by Jeff Siebold
* * *
During the week before Alberto Cruz was detained by the Secret Service, he had encountered Umberto and Ricardo at El Toro. Following that brief meeting, Cruz knew that the clock had started ticking. What Alberto didn’t know was that, after Ricardo reported back to Jefe by phone, George had been dispatched to handle the situation.
As was his habit, George spent most of the first few days in Atlanta gathering first-hand information and in reconnaissance. He checked into his hotel room at the Omni, a very public and busy place- and a first class hotel- and spent the first day on foot. Later, after he felt comfortable with the logistics he rented a car, a Range Rover, and began following Cruz. From Alberto’s home, George tracked Cruz, just maintaining a tail, watching for others who might be involved and recording Cruz’s patterns. It paid off quickly.
Leaving his south Fulton County home, at one point Alberto Cruz drove to a shopping mall and parked outside a regional chain restaurant. He locked his car and went into the restaurant, where there was a short wait for a table, it being near lunch hour.
George went into the mall, and entered the restaurant at the mall entrance, grabbing a small, two top table in the bar area. The hostess had said, “The bar area is first-come, first-served.” That worked for George.
George watched as Cruz unexpectedly stood and hugged a young woman as she approached his booth. She was small and slim, although she was slightly taller than George. She had a dark complexion, maybe South American, and her face was brooding, even angry. Her familiarity with Cruz indicated that she was a close friend or relative. Based on the obvious age difference, it looked like maybe twenty years, George guessed she was a relative.
“May I take your drink order?” A young server interrupted George’s thoughts.
“Oh, yes, thank you,” said George. “May I have an iced tea?”
“Sweetened or unsweetened,” she replied automatically.
“Unsweetened, please.”
“Yes, sir, I’ll be right back with that.”
Obviously distraught, the young woman had reached across the table and had taken Cruz’s hands in hers, holding them while she talked rapidly. She looked as if she might be crying. A niece, thought George, or a cousin, perhaps. Or even a daughter. But there had been no report of Cruz having family in Atlanta.
“Here’s your tea, sir,” said the server. “Do you know what you’d like to eat?”
“What’s that man eating?” asked George, pointing at a nearby table.
The server looked. “That’s the fish taco,” she said.
“I’ll have that, then,” he said.
George decided that he would follow the girl and see where she led him.
Chapter 27
George was already in his rental car when the young woman left the restaurant. It was a small matter to follow the distraught woman from the mall to her home, and he did so without being noticed. She pulled her red Toyota into the driveway of a one-story brick home, but stopped before she reached the carport. There was a man standing in the driveway, blocking her access.
He was a tall man, and fit, George noted. He had short brown hair and was wearing jeans and a long-sleeved flannel shirt, the sleeves rolled up on his muscular forearms. The man walked to the driver side window and motioned for the young woman to lower her window. She did.
While they spoke, George made a note of the address of the house, and with his small camera took several quick photos of the house and the car she was driving. He noted her license tag. He circled the block, and on his second approach he saw that the woman was out of the vehicle and appeared to be arguing with the man.
The man, obviously angry, started to grab her arms above the elbows, but then thought better of it and looked around for any observers. George was past the driveway and turning the corner at that point.
Interesting, he thought. They’re obviously connected somehow. OK, let’s see where this guy leads me.
* * *
“Is this seat taken?”
Steve turned on his bar stool and saw a short man dressed in blue jeans and a green Polo shirt looking up at him. He seemed very still.
“No, help yourself,” said Steve.
The man lifted himself onto the stool with some help from the bar foot rail, and then turned his attention to finding the bartender.
The bar was located in a small retail strip center across and down the street from what used to be Mary and Steve’s house. It was a neighborhood place, with dark wooden trim and a polished mahogany bar that looked as if it were a hundred years old. The bar was the centerpiece of the smallish room and the establishment was named Mahogany’s. This was clearly a place where people came to drink. Steve had maintained a presence there when he lived in the neighborhood.
