Willobee's World

by Wendell Vanderbilt Fountain

  “Nothin’ I can’t handle.”

  “If you have any discomfort, just let me know, and I’ll give you a happy shot,” she said, tucking in his sheets.

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “One other thing, the night nurse told me two of your friends from Tijuana were here just after midnight. She wouldn’t let them disturb you, because you were sound asleep,” Gloria said.

  “Two friends from Tijuana?”

  “Yes, I thought they’d be back today.”

  “Gloria, what personal effects did I have when I was brought in?”

  “Gee, I’m not sure, but everything’s here in the closet next to you.”

  “Would ya do me a favor and see what’s in there?”

  “Sure,” she said and then began rummaging through the closet contents, “I have a shirt, heavy vest with a lot of pockets, work boots, socks, and a drawstring bag,” she said, holding it up.

  “Would ya hand me the bag?”

  “Of course,” she said, presenting it to him.

  “I ain’t got no underwear or pants?” Trent asked.

  “Nope, my guess is they were cut off so that the doctor could work on you.”

  “Ya think maybe ya could find me an old pair of jeans or somethin’? I’ll pay ya soon’s I git back home.”

  “I don’t know; I’ll see what I can find. What’s the hurry? You’re not going anywhere for a while.”

  “Yeah, but I’d still like to have somethin’ to wear. I might decide to go dancin’ one night,” he chuckled.

  “Your majesty, is there anything else I can do for you?”

  “There is one more thing. I don’t want any visitors for a while. Would ya write that in mah chart?”

  “No visitors, huh, okay I’ll make a note of it. I have other patients, so I have to go.”

  “Thanks, ’preciate yor help.”

  As soon as Gloria left the room, he checked the bag. He was ecstatic that his two 9 millimeters were there. He quickly checked them for ammo, and both had fully loaded magazines, which gave him a degree of comfort. He was very concerned about the two guys from Tijuana. He assumed Mehmoud had been discovered in his hotel room in Tijuana, and the other Sunni terrorists had learned of his identification from the desk clerks. Even if Mehmoud had survived, the terrorists had no way of knowing what Mehmoud might really have said. Trent knew that wasn’t the issue, they wanted him. They didn’t know what information he had. He also realized just how sophisticated their terror network had become, and that they had probably traced his movement to Columbus, New Mexico, and through their intel collection, knew about subsequent events. At this point he trusted no one, federal government agencies included. He wasn’t sure whose side they were on. He figured all bets were off. Those Islamic terrorists were out for blood. His thoughts were bouncing around in turbulent waters. My cover is blown, I bet they know more ’bout me right now than the IRS, NSA, and the CIA combined…that’s goin’ some. Trent wrestled with the thought he was not going to be able to stay in the hospital until he had sufficiently recovered. He placed each of his handguns under his pillow and tried to get a little rest. Before sleep overcame him, his final musings turned to Haylee.

  He was awakened the next morning by the jostling of his bed and the voice of his doctor and nurses.

  “We must get you on your feet today,” Doctor Zapatero said.

  “Okay…okay, Doc, but let me git awake. I ain’t even had breakfast,” Trent whined.

  “Is food the only thing you think about? A lesser man would have died.”

  “A lesser man would’ve met his maker ’cause of hunger,” Trent retorted.

  “Nurse, over here, let’s see if we can’t get him up,” Doctor Zapatero directed.

  “Y’all, just hold on a minute, I can do this,” he said, grimacing with pain as he worked his legs to the side of the bed.

  “Ready?” Doctor Zapatero asked.

  “Good ta go,” he said as his legs dangled over the side.

  Then, Trent’s feet slipped to the floor, and he stood hunched over for a few seconds while he was being supported by a nurse and the doctor. “Y’all, gimme a sec, and I think I’ll be alright. Let me git steady.”

  “When you’re ready, let’s see if you can take a few steps.” the nurse said.

  “I’m ready,” Trent said, hobbling across the room with the nurse in tow.

  “That’s enough, Mister Willobee, let’s not overdue it,” Dr. Zapatero said.

