Bad Penny

by John D. Brown

  He reached the edge of the cattails. “Am I clear?”

  Sam looked down the road. “There’s a truck coming. You have about sixty seconds before it gets here.”

  Frank pushed back through the path he’d made in the cattails and climbed over the fence. “Throw me my pants,” he said.

  Sam picked up his pants and tossed them out. They landed in the cattails a few feet away. Frank grabbed them and rolled the P90 up in them. To anyone, even if they were standing right next to him, his pants would appear to be nothing more than a pair of pants.

  He climbed out of the water and up the gravel-studded shoulder to the dirt road and caught a slight breeze that cooled his wet body. Two grinning teens were in the oncoming pickup. The driver did not slow, but rumbled by, trailing a big dust cloud that rolled over Frank and the others as the pickup passed. The dust clung to Frank’s wet body and hair.

  The boys hooted as they went by.

  Frank saluted them. Good one, lads. Nice rural humor.

  He wiped himself down with his shirt, and then they all hopped into the van, Frank in his black Hanes, Sam and Carmen more conventionally dressed. Sam pulled out before the dust cloud from the pickup had finished dispersing.

  Frank pulled his pants on and said, “Up ahead, past that corner, you’ll see the wreckage of the snowmobile I was riding. We’ll see if the extra magazine is still in the stow compartment.”

  Frank finished dressing and found the magazine just where he’d put it. If he could fill both magazines, he’d have a hundred rounds. Much better than a poke in the eye with a sharp stick.

  “Where now, boss?” Sam asked.

  “Food. With wi-fi.”

  22

  Carrots

  THE FOOD WAS salads because Big Tomato was the first place they found with internet service advertised. It was a quick, serve-yourself, be-green, organic-grown, no-hormones, flax-seed-and-alfalfa soup and salad joint that looked like it was manned by a couple of hippies who had escaped from Boulder. The one guy greeted them like they were coming to Disneyland. He was probably so happy because they were growing fine organic bud somewhere out back. This was Colorado, after all. Land of the Libertarians. But they were clean, happy hippies. Guys in their forties who looked like they had learned there was more to life than getting stoned. There were things like showers and socks. And cash.

  The place was well lit and decorated. The items in the buffet were numerous and fresh. There were some mega fiber brownies, but Frank passed over those for the tiny sweet corn muffins he loved. They paid the feed fee, piled chow on their plates, and settled into a booth at the back.

  Frank consumed his plate full of mini muffins like it might be his last, which was a distinct possibility. Where he was headed, there were only two paths: death or prison. He didn’t think they had cute corn muffins in the hot place. They certainly didn’t have in any prison.

  He might have a slim chance at another road. One that allowed him to go back to being the hard-working Walmart guy who was going to beat the odds and keep his carcass out of the slammer. But hoping for that at this point was like pinning your hopes on the possibility that a gold brick was going to fall out of the sky and thud into the ground at your feet.

  Carmen went to eating her three plates of food like someone might approach digging a ditch—no talking, just methodical shoveling. Sam picked at his food in a pensive mode. Frank decided to multi-task. He opened the internet on Tony’s phone and googled “Goroza Colorado.”

  He found nothing.

  He googled “Colorado Jesus Goroza.”

  Nothing again.

  He googled “H. C. and Sons Colorado.” This time he got a hit. A few seconds later he was looking at a street view of a long building with tall cement walls in the south-western end of Denver. One end of the building was a loading dock with bays for at least twelve semis. In the middle of the building were a couple of small windows for what Frank assumed were offices. The other end of the building had a couple of windows high up in the cement wall. The building ended with a link to a railroad spur. This was a manufacturing plant of some sort.

  Frank clicked in and read the details. It was not a manufacturing plant. It was a bakery that specialized in frostings, fondants, and frozen cookie pucks. He could buy five gallon buckets of frosting base. He could buy scones. He could buy bags of strawberry filling.

  He showed Carmen the information. “You sure it was H. C. and Sons?”