The bar area of Mahogany’s Bar and Grill was slow at present, awaiting the after work crowd. There was one bar tender serving the small audience of four, three men and one woman. The third man and the woman were sitting together, chatting idly and sipping colorful drinks. The bar tender made his way down the bar toward Steve.
“Barkeep,” said the small man, “may I bother you for a Gin and Tonic? Tanqueray Gin?” The bar tender went to work without saying anything and began mixing the beverage.
“I’m George,” said the small man, turning back toward Steve. Steve was drinking his draft beer, looking at the mirror behind the bar. George noticed Steve’s forearm tattoo of a military insignia.
“Not much in the mood to talk right now,” said Steve, setting his beer on the bar.
“No worries, man,” said George. “I’m visiting with my wife, and she decided to go shopping with her sister. I ticked her off this morning, so I have some time to kill, I guess.”
Steve said nothing. The bartender approached and set the gin drink in front of George.
George sipped his drink. “Oh, that’s good,” he said. He took another sip.
“Another beer?” the bartender asked Steve. He nodded.
“You married?” George asked Steve.
“I was,” said Steve. “No more of that for me,” he said with some bravado.
“Tell me about it,” said George. “If I could have a do-over...”
“I know. Can’t live with ‘em... I’m Steve,” he said. “Sorry, I’m just a bit upset at my ex-wife today.”
“Just today?” said George. “Because I could live with just one day.”
“No, it’s a continuing thing,” said Steve. “Never seems to end.”
George sipped his drink and nodded sagely.
“What did she do this time?” asked George.
“She’s screwing with me in the divorce,” he said. “She’s trying to take all of my property.”
George nodded. “That’s the single reason that I stay married,” he said. “In California, the woman gets everything most of the time.”
“You from California?” asked Steve. “Where abouts?”
“Near L.A.,” said George. “A town called Tarzania. We’ve lived there since I got out of the military.”
“You were in the service?” asked Steve. “What branch?”
“I was in the Air Force,” said George. “Flew C-130’s around the world. You?” George had recognized Steve’s tattoo, but asked the question anyway.
“Yeah, I was in the Army, Special Forces,” said Steve with the blush of pride he always felt about this topic. “Three tours in the Middle East.”
“Impressive,” said George. “Did you see much action?”
“You know,” said Steve, “you prepare and prepare, practice and practice, and then they usually cancel the mission at the last minute. But we had some opportunities to perform.”
“Sure, ‘hurry up and wait’,” said George, to keep the conversation going.
“Yep.”
“So, how did you end up here in Atlanta?” asked George. “Any family here?”
“Not really,” said Steve. “My wife has family visiting from Mexico, but nothing permanent. We
were stationed at Fort Bragg for my last tour, and after that, Atlanta seemed to have the best job opportunities. My wife is a nurse. Well, my ex.”
“Yeah, like I said, we’re visiting my wife’s sister here. Seems like a nice town.”
“It can be,” said Steve.
“Your ex-wife has family visiting?”
“Yeah, her father came to Atlanta a couple weeks ago from Mexico. I don’t know much about him. I think he’s an artist or something,” said Steve.
“What’s his name?” asked George.
“Why?” said Steve, as he looked at George with his first hint of suspicion.
“I’m a cop,” said George. “LA County. I might be able to ask the locals for a favor or something, see what they know about him.”
“You think that’d accomplish anything?” said Steve.
“Not sure, but it’s possible it might give you some leverage in the property distribution. I mean, is he here legally? Is he wanted for anything or does he have any outstanding warrants? Anything on his record? It might be worth checking out. Where I’m from, that’s a routine first step.”
Steve thought about it. “Can’t hurt, I guess,” he said. “You may be right, though,” Steve added. “Mary did say that her Dad was being held by the Secret Service about a week ago. They kept him in their offices, I think. And then he left, she said. So, maybe there’s something going on there that I could use.”
