Danger Point

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Danger Point Page 5

by Douglas J Bourg


  A nurse wakes me up at two thirty in the morning to check my pulse and take my blood pressure. Her hands are so fucking cold that when she leaves, I’m wide awake. Since there’s no chance of falling back to sleep, I decide to open Micky’s letter. I don’t know why I couldn’t bring myself to open it earlier, but I couldn’t. It was dated one week earlier.

  Bobby - If you’re reading this, I didn’t get a chance to talk to you after I dropped this in the mail, which means they finally found me and I have been killed. Sorry that I didn’t have a chance to explain to you in person what’s been going on or why they have been trying to kill me.

  Three or four years ago, while vacationing in Cabo San Lucas, I decided I liked it there and that I’d had enough of the hard and dangerous work that I have been doing all of my life. I was also really sick and tired of all the traveling. So, I decided that I was ready to settle down and that Cabo was the place. I’ve been working all over the world for all of my adult life with no real place to call home. It was great when I was younger but now that I was older I wanted to put down some roots, you know, a place to call home. The work was getting boring and I wasn’t getting rich, but I had saved a lot of money over the years and I was totally vested in the company, so with a little planning I retired to Cabo San Lucas.

  A couple of years after settling down here, I was sitting in a bar when an old friend of ours from San Clemente, Sam Conroy, sat down next to me and bought me a drink. I was pretty surprised at the whole ‘small world’ coincidence. Then after a couple of drinks and catching up on our days growing up surfing and chasing girls, he pulled out a folded-up piece of paper and showed it to me. It was a federal warrant issued for my arrest. Years ago, I’d set up a deal for a friend of mine in Bahrain that went sideways. A couple of undercover DEA agents were killed by the time it was all over. I swear I had nothing to do with the killing. I just introduced two guys so they could work out a deal, I did get some money off the top, chump change really, but that was the extent of my involvement, Bobby, I swear. John G. had me give one of the guys a phone number and that was all I did. Then I flew back out of the country. After the deal went down, the two guys were killed by some Islamic fanatics. John G. swore to me that he had nothing to do with their deaths.

  Anyway, Conroy says he can make this whole warrant thing go away if I help him out in the future, if or when he needs me to do something for him. The warrant was for conspiracy and that in itself is pretty vague. He didn’t say what he wanted me to do but I agreed because I didn’t want to go to prison, especially in some third world shit hole. We shook hands and he left. I was freaking out, but I didn’t hear anything for a long time, so after a while I figured that I might be in the clear.

  Then about a year and a half ago Conroy shows up again and asks me to set up a meeting with John G. According to Conroy, John G. was really the guy behind the two DEA agents’ deaths, and he wanted me to help get the goods on John G. So Conroy told me to tell John G. I was running out of cash and needed a new way to earn some extra income because I had made some bad investments. I don’t know how he knew John G. would come and meet with me, but he did. I called John G. and he flew down. He always said he’d be there if we needed him and I guess he still meant it. Doing this made me felt like shit.

  John G. offered me a job, running some errands around Cabo for him. Small things at first, I think, to see if he could still trust me. I did that for about a year, updating Conroy every month or so, but it was all pretty boring stuff, some drug runs, setting up his friends with some hookers and wiring money around. Then one day John G. shows up in town, he picks me up in a rough looking jeep and we drove out of Cabo and up into the mountains. After a couple hours of driving through the mountains and out in the middle of nowhere, we just stopped in front of a sheer cliff that goes straight up, like a wall. From a distance, that’s just what it looked like, part of the mountain, but when I looked closer I could see it was a fake, like a movie set or something. He called somebody on his cell phone and after a minute or two a door slides open – like I was with fucking James Bond. We drove into the mountain and the door slides closed behind us. Inside it’s brightly lit and there were Mexican troops guarding the entry. Further into the cave, it opened up into this huge, state-of-the art processing plant. John G. said that with the help of the Sinaloa Cartel and a corrupt army general, they’d built the world’s largest drug lab – legal or illegal. Production was about twenty thousand hits of Ecstasy a day. At ten dollars a pop wholesale, that’s two hundred thousand dollars a day. They were going to ship cocaine from there, too. He told me they were shipping it into Sothern California right now and from there it will be shipped all over the country thru a trucking network that the Cartel controlled.

