Willobee's World

by Wendell Vanderbilt Fountain

  “I wish I could, but I can’t for certain,” he said, handing her his handkerchief.

  “What do you mean for certain? She said, grabbing onto every word.

  “I really don’t want to get into details.”

  “You bring me a letter like this without details, how do you expect me to react? I don’t know you,” she blurted out through streams of tears.

  “Yes, you’re right, but there’re so many things I’m not at liberty to disclose. I can’t even tell you my name or more than… I’m a federal agent,” he said with a sigh, “there’s nothing which gives me greater disappointment than to have to come here today and give you this letter, but I gave your fiancé my word you would receive it if anything went wrong.”

  “I want to know right now what this is all about, and what went wrong!” She said, continuing to cry.

  “I’m not at liberty to give you all the details, but let me tell you what I can. Willobee, your Trent, was working undercover for the federal government with us. We had some serious border issues we were workin’ on, and things didn’t go well. We believe Trent was lost, and we know for certain another trucker didn’t make it. We highly doubt that Trent survived, because his truck exploded, but as of now, we have not been able to locate…any…remains,” Creet said, looking down at the floor, “right now we consider him to be missing in action…M-I-A,” he said looking up at Haylee.

  “What am I supposed to do?” Haylee asked, drying her tear-stained face.

  “Miss Harper, I didn’t know Trenton Willobee very well, but well enough to recognize he was a good man. I suggest you do as he has asked in his letter. I’m sure that would make him very proud. If we learn any new information about him, you may be assured, you will be notified. Once again, I’m very sorry about this, but I have a plane to catch, and I must leave,” he said, standing to depart.

  Two days later, Dr. Zapatero answered his page at CIMI Hospital in Chihuahua City.

  “Hello, Dr. Zapatero, this is Chantico Castillo. I’m sorry to bother you, but I just wanted to check on the patient I sent you. Any news?”

  “Been very busy, no good news, yet. That’s why I haven’t called. He coded, and we lost him for a while, but we brought him back. He’s still not breathing on his own, but as you know, we can’t keep him on the ventilator much longer. If he doesn’t regain his independence soon, we will have to pull the plug. Of course, should he start functioning on his own, he will have to get much better, because I cannot remove the damaged kidney. I will be sure to keep you updated.”

  “Muchas gracias, Dr. Zapatero. I will not bother you again.”

  “Chantico, you’re not bothering me. Let’s both hope and pray for this man. We will do all we can.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  “Momma, you haven’t said anything.”

  “I don’t know what ta say. Guess I’m surprised and shocked. I knew there was somethin’ ’bout that big ole boy I liked. This makes me very sad, and it sounds like he had a bad end. I’m real sorry for both of ya. You two made a right pretty couple. I agree with that fella who brought the letter. I’d do whatever Trent said, even if I didn’t want to.”

  “But, Ma, he wants to give me everything he owns, including a lot of money. I can’t do that. He wants me to start over and find someone else. I don’t want anyone else. Momma, I really love Trent. He’s different, I can’t just go on like nothin’ happened,” she said through her sniffles.

  “Look, child, I think I know what you’re feelin’ right ’bout now, but Trent Willobee obviously loved you. You don’t have ta do a thing until you’re ready.”

  “Paging Dr. Zapatero…paging Dr. Zapatero,” the announcement rang out in CIMI Hospital.

  He was in the cafeteria trying to grab a bite to eat, but like a thousand times before, he left his food to answer the page.

  “This is Dr. Zapatero.”

  “Doctor, nurse Samira, the John Doe is breathing on his own.”

  “Very good news, I’m on my way.”

  In less than five minutes he was by the stranger’s bedside, doing a cursory examination. He instructed nurse Samira to begin weaning the man off the ventilator and to stay with him until he’d stabilized.

  Four hours later, her shift was about to end when the doctor returned.

  “How’s he doing?”

  “Good, he’s laboring a bit, but he’s been on his own for nearly an hour,” she replied.

  “Any problems weaning him?”

