by JD Davis
Mel glared at him for a moment, but they both smiled and thought how good to be back in one another’s company.
“I’m glad you’re back safe,” she said, staring down at her cup. “I hope your coffee business wasn’t too dangerous of a trip..”
Joe smiled and lowered his head. “What could be so important as to drag a lovely damsel over to our distressed side of the tracks?”
“I’m afraid the damsel might be in distress.”
“Let me guess—Bill Crivelli?”
Mel told him about the press conference and asked his advice about how measured her response should be. She also mentioned that while he wouldn’t admit it, Hobie was close to being scared and Archie was exhausted and about to throw in the towel.
“I’ve known those two men for almost twenty years. Both of them came out to the vineyard when I was still very young and did everything you can imagine to help my parents. Archie got my dad through some rough legal battles, one that almost cost us the entire farm. The Abercrombes loved to come out during harvest and pick grapes. One harvest, when we were short of labor, they showed up with a dozen friends, rolled up their sleeves, and picked grapes until midnight. That was a great year. We had a big bonfire and Jose played his guitar while Sonata and all the women danced around the fire. Leonard Tettleman brought over a barbeque trailer and grilled burgers and hotdogs.”
Joe slipped away to a simpler time and Mel was swept away with him, but Diva’s voice brought them both back to reality.
“Hey, girly girl, just wanted to say hi and see if I could bring you two another coffee?” She put two large ice waters on the table, and when they didn’t answer, she quickly grabbed the empty dishes and eased away. “No worries, I’ll check back in a bit.”
Mel could see Joe’s concern turning to anger as he considered the fate of his two good friends.
“I think it’s time to give Mr. Crivelli a taste of his own tonic,” Joe whispered. “As they say, the best defense is a good offense.”
“My thoughts exactly; I’ve been doing a little digging and I have a file I’d like to share with you. I think our Mr. Crivelli and his friends are very ambitious and a little dangerous, and I really didn’t want to take this one alone. I also think they have an agenda larger than some old, personal vendetta.”
The two spent the next hour poring over the file and exchanging insight. Slowly patterns formed, twists were unraveled, and a mosaic, once dark and invisible, faded into the light.
CHAPTER 15
PIPER
At 10:15, Piper arrived at the hotel lobby where Joe and Gabby had been waiting for twenty minutes. They climbed in and both sat in the back.
“Good morning,” Piper said. “How are the honeymooners today?”
Gabby, accustomed to punctuality, expressed a bit of disappointment with the driver. “I see you’ve adjusted to estilo de vida relajado, the laid-back life of Mexico, Señor Piper.”
“Yes, I have, and I apologize for being late, but it’s part of the gig. If I were early, I’d look like a US government employee. You guys hungry or want to get to work?”
“I can always eat,” said Joe. “But watch out if the señorita orders buttermilk pancakes.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” said Piper as they sped off to the airport. The food was good and the place was crowded, so they kept the conversation very touristy. Once done, they drove down the street and pulled next to a guard shack where Piper said hello to a uniformed man who obviously knew him. The guard did a courtesy peek inside, glanced at the sticker on the window, and waved them through. Piper entered a six-digit code, opening another security gate, which gave them access to a restricted area. He unlocked a door and they walked into a large airplane hangar. The two planes sat inside, fueled and ready to go at a moment’s notice. There was an alarm system, and five security cameras on the walls and ceiling. The door to the office was sitting behind another chain-link fence where fuel and tools were stored.
“Goodness,” said Gabby, “you sure are a paranoid tourist guide.”
“Oh, it pays to be cautious, especially in my neighborhood.”
Once inside the chain-linked gate, Piper opened a steel door, set in a double concrete block wall, turned on the lights, and they entered an office that looked more like an internet café. Along with several maps and satellite images, there was a blue neon Dos Equis beer light and some extraordinary aerial photos lining the walls.
“Impressive,” said Joe. “I’ve seen shabbier command centers in the States.”
