Gringo Joe

by JD Davis

  Joe indicated there was none.

  “All right, then: follow me and I’ll show you to the exit. There is a car waiting to take you to a nice hotel.” She handed him a government credit card and a prepaid cell phone.

  “If I were you, Sergeant Chandler, I would order room service and think about all this. That will be all for today. Keep your mouth shut and eyes open, okay?”

  She walked him to the door and stood there, smiling mischievously. “If there’s anything left when these guys are done with you, give me a call and I’ll buy you a drink.”

  She eyed him from top to bottom, grabbed his arm and wrote a name and cell number on his wrist, then turned to walk away. “So be careful, Chandler; it would be such a waste.”

  While Joe was used to women flirting, passing him notes, and writing their phone numbers on his arm, that was then and this was now. He’d been in the Army for over three years and the idea of a Navy lieutenant making a pass at him, especially while both were in uniform, made him very uncomfortable. Joe, drawing on all the composure he could muster, looked at his shoes and nodded. Besides, what he was really thinking about was her statement: “If there’s anything left when these guys are through with you.”

  Two days passed when Joe’s burner phone rang. It woke him out of a deep sleep. He had taken the lieutenant’s advice and ordered room service, a lot, and watched TV and slept … a lot. He opened his eyes, saw sunlight, and grabbed the phone. “Be downstairs in fifteen minutes; a car will be waiting.”

  Joe stepped out the front door of the hotel and walked toward a female airman in her dress blues standing next to an ugly vehicle that could be nothing but government-issued. They made the short drive to Langley, parked, and she asked Joe to follow her. It was the same building as before, only the third floor.

  “If you’ll have a seat, Sergeant, someone will be along for you shortly.”

  After what seemed like an eternity, an Air Force sergeant appeared and asked Joe to follow him. The young man, short and a bit plump, wore his dress blues but looked more like a character from a Disney sitcom. His badge identified him as intel but still, thought Joe, This guy must be the poster boy for armed services nerd.

  The young man led Joe through some doors requiring a scan from a card hanging from a lanyard he wore around his neck. Next, they arrived at a metal detector where Joe surrendered his cell phone and what felt like his future. Continuing on, Joe finally arrived at the desk of a familiar face. The nameplate on the glass door surprised him—GABRIELA MENDEZ, ASSISTANT DIRECTOR, LATIN AMERICAN AFFAIRS.

  “Hello again, Sergeant. I’m Gabriela Mendez. If you remember, we met two days ago.”

  How could I forget, thought Joe. “Yes, I recall some confusion about my rank. It’s nice to see you again, Ms. Mendez.”

  “Sergeant, if you have any question, any reservations, now is the time.”

  Truth was he wasn’t sure what he thought, and until he knew exactly what this was all about, he decided to withhold his reservations and said nothing.

  She looked at Joe, trying to read him, but he didn’t concede much in his body language.

  “Very well then … if you are sure.” Yet again, she pushed another button. “Whenever the director is ready? Yes, sir, we’re on our way.”

  Joe wondered exactly how many buttons did Ms. Mendez push. She stood, exited her office with Joe in tow, and walked past an Army major who didn’t acknowledge them. Joe on the other hand glanced nervously out the corner of his eye as he still wasn’t comfortable walking past an officer without acknowledging them. Gabby entered without knocking and took a seat, leaving Joe as the only one standing. Joe did, however, see a familiar face sitting behind the large, intricately engraved mahogany desk. When that man stood, so did the others in the room. He extended his hand.

  “Good to see you again, Sergeant. My name is Raphael Valenzuela. Most of these impolite, ill-bread bastards call me Ralph. You may call me Director or sir. Have a seat.”

  Joe sat in the only empty chair next to Gabby as the other three in the room finished a private conversation.

  “Breathe,” whispered Gabby. “You’ll get used to it and, besides, you’re the guest of honor.”

  Finally, everyone’s eyes focused on a man unfamiliar to Joe; the man dimmed the lights and began the slide presentation. A picture of a rather chubby Latino man appeared and was identified as Juan Delmar Espinoza. Joe figured him as the bad guy since they used all three of his names, which was soon confirmed by Director Valenzuela.

  “Sergeant, this is a bad son of a bitch. I want you to find him and, if the opportunity arises, kill him.”

