by Rich Foster
Harry put the truck in gear. "I'm taking you to the airport. I'll buy you a ticket and give you a thousand bucks. Go to Vegas and call a friend."
Jillian burst into tears. "But, I don't have any friends!"
"Make some. You have a talent for it. Go to a casino, find a new friend and presto you'll have a bed for the night!"
Jillian whispered a barely audible expletive. She slouched in the passenger seat with her arms crossed, where her demeanor might easily pass for a disaffected adolescent rather than a scheming thirty-five year old woman.
Harry pulled a u-turn with a screech of his wheels and left Raven's Croft. Unfortunately it was not likely to be for the last time.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Harry arrived back in Red Lake in the late afternoon.
Before that, he stopped at a branch of his bank and withdrew the money promised to Jillian. At the airport he her bought her a ticket for the Denver flight with a connection on to Las Vegas. It was only the fat check from UBI that fueled his generosity. It was a desire to know she as far away as possible that caused him to wait in the parking lot and watch as she boarded the commuter flight and still stay until the plane taxied out and took off.
When they parted the only thing she said was, "Men!" As if it was the foulest expression she could imagine.
Now a worrying thought troubled him, if Harvey was alive, UBI was sure to want there money back
His concern about the money was short lived, because when he pulled into Boyden Street he saw a cluster of marked and unmarked squad cars in front of his office. When he pulled to the curb handguns came out, and the DEA men yelled "Freeze."
Harry waited patiently with his hands visible on the top of the wheel. He knew the program and refused to do something stupid. Doors opened, he was told to get out with his hands up and lean across the hood. Hurst pushed him forward but Harry killed his momentum by using his thighs against the fender, appearing to comply while avoiding Hurst's intention of him slamming his face on the hood.
Cuffs went on.
"You are under arrest. You have ....."
Harry tuned out while the voice droned on about his rights. He saw Gaines pushing his way through the crowd on the sidewalk.
"Sorry Harry, I was with the DEA team at your house."
Harry felt a jabbed in his back, as Hurst repeated," Do you understand these rights?"
Harry smiled. "No entiendo señor. Quiero mi abogado."
Hurst gave him another push. "Don't give me that crap, Grim, I know you speak English."
Gaines stepped up. "I believe he has asked for an attorney. It would seem he also needs a translator before you can question him. And lastly, if you push or poke him again while he is in handcuffs I will take you in for depriving him of his rights while acting under color of the law."
Special Agent Lawrence came out of the building. ""You have an extremely messy office Grim. And I would like to know what this half kilo of cocaine is doing in your desk?" His smirk was wide.
"¿Qué? No entiendo, comandante!"
"What is this bull?" Lawrence demanded.
Gaines smiled. "I guess he doesn't speak English. We will hold him in a cell until accommodations for a lawyer and a translator can be made.
"I can speak Spanish. We'll take him with us." Lawrence countered flatly,
"No you will not. It is my county, ergo he is my prisoner. He will get a certified translator before you interrogate him and he will also see a lawyer as I heard him request. Later, he will stand trial in our local court. You have made your arrest, you will now surrender the prisoner to Canaan County Sheriff Department's custody. Your evidence can be logged in at the Canaan County Detention Center property desk."
Lawrence began to bluster but gave it up. "Fine. I'll see you later, Grim!" he said as he poked a finger in Harry's direction, then looking at Gaines he added, "You better figure out which side you're on Sheriff!"
Harry only said, "¿Qué?
*
Gaines let Harry be booked. The booking officers moved at a lugubrious pace. Minutes turned into an hour and still the booking procedure dragged on. The print machine malfunctioned. They tried to take them the old fashion way with ink and paper, but the ink pad was dry. The digital camera had trouble and the first booking photos were unusable. At first Harry was mildly annoyed but then he realized the Sheriff was running out the clock. After five o'clock on a Friday evening there was no way to hold an arraignment until Monday. State law gave the prosecutor 72 hours to file charges.
