by Glenn Trust
“Just keepin’ low for a while.”
“Bullshit. We both know that’s not true.” Sole shrugged. “Thing is, there is no place you can hide, nowhere to run where they won’t find you. I found you. If I can find you, they will too. It’s just a matter of time
“The fuck you think I am … stupid? Yeah, they after me. That’s why I …”
“What?” Sole smiled. “I gotta say, honestly, Luis, you’re not very good at it. Left that shitty apartment, found another dive, staying off the street, drinking …” Sole looked around the bar’s shabby interior. “Drinking in a shithole like this.” He shook his head. “That doesn’t make you safe.”
“Fuck you. I ain’t got to listen to you no more.”
“True enough. You don’t, and for the record, I won’t tell anyone where you are.” Sole nodded and sipped his beer. “But do you think they don’t have eyes? You think the word isn’t out along with a big reward to the one who finds you and points a finger in your direction?”
Sole shook his head. “You definitely have a problem.” He motioned with the bottle to the door and the street beyond. “They’re out there, eager to be the one to cash in, and you don’t know who they are. Every pair of eyes you pass might be the one who tells them they spotted you.” Sole nodded at the bartender. “Maybe it’s him.”
Luis, head swiveled to eye the bartender, leaning his belly on the bar top watching Oprah.
“Or, it could be the drunk sitting at the end of the bar who was here when you came in and then left without speaking.” Sole smiled. “See what I mean. It could be anyone. Who you can trust? That’s the big question. Who?”
“You sayin’ I should trust you?” Luis smirked. “You the reason I can’t show my face.”
“I’m saying I’m the only one you can trust. I can help you, and you can help me.”
“What the fuck kind of help you want from me?” Luis turned to face him. “And what makes you think I would help you. Helping you is dangerous … people end up dead helping you.” He shook his head. “Not me. I ain’t gonna end up dead to help no fucking cop.”
“You’ll be dead, anyway. Seems the only chance you have is to help me get to them first.” He smiled again. “You might say I’m your salvation.”
“What the fuck you talkin’ about? Salvation. That’s just more of your bullshit. You sayin’ arresting them is gonna keep them off my ass.” Luis shook his head. “No way. There’s too many of them. They just send someone else. What you say might be true enough. I might be a dead man walkin’, but I ain’t in no hurry to make it happen quicker.”
“Arrest?” Sole shook his head. “I didn’t use that word.”
“What’s that mean?” Luis’ eyes narrowed. “You mean …” He shook his head. “You full of shit, that’s what you are … playin’ me like always.”
“Am I? They murdered my wife and children … killed my friend. What would you do in my position? Arrest them?”
“So what you gonna do?”
“Does it matter?” Sole shrugged. “I’ll make it so they won’t be after you. They’ll be looking for me.” He nodded. “They’ll come for me, and I’ll be waiting.”
Luis stared down, turning the glass on the bar between his nervous fingers. Minutes passed as he considered Sole’s proposal.
They would come for him, probably were already looking for him. The asshole detective was right. It didn’t matter where he went; they would find him.
“What you want to hear?” Luis asked without looking up.
“Who did it?”
“Who you think?”
“I want to hear it. Who was there at the store where they killed my partner? Who was in my house when …” His words trailed off.
“Word on the street is Moya did it … him and some bad dude from Mexico.”
“How certain is the word on the street?”
“Real certain. Heard about it before I decided it was best to lay low. He’s in charge now.”
“What do you mean? In charge?”
“Ortega’s gone.”
“Gone where?”
“Who the fuck knows, man? Gone … chopped up in a hundred pieces and dumped in the Chattahoochee. When they say gone, that’s what they mean.”
“So Ortega’s gone, and Moya took over.”
“Right. That means he was part of it. They were cleaning up the garbage. Ortega … the white dude, Bettis … your partner … you, except you weren’t there.” He nodded. “But Moya was there.”
