Blood Orange

by Brenda Spalding

  Gabe needed to call Nora, too, and tell her they had Tito in custody and all the money had been recovered. He should have called as soon as they got back to the station, but things had moved so fast he forgot.

  He closed the door in his office to make the call. He was nervous as he dialed Nora's number. He wanted to tell her about Tito but so much more.

  The phone rang several times, and he was about to give up when someone finally picked it up.

  "Hello," Nora said.

  "A . . . hi, Nora, this is Gabe," he stuttered.

  "Oh, Gabe, we've been so worried. Tell me what happened. Did you find Tito? Was anyone hurt?"

  "We arrested Tito, and no one got hurt. He's in with Dan right now. I'm afraid he's gotten himself into a bit of a mess."

  She hesitated and asked hopefully, "Can you come over?"

  "Not tonight. I want to, but it's been a long day, and I have a pile of paperwork to do over this. I want to hang around and see what Dan finds out. Tito admitted to the robbery and hitting your grandfather. He didn't think your Gramps would be there.

  “We know he set up going over to the Jessup's place. But Jessup was supposed to be asleep. How Tito figured flying a plane in-and-out and the noise of it almost landing wouldn't wake him up I can't fathom. Even if Jessup was deaf, the vibrations would have had him looking."

  "When can we have the money back for the workers? Gramps wants to know what to tell them," Nora said, a deep concern for Gramps and their workers in her voice.

  "Tell Gramps I'll bring it by tomorrow. I'll even help stuff the packets. Maybe we can hand out the money after mass on Sunday. But I don't know when exactly I’ll be there. It all depends on what we find out today."

  Gabe had started walking around his desk, but the cord from the telephone would only let him go so far. He untangled it and went in the opposite direction only to get stuck again.

  "Why don't you and Dan come over for supper tomorrow about six? We can work on the packets after that," Nora suggested, doing her own tour of the kitchen as far as her cord would reach.

  "Do I have to bring Dan?" Gabe asked, joking.

  "He doesn't have to come if he has other plans, but you should ask him," Nora said.

  "I'll see you tomorrow then," Gabe said hoping nothing would get in the way of his seeing her again.

  "Yeah, tomorrow, bye," Nora hung up first and leaned against the kitchen counter. She hoped Dan would have other plans but quickly felt guilty for the thought.

  Gabe put the phone back in its cradle. He sat down at his desk and leaned back, fingers crossed that Dan would have other plans for tomorrow night. He didn't want to share his time with Nora.

  Dan came busting in the door, "Grab your hat. We got to go."

  Startled, Gabe stood. "Where are we going?" he called as he grabbed his

  hat off the rack and hurried to catch up with Dan.

  Dan bounced into the passenger seat, and Gabe got behind the wheel.

  "If I'm driving, I need to know where we’re going," Gabe said.

  "Head out to West Oak Road on the way to Arcadia. Tito said there was an old abandoned garage or tool shop before the spot where the road divides. He said it was blue with a tin roof and real rusty looking."

  Starting the engine, they headed off toward West Oak Road. Traffic was light. They made good time. Most folks were already home for the night. Ranchers were the early-to-bed and early-to-rise type. Only Main Street would have any business at night.

  A half hour later, Dan called out, "There, on the right!” There were no cars near the building, and the lights inside were off. Gabe pulled into a vacant lot a fair distance away, and the two men got out and closed the patrol car’s doors softly, just in case. Gabe went to the trunk and took out a couple of flashlights and two flak jackets. He handed one of each to Dan. "Just in case," he said.

  They found a break in the chain link fence that surrounded the sides and back of the property. Squeezing through, they made their way around to the back of the building.

  The ground was uneven, covered with broken bottles and empty cans hiding in the tall grass, waiting to trip someone. "If I break an ankle in this,

  I'm sending the DEA the bill," Gabe moaned.

  The windows were too dirty to see inside, but the flickering glow of a television was visible. Dan looked at Gabe and shrugged, "Someone's home."

  They kept low, walking to find a way in. Finally, they found one—around the front there was a door with a brand-new Yale lock set in the old door.