  “Not really, Doctor Z.”

  “Good, but I still want to leave the trachea tube in for now.”

  One Week Later

  Nurse Samira was attending her “John Doe” when suddenly he opened his eyes. It startled her.

  “Can you hear me?” She asked excitedly.

  “Y-y-yes,” he eked out as he looked at her blurry form.

  “You are in hospital and have a bad injury.”

  He nodded his head.

  “Try not to speak. Let me do the talking for now. I must notify your doctor you are awake.”

  Creet walked into Dobson’s office.

  “Mornin’, Dobs.”

  “Grab a chair.”

  “Any word, yet?” Creet asked.

  “About what?”

  “About what? Damn Dobs you know why I’m here.”

  “Relax, I was just tryin’ to lighten up your mood. Just about to call you with an update. Man, if you don’t chill out, you’re gonna start gettin’ wrinkles in that baby face,” he chuckled.

  “Okay, Dobs, how ’bout puttin’ a smile on this baby face,” he chortled.

  “I just might be able to do just that. One of our CIA operatives has learned some interesting info. It seems a big man was brought into a clinic in Tres Ojos over a week ago who had gunshot wounds. He heard that from two Mexicans in a bar. The injured man was taken to a clinic owned by a…uh… Doctor…Castillo,” Dobson said, looking up from his notes.

  “Hell there can’t be many clinics in Tres Ojos, the place is not much bigger than a postage stamp. The operative should have questioned this doctor by now,” Creet said.

  “You’re right on both counts, that is, the town is small, but big enough to have a bar, and a veterinary clinic, but I haven’t heard back on the doctor.”

  “Did you say veterinary clinic? This person was taken to a vet?! Creet asked.

  “Apparently, this Doctor Castillo, who’s a veterinarian, has helped drug and gun runners in the past,” Dobson replied.

  “Would ya have a problem with me talking to this vet? I’d really like to find out for myself.”

  “No, go on down there, we’re all on the same team. See what ya can find out.”

  “Thanks, Dobs, this may be a waste of time, but I’d like to know if the man Castillo treated might’ve been Willobee.”

  “Hold on just a sec,” Dobson said, “I have a file on Willobee…with photos…that might help.”

  “Thanks, that makes things a lot easier. I’ll give ya a call later on this afternoon and let ya know what I’ve found.”

  “Good luck.”

  Nurse Samira called Doctor Zapatero and gave him the news. As soon as he finished examining his patient, he rushed over to evaluate the situation. He was pleased to see that the man Dr. Castillo had sent him was responding a little. Dr. Zapatero tried to explain that he’d have to get much stronger before he could operate on his kidney and leg, and that must happen soon.

  Though Trent was semiconscious, he tried to mouth the word thanks. Doctor Zapatero was encouraged. He instructed Samira to make sure he was getting nourishment and antibiotics in his two drips and to be careful and not tax him, but give him enough stimuli to determine his prognosis.

  Creet arrived in Tres Ojos in the early afternoon. He had no problem locating the clinic. He took his file on Willobee with him. He walk
ed in looked around, but didn’t see anyone, so he rang the bell on the counter. He heard a voice call out, and a woman appeared.

  “Can I help you?” She asked.

  “Yes, I’m here to see Doctor Castillo.”

  “I’m Doctor Chantico Castillo.”

  “Sorry, I thought Doctor Castillo was a man. I’m happy to meet you,” he said, extending his hand.

  “Hope you are not disappointed that I’m a woman,” she said, flashing a big smile.

  “Quite the contrary, I’d much rather be speaking with an attractive woman than a burly man. I’m not tryin’ to make a move on ya, I’m happily married,” he laughed.

  “Thanks for the compliment, but how can I help you?” She asked.

  “I’m trying to locate someone who might have found his way to your clinic.”

  “Before you go on, I already told the other gentleman what little I know.” She said.

  “Yeah, but I just wanted to follow-up to make sure you didn’t have anything to add,” Creet replied, handing her a photo of Willobee.

