by Dan Arnold
Special Agent
Dan Arnold
Contents
Untitled
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
A Look at The Ticking Clock (Angels & Imperfection 3)
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About the Author
Special Agent is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events, places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2020 (as revised) Dan Arnold
All rights reserved.
Published in the United States by CKN Christian Publishing, an imprint of Wolfpack Publishing, Las Vegas.
CKN Christian Publishing
An Imprint of Wolfpack Publishing
6032 Wheat Penny Avenue
Las Vegas, NV 89122
christiankindlenews.com
Ebook ISBN: 978-1-64734-687-4
Paperback ISBN: 978-1-64734-688-1
To Lora
Here we go again!
To my family
Thank you for challenging me, encouraging me and being my biggest fans.
Wolves are by nature stealthy. Sometimes they are masters of deception.
The sheep are by nature gullible. They will believe almost anything.
The Shepherds are appointed to stand between the sheep and the wolves.
One
My assistant Christine Valakova, wearing a charcoal grey pantsuit with an emerald green blouse which matched her eyes, was sitting at her desk in the outer office/reception area when the phone rang.
“Tucker Investigations, how may I direct your call?”
She listened for a moment and then she replied, “Yes ma’am, please hold,”
She punched the intercom button.
“John, line two. It’s your lady friend, the attorney from next door.”
From the safety of my walnut paneled office, I could just imagine Christine’s face; fairly certain she was rolling her eyes. Christine has never liked Ms. Doyle. Referring to her as my “lady friend” had been meant to annoy me, which it did.
“Good morning, this is John.”
“John, this is Melody.”
Doyle, Doyle and Starnes, the law firm that occupied the suite next to ours, had recently become the only other tenant on this floor. I was loosely on retainer as their primary investigator. I say loosely, because they didn’t need a full time investigator, and I wouldn’t have worked for them on a full time basis.
Melody Doyle was an attorney, a partner, and the rather attractive daughter of Clarence Doyle III, the founder and senior partner in the firm. I was aware Melody had a crush on me.
“Good morning, Melody. What can we do for you today?”
“Oh, baby, the things you could do for me!”
Melody had never been shy, but this was ridiculously unprofessional.
“What’s the reason for your call this morning, Ms. Doyle?”
“Come on, John, you’re no fun. Can’t you ever think about anything other than business? Everything is always business with you. Don’t you want to play with me?”
“Melody, can you get to the point?”
“Oh, that’s better, baby. The point is I want you.”
“I’m sorry I thought this was a business matter. Isn’t that the reason you called?”
“I suppose it’s one of the reasons, John.”
I could virtually feel her pouting through the phone at my ear.
“OK. Can we talk about that?”
“Oh well, fine then. We have a client who was injured on the job. He was nearly killed when a load of badly stacked bricks fell on him as he was working to construct a retaining wall. He suffered numerous broken bones, including a crippling spinal injury, and he has a traumatic brain injury that will leave him impaired for the rest of his life. We feel the injuries were caused by gross negligence and an unsafe working environment. We believe the employer knew of the danger and ignored it. Worse, we believe he instructed the employees to ignore the danger, and he threatened to fire anyone who would not work under those conditions.”
“How may we assist you in investigating the incident?”
“John, you are so frustrating. Do you have to be so formal? Loosen up, baby!”
“Ms. Doyle, Can we keep this professional? What do you want us to do?”
She sighed loudly into the phone.
“It seems we need you to find a witness. The employees are mostly illegal immigrants from south of the border. Our client will testify, as best he can, but we need additional witnesses. Most of the other employees have disappeared. The ones we have located and interviewed refuse to cooperate. They are afraid of deportation, and they’re afraid of their employer. Not just afraid for their jobs, but actually afraid for their personal safety.”
“Construction sites are usually required to abide by OSHA and other State and local safety requirements. How could the employer have failed to be in compliance?” I asked.
“Evidently this company does mostly smallish projects in rural areas using illegal immigrant labor. The jobs are finished quickly before any OSHA inspector even knows they’re going to happen. More often than not, there isn’t even a permit pulled.”
“You say most of the employees disappeared. How is the company going to stay in business and meet its commitments?”