“Who was behind it? Who gave him the order?”
“Who you think? That cartel in Mexico. They don’t play around. That’s why they sent their man. Some big player. Everyone shittin’ themselves when he showed up.”
Sole sat without speaking, staring at the wall across the bar. Then, swallowing the last of the beer, he reached in his pocket and laid a roll of cash on the bar.
“Take this. Should be enough for a bus ticket and a room in another city for a couple of weeks.”
Luis touched the roll and looked up, confused. “Why you doin’ this?”
“Let’s just say, we’re connected now, you and me.” Sole stood. “You still have the phone?”
“Yeah.”
“Keep it turned on. Stay where I can reach you. I’ll contact you when it’s safe to come back.”
“Shit. Ain’t never gonna be safe. Like you say, they ain’t nowhere to go that they won’t find me.”
Sole was gone, the door to the bar swinging open and closing again before Luis finished speaking.
*****
The visitation room at the United States Penitentiary on McDonough Boulevard in Atlanta was used by families and lawyers to meet with inmates. Sole had flashed his badge and said he needed to confirm some details in an inmate’s statement.
The door opened and a corrections officer brought the old man in. Sole nodded, and the cuffs were removed. The officer closed the door and left them alone.
“How are they treating you, Mr. Sams?”
“Not bad.” The old man reached for his shirt pocket. “Call me Tully. Mind if I smoke?”
Sole shook his head and leaned back watching the old shrimper. He was handling things well. “You don’t seem too bothered about being locked up.”
Sams shrugged. “Nothing to do about it. They got me dead to rights. Besides …” He took a long drag on his cigarette, turned his head up and exhaled a plume of smoke toward the ceiling. “I’m too old to worry about what they will do with my ass. It’s just me now. My wife, Sara Jane, passed on from the breast cancer a while back. Figure whatever happens it can’t be worse than trying to get on without her.” He smiled. “Might even speed things up so I can see her old face again.”
Sams paused looking up, musing. “Do you suppose her face will be old like mine, or is she gonna be changed … young like she was when we first married.” He slammed a hand down on the table. “Damn she was a fine pretty woman.”
“I can’t say,” Sole said. “I suppose you’ll be the same, old or young, whichever it is. You’ll be together though, and that’s something.”
“You’re damn right.” Sams’ eyes narrowed. “You’re the one aren’t you? The one that was out there with the Coast Guard when they picked up my boat. Saw it on the news. Another cop, your partner, they killed him and then your …” He shook his head. “Sorry. That’s a terrible thing that happened.” Sams looked into Sole’s eyes. “I wouldn’t never been a party to that if I’d known what they were like … what they would do.”
“I don’t blame you, Tully.”
“Good.” A look of relief flooded over the old man’s face. “So what can I do for you?”
“Just a few questions.”
“Shoot.”
“Who was Sillman working with?”
“Don’t know exactly. Mexicans … a cartel he called them … lots of money though. Spared no expense in fixing up the Sara Jane.”
“He never mentioned a name?”
“No.�
� Sams shook his head and then nodded. “But I do remember one of the crew they gave me, he mentioned a name when I asked who they worked for. They come from the fishery out on the Pacific down around Mexico.”
“What was the name?”
“It was funny … not really a name. They called him Baby.”
“Baby?”
“Yeah, but they didn’t say it like that. More like Bay-bay.”
“Any last name?”
“No, none I caught. Just Bay-bay.”
“And the crewmen he supplied. They were real seamen?”
“Yeah. Hermie and Paco at least … a pleasure to have on board. The other two not so much.”
“Other two? I thought there was only one other when we stopped your boat.”
“There was that night. Julio was the one in the galley with all the GPS gear. The first trip out though, there was another. He ramrodded things, but he didn’t show the second time out.”
“What was his name?”
“Something or other Moya?”
“Moya?” Sole’s back straightened in the plastic chair. “Esteban Moya?”