  The man doing the slide show continued with the details, including Espinoza’s family, security details, and known associates.

  “He moves around quite a bit, but currently he is in Costa Rica posing as a rich Mexican industrialist on vacation with his wife and two daughters. He’s damn sure rich, but his wealth does not come from manufacturing anything but drugs, death, and misery.”

  The director wrapped up the meeting. “Chandler, you got into the middle of this thing in Afghanistan and we thought you might wish to finish it. We’re fairly certain the man you snagged in the Arghandab River Valley works for this jackass and we’d be honored if you would see this through.

  “Your partner is well informed on the logistics of the operation. You’ll be brought up to speed in the next few days. You need to head down to Tucson and meet Sherriff Monroe Culpepper. He’s a good man and you’ll need to pay attention. From there, you’ll fly to Cozumel, Mexico, where you’ll meet the rest of your team. As soon as we can confirm, you will receive an updated report on the whereabouts of Mr. Espinoza. Any questions?”

  “Yes, sir: you mentioned a partner and I was wondering how soon I would meet him?”

  Everyone in the room chuckled and glanced at Gabby. “You already have, Sergeant, and he’s a she.”

  Joe felt his cheeks redden when the director laughed and said, “It’s a changing world, Sergeant, that’s for damn sure, but you couldn’t be in more capable hands. Pay attention and she just might bring your ass back alive.”

  The director rose, stuck out his hand, which Joe shook, and he was whisked away by the ever-surprising Ms. Gabriela Mendez.

  Without saying a word, Joe followed her toward an exit. Halfway down the hall, she stopped and leaned against a wall. “We’ll be traveling quite a bit together, mostly out of country, so obviously ‘Sergeant’ won’t work. From here on out you call me Gabby and unless there is another name you prefer, I plan to call you Joe—is that okay?”

  Joe was quiet for a moment. “So, am I exclusively contracted to the CIA? I mean, I guess it doesn’t matter but I just need to get things right in my head.”

  Gabby looked at him hesitantly and then, with a note of compassion, said, “Look, Sergeant, we both work for the United States of America and we both are sworn to defend her. The titles on the letterheads won’t mean much where we’re going, so get your head straight and don’t worry, I’m a lot more comfortable in the field than behind a desk. Someone will meet you out front at 6:00 AM, so grab your gear and you’ll be shown to your temporary quarters here at the campus. Get some sleep because tomorrow you start training. Good day, Sergeant.”

  “That’s fine, ma’am, but you should start calling me Joe.”

  “I’ll call you Joe, but if you call me ‘ma’am’ one more time, I swear….”

  Walking away, Gabby smiled and thought, Okay, Joe, you just might be the man.

  CHAPTER 10

  THE MAYOR’S PARTY

  As they made their way down the mile-long driveway lined with beautiful, maple, raywood ash, and giant fir trees, Mel’s eyes widened like a child seeing Disneyland for the first time. The grounds, resembling more of a professional golf course than yard, were afire with twinkling lights that swept down to the banks of the Umpqua River. As they pulled around the circular drive, a young man in a tux offered valet parking.

  “
I checked the mileage,” said Joe as he handed the lad the keys to his corvette.

  “My goodness, I had no idea. Who is this guy, an oil baron?”

  “He’s very wealthy,” said Joe, “but it’s not from oil. His father was the largest private owner of timberland in the Western United States. He’s rich but he’s a good man, and he’s been a very good friend to me.”

  They were escorted to the festivities in the backyard where a chamber orchestra was playing and friends were mingling. There were more than one hundred of Donovan County’s richest—and most generous—gathered to open their checkbook for yet another of the mayor’s fundraisers. Tonight’s occasion would benefit a college fund for the children of Oregon policemen and military veterans killed in the line of duty. It was going to be an expensive evening for all the guests, but they were generous and the dozen cases of wine from local vineyards were certain to grease the skids.

  Suddenly there was a shrill, which almost stopped the music. Fortunately, everyone was used to Jillian Abercrombe’s vivacious demeanor.

  “Joe, darling, I thought you would never get here. How absolutely boring the evening would have been if you stood me up.”

  After a kiss on his cheek, Jillian looked at Mel, “My goodness, Joe, who is this beautiful girl?”