  "Someone is using the building," Gabe said. "Question is who."

  Gabe tried the door and found it locked. Dan nudged Gabe out of his way. "Let me at that lock." He took a small case out of his pocket. Gabe watched as Dan unzipped the case and produced a small set of tools for picking locks.

  "You're a man of many talents, Dan," Gabe whispered.

  "That I am. Just watch, and keep an eye out."

  In seconds, Dan had the lock picked and the door open. Turning off their flashlights, they opened the door slowly the rest of the way and carefully walked in.

  The place was old and smelled of oil and grease. The worn sign above the door read, “Foster and Son Welding,” which made sense with the welding equipment and benches around the room.

  Someone was asleep in front of the television—his head lolling back, snoring away with an AK-47 assault rifle lying across his lap. An empty

  pizza box and liter of coke sat on a table nearby.

  Dan motioned for Gabe to be quiet while he cautiously stepped over and took the rifle from the sleeping man.

  "This is too easy," Dan joked. Gabe had to suppress a laugh. He placed the muzzle of the rifle to the man's chest and gave him a hard poke. The man muttered and shifted position slightly. Dan poked him again.

  This time the man woke up fast and confused. "Hey, what's going on here? Who the hell are you guys?"

  Gabe identified himself, "Sheriff McAllister."

  "I'm Dan Parker from the DEA, and you, my man, are going to answer some questions for us down at the station."

  Gabe slapped cuffs on him and spun him around, "Let's start with your name first."

  The man acted defiant and then thought better of it under his present circumstances. "Name's Manny," he said, confused and not completely awake.

  "How about the name your mother gave you, smart ass?" Dan said—shoving the man hard in the shoulder and forcing him to sit back hard in his chair.

  "Okay, okay, ‘Manuel Hernandez.’ Are you happy now?"

  "Be even happier when you're in a cell," Dan growled close to his face. "Stay put, and don't move an inch." Gabe pulled out his cuffs and secured Manuel to the chair.

  Shining a light around, they found that one of the benches by the back wall had been recently used. All the rest were covered in dust, animal tracks and mouse or rat droppings.

  "Hey, look at this," Dan called, holding up a scale. Another smaller one was nearby.

  "I've got some torn black plastic wrap over here. There's white powdery stuff on the inside." Gabe pointed to a pile on the floor. He also found gallon-size clear bags.

  At the end of the bench, there was a large locked cabinet. Gabe tried the lock, but it was a combination lock and couldn't be picked by Dan. They would need bolt cutters to get into the cabinet.

  "You know, I don't know a lot about how they move their drugs. I'm guessing it's pretty much the same as marijuana.”

  "Yeah, pretty much, Dan explained." They break down the packages that are dropped from the plane into smaller units—each one weighing the same. Once the next dealer gets his portion, he cuts the cocaine with whatever to make it go further and repackages it in even smaller amounts.”

  "What kind of stuff do they use to cut it with?" Gabe asked. He had been in law enforcement for several years now, but he had a lot to learn about the drug trafficking coming into his area.

  "Whatever they have handy—could be powdered milk, corn starch, some

  even
use sugar or ground drywall, anything that looks the same as the cocaine. People get killed just by what the cocaine has been cut with to make it go further and increase the dealers’ profit," Dan explained.

  "It makes me mad that the dealers have no concern for human life. All they want is money. By the time it hits the street, it's been handled several times. Judging by those black wrappers over there, the street value of this stuff is way in excess of several million.

  “We've found where they repackage the cocaine for distribution to the first set of dealers. Whoever it is most likely has a notebook with who gets how much and what they pay. If we could get that book, we could shut down a big part of the cartel’s operation," Dan said.

  "Leave everything as it is. We've got to take this guy with us. Maybe they'll think he just gave up and left. I don't want to let them know we were here, or they'll move the operation, and we might not get another chance like this."

  "Agreed," Gabe said.

  They went out the way they had come in. Back at the patrol car, Manuel was shoved into the back seat. "Hey, you guys can't grab me up for no reason," Manuel shouted.

