Deadly Journey

by Declan Conner

  ‘Let’s not fence, Walters. What are you driving at?’

  ‘I’m just wondering why you turned from gamekeeper to poacher. Or have you been a poacher all along?’

  Anger welled inside. ‘Stop talking in fucking riddles and spell it out. If this is your idea of payback for our spat, you’re a sick mother.’

  ‘Okay, here’s what I think. My idea is that you planned your own kidnapping. You had a bullshit film made to divert us and tie up our resources, but you gave the game away with that smirk at the end. Got to say, we had a lot of discussion about that smile. Anyway, then you carried out the raid on the DEA evidence facility that held the cocaine from the bust you made. Then either you or one of your gang tortured and killed an agent in the process of the heist for the combination of the lock to the evidence area. With no money coming in until your haul hit the streets, you fled to Mexico and got caught trying to smuggle a relatively small amount of coke to give you some pocket money.’

  I sat back and laughed at the stupidity of his scenario. ‘Me and whose gang? Where the hell would I get the resources from to carry out a hit like that? Why don’t you try and find the girl? She’ll put you straight.’

  ‘No need, and here’s why. We think you sold out to Perez, so you could start a new life. Why else would you turn down promotion? Intelligence reports have rumours coming out of the northwest of Mexico that you killed Perez. I figure that was probably the result of some disagreement with him over the split of the fifty million-dollar haul. But all that’s irrelevant. The DNA from the blood smear from the counter matches your DNA, from a sample of your hair taken from a hairbrush at your home. Same with the blood sample taken from the clothing of the agent that you tortured and killed. As for the girlfriend or your partner in crime – if she exists – the only reason we would have to find her is if we had evidence that she was implicated.’

  I wondered why Perez would go to that extent to frame me, but then I didn’t have to think long and hard. As he had said, “No one steals from me.” The bullet in the back of his guard’s head for stealing fruit from a tree was testimony to his warped mind.

  Walters handed me a clipping from the front page of a newspaper, dated at the time I was in the rainforest.

  ‘In scenes reminiscent of the Patty Hearst story, could this allegedly kidnapped DEA agent have turned to crime, plotting a fifty-million-dollar heist of cocaine from his agency’s own evidence facility?’

  A picture of me holding the Detroit newspaper stood alongside the picture of the guy removing his mask.

  ‘If you see this man, do not approach him. He is considered armed and dangerous.’

  The rest of the article blurred and I tossed it back at him.

  ‘Fifty million? It would take two vans and four pallets to shift that amount of coke. You’ve got this so wrong.’

  I turned over my hand and stared at the scar on my palm. I shook my head at the vision of Maria handing the facemask to a guard and then the doctor taking my blood sample. It was easy to understand why the TV sets had been removed from my room and Leandra’s. Even in death, Perez had me in checkmate. A flash of light and I blinked. I looked up in time to see Walters sliding his cell phone into his pocket.

  ‘Thanks for the picture of the scar on your palm. I guess all we need now is your confession, but first I’ll read you your rights.’ A smirk developed on his face.

  ‘You can read me anything you like, but when my lawyer and I have finished, the truth will slap that freaking smile from your ugly face. So I’m saying nothing, except, I see your hand in all this.’

  ‘Lawyer. Yeah, right. You mean that skinny broad who stood up in front of the judge this morning? I guess she hasn’t told you yet that you’re going to trial?’

  I shrank and trembled as if someone had removed my skeleton. I was aware of him reading me my rights, but all I could think of was what Mary and God forbid the kids must all be thinking. It was no wonder she was in shock. In a daze, I couldn’t quite grasp if I was imagining the whole thing.

  He swayed his head as a signal to his partner, who walked over and left the room, closing the door behind him.

  ‘What are the charges again?’

  ‘Murder one, in the process of a robbery and extortion. Hopefully, the Mexican authorities will think it’s better to let us deal with you than for you to pay the price for the rest of your crimes down here.’ He sat back with a self-satisfied expression etched on his face. I wished I could reach out and knock the smirk from his face, but a question burned in my mind.

