“As long as I don’t have to live with them, I don’t mind,” Ellen said.
“If it comes to that, we’ll fix the house up here like Fort Apache, and ride this through until the election is over,” Sotello agreed. “I will be bringing some stuff from the office to beef up what I have here.”
“I better get going Dad. I love you. Will you be at the office all day?”
“I’ll be in and out,” Sotello answered. “I’ll have the cell on if you need to talk to me. I love you too. I’ll touch base with Craig, and then I’m heading up to the shop to have breakfast with your Uncles.”
“Bye Dad, take care.”
As soon as Sotello disconnected, the phone rang. It was Craig.
“Jesus, Dad,” Craig said. “I’ve been trying to get in touch with you for the last half an hour. You must have called El first, didn’t you?”
“Just going according to age, boy. You aren’t going to do the old ‘you love Ellen more than me’ are you?”
“Nah, I don’t need anything right now,” Craig said. “I’ll lay the guilt trip on you later when I need something. Are you going to cancel out on our client tonight?”
“We can’t do that Craig. Why don’t we meet at the office about four this afternoon, and go over some final details before we leave Ellen at the controls.”
“Sounds good,” Craig agreed. “Take care old man, and I’ll see you at the office this afternoon. Try to stay out of trouble, will you?”
“I will, you smartass. You watch out yourself. I’ll tell you about a plan later, Darren has for protecting you and Ellen. Until then, keep your eyes open.”
“Will do, bye.”
Sotello finished dressing, and took Tinker out for a walk around the block, waste bag in hand. A police car was at the curb, watching his house. He stopped to say hello, and to tell them what he was up to.
“We’ll give you fifteen minutes to get back, Mr. Sotello,” the driver said. “I don’t suppose you could skip the walk today, huh?”
“I would, but Tinker here will be pissed. I’ll be right back.”
The walk turned out to be uneventful. When he returned, Sotello told the police where he would be heading next. The driver told him they were to watch the house until the FBI sent a team to go over everything.
“I’ll leave the door open then,” Sotello said. “You guys are welcome to go on inside if you want. Tinker loves people, and it would be more comfortable.”
“Thanks, Mr. Sotello,” the driver said, getting out of the car. He held out his hand, and Sotello shook it. “I’m Rick Bastion, and my partner there is Celia Gonzales.”
Bastion’s partner smiled from where she had exited on her side. “Glad to meet you Mr. Sotello,” she said with a wave.
“You two can call me Jim,” Sotello replied, as he handed Bastion a set of house keys. Bastion petted Tinker, who immediately sat down and offered her paw. As Bastion, who stood almost as tall as Sotello, stooped down to shake with the dog, Gonzales came over to scratch behind Tinker’s ears.
“Come on in the house,” Sotello gestured. “There’s coffee already made, and a TV in the kitchen, where you can watch the news stations drag my name through the mud.”
Both officers laughed as they followed Sotello and Tinker into his house. Sotello poured them both coffee. “Help yourselves to anything in the refrigerator. The bathrooms down the hallway we passed, on the left.”
“Mr. Sotello,” Gonzalez said.
“Yea,” Sotello replied, turning back.
“I hope you don’t hold any grudges if this does turn out to be some Latino hit squad. I would vote for you any day.”
Sotello looked at her for a moment, thinking her statement may be the crux of his problems. “You have just put words to a situation, I am going to have a hell of a time correcting, with the media trying to bury me every step of the way. Officer Gonzalez…”
“Call me Celia,” She broke in.
“Celia, I only have a problem with the people who did it, and the ones who ordered it. I pray none of them are American citizens. If it turns out they are, it will be a sad day for me. The real problem for me, which you outlined by asking the question you did, is how do I get American citizens, like yourself, to stop relating themselves to foreign countries and foreign nationals? Why would you, or any other American citizen, think I would lump anyone with a Latino name into this incident?”
“I guess I just assumed…” Gonzalez began.
