Mekong Delta Blues

by Phil Swann

  I don’t know how long I was out, but I was awoken by the opening of the front door. I rubbed my eyes and saw Barnard and Michelle enter the club. Michelle went directly to Jean-Claude, Barnard came over to me. He was carrying a trumpet case.

  “You got his trumpet,” I said.

  “I did,” Barnard replied.

  “Is Jaqueline—”

  “She has a nasty shiner, but otherwise she’s fine.”

  I let go a breath of relief. “That’s…” Then my brain kicked in. “Sam, you didn’t go all cop on her, did you?”

  “Relax, I’m robbery-homicide, not vice. Besides, I have no interest in tangling with a dozen superior court judges, and half the State Assembly. Don’t worry. The Cozy Saddle will keep on moseying right along.”

  “Thanks, Sam. Did you get what you needed from Michelle?”

  “Already turned in the report to the brass. I told them the Wu family was no longer operating in Las Vegas. That’s all they wanted to hear. Case is closed.”

  “Excellent.”

  “I am right, aren’t I? Barnard asked.

  “Right about what?”

  “The Wu family is finished in Vegas, aren’t they?”

  “Of course.”

  “Because James Wu is still out there.”

  I stood up and put my hand on his shoulder. “James Wu is about as much a mobster as you and I are, Sam.”

  “You mean, as I am. I’m not so sure about you.”

  I chuckled.

  Luther came out of the kitchen toting two platters of food. He set them on the bar, and Barnard made a beeline for it.

  “Hold your horses, Detective,” Luther ordered. “There’s more coming, and we’re all going to eat together.”

  “Yes, sir,” Barnard said, sitting down on a barstool, and leering amorously at the feast.

  Jean-Claude was still asleep in the booth, and Michelle was caressing his head. I walked over and sat down next to her.

  “He’s been through a lot,” I said, softly.

  She nodded. “Too much. Losing his father, now all of this. It’s too much for someone his age.”

  “It’s too much at any age,” I replied. “You should have seen him on that dam. He was really something.”

  “Just as well I didn’t,” she replied.

  I nodded. “Of course.”

  “Thank you for saving his life, Trip. I don’t know how a person can ever repay a debt like that.”

  “Eh, it comes gratis for being a member of the Trip Callaway fan club.”

  She smiled.

  “So, what are you going to do?” I asked.

  She looked down at Jean-Claude. “I’m not sure. Whatever it is, it needs to be what’s best for him.”

  “The house is yours. I’m sure James wants nothing to do with it.”

  She shook her head. “Neither do I. I suppose I’ll sell it. Jean-Claude and I could live off that for a while.

  I chuckled. “A house in Rancho Circle? More than a while.”

  She looked up at me and smiled sadly. “I think, maybe, it’s time to go home.”

  “To Paris?”

  She nodded.

  “Too bad,” I said in a way that made clear what I meant.

  She cocked her head. “Are you making a pass at me, young man?”

  “Hey, you’re not that much older than me.”

  It was the first time I’d heard her laugh. It was light and breathy, colored with just the right amount of sarcasm. It was the type of laugh I could have gotten used to hearing on a regular basis.

  She took my hand. “Maybe you’ll play Paris sometime.”

  I put my other hand on top of hers, and replied, “You can count on it.”

  “Good.” Then, she leaned in and kissed me gently on the lips.

  My whole body shook. I whispered, “We’ll always have Vegas.”

  She sat back started laughing again.

  “What?”

  She shook her head. “Oh, you musicians. You’ll all be the end of me.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “You’re all such cornballs. Casablanca is my favorite movie too.”

  I shrugged. “It’s a good line.”

  The front door opened, and this time Clegg walked in.

  Luther came out of the kitchen at the same time. “Agent Clegg! You’re just in time. Grab yourself a plate.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Beaurepaire,” Clegg responded. “That does smell awfully good. But first, sir, I believe you have something for me.”

  Luther glanced over at me.

  I nodded.

