Gringo Joe

by JD Davis

  Dr. John was a rising star inside the beltway and, as politicians often do, he began to feel untouchable. Since he was a medical doctor, and it was health care, Dr. John used his influence in procuring funds for the Oregon State Health Care Exchange. Working with his friends back home and being cheered on by the governor, Dr. John secured over three hundred million dollars in a federal grant to establish the Oregon State Exchange. As a reward, his longtime live-in friend was hired to oversee the establishment and implementation of the enrollment website. Strangely, a year later, not a single person was able to use the website, and the entire program was scrapped in lieu of the federal exchange.

  The real problems for Dr. John and his “friend” escalated once a picture surfaced of the two walking hand in hand next to a million-dollar condo in Laguna Beach, or, perhaps, it was the new Mercedes convertible that pushed things over the edge; nevertheless, over the edge they did go. Forced to resign in lieu of impeachment, Dr. John Grossman, his friend, and about one hundred million dollars disappeared from Oregon, only to resurface two years later in a posh neighborhood of Arlington, Virginia. While Dr. John may never again hold public office, the scandal had not affected his sense of smell. And as the winds of change were blowing, he and his longtime lover smelled opportunity.

  CHAPTER 29

  LOUIE TRUDEAU

  It all began thirteen years earlier when Dr. John and his friend, René, were walking through the French village of Saint-Tropez. They were sitting at a sidewalk café enjoying a cappuccino when a familiar face happened by.

  “Louie Trudeau, is that you?”

  Louie almost didn’t turn around, but seeing René out the corner of his eye, he slowed and then stopped. He looked a bit paranoid, but was happy to see an old adversary. When Louie had been burning up the courtrooms of LA as a prosecutor, he had run into this whip-smart defense attorney on more than one occasion. For those who could afford them, the firm of Madison, Grey, and Dumont were not whom prosecutors wanted to see across the aisle of a courtroom.

  “René Dumont—my goodness, it has been awhile!”

  Both René and John stood as introductions were made.

  “For Christ’s sake, Louie, please sit down and do tell me everything. You just dropped off the face of the earth and left us all wondering if you were wearing cement shoes in the Catalina Straights. I missed you, Louie, you were the only real talent the DA’s office could muster. If I recall, I believe you bested me more than once.”

  “I must say it has been a while since I’ve seen or spoken to anyone from LA, but unfortunately it’s how it had to be. I was so tired, René. When I came home late one night and found my Golden Retriever hanging from a tree in my backyard, I just packed and left town. Like you said I was about to be fitted for cement shoes, and that last case may have actually done me in.”

  “That was Carmelo Rossi the casino guy, right?”

  “Yeah, that’s him. I couldn’t get anyone to testify on the pedophile charges, but we did put him away for five-to-ten on a racketeering and tax evasion conviction. However, it was the headlines in the Times regarding the pedophile charges that probably sealed my fate. I think that Sicilian bastard is still looking for me.”

  “Well, Louie, if you’re going to hide you sure picked a nice place, and I swear your secret is safe with us.”

  After moving down the street to a club and switching from coffee to wine, the conversation shifted to Dr. John.

  “He’s not convinced yet, Louie, but this bright orthopedic surgeon is about to be Oregon’s newest legislator.”

  “I wish you both well, and if I lived in Oregon I’d come back just to vote for you.”

  “You can’t stay away forever, Louie; why don’t you come home?”

  “There is nothing I’d like more. Actually, I just finished my PhD in criminal law and thought about doing some teaching.”

  CHAPTER 30

  LOBBYING 101

  A year after the chance meeting in Saint-Tropez, René Dumont contacted Louie Trudeau, JD-PhD, and told him to come home. The first bit of news was that Carmelo Luigi Rossi had been shot and killed by the father of a molestation victim. The deciding factor, that made Louie go to his rented townhouse and pack, was an interview arranged by René at Stanford University. Apparently, they were in the market for a new criminal law professor, and René knew a friend of a friend.