“These are illegals, John. There’s no shortage of available labor. The ones who’ve disappeared have already been replaced.”
“OK, Melody, give Christine all the information you have on the company, as well as the names of the employees who would have knowledge of this or other past incidents. We’ll take it from there. Please stay on the line and I’ll transfer you over to Christine.”
“I’d rather play with you.”
“Yeah, uhh, you mentioned that already. Let’s stick to business, OK?”
“I said I’d rather play with you. Why don’t you come over and play?”
“What in the world?” I thought.
I put her on hold and punched the intercom button.
“Christine, Ms. Doyle has some information for you related to a case we’ll be investigating. I’ll put her through on line two.”
After I punched the button to send her back to Christine, I considered the strangeness of our conversation.
Melody Doyle had come on a bit strong a time or two before this, but it had not been as deliberately unprofessional or interfered with business in the way this conversation had.
I was glad she’d called me on the telephone and not actually shown up in person.
What was going on with her?
Two
My next appointment put me on the highway. As I often do when I have long distances to drive, I rented a car. This was an economical choice because I could recoup the expense from my client, while driving an anonymous new car with better gas mileage than my big diesel pick up.
It’s a little less than a four hour drive from Tyler, Texas to Magnolia, Arkansas. Whether you go east on I-20, through Shreveport, Louisiana and then go north, or if you go into Arkansas by way of Texarkana, it takes about the same amount of time to get there.
I’d headed east on I-20 that morning, driving into a major thunderstorm just as I was approaching Shreveport. It was the same storm that hit East Texas earlier in the morning. I drove with lightening crashing and thunder booming all around me. In the worst of the rain, visibility was cut down to a few yards, and traffic crawled for about twelve miles. I left the interstate at Minden, Louisiana, driving north in a steady rain toward Magnolia. The road wandered through forests primeval and bucolic farmland.
The rain slacked up and the worst of the storm had just passed through when I arrived at my destination. Fifteen years had passed since my last visit to Magnolia.
As I drove around on the rain scrubbed streets, I noticed how generally run-down things were.
Some years back, on my first visit to Magnolia, I’d still been in the Navy and was invited to a team mate’s family home for Thanksgiving weekend.
That team mate was now the County Sheriff for Columbia County, Arkansas. I’d seen several election posters with his name on them from the moment I entered the county, and about an equal number for some other guy who wanted his job. The signs suggested Buddy was in the middle of a re-election campaign. I dropped in on him at his office.
“John, is that really you? I can’t believe it. What’s it been, ten, twelve years?”
“I suppose so, Buddy. You got transferred to San Diego while I was in Walter Reed.”
“Yeah, that Pakistan op was a hairy deal. At the time, I didn’t think you had a chance of pulling through. I can’t believe you’re upright and walking. I’m glad to see you’re fully recovered now. You don’t even look a day older. What’s your secret?”
“Clean living.”
He laughed.
Wilson Boudreaux “Buddy” Livesque (call sign - Live Screw), was a party animal back in the day. Now he was a bastion of the community. A kind of beefy guy, at first glance you might think he was overweight. Maybe he was, a little, but most of that weight was still solid muscle. His once sandy brown hair was now nearly all silvery gray. He’d always had the same twinkle in his eyes, rosy cheeks and a bright red nose. Although Buddy didn’t have the beard or the red suit, the overall effect sort of brought to mind images of Santa Clause. As much as he reminded people of Santa, when we were sent on missions together, the enemy had never enjoyed the presents that “Live Screw” brought them.
“Buddy, I couldn’t help noticing things are looking a little frayed around the edges here in Magnolia. I don’t remember it this way.”
“Well, the last big oil boom ended almost forty years ago. That oil income gradually faded away. Little by little the town has been fading away as well. If it wasn’t for the college, the timber industry, poultry farms, brine plants and hunting, we’d be in worse shape than we are. Magnolia is still a great place to live and work, but finding work has gotten pretty tough.”
“I noticed people wandering around with no real purpose. Some of them looked like zombies. Have you got a drug problem here?”
