by Irving Munro
“Not a problem, Bill, go ahead. Nice to meet you, Marie, and great to meet you, Tommy. If you’re half as good a detective as your dad, you’ll do fine!”
“If any of this conversation is uncomfortable for you, Alex, please tell me right away. It is my understanding that your stellar military service involved leadership of 22ndRegiment Special Air Service, am I right?”
Bill paused to allow Alex to end the conversation right there, but Alex continued the dialogue.
“I would not normally discuss this with anyone, but you are an exception of course, Bill. What is it you want to know? I will have to stop the conversation if I feel we are getting into anything that I might consider to be hush-hush. I have signed the official secrets act, you know!” laughed Alex.
“We’re trying to identify a man we found dead here in Austin. It would appear he might have had a Special Forces connection. We have a name and we have a small tattoo under his armpit a little smaller that a five-pence piece. It looks like the ace of spades and in some preliminary research that I did, I think it might by Marine Corps. That’s all we have. Any idea how we might go about finding out who he was?”
There was a long pause before Alex responded.
“Let’s deal with the tattoo first. Tattoos are not permitted in our line of work; however, I have known some men to get something discrete done after they leave the service. They just want something to remind themselves of that time in their lives.
“The ace of spades insignia does suggest Marine Corps, possibly Force Recon. How old was the deceased?”
“We think he was in his mid-forties,” responded Bill.
“That would make sense, he would not be active duty now, hence the tattoo. Perhaps he could still have been working in a support capacity but not active duty. Yes, it’s more likely that he had left the service.” Alex paused.
Bill pictured him sitting in his lounge, taking a mouthful of single malt from a crystal glass. Bill wished that he also had his Glenmorangie in easy reach, but alas not.
Alex continued on.
“If he is mid-forties then he would have been active service and in his prime in, say, 2003. I worked with the American Special Forces in Iraq then. We were in an area that stretched about two hundred miles east of the Jordanian border. We were blowing up any sites that could be used to hide scud missiles. We were very mobile, operating in teams of four or six, with fast, agile, lightweight vehicles designed for the desert terrain. In teams of six, and living for days on end hiding in the desert, you get to know each other pretty well. A few of the Americans on my team were Marine Force Recon.” Again Alex stopped and took pause.
“If I give you a name, could you make some discrete inquiries and try to find out who this guy might have been, Alex?”
“It would be a real long shot, Bill, and I don’t want to go sticking my nose in where it might be blown off. Some of the guys who leave the service don’t want to be found, and I don’t need a knock on my door in the wee hours with a somewhat agitated individual in my face. We might end up wrestling on the lawn, and Mary just planted some new rosebushes out there!” said Alex as he chuckled and no doubt downed another glass of scotch.
“It sounds like you will do it though, Alex? We need to try to make a breakthrough on this,” pleaded Bill.
“Only for you, my friend. What was his name?”
“Raul Hernandez.”
“Okay, leave it with me. It may take a few days, but there are a couple of fine, upstanding gentlemen I can talk with. I’ll get back to you as soon as I can. Give me your contact information.”
Bill gave Alex his contact details, thanked him for his offer to try to help and ended the call.
“Well, we sure have prodded the hornet’s nest now. Let’s see what flies out,” said Bill with a wink to Tommy and Marie.
Chapter 11: Jimmy Rodriguez
The following morning, they were all together again in the conference room.
“We should plan to get back over to Whispering Hollow on Saturday for the house-to-house,” said Tommy. “It’s Thanksgiving at the end of next week, and I think we need to get the door-to-door completed before people go off to their once-a-year family dramas.”
The couple of days leading up to the Thanksgiving holiday are two of the busiest travel days of the year as millions make the annual pilgrimage via the highways and byways to reunite with family members, who, in the majority of cases, they haven’t seen since Thanksgiving the previous year. It’s a joyous time but also a time of great stress. To many it’s their favorite holiday, but others are heard to say, “There’s a reason we only meet once a year; some of us can’t stand one another.”