  Her mouth was full of food. She held a chicken drumstick in one hand, a roll slathered with honey-butter in the other. “Pretty sure,” she said around her food.

  Frank couldn’t conduct any type of operation on pretty-sures and maybes. He googled the name of the company with “Goroza.” Nothing. He went back to the company’s site, found a telephone number and called it.

  A woman answered, told him it was H. C. and Sons. Asked him how she could help.

  Frank said, “This is Clarence Thomas from Findlay Foods. I’d like to speak with Flor.”

  “Ms. Goroza doesn’t come in much. I don’t think she’s here.”

  “What about her son?”

  “Hector?”

  “Yes,” Frank said.

  “He’s in a meeting. Can I take your information?”

  “Naw, it’s Flor I really need. But you’ve been helpful. By the way, they still living at that place in Aurora?”

  There was a pause. Come on, he thought, give it up.

  “No,” she said a bit suspiciously, “I don’t think they were ever in Aurora.”

  “Hum,” Frank said like he was surprised and waited. He waited an uncomfortably long time. Usually that’s all it took, but this woman did not offer up Flor’s real place of residence.

  “Sir, are you still there?” She sounded like she was on the verge of interrogating him.

  Frank said, “Sorry, I accidentally put my phone on mute. I’ll try to catch her at home.” He said good-bye and hung up.

  “Well?” Sam asked.

  “There’s a Flor and Hector at H. C. and Sons. And the receptionist is a little cagey.”

  “Drugs, slaves, and snack cakes?” Sam asked. “Are we sure these bad guys didn’t just steal those names?”

  Frank thought about how Ed spoke Jesus’s name. Like it was some joke. It could have been funny to him because it was biblical. It could have been funny because it was also a stolen identity. “We’re not sure of anything,” Frank said. “But it’s what we’ve got.”

  And what they had were a lot of truck bays. He looked back at the Google photo. “Look at that bakery. Look at all those trucks. With twelve plus bays for semis, that bakery is putting a lot of product on the road. A lot of trucks going and coming all over the place. I’m seeing lots of transportation.”

  “That’s what factories do,” Sam said. “They make stuff and ship it out.”

  “Which is perfect, isn’t it?” Frank asked.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “The Gorozas. You move drugs, slaves, weapons—who cares? It’s all the same. These folks are in the business of transportation. And they’ve got shipments coming and going all day long.”

  Sam sat back, took a thoughtful bite of some kind of lettuce that looked like a weed.

  Frank said, “How hard would it be to hide a couple kilos of meth in a five-gallon bucket of frosting? A couple kilos, cut and packaged into the tiny amount you need for a hit, that’s worth a couple hundred thousand dollars on the retail end. How many frosting buckets do you have to have?”

  Sam looked up, did the math in his head. “Put one in every ten, twenty, fifty trucks, and depending on your schedule, you’re moving millions of dollars every quarter.” He brought his gaze back down from accountant land. “And who is going to suspect the snack cake man? Nobody’s going to look twice. It’s just another semi or white delivery van on the road.”

  Frank turned to Carmen. “Do you have any other information about the Gorozas?”

  “I know they’re
part of the ring,” she said.

  “Then we need to get down there pronto. We need more data. But we can’t show up looking like this.”

  Frank felt someone behind him and turned. A little boy was standing up in the booth behind Frank watching them. His face was all sober like he understood ever word and was mulling it over. He was eating a baby carrot, munching it open-mouthed. In his little fist, he held the other half of the carrot. At the other side of the table, the boy’s older sister was hovering over a piece of pizza, watching Frank suspiciously. The mother was probably up getting food.

  The little boy reached into a pocket and brought out little plastic robot car thing. He showed it to Frank, then set it between them on the back of the bench like it held the key to everything.

  “Nice,” Frank said.

  The little boy kept munching, then held his half-eaten carrot out to Frank. Tony had done that when he was a crumb cruncher—always trying to pawn his vegetables off.

  The boy’s little hand was greasy with some sauce, wet with a bit of slobber. Frank figured why not? He dipped down and sucked the carrot right out of the boy’s hand and munched it with a bit of fanfare.