“Assumed I would start an enemies list, including all American citizens of Latin ancestry, because of this attempted bombing of my house?” Sotello finished for her.
Gonzales hesitated a moment, and then chuckled, shaking her head. “When you put it like that, it seems to scream presumed racism on my part, doesn’t it?”
Sotello laughed. “I think more in the line of clichéd thinking. More importantly, what do I do about it Celia?”
“Probably just keep speaking your mind,” Bastion put in. “If you live, you might make one hell of a Governor.”
“If I live… ain’t that the truth.”
“There are a lot of us, who either immigrated legally, or whose parents did,” Gonzales continued in answer to his question. “We don’t want thousands of illegals swarming over the border either. I heard your speech from the other night, and I agree with you totally about the danger to our own community, if this continues unchecked. I guess the only thing you can do is keep saying it, just like Rick already pointed out.”
“If more folks begin standing up for themselves, and not letting organizations like La Raza speak for them, we can still turn the tide,” Sotello agreed. “Thank you for your input. I better get going.”
Chapter 32
Looking For A Connection
Later, in his car on the way to Oakland, Sotello went over in his mind, what Gonzales had inadvertently illustrated. He began to inwardly have doubts whether he could ever get people to start looking at themselves as Americans first, with American interests before all others. The concept of looking at some distant third world nation, as a kind of natural earth mother, in opposition to seeing yourself as a citizen of the greatest country on the planet, struck Sotello as so foreign, common sense made it difficult for him to even contemplate it.
Although it was only seven in the morning, Sotello approached his office in his Dodge with some trepidation. Seeing no suspicious movement, or even foot traffic on the sidewalk, Sotello parked his car opposite the office building. He went inside, started the coffee, and then checked his phone log. He made sure none of his surveillance equipment had went on the blink overnight. If any of his office building alarms had gone off, the alarm panel at his house would have recorded it too.
He began making breakfast for Tank and Jay, deciding on scrambled eggs, sausage, and toast. As he finished setting the table, his motion detector for the front office went off. Sotello had left the front door open in anticipation of his two friends’ arrival. He checked to make sure it was indeed the two of them on the camera, when the pounding on his back room door began. Sotello grinned, hearing Tank’s voice.
“I smell food in there Sotello,” Tank yelled, as he pounded on the door. “Open up, before I start getting nasty.”
Sotello opened the door, and stepped aside just in time to keep from being run over by the erstwhile Tank. Jay grinned at him from the doorway, as Sotello waved him in. “Tank would make a crappy vampire Jay, he never waits to get invited in.”
“Tank, as a vampire,” Jay said, shaking his head. “Now there’s a thought. He would decimate half the Bay Area inside of a month. We have been following your antics on TV, my brother. Is this your idea of a low key campaign?”
“Come on in, and sit down,” Sotello said. “No use dragging all that out on an empty stomach.”
“Hey,” Tank called, his mouth full of scrambled egg, with butter running down the corner of his mouth. “You’re okay, right? I figured the way you ate that reporter’s ass up one side and down the ot
her, you couldn’t be doin’ too bad.”
“I heard they had that little sound byte running on this morning’s news in a loop,” Sotello replied. “I’m fine. It just complicates things.”
“Jay and I were talking about that on the way over,” Tank said between chews. “Ellen and Craig will need some added protection, and by the looks of what’s happened so far, it may not be enough.”
“You have deciphered the complications very well, Tank,” Sotello agreed. “The only alternative to beefing up security, and being even more wary, would be to quit the campaign. I can’t let these assholes win. The kids don’t want that, but the second they do, I’m out of it.”
“Letting them have their way with you, may not be any protection for you all now anyway,” Jay put in.
Sotello nodded, “I thought of that too Jay, but I would quit quick if Ellen or Craig even hinted they were having second thoughts. Of course any further threats afterwards, would introduce some ignorant folks to what I call my shotgun solution.”