“Yeah, it’s true. Down here we don’t get a lot of second chances, so they threw some money at this joint.” He turned on a computer, opened the latest intel report, and gave it a quick read.
“Our sources in Costa Rica say that while Señor Espinoza is still in his villa, he has doubled his security detail and there is a great deal of people coming and going, so something is definitely up.”
“If he’s doubled his security, that’s going to complicate matters,” said Joe.
“Absolutely, and the last word I have from Pike is to stand by as the boys and girls over at NSA draw some conclusions. According to this report, one thing they have confirmed is several visits from a doctor.”
“So, who’s sick?” asked Gabby.
“Well, it says here the doctor is one Anna Munoz MD, the chief of oncology at a Catholic hospital in San Jose. It looks like while they can’t confirm it as of yet, they believe Espinoza was at the same hospital for nine days, and it mentions several visits from Father Dominic Gonzalez.”
Gabby made a silly face and a cynical comment about how weird it would be to find a priest at a Catholic hospital.
“I hear ya, Gabby, but in this case the priest is from Mexico and he happens to be the brother of Noella Espinoza.”
“Excuse me?” asked Gabby. “But Noella—the wife of Señor Juan Delmar Espinoza?”
“The very same.”
“Well, that’s not a coincidence,” added Joe. “Maybe our mission will be cut short and Señor Espinoza will do us all a favor and expire of natural causes.”
“That’s true, but in the meantime our orders are, and I quote, ‘Stand down until advised.’ So, while we’re standing down, do either of you like to dive?”
Both Joe and Gabby looked up and smiled.
The next several days were spent in the exhausting service to their country. Joe and Gabby rented gear at the Blue Parrot Dive Shop and Piper met them at the dock in a beautiful forty-foot Rivolta. It was a magnificent boat powered by twin 480-hp Cummins diesel engines.
Once aboard and underway, Gabby shook her head. “You got to be kidding me; another perk of the job?”
Piper explained how certain toys, once owned by drug runners, often get confiscated. Fortunately, a few get new IDs and registration numbers and become the property and tools of the US government. This particular craft had been loaded with heroin and snagged by the coast guards in the Florida Keys.
Gabby rolled her eyes and said, “I got a cool sweatshirt and coffee mug about two years ago.”
Piper laid his head back and laughed. “Want to drive?”
“Yes, I do. Just give me a heading and hang on to those Maui Jims.”
A few days later all three of their phones lit up, advising them of a video teleconference at 0700 hours the following morning. Director Valenzuela’s face appeared on a large monitor as the three of them sat at a table inside Piper’s office.
“Gabby, you and Mr. Chandler look well, and apparently the sunshine is agreeing with you both. Hopefully you haven’t been too bored with nothing to do but eat seafood, run up a healthy bar tab, and go scuba diving on the government’s dime.”
The two squirmed in their seats but said absolutely nothing. “That’s the problem with sending good personnel down to Agent Longmire—they get fat and sunburned and I pay the bill.”
Now it was Piper’s turn to squirm as he stared down at his flip-flops. Piper would later tell Joe and Gabby it was the usu
al and expected reprimand, and he’d heard it a dozen times.
“I’ll let Pike finish the briefing and I welcome each of you to interrupt if you have something to add.”
“Good morning, troops. We have suspected for quite some time that either Señor Juan or possibly Señora Noella Espinoza could be seriously ill. We thought it might be the señora because the crime sprees didn’t slow down and, in fact, they increased in frequency and the degree of violence. It didn’t sound like the business practices of an unhealthy drug lord and, as you know, the incident with the girls from Guatemala was the crossing of the Rubicon for us. However, as of late yesterday evening, there have been some interesting developments. One of our senior diplomats at the embassy in Mexico City received an interesting phone call that we have now been able to authenticate. The call was from a priest named Father Dominic Gonzales, who lives and works in Guadalajara, Mexico. As it turns out, he is Señora Espinoza’s brother, but from what we have been able to gather, he’s an extremely well-thought-of leader within the archdiocese. There is no indication of corruption or collusion with the Espinoza drug empire whatsoever. Now, with that said, here’s the twist—Father Gonzales told our man in Mexico City he would like to meet with a representative of the US government regarding his brother-in-law. And, just to get our attention, he informed us that Señor Espinoza has terminal pancreatic cancer and has been extremely sick for months. Furthermore, he said Espinoza has asked for absolution for his sins and, at the Monsignor’s insistence, wants to, and I quote, ‘clarify some things.’”