“Yeah, that’s it,” Sams said nodding.
“So you’re saying that this Moya was there the first trip out, but on the second, the night we picked you up, he was not.”
“Right. That mean something?” Sams asked.
“It might,” Sole replied, standing. “I think that about wraps things up.” He turned for the door to call the guards then stopped and faced the old man. “I hope things work out for you, Tully. You got pulled into a bad deal. I’ll put a good word in for you, but I’m not sure that will mean much.”
“I appreciate it.” Tully Sams shrugged. “Like I said, either way, maybe things will get me back to my Sara Jane sooner.”
“I hope so for your sake.” Sole had come to understand the endless, empty pain of loss and loneliness. “Take care of yourself, Tully.”
*****
James Jadyn Sillman was not so philosophical about his imprisonment. He was in tears when they escorted him into the room.
Sillman no longer had penthouse views of the Atlanta skyline. Like Tully Sams, he was spending most of his time in a six-foot by nine-foot solitary confinement cell.
His attorney was with him when he walked into the small, gray block-walled room. Shackled hand and foot, he took a seat at the metal table in the center of the room.
The correction officer removed the handcuffs, nodded at Sole and left the room. Sillman rubbed his wrists before lifting his head to stare red-eyed at Sole.
His attorney spoke first. “We have accepted this meeting as a courtesy, Detective, but as we said, Senator Sillman has nothing to add to his previous statements.”
“Fair enough.” Sole leaned back in the metal chair, looking at the top of Sillman’s slumped head, waiting for him to raise his eyes.
A minute passed before Sillman gathered the courage to meet Sole’s gaze. “I … I know you.”
“Yes, Senator, that’s right. We met twice in your penthouse.”
“I’m sorry about what happened to your …”
The lawyer leaned forward and whispered into Sillman’s ear then turned and spoke to Sole. “Senator Sillman is sorry to meet you like this. He has been wrongly accused and plans to vindicate himself fully at trial.”
“I have no doubt he will try … or you will.” Sole smiled. “Either way, I’m not here for an apology. I’m here to offer assistance … the chance for the senator to help himself.”
“How so?” the attorney’s fox-like eyes narrowed.
“I need information. I believe the senator has it.”
“What sort of information?”
“For the sake of argument, counselor, let’s stipulate that as far as this conversation is concerned, your client had no intent to break the law.” Sole shrugged. “Someone tricked him … fooled him into loading cocaine onto one of his boats.”
“The senator is not a fool, and your implication is offensive, but …” The lawyer nodded. “But, for the sake of this conversation, as you say, let’s say someone loaded cocaine onto one of his trawlers. He has many such vessels. Shrimp harvesting is his business. So if someone loaded cocaine onto one of his boats … without his knowledge … what is it you want him to help you with?”
“Simple. Tell me who.”
“Who?”
“Yes. Who … tricked … the senator and loaded cocaine onto his boat?”
“As I said, if it happened, it happened with no foreknowledge by the senator.”
“Right.” Sole leaned forward, elbows on the small steel table until his face was inches from the lawyer’s. “Let’s stop playing games, counselor. The senator can tell me who loaded the cocaine onto his boat … without his knowledge, of course.”
“Yes, well …” The lawyer pursed his lips and leaned away from the detective. “And what would you do with that information … if the senator had a name to give you?”
“Use it to find that person.”
“And then?”
“I would put in a good word with the DA and Federal prosecutor… tell them it is possible, at least, they duped the senator, that he was unaware of the scope of what was happening on his trawler.” Sole shrugged. “It might not exonerate him, but being duped into a crime is far different from planning and executing one.” Sole smiled before adding, “Definitely different from planning a crime to save the family business from bankruptcy and secure millions for himself.”
He sent the message. They had the senator dead to rights, thanks to the work Travis and Bill Lance had done. An annoyed look in the lawyer’s eyes told him the message was received, and Sillman’s legal team understood their client was in deep legal shit.