“Meaning triple ought buck, for anything living, even hinting at crossing into the threat zone, right?” Tank commented. “Count me in.”
“And me,” Jay agreed without hesitation. “Let’s hope we can get you through the election without having to resort to a final solution. The kids will never let you back out, so we better damn well keep you all safe.”
“The kids already have first class security systems, but that won’t help them when they move around in the open,” Sotello replied. “No one can be perfectly safe, and Sanders has already volunteered professional protection until after the election, when this stuff will hopefully end. I agree with you Jay. Safety relies ultimately on seeing this through. I’m glad I have you guys around; but if you think I’ll drag you two into some personal vendetta, you are both dead wrong.”
“We won’t ever have to go that route,” Tank said, “but you hold out on us, if it comes to that, and I will whup you within an inch of your life.”
Sotello enjoyed the threat. “Thanks.”
__
The phone rang as Sotello cleaned up the dishes from breakfast.
“You don’t call, you don’t write.”
“D,” Sotello recognized Damon Wilkins’ voice. “It’s early, my friend. I didn’t want to disturb you.”
“Yea right,” Wilkins replied. “With all you got going, it’s a wonder you remember your own name. Can I help?”
“Yes, you can,” Sotello answered. “Don’t forget the barbeque on Saturday.”
“That’s it? You have riots in front of your office, and ninjas coming over your back fence at night to blow up your house, and reporters accusing you of Columbian size drug deals, and you remind me to come to your barbeque?” Wilkins paused. “Well, I know better than to try talking reason to a cement head like you, so what would you like me to bring Saturday?”
“Not a thing D,” Sotello answered. “I have the whole thing covered. You and I can have a beer together while we watch Tank burn every piece of meat I have.”
“Oh man,” Wilkins complained. “You did not let Tank the Torch talk you into letting him barbeque for you again.”
“No. Jay would have refused to come. I think he’s still healing from putting out Tank’s last attempt over at his house. You can help me while we have a beer.”
“Now that sounds right,” Wilkins agreed. “If I hear anything around my little enclave, which might be of interest to you, I will call.”
“That would definitely be helpful,” Sotello said seriously. “Any heads up, on anything, will be greatly appreciated. I will have my cell on at all times. Craig and I will be doing an escort gig, with some clients from Taiwan, starting at six tonight. We will be in San Francisco most of the time. Keep it to yourself though. Any buzz going around on anything in the city, please give me a clue.”
“Will do,” Wilkins agreed. “If you need an extra, call me. I will be at home. Take care, Jim.”
“Thanks D,” Sotello said.
As Sotello took a look at his cameras, aimed at the front of his office, he noticed some people on the sidewalk in front. He looked at his watch, and saw it was already a quarter after eight. Putting on his shoulder holster and suit coat, Sotello then checked his outline in the mirror. Satisfied his profile gave no hint to the concealed weapon in its holster, he put on his overcoat, as it had been drizzling when he came to the shop. With his 400,000 volt stun gun in the pocket of his overcoat, Sotello checked over his recorder. He then left the building, with the intent to visit Adrian Phillips at the hospital. He locked up out front, turning to keep everyone within his peripheral vision.
Sotello faced the small crowd, and spotted the black man who had confronted him at the meeting, named Joe Randall. He approached Sotello carefully, with a smile on his face. Randall held out his hand, and Sotello shook it eagerly.
“Hello, Mr. Randall,” Sotello said. “I’m sorry about missing you yesterday, but…”
“Call me Joe, and I made it over here in time to see the tail end of your first impromptu campaign rally. I figured I better come by today instead of messing with you yesterday. After I watched the news this morning, I almost didn’t come today either.”
“I’m glad you did,” Sotello said, getting a notepad and pen out. “Would you write your phone number down?”
“Sure,” Randall said, as he took the notepad, and jotted down his name and number. “Remember, I work nights, so I can give you a hand for around four hours every other weekday. My wife said she would like to work every weekday after she drops the kids off at school. She climbed all over me for getting on you the other night. She loved your plan for pushing the voucher program.”