  America runs on a forty-eight-hour news cycle and, after a year, the entire country has amnesia. The lists of gross negligence and the outright criminal accusations associated with the Affordable Care Act reached deep and wide. Some had forgotten his name, and even fewer remembered the sins of Dr. John Grossman. If anything, he was a member of a large fraternity who had capitalized on a behemoth federal program with little or no oversight.

  Before a single state had outright legalized cannabis, the decriminalization process was well on its way. By the end of the seventies, a dozen states had decriminalized the possession of marijuana, and a dozen more quit prosecuting anyone who wasn’t selling. In 1996, the first medical marijuana dispensary opened in Fairfax, California. Several states had decriminalized it, then recriminalized, so to some degree—it was still a wait-and-see game. However, for Dr. John Grossman and René Dumont, the waiting was over. They had started a lobbying group for the legalization of medical marijuana in all fifty states. Dr. John had spoken at every venue imaginable—from radical potheads at Berkley, AMA conventions in Orlando, to a senate subcommittee on the Hill.

  Representing the tens of thousands of patients who benefitted from various forms of cannabis was, in the minds of many, an honorable endeavor. However, Dr. John and René were substantially more ambitious than a petty, not-for-profit lobbying group. While the missing money from the federal coffers, earmarked for Oregon’s Health Care Exchange, was all but forgotten, it was now being put to good use as seed money for building coalitions, friendships, support, and protection. The two men had decided years earlier exactly where they were headed, and both realized the billions of dollars at stake for controlling America’s legal marijuana trade. René had been extremely cautious and, using a tax shelter attorney from the Cayman Islands, had buried their endeavors and their identities deep inside an offshore cooperation called North of Here, Inc.

  CHAPTER 31

  ARCHIE

  Mel spent Thanksgiving with her family in California and Christmas in Oregon, among her best friends. The vineyard was aglow with strings of lights and decorated trees inside and out. On Christmas Eve, Jose pulled a large hay wagon as family and friends drank eggnog and sang Christmas carols. They did the loop through the valley, finally stopping for a midnight worship service at a small country church.

  The party at Hobie and Jillian’s was the best New Year’s celebration she could ever remember. It was all a fairytale until Romeo Banderas had brought the letter.

  Joe and Mel went to the vineyard where they were able to work and think in a secure environment. They pieced together everything they had, drawing circles, adding brackets, and putting it all on paper. After the final edit and agreeing on their course of action, they asked for a meeting with Drummer, the mayor, and Archie Anderson.

  Mel began by asking everyone to bear with them.

  “Archie, Joe told me you lost a son several years ago—an automobile accident I believe.”

  Archie looked puzzled as to why Mel wanted to scrape the scab off a very painful wound.

  “That’s correct. He was the driver of the car and hit a lumber train at a crossing out in the country. While it was a very dark, rainy night, it was determined that he and the three passengers were all high on marijuana and, unfortunately, no one survived.”

  “And you’ve been a fierce opponent of the legalization of marijuana ever since.”

  “Mel, with every fiber of my being I believed the legalization of recreational marijuana will do more harm than good. However, now that it is the law, all I can do is to try and slow its destructive grip on the children of this country.”


  “And Mayor Abercrombe, you support your friend in his efforts, isn’t that correct?”

  “That’s correct, Mel. It’s getting damn hard to fight the tide of drugs but, like Archie, I do what I can.”

  It was Joe’s turn to connect a few dots.

  “Look, everyone: Mel and I have some information which probably links Bill Crivelli to the marijuana industry. We don’t have concrete evidence as of yet, but I have some friends back in Washington and Virginia who may be able to help with that. Archie, we believe it is your outspoken stance against marijuana, not to mention being the DA, which has made you a target of Bill Crivelli and his very dangerous partners. I’ve never talked much about my time in the military, but I wasn’t just fighting terrorism. I spent a great deal of time investigating the murderous cartels that are flooding our country with illegal drugs. We are talking about billions of dollars in profits, and, right now, I believe we are dealing with people who want to use our land and resources to grow marijuana. Our soil is perfect and we have a seemingly endless supply of water. It is my suspicion there may be ‘Bill Crivellis’ in other promising agriculture regions of the country. Furthermore, I think they are all working on behalf of a co-op, if you will, with powerful allies in Washington DC. I believe they are trying to buy land, corner the market, and get rid of the opposition; and, furthermore, I believe these may be the people responsible for killing my friend, Gabby. Mel and I are leaving for a few days, so keep your eyes open and, please, say nothing.”