  Half the boy’s mouth curled up in delight. He picked up another carrot from his plate and held it out. Frank sucked that one. It was like he was in a time warp, back at Kim’s house when Tony was just a kid.

  Frank fetched one of his last two mini corn muffins. He held it out for the boy. “Try this,” he said.

  The boy took it, looked at it.

  “It’s tasty,” Frank said.

  But the little guy wasn’t biting. Frank pointed to his older sister sitting on the other side of the table. “Maybe your sister wants it.”

  The boy held it back out to Frank.

  Frank took his muffin back. The boy went for more carrots. This time he came back with a handful, but instead of offering them to Frank, he took one and put it up his left nostril. It hung there like a tiny orange tusk.

  Frank had shown Tony that move. He could see the scene clearly, Tony sitting on the kitchen table at Kim’s house, a UFC fight on TV in the background, some kid flying a kite outside.

  A knot formed in Frank’s chest.

  At that moment the mother returned.

  “Mom,” the sister said, “he’s doing the booger vampire again.”

  “Darius,” the mother scolded. “Take that out.” She looked at Frank. Looked a little worried. “Darius, turn around and leave the people alone.”

  “This one’s going to be a handful,” Frank said, and that knot tightened.

  The mother gave him a civil smile that said plenty.

  “Bye, bye, Darius,” he said and turned around so the mom wouldn’t worry about the hard-looking man with the tattoos.

  “Booger sticks,” Sam said. “A perennial favorite.”

  “Part of a balanced breakfast,” Frank said.

  The mother and the children went on with their meal. Frank thought for a moment about the mothers in Mexico, in El Salvador, in Honduras. Poor women sending their girls off to what they hoped would be a better life in the land of plenty. He thought about those girls in the basement of that house. He thought about that little boy with his carrots. He thought about Tony.

  Outside the sun was still high in the sky, but he knew that was deceiving. They had miles to go, promises to keep. He looked at the stacks of dishes on the table, most of them from Carmen. “It’s time to roll. Next stop is Wally World.”

  23

  Gear

  WHEN THEY PULLED into the Walmart parking lot, Sam said, “I’m a little shaky on what we’re doing. What’s the plan?”

  “We’re going after the queen of spades.”

  Sam licked his lips. He was having second thoughts.

  “Carmen,” Frank said. “You’re sure Flor runs this outfit?”

  “I am positive.”

  “Before four a.m. tomorrow morning we need to have Flor in our possession. At the very least we need to have a gun to her head.”

  “You’re going to take down the boss?” Sam asked.

  “You got a better plan?”

  Sam just blinked at him. “Don’t you need troops for this?”

  “Not always,” Frank said. The facts were this was a hail-Mary at best. When did hostage exchanges ever go well? And why would a bunch of drug runners care about some old woman, even if she was a wife or mother? But Frank couldn’t think of anything else at the moment. He needed a card. He needed a big one. And this crap plan was the only thing he had up his sleeve.

  Sam looked dubious.

  “You don’t need to come, buddy. Right now you and Carmen and our men in the sky are all the troops I have. But this isn’t your problem. I don’t want to make it your problem. I can do this on my own.”

  Sam nodded, looked out across the parking lot in thought. “There are little kids being raped and enslaved. Another boy who’s been kidnapped and who will likely be killed.”

  “You can just drive.”

  “Isn’t that aiding and abetting?”

  “Technically,” Frank agreed.

  Sam blew out a breath. It was one thing to help a guy chase down kidnappers; it was something entirely different to go on the offensive and start committing felonies.

  Sam thought for a moment, then said, “A man went down from Jerusalem to Jericho.”

  It took Frank a moment to understand the reference. “You sure?” he said. “You’ve got a wife and kids.”

  “I do,” Sam said.

  A beat passed. Then Sam’s faced hardened into resolve. “The Queen of Spades it is.”

  Frank nodded. “I don’t need you guys to go in; you’re support.”

  “I’d be happy to go in,” Carmen said.