  I told him this was too much for me - that I didn’t want anything to do with something this big. As we drove back into town I swore not to say anything to anyone. He said he believed me, but I wasn’t sure if he was going to let it go at that. If you’re reading this, then he didn’t. He told me that someone he called The General was running the show. He wasn’t going to tell The General about me, but The General had his ways and now that I had seen the operation, I might not be able to get out so easily. He also said that if I didn’t continue to do what I had really been doing for The General up till now, then I would disappear and there was nothing that he could do to help. He said that The General was a cold-blooded killer with no regard for human life. I had come to John G. looking for work and after I had proven myself he had agreed to loan me to The General as a favor. I was going to make a lot more money now that I was working for The General. I strung the D.E.A. along while I decided to gather up as much information as I could to extricate myself from this hole that I had dug for myself. I stole a bunch of paperwork that I knew would free me, but I was found out before I could get it into the right hands.

  The details of the location of the lab and shipments are in a box I hid in the old fort we built when we were kids, the one down in the canyon behind my parents’ house–you’ll find it under some rocks where we used to hide things from our parents. Whatever you do, don’t open it without the second clue. I can’t put them together–it’s too risky–but if you don’t open the box the right way, everything inside will be ruined. I’ll put the second clue where you’ll be sure to find it.

  I have got to go, bro. You and DJ are the best friends I ever had. Watch your backs. These fuckers play for keeps, Bobby. Sorry to turn your life to shit but you guys are the only ones I trust to clear my name and get the information into the right hands.

  - Micky

  P.S. There is a shipment of over four million hits of Ecstasy and two tons of cocaine coming into Southern California through Dana Point Harbor-soon, Bobby. Be safe and stay away from John G. I still don’t know if you can trust him. Get to the fort and find the items that I left behind. I left a couple of clues to help you along the way because The General will stop at nothing to retrieve his information. Aloha, bruddah.

  I lay awake for a long time, trying to understand Micky’s letter. So much has been going on that I haven’t even taken the time to grieve for my friend and now I find this out? I don’t need this – why would he dump this on me? And then go and die on me?

  Our fort used to be in the canyon behind his parents’ old house. Could it still even be there? I guess it had to be, if Micky hid something down there. We’d done a pretty good job of building the fort when we were kids. It helped that my dad ran a hardware store –we had all kinds of tools and lumber scraps when we built it, and we camouflaged it really well.

  I send DJ a text to let him know that I’ll be out of here tomorrow and that I’ll let him know when to come and pick me up. I settled down in bed and before drifting off to sleep, I wonder how much I should tell him. I know he’s dying to find out what’s in Micky’s letter, but he has a wife and kids to think about. My own ass is now on the line, thanks to Micky. Do I want to put DJ’s there beside mine? I did make a promise to find Micky
’s killers so I’ll tell DJ about the letter and he can make up his own mind if he wants in or not.

  ◆◆◆

  I must have slept through breakfast and was just starting to come around, when I notice somebody sitting in the chair in the corner of my room. It’s Murphy, again. Damn. Does this guy not have any place else to be? He puts his cell phone in his pocket and looks up at me. He doesn’t say good morning or ask me how I’m doing. He just starts talking, all cop-like. I don’t remember him being this tight-assed in high school.

  “The coroner’s office won’t release Micky’s body for a few more days. The Doctor is waiting for the toxicology screen to come back. After that, I think I can get them to release the body to you. No one else has come forward to claim it, and we can’t seem to find any other next of kin. His parents have passed away, as you know, and his ex-wife just laughed and hung up on me. She always was such a bitch, even in high school.” He pauses for a minute to give me a chance to absorb everything.