  CHAPTER 32

  THE TEAM

  For over an hour, Joe Chandler got the run-around from operators, various sergeants, and eventually he was transferred to security. However, Joe wasn’t looking for security—he was trying to get a call through to Lt. Col. Pike but instead was getting the ole agency two-step by people who didn’t know him from Adam. Joe finally gave up, telling Mel it was easier to get through to the complaint department of a cable TV company. He hit a contact number on his cell phone and, within seconds, had a real person on the line.

  “Holy guacamole, I was just thinking of you. What’s up, brother?”

  “Piper, I wish I had time to visit but I need to get in contact with Pike and I’ve been jerked around by NSA for an hour. Any chance you could have him call me? It’s pretty important.”

  “I guess you haven’t heard then. When we lost Gabby, someone on the Hill, someone with some serious machismo, started digging into our investigation. The next thing you know, we’re over budget and somebody is accusing everybody of incompetence. Director Valenzuela got involved, but even he didn’t have the chutzpah to save the mission or Col. Pike. As of last week, the mission is officially shut down and Pike, who was a shoo-in for full bird, got passed over for promotion. As you know, that was a death knell to his career. Right now he’s rotting in a back office over at the Pentagon, and no one seems to know why.”

  “I sure would like to find out who wanted that file closed. Piper, where exactly are you?”

  “At the moment I’m trying to be invisible. I have an office here at Langley that looks more like a utility room with an ironing board as a desk.”

  “Piper, our flight into Dulles lands at 10:00 PM. We’re staying at the Hilton over at Tyson’s Corner. Any chance you and Pike could meet us for an early breakfast?”

  “I can’t foresee it being a problem, but I’ll text you a confirmation. I have a pretty good idea that both Pike and I could shoot pool all day and no one would miss us. It’ll be good to see you, Joe, have a safe flight.”

  At 6:30 AM, Pike and Piper walked into the Founding Farmers Restaurant off the 495 Freeway. Both taking no chances, wore jeans and ball caps.

  “Thanks for coming; it’s good to see you both. This is Mel Randle, my very good friend and the assistant district attorney from my hometown in Oregon.”

  Both men smiled, said hello to Mel, then Pike looked at Joe.

  “First of all, Joe, if this is about the mission, you are no longer privy to classified material and we both could be arrested for thinking about it, much less talking to you. Secondly, I do not know Ms. Randle, and last but certainly not least, I am assuming this must be damn important or I wouldn’t be here. However, Joe, if you want me to risk a firing squad, this better be really good.”

  Joe looked at Mel who nodded for him to continue.

  “We believe the same people who killed Gabby also ordered a hit on Mel. That means there is a connection, right? Furthermore, I think they may have deep enough pockets and good enough connections to have someone torpedo your career. Do I have your attention yet?”

  “Joe, I would say you have my undivided attention; please continue.”

  “We don’t want to get you or anyone into trouble, Colonel, no worse than you already are. It seems obvious someone is going out of their way to shut down a viable mission—one with confirmed intel and good open leads. And, Colonel, to do so, they are willing to kill Gabby and throw your career under the bus. We need help—someone with creds and clearance and, right now, I assume you still have both.”

  Joe explained how they had begun examining the practices and intentions of a man named Bill Crivelli, mostly as an effort to protect some good friends. Then both Joe and Mel laid out their hypothesis that some extremely dangerous men with powerful connections in the US government were trying to corner the market and distribution channels of medical and recreational marijuana. Next, Joe handed each of them a copy of the letter from Father Dominic. They both had to read it twice.