  “Yes, that is the man I tried to help. Trouble with the law?” she said with sigh.

  “No, that’s not the case, but I need to find him.”

  “I don’t want to seem rude, but I don’t even know your name,” she said.

  “Sorry, I’m Josh Creet,” he said, flashing his ID.

  “Don’t think I need to remind you, but you are in Mexico, not the U.S. You have no authority here,” she said with a smile.

  “I’m here in a sort of unofficial capacity. I need to find out if Trenton Willobee is dead or alive.”

  “That I cannot say. I did what I could for him and sent him away.”

  “Mmm…sent him away…on his own power?” He asked inquisitively.

  “Mr. Creet, that is all I’m at liberty to say. Sorry, but I must get back to work.”

  “Thanks, muchas Gracias. Have a great day,” Creet said and returned to his car.

  As Creet was driving back to Columbus, he wondered about Doctor Castillo. She was not completely forth coming. She knew more than what she told me. Where is Willobee? Damnit, what happened to him?!

  His questions prompted him to called Dobson on his return.

  “Dobs, Willobee was treated by a female vet, Chantico Castillo, but I still don’t know if he’s dead or alive. She knows a lot more than she told me.”

  “No doubt, but we’re gonna have to rely on the CIA guys to get the real story. Creet, these guys are good.”

  “Yeah, I know, she told me that a gentleman had already spoken to her about the situation. He might still be alive,” Creet said.

  “That’s possible, and I hope so, but let’s rely on the folks that are best at on-the-ground intel.”

  “I know you’re right, but I just wanted to find out what I could.” Creet said.

  “Glad ya did.”

  Two Weeks Later

  Dr. Zapatero was rushing through an operation called simple nephrectomy, because he couldn’t keep his patient under general anesthesia much longer. The patient was weak and time was of the essence, and he had already operated on the leg, repaired and partially removed a kidney, but he had to get him closed up quickly. He finished in less than three-hours—record time.

  Trent Willobee was then wheeled into recovery and about an hour later, he began to stir. His mouth felt as dry as the Mohave Desert. He was confused and for a few seconds didn’t realize he was still in the hospital. He was taken to his room where a nurse, he did not know, gave him a cup of crushed ice. The ice tasted good. Later, the nurse gave him a few ounces of water, and he thought that was even better. It wasn’t until hours later that he was presented with some Jell-O. He ate it quickly, but really wanted something more substantial.

  “Nurse, can I git somethin’ else?” He asked in a raspy tone.

  “Not until the doctor says so,” she said with a smile.

  “Ain’t used to not gittin’ good vittles. When’s that doctor gonna come by?”

  “He should be in later this evening,” she replied.

  “Pardon me, but you don’t have any accent. Seems like everybody else does.”

  “That’s probably because I’m not Hispanic. I’m a native of Kansas. This job is part of my rotation, because I’ll be sitting for the P. A. exam next month.”

  “That means you’ll be like a doctor, but you won’t make as much money,” he said with a forced smile.

  “Something like that. How do you know about physician assistants?”

  “Long time ago, I had a man-P. A. work on me when I was a rodeo rider. He told me all ’bout it.”

  “Okay,” she said, looking at his chart, “Mister Willobee, you must get some rest.”

  “Can’t git nothin’ else ta eat, guess a little shut-eye wouldn’t be a bad idea ’bout now. By the way, I didn’t catch yor name.”

  “I didn’t throw it, but it’s Gloria, Gloria Dutton. Sleep well,” she said, fluffing his pillow.

  “Thanks, Gloria, I ’preciate it,” Trent said and closed his eyes.

  Just before six, Dr. Zapatero stopped in to check on his patient. Trent had just awakened.

  “I’ve checked your chart and your vitals are better than I expected. That’s a very good sign,” he said as Trent looked up at him. We’ll unhook your intravenous lines shortly.”

  “Did you operate on me?” Trent asked.

  “Yes, I did. You were in quite a mess. You mind telling me who shot you?”