Chapter 28
“Are you from around here, Mary?” asked Kimmy, when they were all seated in the living room.
“Mary’s actually in town for a couple days,” Zeke said. “She’s visiting for a job interview, and then she’ll be heading home.”
“Where’s home?” asked Kimmy.
Mary said, “I’m from Arizona.”
“From Sedona?” asked Kimmy. “I love Sedona!”
“South of Sedona, actually. Closer to Yuma.”
“Oh, down by the border,” said Kimmy. “That’s pretty country out there.”
“Yes, but its time for a move,” said Mary. “Where’s home for you, Kimmy?”
“I’m originally from Israel,” said the small dark-haired woman, “but I’ve lived in Atlanta for a while.”
“How do you like it here?” asked Kimmy.
“Oh, this is a great place to live. There’s plenty to do, and people in the south are so friendly, aren’t they, Zeke?” she asked.
Yep, they treat you like family, Zeke thought. He nodded.
“So, where are you staying while you’re in town, Mary?” asked Kimmy.
“We were working out the arrangements when you arrived,” said Mary.
“I wonder if Mary could stay with me while she’s here?” Kimmy suggested. “It might be more comfortable for her sharing space with another girl. And she’ll be right across the hall. I get a good vibe from you, Mary.”
“That’s very kind of you,” Mary said to Kimmy while looking at Zeke. “Zeke?”
“It might work,” he said. “Kimmy’s a little bit bohemian, but if you can live with that, it might work.”
“I am,” said Kimmy, “salt crystals and candles and astrology charts. You can sleep in my second bedroom, I’ll clear it out.”
“Fine with me,” said Mary.
* * *
“Sally told me you called,” said Clive. “Said I should meet you here.”
They were at the Barnes and Noble store just east of the Interstate, across from the Tech campus. It was 10:00 AM and the noise from the downtown rush hour traffic had subsided. Outside, there was a light misting rain uniformly dampening everything it touched.
Clive was dressed in a summer suit, absent a jacket as he often was, with green linen slacks, loafers and a silk shirt. He wore no socks. His tie was Regimental, and Zeke recognized it as the 4th/7th Royal Dragoon Guards’ tie. It was made of silk, with broad red and green alternating stripes. His umbrella matched the tie. Clive was sometimes intentionally ironic with his appointments.
The Royal Dragoon Guards also favored green trousers, thought Zeke.
“Our newest client was a bit of a surprise, I suppose,” continued Clive. “I didn’t see that coming.”
“But from Cruz’s point of view, it makes perfect sense. He leaves us protecting his daughter as he makes his escape. Not a bad move, actually.” Zeke was wearing jeans and a long-sleeved print shirt and practical tennis shoes. He looked like most of the other customers in the bookstore.
“I guess we need to reassess his abilities, and maybe his role in all of this. He seems to have been somewhat more of a mastermind than we thought,” said Clive. “That will bear some review.”
“If he’s this clever now, it’s likely he’s been clever all along,” said Zeke. “So where is he headed now? Or do you think he’s hiding locally?”
“Not sure,” said Clive. “I like the odds that he’s moving, going somewhere. If he were staying, it seems that he’d be staying close to us.”
“Moving on would break all of his habits and eliminate any possible accidental run-in with Jefe’s man, the Accountant. It seems most likely that he’s heading somewhere else.”
“Yes, but where?” asked Clive.
“Cruz speaks Spanish and English. But its Mexican Spanish, which is different from Castilian Spanish or Cuban Spanish,” said Zeke. “He’s Hispanic looking. And his contacts are from northern Mexico, but he’s running from his contacts. Any one of them in Mexico or here in Atlanta would turn him into Jefe for cash in a hot minute.”
“So he’d run north, or south or east,” said Clive. “Do you think he took a flight?”
“No, he couldn’t carry enough with him on a plane. And he probably has a gun by now. I doubt that he’d want to give that up.”
“So bus, car, train…?”
