It wasn’t nearly that funny at the time.
After reading the letter, Winkler just shook his head. “After the river raid, we shut down their main supply line into the city and took their top two men out of commission. We knew it was only a matter of time until they tried something new, but up till now, nothing had come up on our radar.”
“Is this implant stuff for real?” Ox asked.
“Oh, absolutely!” Winkler replied. “Just this past week, a Panamanian woman was caught at the Barcelona airport. She had three pounds of pure cocaine in her implants.”
“How did they catch her?” I asked.
“It was a botched job. The customs guy saw blood oozing from her blouse and pulled her aside to question her. Her story didn’t add up, so they investigated further. This is just the tip of the ice burg. They are using both breast and buttock implants, plus, some of the mules swallow condoms filled with the stuff. One of them died when a packet ruptured in her colon. They found twenty-six bags inside her.”
“So unless they see someone bleeding, how do they catch these people?” Ox asked.
“Good question,” Winkler replied. “It’s difficult, and the way they’re doing it makes it even more so. Apparently they’re recruiting women that are Hispanic American citizens. There is nothing suspicious about them traveling to Mexico and when they return with the drug implants, since they are American citizens returning home, they are scrutinized less than a Mexican citizen entering the country.”
I could certainly understand that. On Ox’s honeymoon, we started in Vancouver, Canada. When we departed Canada to get back in the U.S. the process took only minutes.
If our passport was valid, we were in without question.
Winkler continued, “We knew they would be sending a new kingpin to Kansas City, but we didn’t know who it would be. If it is this Corazon character, that will give us someplace to start. Any idea who sent this letter?”
“Not a clue,” I said.
“Well, we appreciate the information. We’ll take it from here. Oh, wait. If you guys want to help, there is one thing you could do.”
“What’s that?” the Captain asked.
“We have our hands full with the drug end of things. Maybe your guys could follow up with Missing Persons and see if any young Hispanic girls have been reported missing.”
“I think we can handle that. Ox, Walt, see what you can find.”
A morning that had started like any other had certainly taken an interesting twist.
CHAPTER 4
Maggie and I were zonked out in our recliners in front of the TV when the phone rang.
Since we were really high tech for a couple of old farts, the caller ID flashed on the screen. “Wanda Bodenhammer”.
“I don’t know a Wanda Bodenhammer,” I said with disgust as the big name blocked my view of Karina Smirnoff’s gorgeous legs on Dancing With The Stars.
“Me either,” Maggie replied.
“Good! Then let’s let the machine get it.”
“Walt. I might be important. You’d better answer.”
“Oh, all right!” I sighed, and picked up the phone.
“Hello.”
“Hi --- Walt? This is Wanda.”
“Uhhhh ---- yeah.”
I already knew that.
“I’m sorry! Wanda Pringle --- it’s Bodenhammer now --- from Polk High School.”
“Oh, that Wanda. It’s been a long time.”
Maggie motioned for me to punch the hands-free button.
“Yes, it certainly has --- fifty years! That’s what I’m calling about, our fifty year class reunion.”
I was immediately on the defensive. “Fifty years! Wow!”
Wanda forged ahead. “The reason I’m calling is that we’re forming a committee to plan the reunion and we just knew that you, being a class officer and all, would want to be a part of it.”
It was one of those rare moments when I was at a loss for words. If I said I wasn’t interested, I would immediately be classified as a jerk, but if I showed any interest at all, I knew I would be sucked into some mind-numbing job.
“Walt?”
“Yeah, I’m here. I don’t know, Wanda. I’m awfully busy right now.”
“Of course you are. We all are, but surely you could find some time for something as important as your fifty year class reunion.”
Maggie punched me in the arm and her lips formed the unmistakable words, “Do it!”
“So when will this committee meet?”
“Thursday evening at six o’clock at the Pancake House. We’ve reserved a room.”
“Swell!” At least I’d get some pancakes out of the deal.
“Oh, great, Walt!” Wanda squealed. “I knew we could count on you.”
After Wanda had signed off, Maggie was right on top of the thing.
“I didn’t know you were a class officer.”
“Well, really just sort of one. I was president of the Beta Club --- the school’s honor society.”
“You! Honor Society?”
“Hey! I’m not just a pretty face!”
“I’m sorry. I guess I really don’t know much about your youth. Do you still have a yearbook?”
“Yeah, I think so --- somewhere in a box in the basement. I haven’t seen it in years.”
“Then let’s go dig it out. You’ve aroused my curiosity.”
“Have I aroused anything else?”
“Go find that yearbook and then we’ll negotiate.”
Maggie drives a hard bargain.
We scavenged around in dusty old boxes that hadn’t been opened since Truman was president and finally found one marked, ‘High School’.
Maggie insisted that we drag the whole box up to the apartment and she tore into it like she was unwrapping a Christmas present.
She let out a little squeal when she spied my senior yearbook.
“James K. Polk High. Very impressive! And Wildcats! Wow!”
“It had its downside.”
“Care to elaborate?”