  “Gotcha, boss,” Trent replied, tottering back to his bed.

  “Get this man a good breakfast.”

  “Thanks, Doc, now we’re talkin’,” Trent said, flashing a big smile.

  Trent had just finished eating when the nurse, Gloria Dutton, came in holding a pair of scrub pants.

  “This is all I could find for you to wear,” she said handing him the green pants, “they’re long enough, and the waist won’t be a problem because its adjustable,” she said, handing them to him.

  “Green is one of my favorite colors,” Trent said with a smile, “Thanks, that’s mighty nice of ya.”

  “Under the circumstances, that’s the best I could do. I see you’ve been up and about,” she said, reviewing his chart.

  “Like I told ya, dancin’ time’s comin’ up,” he grinned.

  “I wouldn’t get too frisky. You’re still not out of the woods,” she said sternly.

  “I know, but the doc says I ain’t got no infection, and the way I see it, that’s good.”

  “You are doing amazingly well.”

  “Doc told me I could make a call, and I got somebody special who needs ta hear from me. Can ya help me out with that?” Trent asked.

  “No problem, when you want to make the call?”

  “It’d probly be best later this evenin’.”

  “Before I leave, I’ll tell the shift supervisor.”

  “Do you folks have any good magazines like Overdrive or American Trucker?” Trent asked.

  “Remember, Mister Willobee, we’re not a truck stop,” she said, walking away and shaking her head.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Trent was just about to pick up the phone at the nurse’s station when one of them asked if he a wanted to have visitors yet.

  “No, not now, maybe in a coupla days.”

  “Two friends of yours came by this morning and wanted to see you.”

  “Gracias, but I ain’t ready to see nobody,” Trent said as he was placing his call.

  “Haylee-Girl…this is Trent,” he heard a banging sound, “Haylee-Girl, this is Trent…talk ta me, talk ta me,” he pleaded.

  “Who is this?!” Kit yelled, after picking up the phone from the floor.

  “It’s me, Trent, is this you, Kit?”

  “Of course it’s me! Is this Trent Willobee? You’re supposed to be dead!”

  “Yes, ma’am, them rumors ’bout me not bein’ among the livin’ ain’t true. I’m alive and well in Mexico.”

  “I’m-I’m-I’m glad…but you nearly scared the life outta Haylee, and me, too.”

  “Real sorry ’bout all this, but I gotta speak ta Haylee. I’m in bit of a bind.”

  “Hold on, let me see if she can talk,” Kit said.

  “Honey, take the phone, it’s Trent, and he sounds okay,” she said with a smile.

  Haylee grabbed the phone, “Trent, Trent, Trent, where are you, I need you, come home, please!”

  “Haylee-Girl, calm down…you just calm down now…ya hear?”

  “O-O-Okay… I’m calm,” she said between her sobs.

  “I need yor help. I got banged up some. I’m in CIMI Hospital in Chihuahua, Mexico. I ain’t got no money, no ID, no nothin’, and I gotta git outta here in the next few days.”

  “What do you want me to do?” She asked excitedly.
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  “Did you dig up that money I told ya ’bout?”

  “No, I couldn’t, I just couldn’t.”

  “Sweetheart, you need to do it. It’s buried right ’neath mah winda. It’s in a big jar, only ’bout two feet down, then send me ten-thousand dollars in cash overnight. FedEx it ta me. Look online for the address for C-I-M-I Hospital in Chihuahua, Mexico. Address it ta me in the Surgery Ward, Room 79. Will ya do that for me?”

  “Of course, I will,” she sniffled, “Let me write it down,” she said as Kit handed her pen and paper.

  “I’m dependin’ on ya. Ya think ya can send it in the mornin’? He asked.

  “Yeah, I’ll get the money before it’s too dark,” she said, wiping her eyes.

  “I love ya, Haylee-Girl.”

  “I love you, too, Trent, come home soon. Promise me. Promise me.”

  “I promise. I’ll be back soon.”