“A moment, please while I confer with my client.” The attorney turned to the senator, leaning in to whisper.
Sillman gave him no time to confer. Fear oozed from his pores. He shook his head and whispered in a croaking terror-filled whisper. “No.”
The lawyer leaned closer and whispered again.
“No,” Sillman repeated, shaking his head side to side sending tears coursing down his cheeks. “No. You don’t understand what they’ll do.”
“Fine.” Sole rose and nodded at the door where the corrections officer watched through the glass pane. “You think you’re safe here as long as you keep your mouth shut.” Sole shook his head as he walked to the door. “You’re not.”
The steel door clanged shut. Senator Sillman sat sobbing at the table.
*****
It was a day to make the rounds, and he had one more stop to make things official.
Clarence Pointer looked up as Sole walked into his office. “Hello, John. I didn’t expect to see you back so soon.”
“I’m not.” Sole took a seat across from the Major Crimes Unit commander.
“No?” Pointer lowered the case file in his hands and peered at Sole over his glasses. “Seems like you’ve been back all day. Got word you checked in on Sams and Sillman.”
“I did.” Sole nodded.
“And?” Pointer wanted a more specific explanation.
“And they didn’t say much,” Sole said.
“Understandable.” Pointer nodded, but he would not be pushed off so easily. “So, what did they say?”
“Sams talked about seeing his wife again in the near future.”
“He really thinks he’ll be out that soon?”
“No, he’s planning on dying in prison … the sooner, the better to hear him talk. His wife, Sara Jane, passed away from cancer a while back.”
“Oh, sorry.” Pointer’s brow wrinkled in curiosity. “Sara Jane? Wasn’t that the name of …”
“Yeah. He named the trawler after his wife. The cocaine, the money, meant nothing to him. It was about carrying on without his wife. Being out on the water helped him do that.”
Pointer nodded. “And Sillman?”
“He was lawyered up … not talking.”
“Doesn’t sou
nd like you learned anything new.”
“Like I said. Not much.” But enough, he thought.
Sole did not mention his meeting with Luis Acero.
“Okay. Well, you’ve made your report. I appreciate it. Now take some time off. You’re not ready to come back. You’ve had a terrible loss.” Pointer frowned, embarrassed, knowing that no one understood better than John Sole the loss he had suffered. “I mean, just take the time to heal, John. Let the pain subside awhile. We’ll cover things here.”
“That’s the reason I came to see you, Cap.” Sole removed his service weapon and badge from his waist and laid them on Pointer’s desk. “I am taking some time off. I won’t be back.”
“That’s not what I meant.” Pointer leaned back in his chair. “You sure about this, John? You’re a cop, a damned fine one. Don’t do something that will ruin your life.”
“Too late for that, Cap. It’s already done.”
Pointer’s eyes narrowed, wrinkling his brow. “You’re not going to do something … dangerous, are you?”
“I’ll be fine,” Sole replied meeting Pointer’s gaze.
“That’s not what I asked.” Pointer sighed and leaned forward. “John, we walk a line. We stay on the right side of it. You can’t cross that line. Remember the side you’re on.”
“I don’t see lines anymore, Cap.” Sole stood and turned to the door. “I don’t have a side.”
“John, let me set up some counseling for you … get you some help to deal with things.”
“I’ll be fine.”
John Sole turned and left the building and the life that had been his for almost two decades. He did not look back.
61.
Sole Survivor
The key rattled in the lock. Esteban Moya turned the bolt, pulled open the rear steel security door at Taqueria Ortega and entered. The shop had been closed for several hours, floors mopped, food prepped for the next day and employees gone home.
There had been little discussion about his takeover of the business. The employees knew such talk was unhealthy. Besides, Moya had given them all a pay increase as a sign of goodwill, saying that El Toro had been underpaying them for years. The staff smiled and thanked the new patrón, grateful to have someone looking out for their best interests.