“Well, we were the Polk Wildcats. Somebody shortened the name to Polk Cats. Try saying that three times real fast.”
She did and then she giggled.
“See,” I said, “it comes out Polecats --- the redneck term for ‘Skunk’. Some of my illustrious classmates learned to drink at an early age and earned quite a reputation. Ever here the term, ‘drunk as a skunk’?”
She nodded.
“Well that’s part of the legacy of my senior class.”
She let out another squeal. “Ohh, here’s your photo as president of the Beta Club. What’s that grave marker on the same page?”
“Another part of my inglorious past. Are you sure you want to hear it?”
“Absolutely!”
“Our Beta Club project that year, under my leadership, was to raise money to plant a memorial tree in the school courtyard. We had a huge ceremony where we dug the hole, planted the tree and I talked about how, in the years to come as the tree grew, it would be the legacy of our class.”
“That sounds beautiful.”
“Except the next morning, we discovered that someone had chopped the thing down during the night. I always suspected that it was the jocks from the football team, but we could never prove it.”
“So what’s with the headstone?” **
“We couldn’t let the jocks have the last word, so me and a buddy painted that marker and planted it by the stump that night. It said:
**See photo, page 231
R.I.P.
Here lies the Beta tree
Once firm and stout.
It died in great glory
When only a sprout.
“Walt, you are a true leader --- and I LOVE that sexy flat top. What’s a girl have to do to get hooked up with the Beta Club president?”
Unfortunately, those were words that I never heard during my high school years, but now, fifty years later, it was music to my ears.
Some things are wor
th waiting for.
The next morning, Ox and I stopped by Missing Persons and inquired about young Hispanic women that might have gone missing.
The detective on duty looked through his database.
“Not seeing anything. We’ve had a couple of old geezers wander away from nursing homes, a kid taken by his dad in a custody battle and a sixteen -year-old boy, but he turned up in Las Vegas. All of our other open cases date way back and none of them involve Hispanic women.”
We thanked him and as we were heading out to our cruiser, Ox said, “I have another idea. Let’s go over to the Sacred Heart Guadalupe Church over on the West side. That church is right in the heart of the Latino community. If anyone would know what’s going on, it would be the priest.”
We parked in front of the beautiful old church and entered the sanctuary. A young man in priest’s robes met us.
“Good morning. I am Father Michael Sebastian. How may I help you?”
“I’m Officer George Wilson and this is my partner, Walt Williams. We’ve been given some creditable information that some young Latino women are being recruited by the Mexican drug cartel and that at least one has gone missing. We thought that in your position you might have heard something about this.”
Father Sebastian looked furtively around the sanctuary and was obviously relieved that no one was in earshot.
“Please, officers. Let’s talk in my study.”
The Father led us to his study, and I noticed that as he closed the door, he looked both ways to see if anyone had seen us enter.
“I’m sorry, officers, but I may not be of much help to you. I have only been here a few months. My predecessor, Father Patrick O’Brian, had to step down due to ill health. I’m still getting my feet on the ground.”
It sounded very much like Father Sebastian was giving us the brush-off.
“I totally understand, Father,” Ox said, “but I’m sure you would have heard if one of your parishioners had disappeared under unusual circumstances.”
I could see that the priest was struggling with some internal conflict.
“Please understand,” he said apologetically, “the church is in a very tenuous position. Yes, I am told certain things in confessional, but anything I hear there is privileged and must remain confidential. The men you are talking about are very dangerous, and the majority of the families in my parish fear them and steer clear of them. Unfortunately, there are some that have not.”
“So you have heard of young women that have gone missing?” I asked.
Father Sebastian nodded his head.
“Why haven’t these people been reported to the police?” Ox asked. “We checked with Missing Persons and they have no current records of missing Latino women.”
“Because the people know that working with the authorities would only bring more reprisals from the cartel. It is better to lose one member of the family than to risk the lives of the entire family. When one becomes involved with these people, there is a price to pay, and sometimes that price is a life.”
“So knowing the danger, why would someone get involved with these people in the first place?” I asked.
“You are both white and most likely from middle class families, so you have no idea what it is like for a young Latino boy or girl. Unless they are born into one of the wealthier families, these young women are looking at spending their lives in menial jobs such as a housekeeper at a hotel, barely making enough money to keep food on the table and a roof over their heads. Some try to escape through prostitution; some turn to the cartel. Many of those girls are never heard from again.”
“Does the name, Hector Corazon, mean anything to you?” Ox asked.
“Please do not ask me that, Officer Wilson. There are few places in the community that are safe. Places where people may come, worship, and share their burdens. We are a safe haven because we do not make waves in the community. We are here to minister to the needs of the individual. If we become crusaders for reform then we risk jeopardizing the very thing that brings people through our doors. Life is full of choices. We could choose to stand up against the cartels and the misery they bring into the lives of the people or we can choose to bring them God’s word and help them make wise choices of their own. I hope you understand.”