“Would you and Claire like to come over for dinner on Saturday night, Tommy? We invited Marie and Shelly as we haven’t gotten together in a while and Elaine likes Shelly’s company. We could get together and debrief on the day out at Whispering Hollow over a few beers and unwind a bit.”
“That would be fine, Dad, but it can’t be a late night as Claire and I are up early on Sunday for church. I took her for the first time a couple of weeks ago and she liked it, and I met some really nice people, so we’re going to attend regularly,”
“That’s great. You didn’t tell me anything about this, did you tell your mom?”
“No, not yet, I was going to wait a few weeks, but I guess the cat’s out of the bag now.”
“Okay, it’s a plan then. Whispering Hollow during the day on Saturday and then dinner at our place Saturday night. I’ll call and see if I can get a tee time. I can mix with the golf crowd while you two do the door-to-door. We’ll need to take two cars so we are not seen together. I will create a cover about wanting to play the course as I’m looking to buy a home in the neighborhood. Saturday can be a tough day on most courses to get a tee time, but I’ll call and see what happens. I’ll get back to you both later.”
~
“Whispering Meadows Golf Club pro shop, Glenn Stevens speaking, how may I help you?”
“Good morning, my name is Bill Ross and I’m looking into the possibility of buying a home there in your neighborhood. I am sure that Saturday is a busy time for you, but I was wondering if you could squeeze in a single this Saturday,”
“Yes, we’re very busy on a Saturday, but let me take a look. With it being the weekend before Thanksgiving and a little colder in the mornings now, I could give you an eight forty-seven tee time, Mr. Ross. You would be playing with Bob Wilson, Herman Stoltz and Jimmy Rodriguez. They are all local residents and members of our men’s golf association. They will be able to give you good pointers around the course and tell you about the neighborhood. Would that work for you?”
“That would be great, Glenn, and thank you for your help in making this happen for me. I’ll see you Saturday!”
Okay, that’s all set. Three locals, all members and regular Saturday morning MGA players, I should be able to get a good sense of what’s going on from them boys, thought Bill.
~
The sun was just rising on a chilly Texas morning when Bill left home to make the trip over to Whispering Meadows Golf Club. He had checked his golf bag to make sure he had enough balls, as playing a course for the first time can be tough and the Texas Hill Country courses are particularly challenging. These courses have hundred-yard force carries over the many canyons that cut through the hills around Lake Travis.
Bill loved the early morning, as the sun cast long shadows through the canyons. He drove along the Balcones Fault, a geological rift that was created millions of years ago and was responsible for what is today called the Texas Hill Country. The rivers that cut through this region—the Colorado, Brazos and Guadalupe—exposed the harder white limestone that formed these deep canyons. The Native American Indians considered the fault a sacred place and buried their dead in the many caves and crevices that peppered the canyon walls. They echoed the sound of the rivers as they made their journey south to the Gulf of Mexico.
He exited FM1431 and took Loh
mans Ford Road towards Whispering Meadows. According to his GPS he had still another six miles to the golf course. He couldn’t help but notice the amount of construction that was taking place in this corner of Travis County. It seemed like around every corner another track of upscale homes was being built. A new high school had just opened and he passed a signed for a new marina planned for construction in 2017.
A couple of miles from the golf course the road took a sharp right-hand turn and for about a mile ran along the edge of a cliff with a sharp drop-off to Lake Travis below. A couple of homes had been built adjacent to the cliff, and one in particular had a stunning cantilever deck that protruded out over the edge. Bill was so taken by the design of the home that he almost lost control of his SUV as the road took a sharp left away from the cliff and dropped down to Whispering Meadows below. He could see the golf course in the distance and he regained his composure and got his mind back focused on the day ahead.
~
It was seven-fifty and the parking lot was already full. There were golf buggies flying around the lot at breakneck speed, their occupants hurrying to get to the tee on time. It was a hive of activity. Sixty-year-olds doing stretching exercises, others cleaning and marking their golf balls. There were more golfers on the putting green than shoppers at a Macy’s after-Thanksgiving sale. Wagers were being made and Bud-Lite cans were being popped. This was a typical Saturday morning at any golf course in America.
