by Gale Borger
Out of the dark a voice said, "Emilio Escobar, born January 1, 1969. Grew up in Medellin, Columbia, until November, 1993 when his mother fled to Germany." FBI Bob stepped into the barn from the opposite end of the statue.
Flanked by two FBI agents with automatic weapons held high, Bob stepped-and-dragged his feet up the aisle in beautiful S.W.A.T. formation. "MBA from MIT, picked up the scraps of his father's enterprise and once again turned it into a major player in the world drug trade."
Escobar did not move. With deadly calm he said to Martinez, "More loose ends, Eduardo? I am more than disappointed. You will die tonight."
Bob stepped up behind Escobar. "No more dying tonight, Mr. Escobar. FBI. By the power vested in me by the United States of America, you are under arrest."
Escobar sighed, shrugged, and gave me a half-smile. "I guess I was not so smart this time, eh?"
Ian stepped out of a stall to Martinez's left and drew his weapon. "FBI, Mr. Martinez. By the power vested in me by the United Sssss–" Ian slid to the ground as Rob Graff knocked him on the head above the ear with the butt of a semi-automatic.
Using the distraction to his advantage, Martinez lifted his weapon to fire at J.J. I barely acknowledged the fact before I flew through the air.
I stumbled forward and barreled into Martinez with a low tackle, hitting him head first in the scrotum.
I heard him squeak. My forward momentum sent us both flying into the front of a stall.
Rob followed us with his weapon trained on me. The statue suddenly came to life. With impossible speed for such a huge man, he kicked Rob's knee and drew a weapon on Martinez, who was now on the floor heaving in great gulps of air, crying and clutching his testicles. "DEA. Martinez, game's over." Over his shoulder he said, "You can come on out now, Greg."
A profoundly confused Martinez shook his head and shouted as he recognized his hit man, "Greg who? Gutierrez, what the hell are you doing?"
Gutierrez gave Martinez that same smirk he had given him at the hotel in Chicago. "Waiting a hell of a lot longer than I wanted to, but I finally get to nail your drug-dealing ass, Martinez. I should have let Escobar have you."
Escobar calmly observed Martinez and shook his head. "There will be a time. Unfortunately it is not tonight." He hitched his coat on his arm and turned his back on all of us. Glenn Graff limped out from behind the statue called Gutierrez. J.J. and I looked on as he slowly made his way around Gutierrez. Arm in a sling and both eyes blackened, he looked at Rob sobbing on the ground, holding his ruined knee.
"Robert, I am ashamed to call you my son. You stand for the very thing I've spent my life fighting. You sold your own father out, and got Carole murdered for what? Drug money."
With tears in his eyes, a weary Glenn Graff held up an I.D. "Greg Henry, DEA. Carole was my sister, and also DEA. Sorry I lied to you J.J., but we've been undercover for more than four years now working this case."
J.J. sighed and looked at the FBI agents. "So much for cooperation between agencies."
Ian and Bob both said, "Shit."
Glenn (or Greg–did anyone go by their real name anymore?) limped past the hulking Gutierrez and leaned heavily on a stall door. "I've been in Mexico, tracking that research group Carole was mixed up in. Turns out the benefactor was Martinez, here. Under the guise of a man named Delgado, he funded the group that instigated the exportation of the Mexican poppy, as well as the cactus seeds." He looked at the floor and shook his head.
"They've been doing it for a few years now. I got hooked up with them when kids started dropping dead after using the new designer drug they call Totaled. Once the lab boys identified the toxin, the drug was broken down and traced to the Mexican research group."
I broke in. "But how did you connect Martinez to transport of the drugs?"
"Inadvertently, I happened upon the drop off point where the Columbian fishing boats drop the cocaine destined for the United States on the Rio Bravo del Norte at Nuevo Laredo.
"The drop off point just happens to be on a remote section of a huge ranch called Ranchero del Sol. The ranch is owned by none other than our own Eduardo Martinez. Martinez thought he lured Carole into the scam by dangling the Mammillaria luethyi project in front of her, when in fact, it was the perfect cover for us."
He turned again to Rob. "Until one of us sold out the other to Martinez. You didn't expect me to come back alive, did you, Rob?" He lowered his head in grief for the loss of his sister and his son. He sniffed and raised his head. "Well, have a nice life in prison, kid." Rob wisely stayed where he was, moaning and rocking back and forth, holding his knee.