Without really saying anything, Father Sebastian had pretty much confirmed the information from our anonymous letter writer.
Frank, Ernie and Paddy were parked on the street a half-block from the entrance to the mansion on Sunset Drive.
“Two days!” Frank exclaimed. “It’s been two days since we gave our letter to the cops and nothing!”
“So what did you expect?” Ernie replied. “These things take time. All they had to go on was an anonymous letter. They had to check things out on their own. I’ve read stories in the paper where the cops had surveillance on suspected drug dealers for months before making a move.”
“I hope they don’t take months this time,” Paddy replied. “Two of us may not last that long.”
“Well, we might just have to do a bit more detecting on our own,” Frank said. “Remember that movie, The Three Amigos, with Chevy Chase, Steve Martin and Martin Short. They were fighting a Mexican guy --- hmmm --- if I remember correctly, his name was El Guapo. That’s us; the Three Amigos, only we’re after Hector Corazon, not El Guapo.”
“Yeah,” Paddy replied, “but remember, El Guapo didn’t have automatic weapons and grenade launchers.”
“Yes, there is that!”
At that moment, there was a loud tap on the window. The three men looked up to see a dark-skinned, mustachioed man peering in the window. He gestured for Frank to roll down the window.
“What are you people doing here?”
“We’re --- uhhh ---,” Frank stuttered, stalling for time to think. “We’re with the Sunset Hills Neighborhood Watch. We’re just out on our regular patrol.”
The man looked each one in the eye. “I know of no neighborhood watch.”
“That’s probably because you’re new here,” Frank continued. “We meet once a month. If you give me your email address, I’ll be sure to send you a notice of our next meeting.”
The man looked menacingly. “You should move on. You are blocking our street.”
Frank was about to protest when Ernie spoke up. “No problem. We have a large area to cover. We’ll be on our way.”
“See that you do!” the man said and stalked away.
“What? So no email address?” Frank said as he rolled up his window.
“Cripes! Frank!” Ernie exclaimed. “Are you trying to get us shot?”
“Holy Mother of God!” Paddy said. “When he knocked on our window I nearly jumped out of my skin. I think I wet myself. Good thing I’m wearing my Depends.”
“Very funny!” Frank said.
“No really,” Paddy replied. “Looks like the cancer has spread to my prostate and bladder. Been doing a lot of dribbling, so, yeah, I’m wearing Depends.”
“Jesus, Paddy!” Frank said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
“Hey, it’s no big deal. Shortly after I came into this old world I started wearing a diaper, so I might as well go out the same way. Listen, we’d better get a move-on before that goon comes back.”
Frank started the car and they drove around the block. They were about to make another round when they saw the big iron gates swing open.
“Frank! Pull over!” Ernie said.
They watched as a big black SUV pulled into the street.
“I’ll bet that’s the man himself,” Frank muttered. “What do you think? Should we follow him?”
“Here’s something I’ve been thinking about,” Paddy said. “These guys aren’t going to have women coming to this swanky address to have bags of cocaine cut out of their breasts. They must have another location where they do their dirty work. I say let’s follow them.”
“I’m okay with that,” Ernie said. “Just don’t get too close. One of those goons has seen our faces.”
They followed the SUV down Ward Parkway and onto Southwest Trafficway to downtown Kansas City. They wound through the downtown streets until they came to Walnut. They went north on Walnut, which led them into the heart of the City Market district.
A few blocks from the market, they saw the SUV pull up in front of a warehouse. The sign over the door read, ‘Aztec Produce’.
“Of course!” Frank exclaimed. “I get it now. When I was doing my research on Matamoros, I learned that agriculture is a big part of the local economy. One of their biggest exports is fruit and vegetables. I’ll bet dollars to donuts that this Aztec thing is the legitimate front through which they launder their drug money.”
“And I’d make the same bet,” Ernie said, “that somewhere inside that warehouse is a surgical bed where they cut the drugs out of those poor girls.”
“Looks like it’s time for another letter to the cops!”
CHAPTER 5
After squad meeting, Ox and I met briefly in the Captain’s office. We reported what we had learned from Missing Persons and from Father Sebastian.
“So basically, what you are saying is that this Corazon character is for real and he is most likely recruiting young women as mules, but you have no evidence to back it up?”
“That’s about it, I’m afraid,” Ox said. “Are the narcotics guys doing any better?”
“Unfortunately, no,” the Captain replied. “I had coffee with Rocky Winkler yesterday. Apparently after the riverfront bust, the cartel has been keeping a low profile. He figures they’re staying off the radar so they can get their new pipeline into the city up and running. They found Corazon, but nothing so far to tie him to the Mexican cartel.”
“So what now?” Ox asked.
“Right now, that’s it for the two of you. You can go back to your regular beat. Just keep your ears and eyes open.”
As we headed to our cruiser, I had an idea.
“Do you suppose we could swing by the City Wide Realty office? Maggie has floor duty this morning and she might be able to help us out.”
[Lady Justice 12] - Lady Justice and the Class Reunion Page 5