  “Yes, I believe I do.” Luther started for the kitchen, but then stopped and turned around. “Detective, keep your paws off those chops. I’ll be right back.”

  Barnard crossed his arms and huffed.

  Michelle and I got up and met Clegg at the bar.

  “Did you find out anything?” I asked.

  “Reginald Lyle Cavendish.”

  “You found him?” I asked.

  “Oh, yes. I found him.”

  “So, who is he?”

  “A low-level analyst with the Department of Defense, assigned to the Defense Intelligence Agency. At this very moment, federal agents are tearing his office apart at the Pentagon, but what they’ve unearthed thus far, which includes his diary, paints a pretty clear picture as to what transpired.”

  “Which was?” Barnard asked.

  Clegg looked at me and smiled. “Trip, you figured a lot of this out, why don’t you start.”

  “Really?” I exclaimed. “I get to do it? It’s about time.”

  Barnard looked at Michelle and shook his head. “Lord, they’ll be no living with him, now.”

  I said, “Well, where should I start? I guess the beginning. Charlie purchased the old magnesium factory, and the town surrounding it, as headquarters for the family’s heroin operation, which would eventually become headquarters for the entire Triad drug operation. That’s why he moved to Vegas in the first place.”

  Barnard nodded. “And Johnny came up with the idea of turning it into military base to keep it beyond the reach of chumps like me.”

  “Right,” I said.

  “Not exactly,” Clegg corrected.

  “Really?” I responded.

  “No, we don’t think it was Johnny’s idea to turn it into military base. We believe that happened once Hank Wilson entered the picture.”

  “It was Wilson’s idea?” I asked.

  Luther returned and handed Clegg the blue folder.

  “Thank you, Mr. Beaurepaire.”

  “You’re welcome, sir.”

  Clegg set the file on the bar and went on. “Over the last few of hours, I’ve had a team of people digging into the colorful past of Mr. Henry Earl Wilson. We put out the name, and information started flooding in from everywhere, Scotland Yard, Interpol, France, Italy, name the country, he’s connected to some crime perpetrated there. We’ve also confirmed that Wilson had been working for the Wu family for years.”

  “What kind of work?” I asked.

  “Trust me, not as their bookkeeper. Most likely hit jobs, intimidation, as well as smuggling their heroin around the world via his big game trophies.”

  I saw Michelle bury her face in her hands.

  Clegg continued, “Anyway, at some point, we think Johnny must have told Wilson about the factory and the ghost town that came with it. It’s our belief that’s when Wilson floated the military base idea—for a taste of the action, of course.”

  “But how could a thug like Wilson turn an old factory into a military installation?” Barnard asked.

  “By using Reginald Cavendish. Wilson met Cavendish several years ago on one of those stupid safari adventures Wilson peddled. Cavendish must have told Wilson he worked at the Pentagon, and Wilson, always the opportunist, made sure he kept in contact with Cavendish. When Wilson hatched the military base plan, he knew just who to call.”

  “But why would Cavendish go along with it?” I asked. “
Was he in on the smuggling operation too.”

  “No. Cavendish wasn’t a crook, per se, just a zealot.”

  “About what?”

  “Communism. And that was the bait Wilson used.”

  “I bet this is going to be good,” Barnard said.

  Clegg explained, “Reginald Cavendish was an old, dyed in the wool McCarthy-ite. He even started his career in government working for Tail-Gunner Joe back in ’46. After McCarthy’s downfall, Cavendish, like everyone associated with the senator, was ruined professionally. But Cavendish was a survivor. He weaseled his way into several low-profile posts in government until he ended up at the Pentagon. We read in Cavendish’s diary where Wilson had told him he was convinced communist sympathizers were on American soil and were aiding the Viet Cong. Wilson also told him that someone in government better do something about it before it was too late. That’s all Cavendish needed to hear.”

  “But an entire army base?” I said. “That had to be next to impossible.”

  “It was easier than you’d think. All the brain power at the Pentagon these days is focused on the war in Southeast Asia, which means nobody’s paying too close of attention to anything else.”