  Dan turned and again flashed his badge in the man's face, "This says I can."

  "I got rights you know," Manuel tried again.

  "Your rights are what I say they are. Right now, you have the right to shut the hell up or ride in the trunk."

  After a bit of silence, Gabe said, "I've got to remember that trick."

  "Works every time," Dan laughed. "I've got to call Washington and get some agents down here. We need to find out how they're getting it distributed. I don't suppose Tito would be up for a little undercover work and wearing a wire?"

  "Right now, he's afraid of his own shadow. But given the right incentive, he might be talked into it," Gabe said—willing to try anything.

  As he drove, Gabe asked, "You're really into taking these guys down. Any particular reason? I've always wondered why you went to the DEA after the FBI."

  "You remember my cousin, Jeff? You met him a couple of times when he came to visit me in college."

  "Yeah, I remember him," Gabe nodded, waiting for Dan to fill the silence.

  "He got into marijuana and eventually found his way to cocaine. He was like a brother to me growing up. You know I didn't have any siblings. He was as close as I got. While I was in college, I couldn't keep an eye on him, and he slid down the drug road. After college, he didn't even make it to my graduation. I lost track of him.

  I was about a year into the FBI when my mom called and told me he had overdosed on cocaine. They found him in a fleabag hotel. He'd been dead four days. The only reason they found him was the manager investigated the smell. That's why the DEA and why I hate the dealers that do this just for the money."

  The men were quiet for a while. Gabe understood Dan’s motives. Law enforcement drew men for all sorts of reasons.

  "Hey, man, I can understand how you feel. I liked Jeff, too." Gabe said. His stomach suddenly rumbled—reminding him they hadn’t eaten in a while. "Any chance of something to eat? Maybe swing into a burger joint?"

  "Sure. We'll stop at a drive thru," Dan offered.

  "Hey! What about me? I could use a burger, too, guys," Manuel complained.

  "Yeah, you too," Gabe replied.

  "Gabe, when we get to the station, I want some time alone with this guy."

  "Dan, ol' Buddy, I don't think that's gonna happen. I understand you wanting to mess him up, but I can't allow that. It's my station, so I'll do it," Gabe said loudly.

  Manuel let loose a string of expletives about police harassment and no one reading him his rights. By the time they reached the parking lot, he was hollering for a lawyer, while trying to stuff the rest of his burger in his mouth. Dan had come up with the idea of cuffing one hand to the car door so Manuel could eat.

  Back in the station, Manuel was put in a cell to consider his choices. Dan and Gabe talked about how they could convince Tito to cooperate and how to set it up.

  Dan called his headquarters in D.C. and got the ball rolling to send down some men to back them up. They would arrive tomorrow afternoon or the next day. Dan would have to find some rooms for them while they were here.

  Gabe sat as his desk, leaning back in his chair, "I forgot to tell you that Nora asked both of us to supper tomorrow night," he said.

  "The lovely Nora, eh?" Dan replied. "Have you decided to stake a claim or not?"

  "I never thought much about settling down, but now. . ."

  "Take my advice and stake that claim because honestly, I'm surprised someone hasn't snapped her up already. If I thought I could stand the heat and humidity down here, I'd transfer in a minute and take her myself. But from what I've seen, she's already made up her mind, and I think you have, too. You just don't know what to do about it," Dan stood up laughing.

  "I'm heading back to your place. I'll pick up some groceries for us on the way. No offense, but your spaghetti routine is getting a bit boring."

  “What about some steaks on that expense account of yours?” Gabe had to laugh himself. He really needed to buy himself a cookbook and learn to fix something that didn't come out of a box or a jar.

  He debated about calling Nora. It was almost ten o'clock by now, but he lost the debate and dialed . . . and waited.

  Gramps answered, "Hello."

  "Hi Gramps, I suppose Nora is in bed asleep already?"

  "No, she's out on the porch. Do you want me to get her for you?"

  "Please, I wanted to tell her how today went. We found where they are bringing the cocaine. Do you remember a place called Foster's and Son Welding?"

