“Where do I start?”
“How’d you find me?”
“Good point, and speakin’ of findin’ you, how’d I go ’bout doin’ that agin?”
“As it is said in poker, it’ll be the luck of the draw. I might be busy,” she replied.
“I guess it’d be silly to ask for a phone number.”
“Yes, it would. If I’m around, I’m around. Usually, I work the same corner every day.”
“I don’t normly do this type of thing, but I enjoyed our time together. Maybe I’ll see ya agin. It’ll probably a few weeks before I git back this way, but when I do, I’ll try to look ya up.”
“Thanks,” she said, picking up her purse and began walking out of the hotel restaurant.
Trent sat there musing while having more coffee. She had been helpful, but it was like pulling teeth, and he didn’t know whether or not he’d gotten enough information to satisfy Dobson and his associates. So, he went to the desk and asked the clerk, Maria Gomez, if he could have a late checkout.
“Of course, Senõr Trent, one o’clock,” she said, smiling brightly.
“Gracias, Maria.”
Trent went to his room and packed his overnight bag. He needed to get back to the streets and throw around the names “Consuela” had given him. He walked past the Palacio Palace to the Tequila Sunset Bar. The place was dark and dingy. The clientele seemed to match the décor. He pulled up a stool at the bar by two men who appeared to be locals. The heavyset bartender asked him in poorly spoken English what he wanted to drink.
“Corona, gracias, amigo,” Trent replied.
Trent knew he was not going to be able to converse with the bartender. The guy could hardly speak any English. He listened and concentrated on the two men at the bar. They mostly spoke Spanish and an occasional English phrase or two. Finally, Trent got the man’s attention next to him by tapping him on the shoulder.
“Habla Ingle Por favor, amigo.”
“No, poco,” he replied by showing a little distance between his thumb and index finger.
“I do,” his friend said.
“I’m trying to contact my amigo Sinaloa.”
“You must me joking. He has no friends. To find him, you would have to risk your life. He does not like gringos. What do you want with him?”
“I have a bidness proposition.”
“Bidness? That man does things no one talks about, because they want to live. I do not suggest you try to contact him, if you care about your life.”
“I’m willin’ to take the chance. Where can I find him?”
“I don’t know…he could be anywhere. A few weeks ago I heard he was somewhere along the border to Guatemala. He could be in Mexico City. We hear that a lot. He doesn’t come to Tijuana, others do.”
“What others?”
“People who deal drugs, smuggle foreigners across the border, and run guns. If he’s your amigo, you know that.
“There’re two other men I would like to meet—Alvarez and Burboa. Can you help me with them?”
“Hombre, you’re looking for trouble. You should not talk about these names.”
“No, I just wanna talk ’bout some transportation bidness with ’em.”
“Whatever you want to transport is not good,” he said and turned away.
Trent finished his Corona, thanked the two men, and left the bar. He was able to verify what he had been told by the putana. That was enough for his first trip, and he was still in one piece. Trent knew he was treading on treacherous ground, but this was only the beginning. The next time he had to make contact with drug dealers or whatever may come his way. He had his route to run and time to make up.
Five hours after leaving Tijuana, Trent pulled into a rest stop. He was tired. He needed sleep. The night before had caught up with him. Dusk was rapidly approaching, and he could hardly wait to sack out.
When he awoke, it was nearly four in the morning. Nature called and he took care of business in the rest stop bathroom. Afterward, he knew he was back on schedule and would be in Phoenix in a few hours. He was hungry and looked forward to one of his favorite truck stops a few miles outside of the city limits. When it came into view, he was ready for a cup of coffee and huevo rancheros. Moments later a tall thin man dressed like a trucker plopped down next to him at the counter.
“Is your report ready?”
Trent didn’t even look over. He knew he was one of Dobson’s people.
“Not yet, but I’ll have it when I git back home,” he said, staring across the counter.
