Sedona Law 6

by Dave Daren

  “Agent Winslow,” I said. “Good to see you again.”

  “Hello, Mr. Irving,” she shook my hand and spoke in a flat perfunctory manner. “Pleasure as always. These are federal agents Johnson and Willis.”

  The two men that accompanied her were tall and wiry looking men, both wearing glasses, suits and completely devoid of mirth.

  “We’ve got two witnesses here,” I said. “This is Jagger Campbell, and Tony Sanchez is in the other room.”

  “Which one are we offering the deal to?” Johnson asked as he pulled out a padfolio.

  “That would be Tony Sanchez,” I said. “He works for a shipping company, called Universal Shipping, and he helped to package the contraband.”

  “He can tell us who he worked for?” Agent Willis asked.

  He had a notepad already open and furiously scribbled.

  “He can and he is willing,” I said.

  “And Mr. Campbell, is it?” Agent Winslow looked Jagger over with piercing eyes.

  “Yes,” he offered his hand. “Jagger Campbell. I personally know what would be called the kingpin of the operation, Brent Levinson.”

  “Uh-huh,” she shook it and looked him over. “Are you a U.S. national?”

  Jagger cleared his throat and his eyes widened.

  “Well, I’m..” he stammered. “I’m a legal permanent resident. I have my card.”

  “Can I see that please?” Agent Winslow held out her hand. Jagger scrambled quickly for his wallet, and fumbled with it, dropping cash all over the floor as he pulled out an identification card.

  He handed it to her, and she examined it, and the other agents looked at it. They all nodded and silently handed it back to Jagger.

  “They’re prepping Mr. Sanchez right now,” I said. “I can take you into the conference room to set up.”

  “That would be great,” Agent Winslow said.

  I walked them into the conference room and glanced back at Jagger who now held his hand over his chest. Leila stood beside him and clasped her hands over her mouth.

  Jagger shot me a dirty look and mouthed a sarcastic, “Thanks.”

  I smiled and shook my head. He wasn’t so sarcastic earlier today when I got him three hundred and seventy-five grand.

  “Hey, guys,” I broke up the trio in the conference room.

  As soon as they saw the agents, they all tensed up.

  “Hey,” Vicki stood to greet the agents.

  “Agents, this is Vicki Park, my partner,” I said.

  “Hello,” she smiled politely.

  “Vicki, you’ve met Agent Winslow,” my formal tone toward her felt odd, but appropriate.

  “Yes,” she said as she shook Agent Winslow’s hand.

  “Good to see you again,” Agent Winslow stated.

  “And these are Agents Johnson and Willis,” I said.

  “Hello,” Vicki said and shook their hands.

  I shot AJ a look, and she picked up the meaning quickly. In daily work, the three of us were more or less equals. But, when it came to depositions and other formalities, AJ was just the paralegal.

  “I’ll be right outside,” AJ told Tony and she slipped out of the room.

  “This is Tony Sanchez,” I gestured toward Tony who slouched in his chair.

  The three agents greeted him and shook his hand in a perfunctory manner. He looked like he wanted to disappear through the floor, and I felt sorry for him.

  “Why don’t we take a break,” I suggested to the agents. “Let you guys set up. Give our witness a chance to breathe. He’s been prepping for the better part of a half hour.”

  “Absolutely,” Agent Winslow said. “Let’s take ten.”

  “Ten it is,” I smiled to Tony who audibly sighed with relief.

  The FBI agents swarmed about our conference room and Agent Winslow asked for things like wi-fi passwords and outlet strips. Tony headed toward the door, presumably for a smoke break. I eyed Jagger who caught my meaning.

  “Going for a smoke, mate?” Jagger asked him.

  “Yeah,” Tony tapped the pack against his palm.

  “Mind if I join?” Jagger pulled out a pack of his own and Tony shrugged.

  The two witnesses stepped outside, and I was admittedly paranoid that at least Tony would make a break for it. Jagger didn’t want to talk, but I had gotten him a hell of a lot of money, and with Leila still in the office, pacing nervously, I knew he wouldn’t go anywhere.

  “You can’t tell me anything about what went on in there, can you?” Leila asked AJ.