“Good morning, are you Glenn Stevens?” asked Bill as he approached the man behind the desk in the pro shop.
Glenn Stevens was in complete control of his environment as golfers checked in for the allotted tee time and checked out the latest overpriced golf equipment on offer in the store.
“Yes, I’m Glenn Steven’s, what’s your tee time?”
“I’m Bill Ross. We talked on the phone a couple of days ago. My tee time is eight forty-seven.”
“Yes, I remember the conversation, welcome to Whispering Meadows, Bill, we’re glad to have you here. Mr. Stoltz and Mr. Wilson are both checked in and on the practice green, I believe, and here comes your final partner, Mr. Rodriguez.”
Bill turned in the direction Glenn Stevens was pointing and saw Jimmy Rodriguez walking toward him, in one hand an unlit cigar and in the other a Bloody Mary. He walked straight past Bill and hollered at Glenn Stevens.
“Are we on time, Glenn, and make sure that cart girl is focused on the job at hand today! Is it the lovely Cindy on the cart this morning?”
Jimmy Rodriguez was larger than life, complete with white golf knickers, plaid socks, matching plaid sweater and white golf cap.
“Bill Ross,” said Bill, extending his hand.
“Jimmy Rodriguez, Bill. Good to meet you, hope you’re not a sandbagger out here to take our money this morning,” laughed Jimmy as he slapped Bill on the back.
Bill was certain that the comment about taking their money was no joke. This was going to be an interesting round.
~
Jimmy Rodriguez led Bill outside to meet the others who would make up their foursome. They were all about the same age, Bill thought, late fifties/early sixties. They all shook hands, swapped handicaps and headed off to the first tee. Bill got on a cart with Bob Wilson. Jimmy Rodriquez rode with Herman Stoltz. They tossed a coin to see who would tee off first.
The game Jimmy Rodriguez chose was left-and-rights, full handicap, with ten dollars a hole. Not a huge amount of money but enough to get serious.
Left-and-rights is a pretty simple game: the two tee balls that are hit right against the two that went left.
Because it’s a simple game doesn’t mean that you can’t manipulate a situation in your favor. After the first tee ball is hit, the order of play from the tee theoretically doesn’t matter. However, the person who is last to hit from the tee can see where the others have gone and then choose where best to play his ball to increase the odds of winning by trying to put his ball on the side where the best-positioned shot has landed.
As it unfolded, Jimmy Rodriguez always tried to busy himself with something on the cart or on his bag to ensure that he was last to tee off on every hole.
Golf is perhaps the only game in sport where those who play the game fairly may often call a penalty on themselves, if they did something during the course of play that was against the rules of golf. Calling a penalty on yourself would most times result in losing a hole or even losing the match. Golf is a game for gentleman. It’s said that the name came from the first letters of the saying - Gentlemen Only Ladies Forbidden.
It was obvious from the off that Jimmy was no gentleman. In addition to the gamesmanship on each tee, he would improve the lie of his ball by moving it prior to a shot. On two occasions Bill saw him drop a ball out of his pocket while looking for a lost ball in the rough. Jimmy Rodriguez was a cheat. To him it was about winning at all costs.
Bill enjoyed riding in the cart with Bob Wilson.
Bob was a retired dentist from Minnesota and played three times a week. He was an average player, making more bogeys than pars, but didn’t much care. He played for the fun of it and for the chance to hang out with the guys and chug a few beers on a Saturday morning.
“So you’re originally from Scotland Bill? You Jocks are all good golfers and better drinkers!”
“So you’ve been around Brits then, Bob. Not everyone calls guys from Scotland Jocks.”
“Yes, there were a lot of Brits in Minnesota. I’m half English and half Norwegian. Mostly Scandinavians in Minnesota but lots of other nationalities also. So you’re thinking about buying around here, I understand?”