“If you want to get paid, I have to have it,” the man said.
“Look, jackass, I been risking mah life on this damn deal, so don’t screw with me. You people will git it when I git home, so leave me the hell alone so I can eat my breakfast,” Trent said quietly.
“Put your report in the mail box the day after you get home, check the mailbox five days later, and hopefully your intel will entitle you to your money,” he said curtly and left.
Trent was so pissed he could hardly enjoy his meal. All he could think about was the word entitle?! After the tall guy walked out, he just continued sitting at the counter and nursing his coffee. Finally, he paid the bill and returned to his rig. When he climbed aboard, he suddenly felt very alone, and then he thought about Haylee. Her dark hair, blue eyes, and feistiness brought a smile to his face. He looked in his wallet, found her number, and called. She answered right away.
“Hey, Haylee, it’s Trent.”
“You don’t have to tell me who it is, I’d know that deep voice anywhere,” she said with a giggle.
“Hope you don’t mind me callin.’ It’s ’bout time for work, and I didn’t want to bother ya.”
“I still have a few minutes. How’s your trip been?”
“Differnt.”
“Why is it different?” She asked.
“I guess ’cause it made me think ’bout bein’ in Iraq.”
“That was a long time ago. Doesn’t sound like good thoughts,” she said.
“Yeah, you right ’bout that on both counts.”
“Is there somethin’ I can do for ya?” She asked.
“Ya did already, ya answered the phone. Good to hear ya voice.”
“I didn’t know I could please a man so easy.”
“Like I told ya, you’re very special. Think maybe we could have dinner together when I git back?”
“Sure, sure we can. When’s the last time you had a home-cooked meal?”
“Lordy, I can’t ’member that,” Trent replied.
“Don’t know how good I’ll be at country cookin’, but I’m sure willin’ to try.”
“I really ’preciate you wantin’ to do that, but I’m a bit afraid to meet your momma yet.”
“I thought maybe I could come over to your place and do the cookin’.”
“I hadn’t thought ’bout that, but I have to clean up the place some, ’cause you know us bachelors ain’t all that neat. Guess you caught me by surprise, hadn’t figur’d on somethin’ like that.”
“Guess I want you to taste my cookin’ rather than ole Jeb’s at the restaurant. I’ll go online and look up some country recipes. Will you be here by Sunday?” Haylee asked.
“Yeah, should get in Saturdy ’bout noon.”
“Trent, I just want you to know, I’ve missed ya.”
“I’d be lyin’ if I said I hadn’t missed you. So, I’ll be seein’ ya in a few days.”
After the call ended, Trent sat there thinking about the putana and what he’d done. He felt certain Haylee wouldn’t understand or accept his behavior, regardless of his reasons. He knew his methods of operation would have to remain unsaid.
CHAPTER FIVE
As soon as he returned home, Trent created a handwritten report for Dobson and his people. He didn’t use any electron
ic means to prepare the report, because that was traceable. He knew how vulnerable hard drives were no matter if something was deleted or the drive was wiped by a professional, so he didn’t even consider using his laptop, tablet, or any other device.
It took him about an hour to finish it. Then, he climbed on Rocket One and within minutes he dropped the report off at his mailbox. He was relieved and hoped the information he provided would be helpful to Homeland Security. Trent hurried back to his place, because he needed to straighten up things before Haylee came over to cook him supper. When he completed his tasks, he sat down and called Haylee.
“This is Trent, we still on for tomorrow?”
“Gosh, I’m sooo sorry, but I won’t be able to come over,” Haylee said.
“Doggone it, I was lookin’ forward to seein’ ya and tastin’ yor cookin’’.
“Oh… Trent, that was not nice of me. Yes, of course, I’m gonna cook you a special southern meal tomorrow. I found a great recipe for buttermilk fried chicken, turnip greens, mashed potatoes, and real corn bread, not that sweet stuff,” she said.