  “I would if I could, but I don’t really know. I was drivin’ my truck near the border, and all hell broke loose. It seemed like bullets was coming from all directions,” Trent replied.

  “When this kind of thing has happened in the past, drugs and drug cartels were responsible.”

  “Doc, all I can say is I ain’t been involved with runnin’ no drugs.”

  “Mmm, guess you must have been in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  “How’d y’all know mah name? I left mah ID in mah truck.”

  “A friend of mine called us to check on you a couple of times, and the last time she told us your name. She’s the one who treated you first in Tres Ojos. If she hadn’t done what she did, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

  “So, Doc, I reckon that woman saved mah life.”

  “Yes, I’d say so. Doctor Chantico Castillo did a good job.”

  “If you don’t mind me askin’, why didn’t she do what you just did?”

  “Doctor Castillo is a veterinarian; she doesn’t usually treat humans.”

  “I been called an animal before, guess this just proves it,” Trent said with a smile.

  “Mister Willobee, you’re gonna be with us for a few more days, and you must get plenty of rest. Do you need to get in touch with your family?”

  “I do really need to make some calls, ya think that can happen?”

  “That won’t be a problem, but right now you need to get some rest.”

  “Doc, before ya go, ya think maybe ya could tell them there nurses I need some real food?”

  “We’ll get you back on a light diet tomorrow, okay, Mister Willobee?” He said, smiling over his half-glasses.

  “Thanks, doc, you’re a good man.”

  “Ma, it’s been nearly a month since…that man…told us Trent wouldn’t be comin’ back,” her eyes welled up, “and I think I’m ’bout ready to go over to Trent’s and just look around.”

  “You ain’t goin’ by yourself, ’cause I’m goin’ with ya,” she said sternly, “I’ll wait in the car. You plan to go inside?”

  “Yeah, Trent gave me a key before he left in case we needed anything.”

  The two of them drove over to Trent’s trailer—only a five-minute drive. It was within walking distance, but Kitty’s disability ruled that out. Haylee started to in
sert the key, but found the door to be slightly ajar. She hesitated briefly, but decided to go in anyway, as her mother watched from the car. Once inside, she couldn’t believe her eyes. The place had been trashed. Drawers had been emptied out, cabinet doors were all open. Everything was in disarray. Even the mattress on the bed had been thrown on the floor, and clothes were scattered all over. Haylee immediately dialed the Mohave County Police Department and was told an officer was on the way. She went out to the car and explained what she found to her mother. A cruiser pulled up in less than 15 minutes, and a big police officer got out.

  “What’s the trouble here?” He asked.

  “I was checking on my boyfriend’s place and found that it had been broken into.” Haylee said.

  The cop walked over to the door of the trailer. “Didn’t you see that this door had been pried open?” He asked in an exasperated tone.

  “Not really, I just noticed the door wasn’t completely closed.”

  “Look, lady, you never go into a place if things don’t look right. Whoever got into this trailer could still be in there. Damn, use some common sense!”

  “I’m sorry, I made a mistake!” she blurted out and began to cry.

  “Shush it now. Stop your cryin’. Lucky for you nobody was inside. I gotta know who owns this place for my report. Let me get my book,” he said in an irritated tone.

  Haylee gave him all the particulars he needed, and he spun the cruiser down the hill in a hurry and then out onto Main Street, because he was getting another call.

  “Having any pain?” a voice asked.

  Trent opened his eyes and saw Nurse Gloria Dutton standing by his bed. “Some, ’specially in mah gut, cause y’all don’t like ta feed us old cowboys,” he said with a wry smile.

  “That’s not the pain to which I was referring. You’re gonna get something to eat in a little while. We’re not gonna let you starve.”

  “I feel like I been on a fast. I shor would like some biscuits, sausage gravy, and scrambled eggs.”

  “Now, Mister Willobee, this is not a restaurant.”

  “That’s for shor, and it ain’t no truck stop, neither.”

  “Back to my original question, any pain?”