  "Sure, I do. He used to fix farm equipment. Did good work, too. His son was killed in Viet Nam. He lost interest in the business after that, and it only lasted a few more years. It went downhill, and he finally gave it up. I think he moved out of the area, up north somewhere I think. He had a daughter in Virginia, I believe."

  "Thanks, Gramps. Can I talk to Nora now?"

  "Oh, right. I'll go get her for you."

  Gabe waited a few minutes before she finally came on the line. "Hi, Gabe."

  "Hi there. Sorry for calling so late."

  "That's okay. I was on the porch, hoping I might see that plane again."

  "If you do, just call me. Don't even think about chasing it yourself. Those men are dangerous. Dan is calling up to D.C. to get some of his agents down here to help. We found where they are bringing the cocaine. We're going to set up a sting operation. You know, stake out the building. Wait for them to come back."

  "Gabe, they might not come back to the same place. If they have all the cocaine, won't they try to ship it out as soon as possible?"

  "Right, but we have to find out how and where from. We thought we might use Tito. Set him up with a wire and have him talk to this guy Santos. He seems to be in charge. I'm willing to bet he's just the muscle. There has to be a brain in all this somewhere."

  "Do you think Tito will help you out and wear a wire? That's very dangerous for him. He could get killed." Nora was worried for Tito. He might not be able to pull something like this off.

  "I hope he goes along with it. It's about the only shot we have right now."

  Gabe and Nora talked for a bit but mostly just listened to the other breathe. They both had lots to say but didn't know how to say it. Finally, Nora asked if Gabe was going to the dance at the fire station at the end of the month.

  "It's the last dance before the summer gets too hot," Nora said.

  "Well, I guess it would be my civic duty to attend.”

  “I don't suppose you have a pretty girl in mind.”

  "It's the first I've heard about it," Gabe confessed. “Could I coax you into being my date for the evening?"

  "Gee, I don't know," Nora giggled. "I'll have to think about it and let you know."

  "I hope we have these drug smugglers in jail by then," he said getting serious again.

  "Me, too. I don't like the idea of these guys running around.
The whole thing scares me a bit."

  "Does that offer for dinner tomorrow night still stand?" Gabe asked. "I broke down and asked Dan, and he said he’d like to come."

  "Sure, how's six o'clock sound?" Nora did a little school girl dance at the thought of seeing Gabe again.

  "Sounds good," Gabe said smiling to himself. "Well, you don't go doing anything foolish, and I'll see you tomorrow night."

  "See you tomorrow," Nora sighed and hung up the phone.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The following evening, Nora bustled around the kitchen table. She reset the dishes on the table several times, rearranging the silverware, repositioning the glasses.

  "Chica, don't fuss so much. Men don't even notice the table. So long as there is plenty of food, they will be happy." Rosita stirred the yellow rice on the stove. Nora got in her way to open the oven and check the chicken pieces—roasting away smothered in red peppers, onions, and mushrooms, swimming in Rosita's secret seasonings.

  "You are driving me crazy. Go outside and worry in the driveway. There is only so much room in this kitchen," Rosita laughed as Nora threw a dish towel on the counter and stormed out.

  Nora was a barrel of nerves, sitting on the back steps waiting, her toes tapping. She was not good at waiting at the best of times. Her mind kept going over all the things that could go wrong. Was Gabe allergic to the spices in her chicken? Maybe he hated chicken. Would he like her cooking? Would he like the dress she had on? Did she put on too much perfume? A million questions danced through her head. Dan was coming, too, but her thoughts were only on Gabe.

  She saw headlights turn off the main road and head up to her house. Show time, she thought. She crossed her fingers and sent a wish to the evening star that everything would go smoothly tonight.

  Dust swirled around as Gabe brought the patrol car to a stop in the driveway. Both men got out and walked her way.

  Nora blushed when Dan complimented her. "You look nice tonight, Nora," Dan said. She had spent extra time getting ready. She didn't own many dresses and had picked out a sensible yellow shirtwaist to wear and a decent pair

  of shoes instead of her tried and true cowboy boots.