  “Sorry,” AJ smiled awkwardly and shook her head. “Jagger can tell you whatever he wants.”

  Our whole front wall was a storefront window that overlooked the sidewalk and the street. I kept glancing up to see the guys out there smoking. Everytime I looked up, I was relieved that they were still there.

  Finally, Agent Winslow poked her head out.

  “We’d like to speak to Mr. Campbell,” she said.

  I nodded to Leila, who slipped out the door and I watched her talk to Jagger, who nodded, extinguished the cigarette and came inside. Jagger looked tired when he came in, and the earlier energy and youthful zest, was replaced with a somber expression of responsibility and obligation.

  “Thanks for doing this, Jagger,” I said.

  There was no reason to say that, other than to acknowledge that turning in an executive of a major record company that had at one time employed him, was a burden. He nodded but didn’t smile.

  “Should I go in?” he said.

  I nodded. “I’ll sit in with you.”

  I glanced outside, and didn’t see Tony. My stomach froze.

  “AJ,” I said. “Where’s Tony?”

  She glanced outside to the empty sidewalk. “Oh my God.”

  AJ and Vicki both rushed to the window, and looked in every direction. The three of us ducked outside and stood on the stoop, looking in every direction.

  “Tony,” I yelled to the empty street.

  AJ ran next door to the smoothie shop and came out shaking her head. Vicki slipped into the record store on the other side, and came out with the same expression.

  I turned to Vicki and gestured back toward toward office helplessly.

  “I have to…” my voice trailed off.

  “Don’t worry,” she told me as she jogged back into the office. AJ and I followed her.

  “We’ll find him,” she said.

  She grabbed her purse and motioned waved me toward Jagger and the waiting conference room. “You go in.”

  AJ got on the phone, while she watched the sidewalk and I threw up my palms and sighed.

  “Did he say anything to you about where he might be going?” I asked Jagger.

  “No,” he said. “We just talked about...I don’t know, random crap. Like, ATV’s.”

  I rubbed my face and sighed again.

  “Henry,” Vicki chided me. “Delegate.”

  “Alright,” I said.

  I motioned to Jagger to enter the conference room and I followed him.

  The three FBI agents sat at the table, and Jagger and I joined them.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Campbell,” Agent Winslow said. “How do you do?”

  “Good,” he said. “I’ll be better when this is over.”

  “I understand,” Agent Winslow said. “We just want to get your testimony down for the record.”

  I pulled out my phone and checked for any text messages from Vicki or AJ about Tony. Nothing. I tapped my phone against my palm as if it could make a text message appear.

  “Sure,” Jagger said. “I know a lot about what Brent Levinson was doing.”

  “Can you state your name for the record?” Agent Johnson asked.

  They had set up an intimidating voice recorder in the middle of the table. I had one I used for depositions, but I tried not to make it look so Star Trekish.

  “My name is Jagger Campbell,” he spoke to the device.

  “Mr. Campbell, what do you do for a living?” Agent Wins
low asked.

  Jagger sighed. “I worked as a recording artist for La Vista Records. But, about a year ago, I resigned. I now work as an independent musician.”

  “And how did you come across information regarding the smuggling operations in Sedona, most specifically as it relates to Kelsi Matthews.”

  “Umm,” he glanced at me, and then rubbed his arms. “Kelsi Matthews is James Matthews wife, correct?”

  I nodded. I had gone over the Matthews connection with him briefly in prep.

  “Well,” Jagger said. “I didn’t know James or Kelsi. But, James and I both worked for the same record company, and worked for Brent Levinson while there.”

  “Who is Brent Levinson?” Agent Winslow asked.

  I pulled out a printout, his online bio and slid it to her.

  “He’s the head of La Vista records,” I told her. “He handled the contracts for James Matthews, as well as Jagger Campbell’s band, Captain Hook’s Nemesis. What’s Mr. Campbell is testifying, is what he knew of Mr. Levinson.”

  She passed the printout around and all agents nodded.

  “Go ahead, Mr. Campbell,” she said.

  “Yeah,” Jagger said. “So, Brent Levinson has a known history of smuggling illegal goods overseas.”