  After he hung up, Trent felt badly about everything which had transpired, but he planned to make it up, as best he could, to Haylee and Kit in the not too distant future. In the meantime, he knew he had to be very vigilant because of those two from Tijuana. If they should show, anything might happen. That’s one of the reasons he wanted to leave the hospital. He didn’t want anyone hurt because of him. He thought: if I can only hold out till my money gits here. He waved for Salazar, a nurse’s aide, to wheel him back to his room. Trent didn’t want to use the wheelchair, because of his bruised hubris; however, the nurse on duty reminded him of a Spanish Nurse Ratchet from the movie One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest. She wouldn’t let him use the phone unless he took a little ride with the nurse’s aide Salazar. On the short trip back to his room, he thought about that old film. He remembered it so well, because he was in the hospital during his rodeo days getting his broken arm repaired and nose set when about the only thing he could watch on TV was Turner Classic Movies.

  “Hey, Salazar, when I’m let go, if I wanted to go norte to the U.S., how do I git there?”

  “Not walking,” he said with a smile.

  “Real funny, you know what I mean.” Trent said.

  “Catch the bus,” he replied, “they go norte”

  “I got one other thing ta ask, I need three envelopes and paper” he said holding up three fingers, “and a writin’ stick.”

  “What kind of stick?” Salazar asked with a puzzled look on his face.

  “A pencil or pen…ya know…to write with,” Salazar gave him a thumbs up.

  Two days later he waited anxiously throughout the morning. He was able to get around okay but not great, and he had high hopes his FedEx package would arrive. As the afternoon came, his worry intensified. Just before three o’clock, a FedEx driver knocked on his door.

  “Need your autograph for this, not the staff,” he said.

  “Shor, no problem,” Trent said as he signed, “have a good day.”

  “Thanks.”

  Trent was careful to not let anyone see him open the package. He carefully counted out the cash. The $10,000 was all there. Though he knew he wasn’t really well enough, he was determined when things were relatively quiet, to leave the hospital after midnight. He still even had stitches which needed to be removed, but he had a plan to take care of that situation back in Tres Ojos.

  He needed a cane or something to help him keep his full weight off his right side. So, he rang for a nurse. About five minutes later, Nurse Dutton came in.

  “Got another question. Ya think maybe ya git me a walking stick? ’Cause it’s hard to move ’round in here.”

  “On one condition, that you not overdo it,” she replied.

  “I won’t use it unless it’s necessary.”

  “I’ll get one from rehab. They have some nice light-weight aluminum ones.”

  “That’d be great! Trent said exuberantly.

  After she returned with his walking device, he thanked her, she went back to work and had hardly left when Trent went into action. He limped to the closet and emptied everything out on the bed. He put most of his cash in his Kevlar vest pockets, and in so doing, discovered filled magazines for his Glocks. He considered that to be a very good find.

  Trent kicked back and waited for dinner and midnight by watching television. It appeared to him that Mexican news stations were transfixed with the U.S. as much as the news in Mexico. Trent learned about out of control fires in California and a terrible flood in Baton Rouge, Louisiana, while the President stayed on the golf course in Martha’s Vineyard, and Hillary Clinton ignored nature’s devastation as she rested at home from the campaign. Apparently, she was not either mentally or physically well. Donald Trump shamed both of them into doing something, because he went to Baton Rouge and stood among many of the citizens in a show of solidarity. It was reported that President Obama was going to the area several days later. Hillary Clinton made a call to the Governor’s Office. According to the news reports, she had some medical problems.

  Trent’s plan was to quietly slip out the door near the nurse’s station. As it neared midnight, He gathered his possessions, and was as stealth as he could be. There was only one person at the desk and another nurse was making rounds. He had to wait until the desk nurse’s attention was distracted. He hung around in the hallway for about 30 minutes until she got a call which caused her to leave the desk momentarily and go into the supply room located immediately behind her. It was then Trent limped his way to the side door and slipped outside. He thought it was an exceptionally dark night as he began to make his way to a nearby bus stop. He hadn’t realized that buses didn’t run after ten o’clock until he read the sign inside the little building. He then decided to make his way toward the central part of town about two blocks south in hopes he could find a cab or some form of transportation. Instead, he found the San Felipe Hotel. He made his way into the bar and ordered a Cerveza. He asked some of the patrons about transportation. Most of them did not speak English very well, but he was able to get his point across. One lone Mexican at the end of the bar walked over and sat next to Trent.