  “Yeah, but an entire Army base?”

  “But it wasn’t an entire army base, was it, Trip? It was just one colonel. Hank Wilson convinced Cavendish he could get a few, good, likeminded American soldiers to man an outpost, with the exclusive purpose of rooting out communist sympathizers. He told Cavendish all he needed was somebody in authority who could make the base legitimate until it was up and running. So, Cavendish, the ardent anti-communist, looked for an officer beyond reproach, one who was also about to retire.”

  “Colonel Pennington,” I said.

  “Getting Buck assigned out here was easy for someone with Cavendish’s knowledge of how the Pentagon worked. After a few requisition orders were signed by Buck—orders that went directly to Cavendish, I might add—the Top-Secret outpost was legit, and nobody at the Pentagon ever noticed it was all smoke and mirrors. It was the epitome of the left hand not knowing what the right hand was doing.”

  “Unbelievable!” Barnard bellowed. “How long did he think he could get away with it?”

  Clegg chuckled, “If you can believe this, from his diary, he honestly thought once he brought down one sympathizer, he’d be heralded as an American hero and promoted.”

  Barnard said, “I notice you keep referring to Cavendish’s diary. What does the man himself have to say about all of this?”

  Clegg reached inside his sport jacket and took out a piece of paper. He handed it to Barnard. “That’s Cavendish’s dental records. I think you’ll find they’re a match to a corpse you have in your morgue. The one you removed from the fire at the motel.”

  “Wu killed him?” I asked.

  Clegg nodded. “Yes, though it was probably Wilson who actually did the deed.”

  “Why?”

  “They’d gotten all he needed out of him. And, as we all know, Johnny didn’t like loose ends. The only reason Cavendish was brought out here was for that little show and tell with Charlie concerning Michelle. Unfortunately, he wanted to do more, like meet Buck and inspect the base. Johnny and Wilson couldn’t let that happen.”

  Michelle asked, “Mr. Clegg, was I the communist sympathizer Wilson used to convince that man to do what he did?”

  “Yes, you were,” Clegg answered. “But I knew you were innocent the second I laid eyes on this blue dossier.”

  “How?” I asked.

  “No one in the intelligence community issues classified reports that look like this anymore. However, this looks exactly like what classified reports looked like fifteen years ago when McCarthy was going after Americans suspected of being communists. That was the only way Cavendish knew how to write up one of these things, so…”

  I said, “And Johnny understood if anyone who knew anything ever saw that dossier, they’d immediately know it was phony, and that would ultimately lead the person to learning the base was phony too.”

  “Exactly,” Clegg replied.

  I said, “Not only did Johnny get a military base to run his heroin operation out of, but he also got to tarnish Michelle in the eyes of her husband with a counterfeit dossier. He must have loved that.”

  “He did,” Clegg concurred. “Michelle was definitely an added bonus.”

  “Why did Johnny hate me so much?” Michelle asked.

  Clegg extended his arm to me. “Take it away, Trip.”

  I took Michelle’s hand. “Charlie was taking steps to get the family out of the Triads. That’s why Johnny hated you, and that’s why he set you up. He blamed you for what his father was doing.”

  “Charlie was getting out of the Triads?” she asked, almost in a whisper.

  “I think Charlie wanted to have a go at a normal life with you and Jean-Claude. When I first met him, he seemed tired and melancholy, but he came to life the second Jean-Claude entered the room. I mean, all anyone had to do was look at that house to know Charlie was a conflicted man; a peaceful Chinese garden, a distinguished old-world study, then a foyer that looked like Caligula’s living room? I think Charlie was caught between who he’d been, and who he wanted to become. And his son blamed you for that transformation. In truth, Johnny was probably right about that.”

  “What put you onto Johnny, Callaway?” Barnard asked.

  “It was something you told me, Michelle. When you confessed to Charlie why you were taking the money, you said Charlie was upset, but ultimately you said he was—I think the word you used was—understanding.”