  “Jillian, may I present Michele Randle. Mel, this is Jillian Abercrombe, our host and wife of Steelhead’s illustrious mayor.”

  “Illustrious? Ha! More like scandalous. He is beginning to ignore me, Joe, and I will not have it. Since this whole nonsense with Bill Crivelli, he is a mess. You will talk to him, won’t you, Joe? He adores you. Oh, for heaven sakes, where are my manners! Ms. Randle, do forgive me.”

  “Oh, please, call me Mel. I would be honored and feel much more comfortable if you do.”

  “Thank you, Mel—only if you call me Jillian. As I was saying, Joe is more like family, and he seems to be one of the few my husband listens to. Come along, dear, let’s show you off and dash the hopes of half the women here.”

  Mel glanced at Joe, crossed her eyes and puffed out her cheeks like a blowfish, which made him smile, then grabbed his arm and followed Jillian into battle. There were lots of introductions, a few disheartened stares from women, but the men, who had been drinking for quiet-some-time, paid close attention to the girl on Joe’s arm. Mel was wearing a black pantsuit with a sequin jacket and a stunning silver and turquoise necklace adorned her long, sleek neck. No doubt about it, every eye at the party was on Mel Randle. Someone grabbed Joe and started talking politics and, unfortunately, Mel was left with Leonard Tettleman.

  “You will save me a dance won’t you, darling?”

  Leonard was wider than he was tall and got a sudden pinch from his wife who excused the both of them. Mel felt someone grab her hand and to her great relief, turned to see Lizzie.

  “Well, you ran the gauntlet, my dear, and I must say you did so with great poise. I was afraid poor Leonard was about to embarrass himself worse than he did. He really is a doll until his fourth glass of wine. Come join us. We’re sitting with the Abecrombes, and Drummer can’t wait to be seen with you. We’ll leave Joe to the wolves for a while. Once he figures out you’ve disappeared, he’ll be along.”

  Drummer rose and gave Mel a warm hug and peck on the cheek, and then he and Lizzie doted over her as though she had been in their lives for years. Joe escaped the political bickering without choosing sides and took a seat. Finally free of his social duties, the mayor joined his table. Before Joe could do the introductions, the mayor walked over and stood behind Mel.

  “Young lady, I have been watching you all evening and I must say you have graced us and are the belle of the ball. Please accept my sincere apologies for being late.”

  At that, Joe said, “Mel, this much older man flirting with you is Mayor Hobie Abercrombe. Hobie, may I present Ms. Michele Randle.”

  Hobie leaned in and quietly insisted they both stick around once the festivities were done.

  Many danced, some drank too much, but in the end it was a huge success for the benefactors of the generous donations. Finally, after the last lingering guests were escorted to their cars, Jillian gave a long sigh and said, “My God, I love those people but I’m so glad to see their tail-lights I could just scream ‘Yahoo!’”

  Joe shook his head, Mel smiled, and Drummer and Lizzie yelled, “Yahoo!”

  Hobie, who had disappeared, hollered from the back door and waved everyone inside. Belts were loosened, shoes were removed, and decaf coffee was served by an older gentleman named Carlyle.

  “If there is nothing more, Mr. Abercrombe, I will retire.”

  “Goodnight, Carlyle!” yelled everyone but Mel.

  The distinguished gentleman with a thick British accent turned and quietly disappeared.

  “I’ve been trying to get him to call me Hobie for over twenty years, but I’ve given up. We met him in England about twenty-five years ago. He and his wife owned a small but exquisite bed and breakfast where Jillian and I had stayed. Upon our return, we were heartbroken to learn he had lost his wife to cancer the previous summer. When we discovered he didn’t have the heart to continue without her, we invited him to come and visit us. He said, ‘Only if I can make myself useful.’ Fortunately he did come, and thank God he’s never left.”

  “I never tire of that story, Hobie,” said Lizzie. “And I can’t imagine this place without Carlyle.”

  “Oh, Lord, me either,” said Jillian. “Hobie would be a grumpy ole butt if he depended on me to wait on him; I swear he’d rid the place of me before he’d let go of Carlyle.”

  “Not true, my dear, I’d be equally distraught to lose either of you.”

  They all enjoyed a good laugh.