Greg turned sad eyes toward us. "Buzz, when you pulled Carole out from under your mom's house, you opened up a can of worms the size of Cincinnati."
"Enough of this! Gutierrez, do your job," Martinez yelled, taking the moment of distraction to grab the front of my tee shirt and yank. He spun me around, grabbed my hair, and put a gun to my head.
A million thoughts spun through my head in those few seconds. Oh shit, I don't want to die now. How did this thing suddenly go so FUBAR? I'm retired for God's sake! Where the hell is Bob? Who's going to feed my dogs? Damn I should have slept with J.J.!
I choked back the hysteria and looked at J.J. I caught his intense stare. He closed his eyes and I suddenly got it. I abruptly went limp in Martinez's arms. He grunted and staggered. He had a hell of a time holding my happy ass up and maintaining a grip on my hair and his gun.
I was about at the end of my tolerance of pain when there was a loud commotion at the door. I heard loud metallic clacking and the unmistakable sound of pump-action shotguns all around. Though Martinez still had his gun on me, J.J. had his gun on Martinez. Gutierrez also had a gun on Martinez from behind.
Martinez looked up, looked around the area, and slowly moved his weapon away from my head. I cracked open an eye but didn't move because Martinez still had me by the hair. We stood like that when the barn door was nosily dragged open.
Gutierrez spun and had his gun on the door. The Columbians had their guns on Gutierrez. Rob reached for his gun and Greg stepped on his hand and held his gun on him. The FBI still had their weapons trained on Escobar, and six DEA agents slid down ropes out of the rafters. I vaguely heard Mag's voice say, "Holy shit, is Santa Claus coming down the chimney too? He's the only one not here!"
The DEA guys slid to a stop. Three had their weapons on Escobar and his cohorts; three on Martinez. No one moved. No one spoke.
Martinez suddenly went into action and his gun hand rose toward me again. A hollow thunk followed by the clear ringing of middle C echoed through the barn. Martinez stiffened and his grasp on my hair loosened.
I was yanked off my feet and out of the way as Martinez fell face first onto the barn floor.
The Columbians stared open mouthed first at Martinez, and then at an elated Alejandro. He stood behind Martinez, with a large manure shovel in his hands. He smiled as though he had just broken Barry Bond's home run record. Beside him stood his batting coach Mag, 'The Maggot' Miller, arm around him and proud as a peacock. I turned toward the barn door where the commotion took place, and saw Ted Puetz standing there with his weapon at his side, his mouth hanging open, eyes the size of saucers, and a puddle forming around his shoes.
Ian was still knocked out in the stall. Moe was the only one who did what he was told to do. He strolled through the door with the agent from the command post.
The next few hours were a blur of activity. Federal agents argued over who took custody of whom and ambulances arrived to take Ian and Rob off to the hospital. I yelled at Mag and Alejandro for disobeying orders, and J.J. yelled at me for putting myself in the line of fire. Then he yelled at Moe for not stopping Mag, and Mag for not stopping Alejandro, then yelled at Mag again for giving Alejandro the shovel and the idea.
Feeling better now that he had vented his spleen, J.J. wandered off to referee the Who Has More Clout game between the FBI and the DEA.
The Luminol tests were completed, and
the blood evidence was collected for the prosecution of Martinez. Escobar stood stoically, awaiting his fate. Martinez ranted and pleaded not to placed anywhere near the Columbians. It wouldn't matter because Martinez would be a dead man if they housed him in White Bass Lake or Timbuktu.
No one saw Ted leave, but it was a great story and I couldn't wait to tell Sal. And Dad. He'd probably use it as blackmail against Ted in order to get his truck fixed.
Mag said it best when she pointed out that tonight gave new meaning to scaring the piss out of Ted. "Why was he even here, I wonder? How did he know we were here?"
J.J. shrugged. "Maybe he listens to our frequency and heard me call Curly and tell him we'd be here. Maybe he was at his mom's, listening to her scanner."
There was a collective "Ahhh," as we all realized what must have happened.