  Beautiful and tough as nails. “I’m sure you would, but let’s figure out the details first.”

  “So why Walmart?” Sam asked. “What are we getting?”

  Frank had a list. He sent Carmen to Girl’s Fashion and Sam to Electronics and Stationary. Meanwhile, he picked up a workman’s color of duct tape over by Paint. In Outdoors, it was bear spray, high-lumen LED flashlights, and some gun cleaning items. Gloves in Garden. A sledge hammer, a crowbar, a huge wrench, and a tool belt and toolbox to make it official in Home Repair. Then he went to the optical department to see if they had any zero prescription demo glasses they were sending back. They did. He selected a pair with a thick black plastic frame. He met Sam and Carmen at the front of the store by the cash registers.

  Sam held a clipboard and the boxes for two BlueTooth ear pieces. He shrugged. “We’re going to need good communication.”

  “We’re going to need some night vision as well,” Frank said.

  “I don’t know where we might get that.”

  “I had one of the guys check. They have a good monocular at a Walmart on the way to the bakery. Not the best, but better than nothing. They’re holding it for us.”

  “And how much is that?”

  “A little under $200.”

  “You’re expensive,” Sam said. “You know that?”

  “What are we up to? Like three hundred bucks?”

  “With the gas for the van and plane, hotel, meals etc., I think the tab is now up to around four hundred twelve twenty-five. Plus I’m taking vacation time.”

  “You’re sure you’re not off a few cents?”

  “We can go over it. I’ve kept all the receipts.”

  “Bean counter,” Frank said.

  “Criminal,” Sam replied.

  Carmen had the girl’s belt Frank had asked for, plus a toothbrush and little tube of toothpaste.

  “That wasn’t on the list,” Frank said.

  “It’s been two days,” Carmen said.

  “Add the hygiene items,” Sam said. “Frank can use them when you’re done.” He turned to Frank. “I suppose me funding your adventure will qualify as aiding and abetting, won’t it?”

  “Probably.”

  He sighed. “My wife is going to k
ill me.”

  “Maybe the Gorozas will take care of that for her,” Frank said.

  “Thanks,” Sam said. “You’re a real confidence builder.”

  They checked out. The Mormon cookie man, the vigilante girl, and Frank. Then they got back into the minivan and headed south. They picked up the monocular. Then they stopped at a Hilton Express hotel. They slipped into the business center when the gal at the counter went into the back room, and had Sam man a computer. Frank directed him to find the name of the big Colorado natural gas utility. A few clicks later they were at the Xcel Energy website. Frank then directed Sam to copy the image of the logo and slap it on some official looking document notifying homeowners of a survey in their area. He asked Sam to create another document with a number of rows divided into two columns—one for the name and address of the house and the other for “official notes.” Then he had Sam print out half-a-dozen copies of each. Frank slipped these documents into the clipboard, and the trio exited. They waved at the gal at the counter, then walked down a hallway and exited out the back.

  The last stop was a feed store, which they found on Tony’s GPS. They bypassed the cat food and pesticides and headed directly for the work clothing section. They purchased outfits for both Sam and Frank. The outfits consisted of baby blue, button-up work shirts made from sturdy material and matching caps. Together with the tool belts and clipboard they’d gotten at Walmart it made a complete ensemble. Sam and Frank suited up in the store’s bathroom and came out looking like they maybe could belong to some utility company. Or backup singers for the Village People. They certainly belonged to something—no two men would walk around by choice looking like twinners.

  They proudly walked out to the van in their stiff new shirts.

  “Sam,” Frank said, “you left your tag in.”

  Sam raised his arms to find it, but Carmen was quicker. She reached up and snapped the plastic thread. Then they got into the van and headed for the bakery.

  On the way, Frank grabbed Sam’s diaper bag, found three diapers, and laid them on the floor. He took the P90, released the magazine and pulled it out. He made sure there weren’t any rounds in the chamber. Then he pulled off the barrel and receiver, slid out the bolt, removed the butt pad off the back of the gun, and removed the hammer pack.