up with something, if he doesn’t get himself killed in the process.”
Andy’s head perked up at that. “How’s the undercover going? Santoro taking chances?”
“I don’t know.” Ponce shrugged. “Sometimes I get uneasy, think he’s stretching it too far, but they seem to have bought his ‘wandering biker from New York story’ hook, line and sinker. Just me being nervous I guess. I worry he’s gonna get into something when I’m not there to back his play.”
Remembering his own ordeal at the hands of Budroe’s men, Andy spoke firmly. “No chances. Those are your orders. If it looks like you are going to be made, then call it off and get the hell outta there. No bullshit Ponce. I mean it.”
There was silence on the line. Poncinelli and Santoro were the UC on the operation. No one else had a right to make a response to the boss on the matter.
Poncinelli spoke softly. “We understand Andy, but there is always some risk when you go undercover. You know that.” He let the words sink in. “You know it and you accepted it when it was your turn. Now it’s ours. We accept it, Andy. We’re being careful, but we have to do the job…that’s why we’re here.” He laughed softly to break the tension. “Hell, Marco’s so good I’d arrest him for being a dirt bag if I didn’t know better. He’s a natural. Talks the talk, always in character. He’s a pro, and I’m watching his back. It’s the best we can do and still do the job.”
Andy’s sigh of resignation was audible. “All right, Ponce. I trust you to know when to get the hell outta Dodge. Do the job, and then get your ass back to Atlanta, behind a nice safe desk down at Homicide.”
The murmured laughter was an emotional release. The tension of the group around Sharon’s car eased marginally.
“Rince.” Andy changed gears. “Fly down to Pickham first thing in the morning. Work with the sheriff and chief deputy and see if we can do some aerial surveillance and pick up on where Budroe might be hiding out while he’s around. Can’t be too far, not if he’s coming and going from Pete’s Place in the middle of the night.”
“Right, Andy. First thing.”
Mike chimed in. “Let me know when you’re coming in Rince. I’ll meet you at the airport in Everett. Get an early start.”
“Will do.”
“Okay then, everyone get some rest and let’s wrap this up soon.” Andy didn’t need to add and get Ponce and Marco out of harm’s way. It was understood.
66. Confident Or Arrogant
Lonna pulled the pickup from the tree shrouded dirt trail into the clearing and peered at the porch of the doublewide. It was empty.
Beside her, Vernon Taft’s head swiveled in what seemed complete circles on his scrawny neck. Eyes bugged out of their sockets and his tongue darting out every second or two to wet his lips, he looked like an emaciated jack-in-the-box clown mounted to a wobbly, coiled spring.
“Jesus, Vernon! Calm the fuck down.” Lonna pulled the new Chevy Silverado to a stop in front of the mobile home.
She had insisted on driving, hoping that the new truck, one of the perks of working for Roy Budroe, would calm Vernon down. Besides, if Taft had driven she doubted she would have ever gotten him there.
As it was, she had him aching for his next cocaine fix and completely exhausted from three days in bed screwing, barely eating or sleeping. Still, she had barely gotten him strapped into the pickup. More than once, she thought he might decide to take his chances and jump from the moving truck rather than face Budroe.
She stepped out into the clearing and looked across the truck’s cab. “C’mon, Vernon. Get out.”
He was paralyzed. She might as well have told him to step into the open jaws of an alligator. Vernon wasn’t moving. She went around to his side of the truck and jerked the door open.
“Vernon, baby. Get out.” Her tone was soft, her hand stroking his thigh. “It’s gonna be all right. We’re just here to talk.”
His head spun in her direction on the wobbly neck, eyes wide and unfocused. “Wh-where is he?” His skull arced back and forth, eyes searching as she pulled his arm, dragging him from the seat of the pickup. “Where is he? I d-don’t see him. Maybe we should just go.” He looked desperately into her eyes. “Let’s go, Lonna. Let’s go now.”
“He’s around, Vernon. Probably doesn’t want to worry you, so he’s waitin’ inside.” Her voice took on a harder tone. “And we ain’t goin’ nowhere. You want Roy mad at you…at me…then turn tail and run now. He said get you here, and goddamnit you’re gonna stay here and talk to him. Hear what he says.” Her eyes narrowed. “Do what he says. Then we’re free.”
Taft put a hand out to the pickup’s side, to keep from falling over from pure fright. His head spun again, his eyes taking in the guards around the edges of the clearing. “They got guns!” He looked at Lonna. “They got guns!”
“’Course they got guns, you idiot. They’re protecting Roy. They ain’t interested in you, unless you’re gonna hurt Roy.” She laughed at that. “I don’t think there’s much chance of that Vernon.”
The doublewide’s door swung open and then banged shut. Roy Budroe stepped out onto the porch, Marques Peña at his side. Vernon turned white, bent double at the waist and dry heaved. Fortunately, Lonna had not fed him breakfast.
“Well, Vernon Taft. Good to see you boy. Come here and set with me.” Budroe smiled and sat in a chair, waiting. Peña stood behind, watching, a slightly
bemused look playing momentarily across his face.
Pushed forward by Lonna, Vernon clung to the railing and pulled himself up the steps to the porch. He sat in the chair Budroe indicated, falling into it as if his last ounce of strength and courage were gone, which they were. Lonna took the chair beside him.
Budroe took a cigar from his shirt pocket and went through the ritual of clipping the end and lighting it, his eyes never leaving Taft’s face.
“I tol’ him Roy. Tol’ him how you had this one little thing for him to do. Just a message to deliver and then…” Lonna’s words poured out breathlessly, as if speaking them released the pressure built up inside. “Tol’ him that when he did it…what you wanted him to do…how we was free, free to go or do what we want.” She turned to Vernon. “I tol’ you all that, didn’t I?”
Vernon could do nothing but stare into Budroe’s beefy face, waiting for some giant hand to appear out of nowhere and smack him like a fly on the wall, squashing the life out of his bony frame.
“She tell you all that, Vernon?” Budroe watched him, letting the cigar’s smoke drift from his mouth and nose, up and away. “Speak Vernon.”
Taft nodded, his eyes following the smoke. “Sh-she told me.”
“That’s good.” Budroe smiled. “I want you to know everything is forgotten. Everything is right between us as long as you do this one thing for me.”
Vernon nodded.
“I’m gonna set a meeting for you to meet with some people. You’re gonna tell them exactly what I tell you to say.”
Vernon nodded again and blinked for the first time since taking the seat across from Budroe.