The hour was late when we finally parted company. J.J. and I had Moe and Alejandro in my car. They dropped me at home and Moe at the police station. Alejandro stayed the night with J.J., with the promise that he would start looking for a place of his own in the morning. Mag went to the hospital to sit by Ian.
My dogs met me at the door with great enthusiasm, and we trooped out to the back yard for a pit stop. I sat on the swing, absently throwing the ball to Wes. The floodlights near the back door illuminated most of the yard, so I could watch Wes bring the ball back to Hill. I thought about the paths we took in life, and why we chose to take certain routes rather than others.
I thought about Rob and wondered what had led him to make the decisions he made. Wes trotted up and laid his massive head on my lap. I rubbed his ears, called for Hilary, and we all went back inside.
I mentally made notes on what I had to do the next day. By the time I had showered and wandered into the bedroom, both dogs were sprawled across the bed, snoring and twitching in doggy la-la-land. I wedged myself in between the two and they snuggled close. I drifted off to the soothing sounds of their snorts and snuffles.
Epilogue
A week later we were all kicked back at Mom's. J.J, Alejandro, Ian, Mag, FBI Bob, our families, friends, and neighbors all gathered in Mom's backyard for the first cookout in two weeks that did not star a dead body. We sat in camp chairs in a large circle, the smell of grilling brats and Jell-O salad rife in the crisp late-fall air.
Ian was once again looking hail and hearty after suffering a slight concussion from being hit by Rob Graff. He had a bounce in his step as he carried a couple of beers to where we sat. He dropped a kiss on Mag's head and held out her MGD with great ceremony. "For you, my Lady."
She wiped her hand across the label and flicked the cold water at him. She looked over at me and said, "How about that? Cute as a button, and he fetches beer too. The perfect man."
She saw Mom coming toward us and whispered, "Watch this."
"Hey, Mom!" Mom looked over and Mag patted Ian's knee. "He followed me home, can I keep him?"
Mom bustled about, smiling absently. She waved a hand in the air, and replied with the same words we'd heard all our lives. "Yes, dear, but make sure he has all his shots."
We all roared. Ian looked confused. Mag patted his leg. "Never mind dear, it's another Miller thing."
Ian looked from person to person with a dazed expression on his face. J.J. took a beer from him and said, "You'll get used to it, it only took me about 35 years."
Naturally, the conversation turned to the Graff murder and the subsequent events.
Bob said, "I heard Escobar bonded out to the tune of ten million dollars. His lawyers are trying to get him back to Colombia, but so far the U.S. has blocked legal passage. He'll slip out of the country one night, and the hunt will be on again."
Ian added, "Martinez disappeared from protective custody yesterday. All that was left of him were two knocked-out feds and a blood splat on the bathroom wall.
"One shot, bits of bone fragment and a little gray matter mixed in for good measure. Courtesy, I'm sure, of our local Colombian drug lord."
Alejandro sighed. "Justice done."
We all were quiet for a moment. I said to Alejandro, "Hey, I heard you found a job already."
"Yes, I did. I was caring for the mares that did not die, over at the vet's office and Dr. Mike told me of a job opening. On Dr. Mike's recommendation, I was offered the job of managing the Colson County Equine Rescue outside of town. The job comes with living quarters and insurance. Wow. County benefits. I am now set for life, and I get to stay here with all of you." He looked down at Wes who was grinning up adoringly at him. "I can even get a dog!" Wes sneezed on cue and Alejandro slipped him the rest of his hot dog.
J.J. laughed. "Now all we have to do is find you someone who will spend all that money you'll be making!" We all laughed and Alejandro blushed.
Just then my little sister, Fred, walked up with a dark haired beauty. "Everyone? This is my college roommate Sam Fernandini from Peru. She's visiting for about a month." Fred looked at me. "Sami is the one from whom I get all my rare specie tropical fish. She's an ichthyologist with the National Environmental Agency of Peru in Lima. She had vacation time coming and decided to become an honorary Cheesehead for a month."
We all saluted her with our beers and said hello. Alejandro just stared, with his mouth working like a fish out of water. I poked him in the ribs and he snapped his mouth closed. "Hi."
He stood and gently took Sami's hand. "I am Alejandro. Will you marry me, beautiful lady? I have a great job with County benefits. I like fish, too."
"Subtle, Montoya, reeeal subtle," I said.