Gaines arrived just as the process finished. He ordered Harry held in solitary confinement. "No visitors, no matter what papers or badges they wave. Do you understand?" he told the Deputies. When they nodded, he told them, "Excellent work men."
Harry lay down on the steel cot, the mattress was as thick as a beach towel. He was counting the number of cement blocks in the far wall when Gaines stepped in. He had no belt, his uniform shirt was gone, instead he wore only a white t-shirt that accentuated a modest gut.
"I'm off duty. I've been drinking. I have no witness's present. I would be shocked if the District Attorney would attempt to put me on the stand for anything that came up while I visited your cell. By the way, did I mention I am off duty and have been drinking.
Harry grinned. I believe you are drunk, sir."
Gaines smiled back, "You are a gentleman and a scholar, sir. Why don't you help pass the time and tell me your story that ends with you in here?"
It was flagrant theatre. The DA might complain of Gaines' conduct, visiting a prison off hours and possibly drunk, but he would never call him to the witness stand.
Gaines dropped his voice. "Harry you are about to be hung out to dry. They showed up with a warrant for your office and house. I have no idea what they used for probable cause, but they have you stitched up. What the heck is going on?"
For the next hour Harry told the Sheriff everything he knew, how he ended up with Marcelli and Montoya, about Donatello and his wife, Jillian and about Harvey Stockman's past and rebirth. Scattered in between his tale Gaines would burst forth with another verse of ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall.
"We will have a translator by Monday. You will be arraigned and then Lawrence will get his hands on you and I won't be able to protect you."
"Given the opportunity I think Special Agent Lawrence would like to give me an offer I can't refuse. If I agree I think you will find he drops all charges."
"How can he with the coke they found?"
"Possibly procedural error, or else it isn't really coke. If they planted it I'll bet it is gypsum powder or something inert. I doubt he'd risk his career on a genuine set up."
"And if it's pure coke?" Gaines asked.
"Then I'm screwed. Why don't you offer Lawrence the chance to say whatever he wants to me. As long as he asks no questions it won't violate my rights because it's not an interrogation."
*
Barton set his plane down Saturday afternoon. It was an uneventful trip. He made several stops at lesser known airfields, it would be almost impossible to track where Carmen actually stepped off. He attached the tie downs and locked up the plane.
Harry's phone had gone straight to voice mail, for the last twenty-four hours. So either he changed phones and failed to post a coded message that would reveal the number or something happened. It might be as simple as a hospital admission, but with recent events Barton was uneasy.
The rental car agency only had a sub-compact. Dirk felt he was folding himself in half to squeeze in. He swung by Harry's office in the Edison Building. Boyton Street was busy with Saturday shoppers and it took a few minutes to find a place to park. He took the marble stairs two at a time. Most offices were locked for the weekend, Harry's was locked with yellow crime scene tape across the door. When he found a girl working in an open office she said she had been out of town and knew nothing about it.
Barton worked his way back into the car's driver seat and drove back toward the airport and the S
heriff's station.
"Can I help you?" The deputy on the counter asked this a bit apprehensively, because the black man who walked in was big and hard looking. Blacks were few in Red Lake and racism floated not too far below the surface throughout the state. It colored the tone even for those who thought they were indifferent to race.
"Is the Sheriff available?" Dirk asked
"I'm sorry it is his day off."
"Do you have any incident record of Harry Grim or an report of police activity on Boyden Street?"
To the deputy, the way the question was framed gave her the sense the man had police or military training, and so he felt more at ease.
"There was a Drug Enforcement Raid, yesterday. A man named Harry Grim was taken into custody. He is being held at the county detention center.
For the third time in a half hour he shoved his large frame into the ridiculously small car. He drove across Route 12 to the jail. However, when he came to the visitors desk he was told that Grim was in solitary and unavailable for visitors per the Sheriff's order.
Barton found his anger rising. But held it in check.