  The agents all looked up and studied Jagger with rapt attention.

  “Most of what I know is hearsay,” he said. “The things ‘everyone knows.’ I don’t think that counts in a legal case, so I’m just going to tell you what I know personally. I know a lot more, but I didn’t witness it or have proof or anything.”

  The agents stared at him wide eyed.

  “So,” he said. “Christmas of ...2017, I was at a party at Brent Levinson’s house. He has a big bash every year. Everyone that’s anyone in music is invited. So, I went with some friends, and they got U2 to play that night. It was pretty cool. They did an acoustic version of Beautiful Day. Really great. Edge was off the hook.”

  The agents started to shift in their seats.

  “Yeah,” Jagger shrugged. “So, everybody was drinking and having a good time, and I got in this weird conversation with this man called Corey Keith.”

  Jagger cleared his throat as he let the name resonate. The agents all wrote it down.

  “What can I say about Corey?” he mused. “Corey’s an airplane pilot. Flies single engine jets mainly. But, he also works for Brent. He’s Brent’s private pilot. Brent’s got a jet, cause he’s a rich arsehole, and all rich arseholes must have jets.”

  He looked at the agents who didn’t crack a single smile at his humor.

  “Tough crowd,” he muttered. “So, Corey starts out drunk whining about how demanding Brent is, and all the things people say about their bosses. You know, and I just laughed and took it for what it was. And then, as the night wore on, Corey got drunker.”

  Jagger expression sobered and he sat up straight in his seat.

  “He starts telling me about how Brent is doing all of this illegal stuff and is paying him shitloads to be involved,” Jagger continued. “I asked him what kind of illegal stuff. Like drugs? Corey smiled and he goes ‘Ah nah. Bigger than that. Like, bigger, bigger.’”

  Jagger imitated Corey’s hand’s motions to demonstrate an elephant tusk.

  “I was interested,” Jagger went on. “I didn’t know what this guy was talking about. Keep in mind, you know, we were both pretty plastered. So, then Corey tells me to follow him and we’re so fucked up.”

  He grimaced and turned to me. “Can I say ‘fucked’ to the FBI?”

  “You’re fine,” I snickered. “I think they’ve heard that word before.”

  He cocked his head in agreement, and then continued. “So, we’re stumbling outside, and I don’t know what this guy’s going to show me. He takes me to this shed outside. And now, I’m thinking he’s going to show me some kind of exotic drugs or like vintage collectors items, like first edition Beatles shit or something. Nah. The dude opens the shed, and we walk in and he turns on this single bulb, and there’s all these wooden crates. And he goes, ‘open it.’ So, I open one, and it is like, this massive elephant tusk. And I’m like, ‘Whoa.’ I mean, I’ve never seen a real elephant tusk up close, and I didn’t recognize it at first. At first, I thought it was like a dinosaur fossil. You know, T-Rex tooth or something. And then he told me what it was.”

  I checked my phone to see if something came in from AJ or Vicki. Nothing. I shot Vicki a text, with a simple question mark. She responded with, still looking. Shit. Running would invalidate his immunity deal. If they get him before the FBI found out that he was gone, he would still get off free. I sighed and rubbed my forehead. Jagger continued his story.

  “I mean, this thing is monstrous,” he said. “The length is about the size of this room. So, Corey and I were messing around with it, I don’t know, being drunk and goofy. But, the thing is majorly heavy. So, we’re trying to lift it, and he starts telling me all of this stuff about it. He says that Brent smuggles this stuff in from his contacts in Arizona, and then he pays them to get it to Mexico, where it’s easier to get things out of the country. Then, Corey flies Brent to his house in Cancun, and from there, they take the tusk to Beijing, where Brent also has a house, and he sells them for millions.”

  “This Corey told you all of this?” Agent Winslow’s tone was dubious.

  “I told you,” he said, “we were drunk, and he said all kinds of stuff he shouldn’t have said.”

  “So you were drunk as well,” Agent Johnson clarified.

  “I’m Australian,” he stated. “That’s what we do, man.”

  “I understand,” she said. “But, your state of mind doesn’t build an entirely credible story.”