“Cruz likes control. Look at how he set up the Secret Service and sent his neighbor to the exchange at the coffee shop. And he’s been agile at avoiding Jefe’s people. A train or a bus runs on someone else’s schedule, and there’s no room to maneuver. Point A to point B, in a prescribed interval. There’s a lot of room for him to be discovered, a random sighting or by someone watching the terminals or the security cameras. Could be Jefe’s men, or the Secret Service or anyone else with knowledge of his situation. And once he’s been discovered, his alternatives are pretty limited.”
“So, a car,” said Clive.
“That would be my guess,” said Zeke. “But not a rental. That would leave a paper trail the Feds would find immediately.”
“Even if he used a different identity, a car would give him so much more flexibility. He can stop and go at will; he can divert if he smells trouble; he can delay; or he can abandon the vehicle and find other transport. Sounds right for our Mr. Cruz,” Clive added.
“I’d bet that he wanted to get out of here as quickly as possible,” said Zeke. “It wouldn’t surprise me if he stole a car and jumped on the closest interstate going in his direction.”
“That would be Interstate 20 east, or Interstates 75 or 85, north or south,” Clive said. “You can access any one of them less than two miles from here.”
“Another factor favoring the car theory,” Zeke commented.
“So which way?” said Clive.
“To blend in as much as possible, Cruz would go south, to Tampa or Miami…or northeast to New Jersey or New York,” said Zeke. They were starting their analysis game again.
“What else is unique about our Mr. Cruz?” asked Clive.
“His daughter. He’ll want to be able to monitor that situation, I’m sure,” said Zeke. “So, he needs to have eyes and ears on her.”
“That would be us, I assume,” said Clive.
“Mary mentioned that Cruz had an ex-wife in Miami. That might mean he’s heading south.”
“If my ex-wife were in Miami, I’d be heading north,” said Clive.
* * *
“Where’s Mary now? At your apartment?” asked Clive.
“She was, but she met my neighbor Ki
mmy, and we decided that she’d be more comfortable staying across the hall with Kimmy for the week,” said Zeke.
“Well, if she stays put, it would give her an extra layer of protection. No prior connection between Kimmy and her, right?”
“Right. It’s fairly random. And the husband shouldn’t be able to locate her if he trips across us.”
“OK, but we need to stay close and keep her away from the phone,” Clive mused. “We should be able to do that.”
“Sure. You take the first watch, Clive. Here’s Mary’s cell phone number. She’s expecting you to call her this afternoon. I told her that you’d be keeping an eye on the neighborhood. I’ll check on the ex’s whereabouts and see if I can catch up with him. I think I might chat with him.”
“That could be fun,” said Clive. “I’m sorry to miss it.”
Chapter 29
Alberto Cruz was, in fact, heading south on the Interstate. He was about two and a half hours into his 700-mile journey, driving cautiously, observing the speed limit, using his turn signals and staying in the right hand lanes whenever he could. He was driving a dark blue Toyota Camry, the fifth most stolen car in America. Cruz had stolen the car from a downtown Atlanta surface parking lot, one with an honor system that encourages drivers to find a parking spot and then slip some cash into the right slot in a metal box. It had become too dangerous to stay in Atlanta.
In his trunk was a duffle bag that held his clothing, a blanket, and fifty thousand dollars in large bills pushed into a cardboard banker’s box and held shut with packing tape. He’d picked up the money from his house after he’d secured the car and exchanged the license plates with a similar car he found parked in a shopping mall parking garage.
He’d walked into the garage from the mall, aware of the security cameras. Once Cruz found a duplicate vehicle, he opened the trunk as if putting his bag in, blocking the camera while pretending to be looking for something. Within 90 seconds, the license tags had been exchanged, and he closed the trunk and walked back into the mall. At the mall door, Cruz slipped off his latex gloves and tossed them, with the screwdriver, into a trash bin. He’d slid the license plate under his belt, on his back, beneath his shirt.