“Not any worse than anywhere else, I guess. Sure, it’s a lot worse now than it used to be. People have to make a living somehow, and drugs can be profitable. When the economy collapsed, a lot of people moved back into this area from places like Detroit and Chicago. They have family here, so in a sense, they were coming home, but some of them brought their problems with them. For too many, coming back here meant more unemployment. With all these people moving back, it seems there aren’t enough jobs to support the growing population. Most of the skilled labor force moved away to wherever the work is. Some of the unskilled people figure it’s easier to make meth out in the deep woods, than it is to find a job.”
I wasn’t surprised. The same thing was happening all over the country.
“Tell me about yourself, John. What have you been up to?” Buddy asked.
“Well, after I left the Navy, I went to work for the Department of Homeland Security for a few years. I got tired of working for Uncle Sam and decided to go private. These days, I have a small detective agency in Tyler, Texas. I’m in the people business. Private investigation is all about people and their problems. At Tucker Investigations we serve big corporate clients with security or insurance fraud issues and we serve individuals and families with their more personal issues.”
Buddy considered my answer for a moment.
“I know what PI’s do, John. What brings you into my neck of the woods?”
“I’m here on business, Buddy. I’m looking for a guy by the name of Diondro Taylor. He has family around here, somewhere.”
“Are you a skip tracer?”
“No, he isn’t wanted for revocation of bail and I’m not a bounty hunter.”
“OK, what’s the deal?”
“About a month ago, a woman by the name of Amanda Sawyer was assaulted in a grocery store parking lot in Tyler. She was forced into her own car at gun point and told to drive away. A young black man observed the assault and attacked the ‘perp’ through an open car window as the vehicle was pulling away. He got ahold of the guy’s gun hand and took the gun away from him without a shot being fired. Mrs. Sawyer was able to stop the car and escape. The guy who dived through the car window to help her was Diondro Taylor.”
“Good for him!”
“Well, yes and no. Like most metropolitan areas of the country, Tyler has an inner city gang problem. In this case, the guy with the handgun is the most prominent member of one of the street gangs in Tyler. His name is Hector Lopez, known as ‘el vibora’. He was arrested on the scene. For stepping up and interfering with the gangbanger, Diondro is marked for death. He left town in a hurry. I’m pretty sure he came here.”
“Do they need Diondro to go back to Tyler and testify?”
“That’s part of it. Diondro would be a useful witness, but he isn’t essential. The store has cameras on the parking lot. There’s excellent video of the whole thing. The gangbanger is going away for sure. This is his fifth arrest as an adult. He has multiple drug possession and assault convictions going way back. Because he’s violated his parole, he’ll go down on multiple charges this time. He has a long date with prison, no matter what. The point is; I’ve been hired to find Diondro because the victim’s family wants to make sure he’s safe and gets rewarded for his action.”
“Huh. This is the first time I’ve heard of that!”
“Well, there’s also a weird wrinkle.”
“Of course, there is. What else is new?”
“The gang also hired someone to find Diondro. If they find him before I do, I have to assume they have a different reward in mind.”
Buddy shook his head.
“Please tell me you are not about to turn my county into a war zone.”
I shrugged.
“I have no such intention. My plan is to find Diondro and make sure he stays safe. If he will testify, I’ll take him back to Tyler for the trial. If he won’t testify, I’ll get
him set up somewhere where he isn’t known. Either way, I’ve been instructed to arrange for his college tuition.”
Buddy took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
“OK, what can I do to help?”
“Do you know his family?”
“Maybe, maybe not. There are several Taylors in the county and I don’t know them all. I’ll check with a couple of my deputies though. We’ll find someone who knows the right family. Is there anything you can tell me to help narrow it down?”
I told him what I knew and what I didn’t know.
“Well, it’s lunch time. I want you to come home with me. Josie will be thrilled to see you after all these years.”
Military families often form strong bonds. Perhaps none are stronger than those formed among members of an elite Special Forces combat unit like the Green Beret, Delta Force or the SEAL teams. The bonds between such men are tight, and the families become close. Wives support each other when the husbands are away. Even when they are off duty, the men tend to hang out together. Single guys like me get adopted into the larger family formed by the group. Naturally, the wives and girlfriends try to set us up with their friends. Josie tried to do that for me, but because of my mission on this planet, I was in no position to get serious with any of the available women.