“Yes, we live over by Balcones right now, but we’ve heard a lot about this area, seems like there’s a lot of development going on. On the drive over this morning I must have past hundreds of new homes being built. What’s going on. Bob?”
~
Over the next few holes Bob Wilson gave Bill the rundown.
“All started about five years ago. All of this land used to be part of the old McMullen Ranch. Garrison McMullen started to sell it off to developers as part of an overall plan to create a residential and commercial region including a new marina. There is a Chinese consortium involved and they plan to redevelop this course into an upscale country club and we, as founding members, will be grandfathered in. I would suggest that you get in quickly as home prices will skyrocket. We are all pretty excited about what’s going on.”
“Sounds great! There’s been an increase in crime in the Balcones area of late and that’s part of the reason my wife and I are looking for somewhere new.”
Bill lied, trying to create an opening for Bob Wilson to talk further.
Bob continued on, “Not a lot of crime around here, Bill. We get the occasional fight in some of the bars as the Mexicans get into it after they’ve had a few beers on a Friday night, a couple of stabbings and fights with broken bottles. Then there are the vagrants and the illegals. One of them set himself on fire about a year ago at Whispering Hollow down by the lake.”
“Mexicans and illegals. Don’t like the sound of that, Bob, I don’t like that lot,” said Bill, again lying to get Bob to talk more, which he did.
“A lot of them work on the construction projects; comes with the territory, I guess. They shack up together in some of the condos around here and send money back to Mexico. The guy to get the rundown on them is Jimmy Rodriguez; hell, his construction teams employ most of them. He’s got teams working every angle, does Jimmy—electrical, carpentry, concrete, stonework.
“You need a trade; Jimmy will get you the people. He lives in the big house with the deck overlooking the lake; you probably saw it when you drove in.”
“I did see it. It’s quite an impressive home. He must be making a bundle with all the work going on.”
“Yes, he makes a bundle all right, and lets everyone know about it!” responded Bob.
~
They ended the round and, to everyone’s surprise (not), Jimmy Rodriguez won most of the mon
ey. Later they met in the grill and took a corner table. The bartender, whom Bill guessed rightly was Cheryl Brown, brought them their drinks and they toasted each other.
“Enjoyed the round as usual, guys! Great to have you join us today, Bill!” said Jimmy Rodriguez.
“Yeah, thanks for taking our money again,” replied Herman Stoltz.
It was obvious from his demeanor that this was not the first time Herman had lost to Jimmy Rodriguez.
“So you think you’ll buy in the neighborhood, Bill? I’ve got some pull with some of the builders. So if you see a place you like you come see me, okay?” said Jimmy, stressing his importance to the community for anyone within earshot who cared to listen.
“Anyone like a shot? I’m buying since I took all your money!” continued Jimmy, bellowing his laughter around the room.
It was obvious to Bill by the look on some of the faces in the room that Jimmy Rodriguez was not as well liked as he thought he was and that perhaps many thought him a loudmouth asshole. Bill Ross was one of those people.
They finished their drinks and headed to the parking lot to load up their vehicles and head home.
~
As Jimmy Rodriguez walked out the front door of the golf club he waved to a waiting black Lincoln Town Car parked off to the right of the parking lot. It started up and pulled over to the front of the entrance.
The driver jumped out grabbed Jimmy’s clubs and loaded them into the trunk. He then ran around the vehicle and opened the rear door for Jimmy to get in. As he did so his stylish black leather jacket fell open, flashing its Hugo Boss designer label.
Chapter 12: Latisha Williams
Elaine was preparing her famous chicken chili with homemade cornbread when they all arrived back at Bill and Elaine’s home after their day at Whispering Hollow. As they walked in the house was full of the aromas of onions, chili, cumin and cilantro, the perfect meal for a cold November night.
“So how was your day?” said Elaine as she lifted the steaming cornbread out of the oven. “Dinner in half an hour, so get what you need to drink from the fridge.”