  “Okay,” he snorted. “Point taken, say what you will. But, I saw the elephant tusks, man. They were there. And you can get Corey to testify, and court order or whatever his flight records, he’s in and out of Sedona all the time. That’s based on the things ‘everyone knows,’ that I don’t have proof of. But, you could find that proof.”

  “And you think that Mr. Levinson was involved in assisting Kelsi Matthews with smuggling?”

  “Like I said,” he said. “I don’t know Kelsi. But, I have since heard JMB. And, in my professional opinion…”

  He sighed and looked away as he groaned slowly. “Not to disrespect someone’s life work, and all that. James Matthews, may he rest in peace. But you know, I personally wouldn’t have signed them to a major label, I’ll say it that way. And, I find it an odd coincidence that he signed this band out of Sedona, the same place where he’s got his uh...little...import-export thing going on.”

  The three agents all nodded simultaneously as the point sank in. I loved Jagger’s use of the phrase, ‘professional opinion.’ It worked well on the agents.

  “The plant,” I reminded him.

  “Oh, yes,” he said. “I forgot to tell you about the plant. So, we were on tour in Germany, and we were packing to board our return flight to New York. Brent flew out to see us, which we all thought was a nice gesture. He didn’t have to, he just said wanted to see how the show went. So we all hung out that night, and he seemed overly interested in making us like him. It was weird. He was trying to talk to us all like we were all old friends, and he was trying to get us girls, and it was just a little strange.”

  Jagger made a face and paused for a moment. He stared at a point on the wall before he turned back to the agents.

  “So in the morning,” he said, “we were all gathering in the hotel lobby, you know, all hungover and gearing up for a transatlantic flight. Which we were a little pissed at him because, contrary to popular belief, rock stars don’t party as hard as you might think. We blow off steam, sure. But, we work as hard as anyone, so if you want to be successful, it’s like anything, you gotta find a balance. And Brent just wanted party, party, party, all night. So, in the morning, Brent’s going around, trying to Mr. Cool Guy, and we all just want to punch the dude. And, then, he comes up to me, and he’s like, ‘Hey,
Jag.’ Which no one calls me Jag. It’s so stupid. And he’s like, ‘Can you do me a solid, mate?’ And he’s American. He’s not allowed to say, ‘mate.’”

  He furrowed his brow in offense and looked around at the room for confirmation. The agents were joyless but I snickered.

  “So he’s like, ‘I’ll pay ten thousand bucks for a favor,’” Jagger continued. “And then I’m interested. What’s this ten thousand dollar favor? He pulls out this little cardboard box. He’s like ‘hide this in your luggage.’ I ask him what’s in there, and he’s like well, it’s this rare plant that you can only get in Germany. And you can take a couple to the U.S., but he’s already hit his limit, and he wanted me to take the last one. I didn’t know if any of that was true, and he was really pressuring me to do it. That made me suspicious, and I thought about if I got caught, I could get my visa revoked. So, I told him no, and he got violently angry. I’m not sure what happened to the plant in the end, but when I sobered up after the elephant tusk incident, I remembered about the plant.”

  “So Mr. Levinson asked you to smuggle for him?” Agent Winslow asked incredulously.

  “Yes,” Jagger confirmed. Then after a pause he added, “But I declined.”

  “And Mr. Levinson,” I reminded the agents, “has connections to James Matthews.”

  “And would you be willing to testify this in court, Mr. Campbell?” Agent Johnson asked.

  Jagger sighed. “Yeah, I will. But it’s stabbing a lot of people in the back, so I’d rather not if I didn’t have to.”

  “I understand, Mr. Campbell,” Agent Johnson replied. “Is that all you have?”

  “Yeah,” Jagger said.

  “Thank you, Mr. Campbell,” Agent Winslow said. “We’ll contact you if we have any more questions.”

  Jagger rose from the table and I followed him out of the room. As soon as he walked out he doubled over and let out a deep breath.

  “You okay?” Leila asked.

  “Yeah,” he stood up. “That was intense. Selling out everyone you know.”

  “You’re not selling anyone out,” I reminded him. “Brent screwed you over.”

  “Yeah,” he said. “But he wrote me a bloody great check in the end.”