“I’m heading over to talk to my campaign manager right now at the hospital. If he has the location set up, would you and your wife like to run the headquarters for me?”
“Just like that?” Randall asked in surprise.
“I don’t have enough time left, between now and the election, to ignore my instincts,” Sotello replied. “I remember you saying you worked as head of security somewhere, and I could use all the security people I can get. Will you do it?”
“I’d be honored,” Randall said, shaking hands with Sotello again. “Let me know the details, and I will be there.”
“I will have my campaign manager contact you first thing, if he’s feeling better today,” Sotello agreed. Sotello lowered his voice. “Do you know what the rest of the folks are here for, Joe?”
Randall glanced behind him and then at Sotello. “They have been speaking Spanish, so I really don’t know. They seemed pretty calm though. Would you like me to hang around?”
“No,” Sotello answered, “but thanks for the offer. I will talk to you later.”
Randall nodded smiling, and then walked to his car. Sotello watched him for a moment, hoping more folks would break out of the liberal stranglehold the left had them in. He waved as Randall drove by him. He saw the small crowd near him had lapsed into silence, and were watching him. Sotello walked over with his hands in his pockets, and one of them on the stun gun, which he turned on, placing his finger next to the discharge button.
“Hello folks,” Sotello said smiling.
A rail thin man, Sotello guessed to be in his forties, disengaged himself from the rest of the small group of six men and four women. The man, who was a head shorter than Sotello, with combed back black hair, came forward sticking his hand out in greeting. Although graying at the temples, the man moved with an easy grace. Sotello instantly liked the way his smile seemed amplified by his eyes. Sotello flipped off the stun gun, and shook hands with him.
“I am Reuben Vasquez, Mr. Sotello,” the man said by way of introduction. “I know you are a busy man; but my friends and family wanted to come by to tell you how much we enjoyed your speech the other night. After what happened yesterday, we wanted you to know not all of us think of ourselves as Mexicans first, and Americans second. Can we assist with your campaign?”
�
�I am very glad to meet you all,” Sotello said, releasing his hand, and striding over to shake hands with each of the people in Vasquez’ group.
“I cannot tell you what your coming over here this morning means to me,” Sotello said, turning back to Vasquez. “I have to admit, I had begun to have doubts I could get my message of America first out, without being perceived as some kind of bigot. You have given me a lift today I needed desperately, and I would be honored if you all would join in on my campaign. Please write a contact number and name down on this notepad, and I will see to it someone gets in touch with your group later today.” Sotello handed Vasquez his notepad and pen.
Vasquez said, “we saw what they tried to do to you last night. I would like to meet these brave members of La Raza, who come to a man’s home in the night.”
Sotello watched the friendliness leave the eyes of the man in front of him, leaving only a grim smile of menace at his mouth. “I don’t know yet if those men were members of any American special interest group, Mr. Vasquez. I am hoping they were not. The police will eventually find out how they came to be at my house last night. Again, thank you for coming, my friend,” Sotello said, switching to Spanish. “Perhaps we will find a way through these problems in our state after all.”
The smile again reached Vasquez’ eyes, and he took Sotello’s proffered hand in farewell. “Via con Dios, my good friend, let it be so.”
Sotello drove into the parking lot of the hospital with some trepidation. As he entered the hospital, Sotello immediately drew a crowd of well-wishers; who shook his hand, and filled his notebook with more volunteers for his campaign. He was thankful to see they had posted a guard at Phillips’ hospital room door.
The policeman at the door recognized Sotello, and smiled. Sotello knew him as one of the many police officers he had met in Oakland. Sotello shook hands with the pale complexioned man, who matched his bulk, and who almost looked at Sotello on an eye to eye basis. His brown hair was cut in a crew cut much like Sotello’s.
Sotello: Detective, ex-FBI, ex-Secret Service (DeLeo's Action Thriller Singles Book 1) Page 36