“All that sounds great! If you can git over here a little early, I bought a bottle of Chardonnay wine. I thought it might be good for the occasion.”
“Would four o’clock be okay?” Haylee asked.
“Yeah, that’d be perfect. I’ll be waitin’,” he replied.
When Haylee arrived, she had a bag of groceries in hand, which Trent took and placed them on the counter. He had already set the table.
“How ’bout a glass a wine?” He said while looking for a corkscrew.
“Good, idea,” she said with a smile.
They had a glass of wine and Haylee began her cooking adventure. It was an adventure, because other than the stove, she had no idea where things were. Trent sort of served as her prep assistant. It was fun, and Haylee wanted to show him she could cook a good southern meal; although, she didn’t leave her recipe just lying around, and she followed it to a T. They also had time to talk.
“Trent, whatever happened to your friend Luke, the one who used to come in the restaurant with you?” Haylee asked as she was preparing the batter for the chicken.
“You mean Luke Welton, who went up to Vegas. I guess this place wasn’t excit’n nuff. He moved about a year ago. He sure was a good ole drinkin’ buddy, a fine friend, too. Me and him were purdy close.”
“Didn’t he drive truck locally,” she asked.
“Yeah, but truckin’ was never his thing. He liked the bright lights, women, gamblin’, booze, and wearin’ fancy clothes.”
“How’s he make a livin’ now?” She asked.
“He’s a pit boss at a casino where he can wear his tuxceedo and mill ’bout smartly. He has a little house in Henderson, not far from the strip. Maybe me and you can take my straddle-sackle Rocket One up to see ’em.”
“Gee, don’t know about that,” she said slowing her pace. “Las Vegas is at least two hours away. I’ll have to give it some thought,” she said, looking over at Trent sipping his wine.
“Guess I’m gittin’ ’head a mahself.”
“No, it’s nothin’ like that. I worry about momma,” she said with a pensive look on her face.
“No problem, Luke and I talk by phone ever two or three weeks, anyways. We don’t need to go to Vegas, but if the situation should ever come about, I thought it might be a good idea.”
“It is a good idea. Who knows, maybe we can. Trent, darn it, you’re gettin’ to me,” she said in an exasperated tone.
“Lord knows I surely hope so,” he said, walking over and putting his arms around her.
Trent held her closely and in a comforting way. She reciprocated and welcomed his tenderness. Haylee felt somewhat confused by it all. She wondered if this was about to become a true relationship between a man and a woman. Her mind was in a spin. She pulled back and looked him in the eyes.
“Trent, are you looking for another woman with spring-loaded legs?”
“Haylee, that’s not even in mah mind. I probly should never had said that to ya before. Guess I just wanted to be honest with ya. Don’t know but maybe my good sense is not what it once was. Suppose the truth is I want a real relationship.”
“I don’t intend to be a mother with a kid runnin’ ’round with no father.”
“Aw…that’s a terrible thing to say, sweetheart. I’d never do that to ya. I did those things when I was just a young whippersnapper. I ain’t happy ’bout it either. Truth is I’m ashamed of what I did back then.”
“Oh, the past is the past and there’s nothing can be done about it. Let me get back to makin’ dinner,” she said.
“How can I help?” Trent asked.
“Just show me where to find things, and we’ll be ready to eat in less than an hour.”
“I like the sound of that, ’cause mah gut’s beginin’ to gnaw at me,” he said.
The two of them seemed to work quite well in the kitchen together. Haylee handled herself as though she’d been cooking southern meals all her life. Trent was so taken with her efforts he couldn’t help but comment about everything—especially the cornbread when they finally sat down for dinner.