Sami laughed and was saved from answering when Greg Henry drove up the driveway and got out of his car. The black eyes were gone and he had a barely discernible limp, but he wore his grief like a heavy load. His shoulders drooped and pain lurked behind his eyes.
He looked at Ian and Mag holding hands and the fake smile faltered. He straightened and took a deep breath.
The smile was back in place when he wandered over. "Hi everyone." We all called out a greeting. He kept looking at Mag. "I wanted to stop by and tell you all thank you very much for all you did for Carole."
He laid a hand on J.J.'s shoulder and looked at me. "Especially you two. Without you guys, I still might not know what happened to my sister."
J.J. and I stood. He shook Greg's hand and I hugged him tight. "She was a good woman, Greg. You should be very proud of her."
Greg nodded. "I am." He turned to Ian. "Ian? I'm going to get some food while there's still some left. Would you join me?"
Ian hopped out of his chair. "Sure. Excuse us, everyone."
They took off across the yard where the Geriatric Mod Squad was re-arranging food bowls and keeping a sharp ear out for tidbits of neighborhood news.
Bob said what we were all thinking. "Sure must be hard losing a sibling like that." I thought of my sisters and thanked the Lord they worked relatively safe jobs.
Mag said, "That sure explains why Glenn 'The Masher' Graff thought he could chase me around the potting shed with no remorse. He wasn't really married!"
I remembered the conversation Mag and I had about Greg and Rob. "No, but he's got a long row to hoe with that son of his. He told J.J. that he didn't even know he had a son until a few years ago. Seems the mother was some old girlfriend from way back. She was an addict, and they parted ways. He never even knew she was pregnant. One day Rob shows up at his door with a letter. Hmmm–I wonder if Gregg will quit the DEA. They might even force him to retire. Who knows?"
J.J. said, "I heard Rob was out of the hospital and was 'persuaded' to cooperate with the feds in return for a lighter sentence, counseling, and perhaps parole."
"Rob's going to prison, and Martinez is dead. What a bloody miserable end," I said.
Bob had another thought. "Hey Buzz speaking of blood; did I tell you? We also found a couple of drops of blood on Martinez's pants where you splashed him with the Luminol. We think the DNA will match up with a pilot Delavan P.D. found murdered out in the woods behind the school. Gutierrez gav
e us the lead on him."
A scratchy female voice interrupted. "Fat lot-o-good that'll do 'em with that Mexican drug lord getting croaked by the Colombians!" Mary Cromwell threw a couple of boxing moves. "You should have called us, Sheriff. Me and the girls would have kicked some major drug dealing booty down at that barn."
Mary gave an enthusiastic imitation of a football punter in action. She backed up, her tongue at the corner of her mouth.
"No, Mary, no," Mom hollered.
Mary swung back her scrawny leg and let it fly just as Greg came around the corner with a mounded plate of food.
Mary's toe caught the edge of the plate and sent it sailing through the air. Wes and Hill tore after the flying food and Wes clipped Mom as she walked toward the buffet table with an armload of desserts. Jan's apple pie popped out of her hands and landed on Dad's chest. Dad stood up suddenly and upset the chips and dip of which he was currently partaking. Jan caught the chips, but the dip bounced on the ground, giving everyone's legs in the near vicinity a tangy French onion flavor.
Jane laughed and picked up a cream cheese ball. She wound up and threw it at Mary yelling, "You crazy old bird! Act your age and not your son's I.Q., for God's sake!"
"Don't you call me a lazy old turd, Jane Broussard!" Mary wrestled a drumstick away from Wes and threw it back at Jan, bonking Reverend Hutchins on the head.
Bob, Ian, and Sam looked on the chaotic scene with stunned incredulity.
J.J. laughed and slapped Bob on the shoulder. "Get used to it, Cousin!"
Fred patted Sami on the back. "Before you ask, the one with the Boston Cream Pie on her chin and the cupcake attached to her knee is my mother."
Mag put her arms around Ian's middle and laid her head on his shoulder. "Welcome to the family, honey."
Ian whispered to her, "I'm glad you said that, because I just made a deal with Greg to buy the greenhouse property.I can set up a lab and an office and work out of White Bass Lake. It's already clear with headquarters."