  ‘Where would you be thinking of having the trial?’

  He leaned over to me.

  “Do you think it will get to trial? You’re in the gutter, exactly where I said you’d end up. Once they find out who you are in here, you won’t make it to any court. Think about that tonight when you try to sleep. As for Mary and your kids, you’re already toast.”

  Gripping the edge of the table, I shoved it into his gut. He winced, but kept his balance, and then stood. Walters walked to the door and turned to face me.

  ‘To answer your question, if you get that far, we’ll be having the trial in Texas. Incidentally, we’ll be asking for the death penalty.’

  Chapter 50

  The Bucket

  It was a strange experience returning to the yard from the interview room. I had no recall of the journey, as if I had been beamed to where I stood. All around me, my vision blurred. I can’t say I was in shock in the sense of trembling, just numb. Surfer stood in front of me. His mouth moved, but his words were lost to me in the muffled conversation rising from the throng of bodies around the yard. If he wanted an answer to a question, there was none to give. I had lost the will to converse as if disconnected from reality and craving solitude.

  Surfer took hold of me by the shoulders and gave me a shake.

  ‘You in there?’

  Taking hold of his wrists, I forcibly removed his hands and marched toward the stairway. Arriving at my cell, I climbed onto the bunk. Surfer walked through the cell door.

  ‘Listen, man. When you feel the need to talk, I’m a good listener.’

  Not wanting to share my thoughts with anyone, I turned over and fixed a stare at the paper chain.

  ‘Whatever, man. When you’re ready.’

  I thought about the implications, not just for me, but also the damage that the situation would inflict on my family. However I shuffled the cards, it was a lose-lose scenario. If Otego didn’t get me, there was still a chance Walters would have his day of glory. Me, I just felt like an inconsequential cockroach, only any good for being stomped on by a heavy boot. Thirteen years of loyal service and my words of explanation wouldn’t count for diddley against forensic evidence in a courtroom. All I had was the truth of the story of my journey. Weasel had been right; I was nobody. I should have told him all he wanted to know without the torture.

  My head pounded at the tension brought on by my thoughts spinning in so many different directions. All this grief I had suffered for the sake of some low-life with a grudge putting a price on my head. I began to wish that whoever it was had succeeded. The unthinkable came to the fore. For my family’s own good, maybe I would have to cut them all adrift – even if it meant taking my life with my own hand.

  ‘Hey, Razor, you forgot the piss bucket,’ Skunk said and tugged at my shoulder. ‘It stinks in here.’

  I growled, turned over, jumped off the bunk, and faced Skunk nose-to-nose.

  ‘Empty it yourself before I tip it over your freaking ugly head. While you’re at it, go take a shower. The only smell in here is you.’

  Surfer squeezed between us. ‘Whoa, steady there, you two. I’ll empty the goddam bucket.’

  Skunk stood his ground and I shoulder-charged him on the way out to the gantry. Grasping the railing, I took a deep breath. The tension drained through my knuckles and I slapped the railing, turning to face the cell.

  ‘Sorry, Skunk, I’ve just had some bad news. I shouldn’t have bad-mouthed
you like that.’

  ‘Whatever. It’s all bad news in here, so fuck you.’

  Skunk sat on his bunk, picked up a book, flicking the pages as if nothing had happened except I could see his fingers shaking. Surfer walked out of the cell, holding the bucket, and whispered, ‘See you’ve got a temperamental side to your nature. Just be careful not to snap, ’cause Skunk’s a good guy really – for a serial killer with a sweat-gland problem.’

  Surfer laughed and then whistled a tune as he walked away.

  I turned and looked out over the yard. Even though they were all grown men, the activity was akin to a school playground. Inmates huddled in groups, others played handball, while some sat around reading books, or watching what was going on around them.

  Big Guy – I noticed – stood near the gate with five of his clan. They all touched fists and broke away, as if they’d just discussed tactics in a football game. Something was afoot. Call it a sixth sense from years at school as a victim, developing a nose for danger and watching the bullies at play. But nothing could compare with a yard full of psychopaths, taking their will to dominate to a completely new level of tension.