  “Now,” said Hobie, “let’s get down to business. Ms. Randle, it is my understanding you are in big demand back down there in the smog and that bumper-to-bumper pressure cooker called California. Certainly you understand we weren’t created to live like that. It darkens your soul and I cannot sit idly by and let that happen to you.”

  Mel’s mouth was open as she looked contemptuously at Joe, whose eyes were wider than usual. Joe shook his head, knowing what she must be thinking, so they both looked back at Hobie.

  “Look here, Mel. Joe doesn’t know a thing about this, but I believe when opportunity knocks, you’re an idiot if you don’t try and pull it through the door.”

  “Mel,” said Drummer rather apprehensively. “I’m afraid I’m guilty of collusion as well. I went to San Francisco to meet with a group of wine distributors and while I was there, Hobie asked if I’d nose around a little.”

  “Me? It was as much your idea as mine! Well, it’s like this, Mel,” continued Hobie. “Archie Anderson is a very dear friend of mine and has been the DA in Steelhead for nineteen years. He was instrumental in getting me to run for mayor and has had my back through some nasty lies and attacks. One of those sorry bastards, forgive my French, is a man named Bill Crivelli. He was a hatchet man for Dr. John Grossman, that charlatan who was impeached as an Oregon congressman.”

  “Not before he and his buddies misplaced three hundred million dollars and left town,” added Drummer.

  “It’s a long story, Mel,” said Hobie, “but Archie has taken a great deal of direct fire. Crivelli has some powerful friends and they really went after him. Sexual harassment, bribes, discrimination, you name it and these ruthless dogs unleashed it all on poor Archie. Because of the investigation, his license is suspended and the truth is I’m not sure he’ll ever be the same. Anyway, it’s not a flattering proposal, Ms. Randle, but we would like to offer you the position as assistant district attorney. Of course, it won’t pay near as much as you could make down in California, but the truth is we could really use your help right now.”

  There was a very long, awkward silence and Mel broke it even more awkwardly.

  “Look, everybody. First, let me say how flattered I am … I think. However, with all due respect, you must be out of your minds. I just gradua
ted from law school. I have not had one single job as an attorney, much less any experience as a DA. In fact, that’s so far off my radar; I’m not sure what they do except prosecute criminals who show up in court with much better paid counsel. Secondly, I’m not even licensed to practice law in Oregon, yet you want me to walk into the middle of some age-old vendetta. This Crivelli has already undermined an experienced prosecutor, one who’s forgotten more about the criminal justice system of Oregon than I’ll ever know. Did I forget anything?”

  “No, that pretty well covered it,” said Hobie. “However, in the interim, I would like your help with some contract issues that my company has with the Department of the Interior. It pays well and it will give you a chance to learn the lay of the land while you’re getting your license to practice law in Oregon. An expense, by the way, we are happy to absorb.”

  “Oh, my God!” Mel screamed. Well, not really screamed, but there was definitely some emotion in her voice. “Again, with all due respect, you’re crazy, certifiably crazy for even proposing this to me. Are you sure you’re not part of this insane scheme?” she said, glaring at Joe.

  “Absolutely not. Honestly, Mel, I’m as blindsided here as you, and if you want to leave I’m ready when you are.”

  Joe looked at both his father and Hobie as though he would later kill them in their sleep.

  “Hang on a second,” said Drummer. “Both of you just hang on for one dad-gum second. First of all, Mel, Louie Trudeau is a very good friend of mine.”

  “Wait!” said Mel. “Dr. Louis Trudeau, my criminal law professor, not to mention probably the most influential professor at Stanford Law—that Louie Trudeau?”

  “Yes, Mel, that Louie Trudeau. I called him and asked if we could have coffee. Back in the day, Louie was da man on a bass guitar. I bounced this crazy idea off him and he laughed. He said you were one of the hardest-working and most promising students he’d had in a decade. He laughed again and said I was definitely dreaming if I had any illusion of you staying in—and I quote—’Podunk Oregon.’ He said you were a hot commodity and would be recruited by some corporate law firm, and probably a partner in five years. Then do you know what else he said? He said it’s really too bad, because if ever he’d seen a naturally gifted prosecutor, it was you. I realize Hobie and I have overstepped our boundaries, and we know it. It’s just that you were here and not there, and, well, it was a long shot, Mel. We didn’t mean to insult you, and if we did, please forgive us.”