  “That’s right. He was,” Michelle replied.

  I nodded. “I think a better word would be, relieved.”

  “Relieved?” Michelle asked

  “Yes. You see, I witnessed Charlie’s reaction after he read that phony dossier on you. It wasn’t anger he had, it was despair. He even barked something in Chinese at Johnny. I don’t know what he said, but the man was heartbroken, not mad. I know the difference. I think when you finally told him the truth, he was overjoyed. But then, when you told him it was Hank Wilson who was helping you, I think he figured out, as I did, that it was only Johnny who could have set you up to look like you were aiding the communists, a group Johnny knew he loathed. Heck, I only met the man once, and Charlie even told me how much he disliked them.”

  Barnard said, “Johnny thought if he could get his father to change how he felt about Michelle, then he might come to his senses and keep the family in the Triads?”

  “Exactly,” I said. “A happy, and convenient, by-product of the hooey his man Wilson was feeding to Cavendish about there being communists gathering at the gate.”

  A tear rolled down Michelle’s cheek. “Why didn’t Johnny just kill me? Why did he have me arrested?”

  Clegg answered, “Leverage. We think Johnny believed he could force his father’s hand if you were put into military custody.”

  I said, “Johnny made sure he wasn’t near the house when it happened.”

  Clegg nodded. “Johnny must have told your husband he could get you freed, but only if he kept the family in the Triads. Whether Trip is right or not about Charlie being onto Johnny, we’ll never know for sure, but it doesn’t matter. After Charlie told Johnny he believed you were only trying to rescue your father, and not aiding the Viet Cong, and he could prove it, Johnny was out of options.”

  “So, he killed him,” Michelle whispered.

  Clegg nodded. “Johnny was in line to become the next dragonhead. He had no intention of giving that up. That’s why I needed to get you out of that hospital. With Charlie dead, there was no reason for him to keep you alive.”

  Michelle nodded and then dropped her head. “Oh, Charlie.” She was silent for moment then she said, “So, it was all a lie. Everything Wilson told me about finding my father, it was nothing but a made-up story.”

  Clegg looked at me and raised both eyebrows. “Well, Mrs. Chevrolet, you might want to take a seat before he
aring this next part.”

  “Why?” she asked, putting her hand on my arm.

  Clegg said, “The one thing I couldn’t figure out was how Wilson got those pictures he showed you of your father. Turns out they were the first thing our agents found when they raided Cavendish’s office. I had them sent over to the lab at Langley, Mrs. Chevrolet, and they’re authentic. Your father’s alive.”

  Michelle fell into me. “He’s alive?”

  “I made some calls to Saigon. We have operatives working in the region, and it turns out, they know your father, and they confirmed he’s living exactly where Wilson said he was; in a remote village along the Mekong River, on the border between Cambodia and Vietnam. He’s old, and he’s ill, but he’s very much alive.”

  She covered her mouth, and tears began falling freely down her face.

  Clegg continued, “Also, according to my sources, your father never joined the National Liberation Front. He was, and remains, a pacifist. He’s spoken out against violence on both sides. Because of that, he’s one of the most respected men in the villages along the Mekong Delta. Truth is, that’s how we know about him. He’s a bit of a legend in the region.”

  “Oh, Mr. Clegg,” she said, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Thank you. You have no idea what this means to me.”

  “There’s one last thing,” he said,

  “What?” Michelle said, pulling back.

  Clegg looked at his watch. “Your father needs medical attention. That’s why I ordered that he be put on a C-130 immediately, flown to Paris, and hospitalized. He should be taking off in…oh, about twenty minutes. I’ve also arranged for you and your son to be flown over. Your flight leaves Nellis in four hours. You should arrive in Paris about the same time your father does. I would have had him flown here to the states, but your father still has French citizenship, so it was just easier to—”

  I’m not sure Special Agent Peter Clegg had ever been hugged so hard in his life. It was amusing to see how uncomfortable it made him.