  Big Guy walked through the centre of the yard with his buddies spreading out and following. He waved at a prisoner across the yard, and then in the blink of an eye, brought his arm around someone’s forehead, clutching him to his chest. As if the whole thing was choreographed, one of his men walked quickly past him and handed him a knife. In a fluid movement, he stabbed his victim in the back and then drew the knife across his throat. Big Guy released his arm and his victim dropped to his knees, clutching his throat in a futile attempt to stem the flow. Blood oozed through his fingers. Another of his crew walked past him and palmed the knife from Big Guy’s hand.

  I couldn’t be sure if Surfer was in the wrong place at the wrong time, but I saw the guy with the knife drop it into the bucket. Surfer walked on to the toilet and shower room. In no hurry, Big Guy walked away, and glanced up to where I was standing. A shiver ran through me.

  The central area of the yard emptied as inmates walked to their cells, with everyone turning their backs to the victim. The corpse lay face down and bleeding out. I saw the gate open and guards walked nonchalantly over to the body, laying down a plastic sheet. They rolled the corpse onto the sheet and dragged it across the yard and through the gate, leaving a slug trail of blood in the dirt.

  I looked left along the gantry at the sound of footsteps. Big Guy and his crew were walking in line toward me. He paused and we exchanged glances.

  ‘That’s what you get for being a snitch. Remember that the next time you talk with your friends. I’m keeping my eye on you.’

  For someone with only one eye, I thought his words ironic. ‘They’re not my friends.’

  ‘What did they want?’

  ‘They came to charge me and to tell me they’ve applied for my extradition.’

  ‘What charge?’

  ‘Not charge, charges. Murder, robbery and extortion.’

  He rolled his tongue across his top lip and nodded his head in approval, like some toy dog that you stick on your dash, with a spring attached to its head as a neck. Big Guy moved on and into his cell.

  Turning to the railing, I buried my head in my hands, doubting that I could sink any lower, as if I were stuck in the mudflats with the tide coming in to drown me. Getting moved out of there couldn’t come quickly enough. As I removed my hands, it started to rain. It was a few drops at first, and then it came down in buckets. The stain of the inmate’s blood in the yard washed away in the deluge, as if nature was sweeping the entire event away.

  The ferocity of the downpour abated to a drizzle. Surfer ran across the yard to the gate and put the bucket down. The gate opened and he stepped through. I glanced right to see if any of the MS-13 gang were watching, thinking that maybe Surfer was looking for a ticket out of there by snitching. The gantry was empty.

  Five minutes later he returned to the yard, picked up the bucket and burst into a rendition of “Singing in the Rain” while hopping, skipping and jumping in the puddles. I heard his footsteps clattering up the stairway and then watched him speed-walking toward me. His smile arrived before his presence at my side.

  ‘Yes – I’m outta here.’

  ‘They’re transferring you?’

  ‘No, man, twenty-four hours and I should know if I’m gonna be released. Another twenty-four hours for the paperwork and I should be gone.’ He punched the air.

  ‘Slow down, speak English. What’s happened?’

  ‘My attorney made the prosecution look like idiots. I just spoke to her on the phone. Told you I’d plead ignorance. The judge has given them twenty-four hours to find the padlock they cut from my truck.’

  ‘How come?’

  ‘She told the judge the lock must have been tampered with at a sleepover and I knew jack-shit about the dope being stashed inside. She said the lock would prove it, one way or another.’

  ‘Yeah, but what if they find the padlock?’

  ‘No chance. I snuck it from the bench and tossed it away.’

  ‘You said she. Who was your attorney?’

  ‘Angelina Lopez. She’s something else, man.’

  I looked at him with disbelief that my attorney could spring a guilty party, but as an innocent, I was facing trial.

  ‘Hey, man, what’s wrong?’

  ‘Nothing. I’m pleased for you. She didn’t do much for me. I’m going to trial.’