  “Good effing morning to you, too, Murph. I’m fine, thanks for asking.” What an asshole.

  He runs his hand through what’s left of his hair, and then turns his steely blue cop eyes back on me and says, “Have you found out anything more concerning Micky’s death, Bobby? Is there anything that I should be aware of? Are you holding back information from me?”

  I guess that’s as close as I’ll get to good morning from him. He’s starting to piss me off.

  “No, Murph. How the hell would I find anything out being stuck here in the hospital, flat on my back staring up at the ceiling?” The letter is tucked under my pillow and I can almost feel it throbbing.

  “Do you have any idea who – or why – someone would blow up my house? You’ve had lots of time to do that, or have you spent the last couple of days sitting in that chair, staring at my ugly mug?” As he opens his mouth to answer me, the room lights up just a bit, and in walks Peggy, my insurance agent’s wife. Thank God.

  “Bobby!” She greets me warmly, leans over and gives me a peck on the cheek and hands me a bouquet of flowers. She could teach Murph a few things. “I’m so glad you’re okay,” she continues, “You are one lucky guy! You look pretty good, especially considering what happened. Robert and I can’t believe it! What a thing to have happen? It’s like the movies or something. Honestly! I wanted to just stop by to tell you that we’re ready to file the claim as soon as we get the sheriff’s and fire department’s reports. Aren’t you glad you listened to us when we told you it was time to re-assess your coverage? You complained about the extra cost, but look at you now. I know that the money won’t replace your personal things, but you’ll be able to rebuild the house.”

  Peggy notices Murphy sitting in the corner of the room. I make a quick introduction. I’m very happy to see her and to have her interrupt any other questions that Murph has in mind for me. She’s a doll and super chatty, so I gladly let her take over the conversation. After about twenty minutes, a nurse–one of the grouchy ones – walks in and announces that everyone needs to clear out as the doctor is making his morning rounds. I wonder if having to wear those ugly shoes is what makes them all so crabby. Peggy gives me a finger-wave over her shoulder as she sails out the door. She calls back, “We’ll be in touch, Bobby. Get well soon!”

  Murphy puts his hands on his knees and pushes himself up out of the chair, looking down at me. I know he has more questions but, after a few seconds of steely eyed stare, he just says, “Get some rest, Bobby. I’ll talk to you later.” With that he follows Peggy out the door. I’m so glad to see him leave. I was sure he somehow knew that the letter was under my pillow.

  “Thanks, I owe you,” I say to the nurse and try to thaw her out with, what I hope is my winning smile. “Do you have any idea when I’m going to get out of here?”

  “The doctor will be in later to talk to you about that,” she snaps, then turns on her crepe heel and squeaks out of the room. I guess I’ll have to work on that winning smile.

  ◆◆◆

  As Murphy walks back to his car, he can’t help feeling Bobby is lying to him. After so many years on the force, he can tell pretty quickly when someone is holding out. Micky’s murder and Bobby’s house blowing up are no coincidence, but he knows he’ll have to dig until the connection becomes clear. Bobby knows something, Murphy is sure, but for some stupid reason, he’s not talking.

  Murphy has investigated Bobby and as far as he can tell, he wasn’t involved in anything other than working or surfing. He has a good credit rating, money in the bank–not a lot, but enough. He gets a pension from the L.A.P.D. and he makes okay money from his construction earnings. He also owns his house, free and clear. His classic Volkswagen van is paid for and he doesn’t seem to have drug, drinking or gambling problems. Murph can’t even find a current girlfriend. As he unlocks the car door, his phone rings.

  “Murphy,” he answers. He listens for a few minutes. “Yes sir, I’ll be in the office as soon as I can get there.”