“What kind of things?” asked Gabby.
“That’s what we asked, and were told the Espinoza Crime Syndicate had been hijacked by an American.”
Pike wanted the information to sink in, so he didn’t interrupt the silence.
“Holy guacamole,” said Piper. “Do we believe him?”
“At this juncture we don’t know what to believe, but we certainly want to hear the man out. We’ve scheduled a meeting with Father Gonzales and, Gabby, I want you all over this. The State Department insisted their liaison from Mexico City do the interview, but we got it nixed and right now it’s all you. Longmire, I need you to give this mission your undivided attention. I want you loaded and in the air as soon as possible. There is a small private airfield near Lake Chapala. It’s about twenty miles southwest of Guadalajara and we’ll email you the coordinates as well as the address of the meeting. There are about five thousand gringos living in Chapala, so you shouldn’t raise any eyebrows. We have a government contractor who retired there, and his villa is a secure meeting place. Okay, folks, any questions?”
“Col. Pike—excuse me, sir,” said Joe. “If you don’t mind, there are some things weighing on me that don’t add up. For one, why would a man as smart as Espinoza ask some donkey like Tino Alvarez to stop in the US and buy him two Harley Davidson motorcycles? Especially since Alvarez didn’t even have the registration information. Furthermore, with a dozen Harley dealers in Latin America, why take the chance if you just ordered the guy to kill seventeen girls? And, last but not least, what the heck would a man dying of pancreatic cancer want with two motorcycles? It seems to me he’d have a great deal more on his mind other than Harleys.”
“That’s a great question, Sergeant,” said the director. “Since you’ve given it some thought, what’s your take?”
“Sir, I’m not quite sure, but I would say it lends credence to the idea that maybe someone else might have been pulling the strings. It does seem plausible, sir, that Alvarez and whoever he’s working with may have been using Señor Espinoza’s reputation and money to indulge themselves. As far as the Harleys are concerned, sir, I think it was Tino’s call. I sincerely believe the man saw an opportunity to snag himself a couple of Harleys. It just doesn’t make sense to me that it came from Señor Espinosa.”
“All right, I think we need to have another come-to-Jesus meeting with Tino Alvarez. Seems to me that maybe his loyalties are a bit confused, and it’s possible he knows a hell of a lot more than the jerk is telling us. Gabby, I’ll need a report on my desk right after that meeting.”
Immediately, the monitor went blank and Piper whistled and said, “Holy guacamole!”
CHAPTER 16
NORTH OF HERE, INC.
It had taken Mel weeks to find it. While corporations are primarily used for tax and liability protection, they are also structured to hide the names of the people who actually own or benefit from the actions of the entity. While there may be layers of LLCs, S Corps, C Corps, and offshore shell corporations hiding the identities of corporate officers and board members, at the end of the day they’re people, and those people have names. She probably would have missed it if not for a paper she had written during her final year of law school.
As assigned by her professor, she had to write a treatise defending a Washington DC physician who had grown clinical marijuana for his cancer patients. Pot certainly has a dark side, but it’s a certified fact that it helps patients through the nausea and misery of chemotherapy. His crime was dispensing the drug three days prior to the passage of B21-0192, the Medical Marijuana Laboratory Testing Amendment Act of 2015.
As introduced, this bill gave the Department of Health the authority to establish independent testing laboratories to test medical marijuana and medical-marijuana-derived products. Because of this bill, the proponents of legalizing marijuana made the numerical sequence of 0192, synonymous with pot, and that was what caught Mel’s eye. Perhaps someone was trying to be cute or creative, but regardless, absorbed inside an IBC was a small corporation called, “January 92 LLC” or 0192 LLC. A few weeks earlier, while cleaning up some dead or suspended case files, she had come across an application to the Oregon Secretary of State. As stated by the applicant, the business class was real estate and land holdings. The name requested for the new corporation was “January 92 LLC” and it was signed by William Crivelli.