  ‘So that’s why all the gloom. Hell, I’m sorry it hasn’t gone your way. Still, I’m not surprised. I’ve figured out who you are. Told ya it would come to me.’

  I guessed someone had to find out sooner or later, but it was what Surfer would do with the information that worried me – especially if he got word out before my transfer.

  Chapter 51

  Outed

  Surfer cocked his head to one side, with an equally lopsided grin on his lips.

  ‘So, who do you think I am?’ I asked.

  Surfer did a three-sixty turn to make sure no one was listening and moved close to my ear.

  ‘You’re that bent DEA agent everyone’s been looking for. Man, that was some daring heist. I should have known right off. It was on CNN twenty-four seven and front page on all the papers.’

  ‘You’re mistaken.’

  ‘No mistake and you know it. Listen, your secret is safe with me. I figure I owe you more than the few bucks we scrubbed for you watching my back. But—’

  ‘But what?’

  ‘Look, if you have it stashed away, how about cutting me in when I get out of here? I could be your representative to your gang. You know, watch out for your interests, and make sure your family is looked after. I mean, that’s what the MS-13 guys in here do and they’ll never see the light of day, but they still run things on the outside.’

  ‘Really, I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘Have it your way. Think about it, but if I were you I’d stay in the cell all day. If anyone else finds out who you are, you’re meat for the scavengers.’

  It was hard to figure out if that was a veiled threat, but staying in the cell wasn’t an option as the rain poured down once again.

  The rest of the day, I couldn’t help but think about what he had said. If the others did find out, I would have to be careful how to handle the situation and try to turn it to my advantage.

  The following day, a guard advised me at breakfast to be at the gate at 10:00 a.m. for visitors. Standing at the gate, Surfer watched my back, as he had done all morning. The gate drew open and I was ushered through the usual procedures and into the interview room. At least I knew it wouldn’t be Mary, not since finding out the times the public could visit. When the guard said visitors, I assumed one would be my lawyer, but I still couldn’t work out who the other would be, unless Angelica had arranged to meet up with the FBI for them to interview me again.

  The door opened and in walked my visitor.

  ‘Kurt, thank
goodness they let me see you.’

  I scrambled to stand as he walked over, throwing his arms around me in an embrace and a few back-taps. ‘Rob, thank God you’re here.’

  ‘I had to flash my ID and convince them it was department business, but yeah, thank God.’

  We separated and he pulled up a chair beside me as I sat.

  ‘So you’re not here on business?’

  ‘Hell, no. Just come to see my buddy and to see what the hell’s going on. Damned FBI won’t let me near your case. Agent Walters is freezing me out. I’m guessing he’s still holding a grudge. You had any contact with Mary, a phone call, or a letter?’

  Walters!

  I had a bad feeling about Agent Walters’ involvement and his grudge.

  ‘No, nothing since I called and she dropped the phone.’

  ‘Yeah, it’s hit her hard.’

  ‘How is she? What about the kids?’

  ‘The kids are fine. They’re at her mother’s.’

  ‘Yeah, I know, I saw a picture.’

  His eyebrows rose.

  ‘Long story. I’ll tell you later. How’s Mary?’

  ‘Last time I saw her she was fine, but heavily sedated.’

  ‘Has the FBI grilled her about me?’

  ‘Yeah, the usual background stuff. They questioned me too, and the guys at the agency. Listen, tell me all that’s happened. Start from the beginning. Have you any idea at all who kidnapped you from outside the crack house?’

  ‘Not at all. They put a sack over my head and threw me in the trunk of a car.’

  He stood, took off his jacket, hung it on the back of his chair, and then did a spin. ‘See, no wire. I’m here for you, buddy. What’s said in here stays in here.’

  ‘I hope you’ve got plenty of time. What time is it?’

  Rob pulled back his shirt cuff. ‘Ten after ten.’

  ‘New watch?’

  ‘Yeah, I lost mine a few weeks back. Bought this today.’

  I sat back and studied Rob. I knew he was my buddy, but I couldn’t understand him not talking about the case against me in the US.