  “Hombre, you go norte? I take you, but cost many pesos.”

  “How many pesos?” Trent asked, looking him over.

  “Two-hundred U.S. dollars,” he said, holding up two fingers.

  “Sounds like a lot,” Trent added.

  “Want to go norte? Two-hundred dollars,” the stranger said.

  “Ya drive a hard bargain, amigo, but I’ll take ya up on it, my name’s Willobee, and they shook hands.

  “I am Francisco, when you want to go?”

  “Soon’s I finish mah beer,” Trent replied.

  “Si, I take you to border, but not Columbus. Cannot go to U.S. side. Have problems.”

  “That’s good nuff, but I do wanna make a quick stop in Tres Ojos.”

  “Si,” Francisco said.

  Two men with Middle East accents appeared at the Nurse’s Station.

  “We want to see Willobee.”

  “Sorry, no visitors allowed,” the nurse replied.

  “We see him now!” They pulled out handguns and forced the nurse to leave her station and go to his room. Once inside, they could see he was not in his bed. One checked the bathroom, but nothing.

  “Where is he?” One of them asked.

  “I-I-I don’t know,” she said fearfully.

  “You lie!” He said and smashed her across the face with his weapon.

  They both left the hospital quickly in search of Willobee. They headed in the same direction as he. As soon as they saw the San Felipe Hotel, they made a beeline toward it. As they were crossing the street in front of the hotel, they immediately spotted Trent limping along behind Francisco, coming out of the brightly lit San Felipe entrance, because the Desk Clerk at the hotel in Tijuana had given them a perfect description of him, and his cane was a dead giveaway. Trent saw them from the corner of his eye.

 
“Shit, Francisco, get down!” He yelled, pushing him to the ground.

  The two terrorists opened fire and bullets were zipping through the air, but Trent found cover behind a parked F150 pickup truck near the entrance where he began defending himself. Many shots pounded the truck, blowing out windows and tires, but still he was unfazed. He kept returning fire until his Glock 27 magazine emptied, he then switched to his Glock 43, and one of the terrorists went down and began crawling in Trent’s direction. Using the laser, Trent put a beam on him and a final shot into the top of the head of his enemy, which stopped him cold, but the other one continued to fire to Trent’s left from out of the darkness. Trent could see flashes from the moving muzzle, but couldn’t take an accurate shot.

  “Francisco! Francisco, are you okay?!”

  “Si, I think so, Señor, but we got to get out of here!”

  “There’s one left, so stay where you are and stay down!”

  Trent turned quickly and shot out the lights to the entrance. Then he heard footsteps rapidly retreating farther into the darkness.

  “I probly should chase ’em down and put a bullet in ’em, but let’s make sure you’re alright.”

  Trent quickly retreated to Francisco on the ground and knelt down to check him. He could barely make him out in the darkness.

  “Ya didn’t get hit, did ya?” Trent asked.

  “No-no, my shoulder hurts. You shoved me hard!”

  “Sorry ’bout that, but I didn’t want ya ta look like a tea strainer.”

  “That’s okay, gracias,” Francisco replied.

  “Ya ain’t in too bad a shape to drive, are ya?” Trent asked.

  “No, but I can’t.”

  “Why not? We had a deal.”

  “Señor, that was my pickup truck,” he said, pointing to the bullet-ridden F150.

  “Damn! Damn! Damn! Amigo, I ain’t really feelin’ too good myself right now. See if ya can find my cane.”

  “Si, but Polićia come soon. We must go. Here is your cane,” Francisco said, handing it to him.

  “Gracias, amigo, let’s get outta here.”

  “There is a hotel in next block, let’s go there and you check in. I go back talk to polićia,” Francisco said.