“What kind of land holding?” asked Joe.
“As best as I can figure, it appears that Mr. Crivelli has been buying or trying to buy Northern California and Southern Oregon farmland. He had either bought or tied up about 800 acres in Oregon when folks figured out they were sitting on Napa Valley north. Thanks in part to your parents, the valley exploded with wine fever, and the price of south-facing hillside property went through the roof. I think our pal, Bill, didn’t wish to be too leveraged and started looking for partners. Less than two years ago, 0192 LLC got absorbed into an international business corporation called North of Here, Inc. So far, I have struck out on any of its board members, but I’m working on it. At first I thought they wanted to plant vineyards or go into the cattle business, but Bill’s not a cowboy and they have yet to plant one vine. This whole thing just smells funny. Maybe it’s nothing, but I’m betting that Crivelli and his pals are up to no good and trying desperately to hide it.”
“Goodness, Mel, I’m surprised you have time to prosecute bad guys.”
“Yeah, speaking of bad guys, I have to go get ready for a press conference.”
“All right, in the meantime I think I’m going to do some poking around and make a couple of phone calls. If you’re right, Mel, it sure looks like Crivelli and company want the mayor and our district attorney out of the way, and I may know why.”
The press conference was short and to the point. The city attorney, Katie Sandburg, made a short statement about the city, standing by the mayor in this difficult time. It was very professional but Mel sensed that Ms. Sandburg’s statements and demeanor lacked conviction. She wondered if the city council lacked conviction as well. Mel decided to leave no doubt.
“Both the mayor and DA emphatically deny any wrongdoing and reject all claims by Bill Crivelli or any of his cronies. It’s a waste of time and money on petty, unsubstantiated accusations and personal vendettas.”
Then Mel decided to take Joe’s advice and go on the offensive, as well as do a little fishing.
“Furthermore, both the mayor’s and DA’s
offices are looking into independent counsel to sue for defamation of character. I know both of these men and the city and county are fortunate to have them. The same cannot be said for some of our inflammatory neighbors.”
At that, Mel walked away from the microphones and cameras as reporters shouted questions. Realizing she was in an awkward position, Ms. Sandburg dodged a question about her role in defending the mayor and ran after Mel.
“Damn you, Randle! You put me in terrible position and left me to clean up your mess.”
Mel stopped, glared directly into Katie’s eyes. “Ms. Sandburg, if you mean in the position of doing your job and defending your boss, then yes, yes I did. However, in my short tenure here, I haven’t seen you defend much of anything except your incompetence and, perhaps, trying to justify your affair with Deputy Dugan Brown. And my mess, as you call it, is me doing my job and showing loyalty to two good men.”
Mel smiled and followed up. “And if any of your pals on the city council think they will get away with pitting you against me, perhaps you should think about another career … in another city. Good day, Ms. Sandburg.”
“I’ll have you to know Dugan and I are just friends.”
Mel turned to find Parker Tackett had joined her as she headed for her office. Parker was on the City Council and had been loyal to both Hobie and Archie for years.
“Good Lord, Mel, remind me to stay on your good side and I hope I still am. That was one of the most impressive dressing-downs I’ve seen since the military.”
“Councilman Tackett, if you or any of the council wishes to stay on my good side, why not show your friends some loyalty while their favorability ratings are down?”
“Hang on, Ms. Randle, I didn’t come looking for a fight, and you were spot-on regarding Katie Sandburg. She smells a crisis and she’s trying to decide which canoe to ride down the rapids. I, on the other hand, have never wavered in my loyalty to any of my friends. However, it’s true Bill Crivelli has the ear of half of the council. Now, Mel, this business about suing Mr. Crivelli and his cronies, what in the world is that all about?”