  “You must be kidding,” said Piper. “What is the chance of that happening, Joe? I mean, it’s almost spooky, right?”

  “So, let me get this straight,” said Pike, looking at Mel. “A priest in Guadalajara, who is a good friend to Joe, takes a confession from a man who probably runs a team of Mexican thugs and hitmen, who just happens to have been asked by one of your ex-law professors, whom he has a business relationship with, to kill you, Ms. Randle. Is that correct?”

  “That is correct, Colonel. The monsignor and Joe referred to it as providence, and I do not have a better explanation—do you, sir?”

  “Well, I certainly hope you both bought a Powerball ticket at the airport, and Piper’s correct: it’s downright spooky. Do you have any idea who this ‘gringo’ might be?”

  Joe told them he didn’t have that piece of the puzzle.

  “You are right, Joe, it is a puzzle and perhaps I may be able to add a few missing piece.”

  “Now, you have my full attention, Colonel.”

  “Right before they pulled the plug on our investigation, we caught a series of breaks—breaks that should have expedited the case instead of shutting it down.

  “First of all, if you remember, we were squeezing Tino Alvarez who finally gave us something. Tino told an FBI agent named Irwin that a ‘badass gringo soldier’ gave him some serious cash to betray Espinoza, and then hooked him up with Javier Rivera. As it turns out, one of our agents down in Tijuana was running an informant named Castro, who worked for Rivera. Astonishingly, the kid was able to snap a picture of an American. He told Agent Castro that Rivera was scared to death of this guy, and said he looked like a soldier. I have the photo but it’s blurred, and before I could get it run through the system we were out of business.

  “Another promising break came from a wiretap of an ex-midlevel FDA employee by the name of Lonnie Rudman. We listened to a conversation between Rudman and a lowlife hacker known as Luther. The gist of the conversation certainly validates your hypothesis about someone wanting to take Mexico out of the equation and control the legal pot industry.

  Eventually we heard a second conversation, and we got a name. We think Rudman was getting cold feet and made a phone call to his boss. When he or she answered, Rudman said, ‘Listen, René,’ and the person on the other end said, ‘If you ever use my name on the phone or call me at this number again, I’ll have someone cut your sack off,’ and the line went dead.”

  “Why do you say he or she?” asked Mel.


  “Because we naturally assumed the name René was a woman, but the voice, no matter how many times we analyzed it, could have gone either way.”

  “My God,” said Mel. “As a prosecutor I would stand up and cheer with this kind of evidence. Granted it’s not enough to take to trial, but it certainly does not warrant shutting down an investigation; actually, quite the opposite.”

  “My thoughts exactly,” said Pike.

  The four were quiet as the waitress refilled their coffee cups and laid down the check, and they remained quiet for several moments longer.

  “Whew, that’s a lot to take in, but definitely too much to sit on,” said Pike, obviously deep in thought. “I still have my clearance and a computer, but what I really need is someone at Langley. All the case files are encrypted and I no longer have access.”

  “I agree,” said Joe.

  “We need to connect this whole thing to one person, or one identifiable group. Someone is in charge and that someone is behind Gabby’s murder, and I will not quit until I find them.”

  “All right, boys,” said Mel. “Let’s look at what we got. We know Professor Trudeau is in this thing up to his neck, but I doubt he’s the guy—agreed?”

  Everyone nodded and Joe responded. “I agree that he’s up to his neck, but I think Mel’s right: I think we’re looking for someone who’s a lot more connected on the Hill; if not a sitting politician, then probably a staffer or a lobbyist or some such. We definitely have to shake down Trudeau, but not at the risk of giving away our position.”

  Again, everyone nodded and Mel continued. “That leaves us with Bill Crivelli, a corporation named North of Here, Inc., Lonnie Rudman, a mysterious soldier, a photo of a possible American soldier in Mexico, and a man or woman named René. So, who takes what and how do we proceed?”

  They planned, plotted, divided responsibilities, and agreed to meet the following evening for dinner.