  Chapter 13

  John G. walks up the beach after having just finished his morning swim, almost a mile out to the buoy and back today. The water is much colder here than in Hawaii or Mexico, but he swims every day. It gives him time to think, and he has plenty to think about. This business with Webber, working with the DEA, trying to get him busted, is very disturbing. He never saw that coming. What made it even worse was that The General’s man had given Weaver too much of the drug they were using to interrogate him. Even with the drug, they hadn’t found out anything before he died.

  John G. doesn’t know the extent of the problem. He doesn’t know if Webber had talked to anyone else, especially Bobby Paladin or DJ Frasier. It was so messy having to dispose of people, especially now that the police were involved. With all that was at stake on this delivery, they could not afford any more screw-ups. His satellite phone rings. Looking down at the screen he sees it’s The General.

  John G. knows that General Miguel Sandoval spent most of his adult life in the Mexican Military. With hard work and his ruthless, sadistic streak, he’d worked his way up through the ranks until he was the commanding General of Mexico’s Special Forces. Then, ten years ago, his troops got drunk one night after a daring raid on one of Mexico’s drug cartels and one of his officers had raped the Governor’s daughter and the rest of his troops had panicked.

  The Governor was the Mexican President’s younger brother. The General knew that because of what those under his command had done, his career was over. The rest of the troop would face a firing squad. So he pulled his sorry troops together and explained the situation to them. The men agreed to follow The General into the mountains, where they set up camp in the caves. Since then, the band of ex-military men had earned a fierce reputation as mercenaries: helping the drug cartels, guarding the shipments of drugs and smuggling peasants looking for a better life in the United States. They even smuggled terrorists, as long as they paid, and pay they did. It was all about the money. The General had built a very lucrative empire: Drugs, smuggling, money laundering, and guns for hire. The General was an evil man and a bully, and John G. knew that; but he still did business with him, and accepted all of the inherent risks. John G. looks around to make sure he was still alone, then answers the phone.

  “Yes, General, how may I be of service? No, they weren’t able to get anything from Webber. Your man was careless, and Webber died before he gave them any information.” He pauses to listen, then explains. “I felt obligated to take your man on a one-way fishing trip since he couldn’t even manage to get Paladin out of the way.” He listens again, “My apologies, sir, but I think we both understand that we can’t have anyone that incompetent on our team. Is the shipment on schedule?” John G. waits for the answer, “Yes, General I understand. Thank you.”

  John G. hangs up the phone, and looks out at the ocean, reminded that The General is a very dangerous man. He believes The General is an idiot in charge of a group of fiercely-loyal, dangerous thugs. He will have to kill The Gene
ral, too, when all this is over. He’s pretty sure The General is thinking the same thing about him. John G. knows he’ll have to watch his back, closely.

  ◆◆◆

  Dr. Gus strolls into my room around 2 p.m., much later than the noon he had promised yesterday. I’m getting a little antsy sitting around here waiting to be released. Again, I try my winning smile. I don’t want him to keep me over another night.

  “Bobby, how are you feeling today?” he says, looking at the computer screen.

  “I’m just a little sore today, Doc.” I don’t want to tell him how sore I really am or he won’t let me out of here, “but other than that, I think I’ll live. Can I go?”

  “Well, the paperwork is going through right now so you should be on the curb in about thirty minutes. It’s amazing you weren’t killed, Bobby. As it stands right now, no work or surfing for at least a week and I want you in my office in a couple of days. Call to schedule an appointment as soon as you get out of here today. Remember, stay out of the water, and nothing strenuous.” He clicks off the computer and he’s gone.

  Crap. No working, no surfing, no house, what else could go wrong in my life? I call DJ and tell him to come and get me.

  ◆◆◆

  An hour later the nurse wheels me out to DJ’s truck and I slowly get in. Shit, everything hurts. Maybe I shouldn’t have been in such a rush to get out of the hospital.

  “I have to stop by the T-street job for a few minutes,” DJ says as he gets in the driver’s side door and pulls on his seatbelt. “Then I’ll get you down to the boat. Maria stocked it with food, beer and wine. She even found some clothes for you, so you’re good to go.”

 

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