"How do I reach the sheriff?"
"You don't. But if you want to fill out a visitation request I will submit it when the daily logs are recorded"
Flummoxed by the wall of bureaucracy, Barton went back to the parking lot. He softly swore he would steal a car rather then stick with the rental, but he got in and drove to Harry's Cabin on the other side of town.
When he arrived the driveway was empty. Beside the porch was an open trash can with yellow caution tape balled up in it. When he opened the door the house he found a mess. Drawers were dumped, books scattered, furniture pulled out from the walls and chairs turned over. Upstairs the bed had been tossed and the mattresses stood on end sagging like a drunk against the wall. Barton had tossed many places, what he saw was not a systematic search but simple vandalism. He began documenting it with his cell phone camera. The best defense was a strong offense.
He opened Harry's gun safe and found the weapons were gone. He doubted they found the unregistered ones in Harry's hide-hole. Besides what they were looking for was in Harry's office and he figured someone must have put it there. Dirk assumed narcotics would be the easiest bust and with the DEA in the picture it made sense. If there were drugs in the Edison office someone planted them, his list was short, Vito Donatello or the DEA.
Dirk cleared a place to sit and thought about Donatello and Marcelli's message on his voice mail.. He did not return the call knowing that taking the contract would leave him vulnerable in the future. Doing wet work in another country was one thing, making a hit in the states something else. But Donatello would need to be talked to. There was also fifty large to be picked up for finding the documents he mailed to his sister.
Barton got back in the car for what he swore was the last time and drove to the airstrip. He returned the car, filed a flight plan for Sioux Falls, and took off.
Dirk had never been to South Dakota. He did a layover on his way, staying at a cheap airport motel that featured tired sheets and beds that sagged from to much night work. From the air on Sunday morning he saw nothing to recommend Sioux Falls.
Susie Donatello lived in a modest house on N. Menlo Street, it was near Covell Lake and a short drive from the airport. Having the town where she lived and knowing her last name from Carmen, it was easy to get the woman's home address. She was either into women's lib and kept her own name or she was divorced or single, living in the Dakota's Barton assumed it was the latter. The driveway was empty free of cars and the bikes and toys one usually found if there were children. He parked on the street and walked without hesitation up the drive and into the backyard. In little more time than it would take to use a key, his auto pick opened the lockset. Barton made a quick sweep of the house to assure himself it was clear. He looked scanned the rooms asking where would be the best place to hide something. If he tossed the house and failed in that search he could wait for her. Single white woman who found themselves, alone in a house. with a black man who had broken in, were unlikely to fight for a secret, especially one that was not theirs. Barton knew of an exception to this assumption. the woman proved to be one of the least biased woman he ever met.
As he began to search he felt foolish when he finally noted the stack of mail on the sideboard in the kitchen. The Priority Mail envelope was torn open but the papers were still in it. Dirk went over to the computer in the living room, found a ream of paper below the printer, took an amount equal to those in the envelope and swapped it for the originals. He assumed it was unlikely Donatello's sister would even notice, she would put it someplace safe and forget about it. If not, what could she do? Barton was in and out of the house in under three minutes.
*
Drew Lawrence leaned back in the straight back metal chair opposite Harry who could not lean back because his hands were cuffed to the interview room table and his feet chained to the floor.
"Okay Grim, I am going to be very careful not to ask a question. If you want to chime in, feel free. Of course I'm probably just blowing wind in that you suddenly only speak Spanish but on Monday we will get a translator and the fun can begin. I have you cold in possession of half a key. The wrapping of which has your fingerprints and I suspect will match the plastic wrap we seized from your kitchen. My needs are very simple. roll over on Marcelli, Donatello, and Montoya, I'll give you immunity and you can walk."
Harry said nothing.
"Okay smart ass, it's your neck." Lawrence was about to leave when the Sheriff opened the door.
"He told the deputy beside him to unlock the prisoner."