“You shor you didn’t grow up in the south? This is some of the best buttermilk fried chicken I ever ate. This cornbread’s the real stuff. It ain’t that sweet concoction cooked by mostly everyone not from the south. When I eat cornbread, I’m not ’spectin’ cake without icin’ on it. You cooked it just like my daddy did when I’s just a kid. When you took out that iron skillet and pan fried it, I knew I’s in for a treat. Haylee, I gotta hand it ta ya. You’re one helluva cook! I’m as full as a blue tick on a hound dog’s ear,” he said, pushing back from the table.
That comment brought tears to her eyes. She had never had anyone so complimentary of her culinary attempts in the kitchen. Her mother was actually often very critical of Haylee’s cooking. It seemed as though that nothing Haylee prepared was up to her mother’s standards. When Trent saw Haylee’s reaction to his comments, he was taken aback.
“Sweetheart, did I say somethin’ wrong. If I did I shor didn’t mean to.”
“No, no…that just made me very happy.”
“Guess I’m not used to women tearin’ up when they’re not sad. I ain’t never had a sister or even a brother. I’m a so-called only child. The fellas in the Army used to kid me ’bout that when it was mail call ’cause I hardly ever got a letter. One time I got some mail from a cousin and then another letter from a preacher. The fellas claimed I was a orphan.”
“That seems cruel to me,” she commented.
“Nah, they didn’t mean nothin’ by that. They were just funnin’ me. My guess it was a way to help with fear. Them ole boys and me lived that way most the time.”
“Didn’t your parents send you any letters, packages, or something?”
“Ya see, Haylee, they couldn’t, they been dead since I’s a boy.”
“Trent, you never said anything ’bout that before.”
“It never came up.”
“Who raised ya? How’d ya grow up?” She asked.
“I mostly raised mahself. Momma died of cancer before her forty-second birthday when I’s still in grade school, and mah daddy passed before I graduated high school. So, I took care of mahself—’cept for mah aunt Rosetta on mah momma’s side. She did good by me.”
“That’s a very sad story, and I feel real bad about it,” Haylee said.
“No reason for that, ’cause that made me the man I am today, and I like ta think I’m not such a bad sort.”
“You’re a good and decent man, and I’m lucky to have you as a…wonderful…friend.”
“That’s mighty kind of ya. I do mah best. Who knows, ya never know, I might be more’n a friend someday,” he said, smiling.
“I don’t really know how to answer that, because you’ve bec
ome very special to me, and I’m not sure how to handle it.”
“Well… I look at it like this, if it’s the will of the good Lord, it’ll come to pass.”
“Sometimes, you seem rather religious. I know this is a personal question, but are ya a believer?” Haylee asked.
“Hmm…let’s just say I know I’m a sinner and down the line a judgment day’s comin’, and I didn’t survive this long by mahself.”
“I think you answered my question,” she said.
“Good, let’s have another glass a wine and talk a bit, okay?”
“Sure, I’d like that. I guess I’m more interested in your plans for the future. Can we talk ’bout that?”
“Oh yeah, I’d like to tell ya ’bout some things I’m workin’ on. Guess the first is ’bout—what else—money. I been doin’ my twenty-year plan for the past four-years. I run my truck as often as I do, ’cause I have a plan, and I need to make as much as I can as fast as I can. See, Haylee, I want a small ranch somewhere outside of Sante Fe, New Mexico, not one that can properly support itself, but one where I can have, a wife, kids, animals, and such, you know horses, cows and critters like that. The time has come for me ta put down some serious roots, and gittin’ that ranch is the first big step. Don’t know ’bout the wife and kids thing, the good Lord will provide. If ya don’t mind, I’d ’preciate some talk ’bout you.”
“Well…like most women my age, I’d really like to have a deep and committed relationship with that one very special man. As you know the way things are now I’ve sort of put that on hold. As long as my momma’s with me, I’m committed to her. She comes first in my life, and everything else must take second place. I truly hope ya can understand, because, Trent, my guess is, you’d make any woman a great husband.”
“You surprise me with that last statement ’cause of what I already told ya. I didn’t ’spect that ’cause I shor ain’t been no angel.”
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