"What are you doing" Lawrence demanded.
"Mr. Grim is free to go. I had a sample of your seized drugs tested. There is more coke on the average dollar bill than was in that package. It was a bad bust."
Agent Lawrence turned red with anger and then punched the wall to let it go. He exploded at Gaines, "How dare you test my evidence without my knowledge!"
Gaines shook his head. "Special Agent Lawrence, go home. Stop annoying law abiding citizens. Stop irritating me. I have a reporter asking for details on Friday's raid, what do you want me to tell him?"
Lawrence was a mad bull flaring his nostrils and pawing at the earth, when his feet got traction he stormed out.
"Deputy, go start clearing Mr. Grim's paperwork and have his possession ready at the property desk."
"Yes, sir."
"Have a seat Harry, let's talk. This won't last you know, Lawrence will be back and he won't play cautiously next time.."
Harry nodded, "I know, but thanks anyway. You stuck your neck out."
"I'm sixty-seven. I should have retired years ago, before Ellie died, while we still had time. All I have left is the law and justice. I'll be damned if I will let that go, too."
"I want to stay out of prison and you want guys like Lawrence and Donatello out of your county, the only way I see that can happen is to give the DEA what they want."
"Can you do that? And do you want to do that? I doubt that a life in Witness Protection would suit you."
"As far as knowledge of their activities, I could testify that Vito Donatello eats junk food and that his wife is crazy but a great lay, that Rico Marcelli has a lovely office, a terrific tailor, and a very comfortable jet, and that Salvador Montoya serves a lovely luncheon, has a daughter that is a little bent, and that she loathes her daddy."
"The federal prosecutor will hate you," Gaines said with a chuckle. "But seriously Harry, what will you do?"
"I have an idea, but I need to think about it."
Gaines stood up, "Well let's go get your stuff and get you logged out."
*
Harry was picking up his house. Each broken cup, damaged picture frame, or torn sheet made him dislike Agent Lawrence a little bit more. As he cleaned, he worked on a plan to free himself from the monkey's on his back. By late afternoon he achieved a semblance of order in the house but his life was a me
ss. Paula was gone and might never return, the DEA wanted him in prison, and according to Dirk, Rico Marcelli blamed him for stirring up the trouble. Carmen Montoya seemed to be the only lucky person he met lately, at least she was off to start a new life.
The sun was setting in the west. Harry was getting drunk on his deck. The alcohol blurred his thoughts sufficiently to take away the edge of anxiety about his troubles and leave him with the warmth to laugh at them. A car pulled in, but it was to much trouble to stand up and see who it was. A minute later he was pleased to see Dirk come up the deck steps.
"Well looks at uh, who's here! It's ahh... goood to seeee yoouuu!" The drunken words stretched out and Harry's head bobbed as he spoke.
Barton patted his shoulder, "Same here, pal. How'd you get out?"
"The sheriff let me go! They got nothin' on me!" Harry wore a happy but stupid grin.
Dirk figured he was not going the get the facts until the morning, so he topped off Harry's drink , hoping to put him out for the night. He also poured himself a stiff one. Soon Harry was snoring in the chaise lounge. Dirk slouched in a cushioned chair on the deck as night fell. He grew philosophical as he watched, something he'd in a dozen countries in dark murderous spots of the world.
The sun is always the bright light of hope, the thing mankind clutches at despite inevitably falling into darkness.
The night noises took over the woods. The lake grew silent. At last Dirk nodded off, too.
Chapter Twenty-three
Harry was rough around the edges in the morning. After two aspirins and several cups of coffee he was not much better.
"I got the papers. Marcelli wants me move on Donatello. He offered another 50k to make that problem go away, but Vegas is a piece of flypaper, I won't touch it."
"There is another way, and if it works we all go home happy. Can you contact Carmen?"
"Sure she's..."
Harry interrupted. "I do not want to know. But here is what I want, do you remember the movie When Harry Met Sally?"
