The Warning

THE WARNING

There I was sitting in a restaurant with a friend having a good steak dinner, at least as good a one as you can get in the high desert of California. I was trying to convince him to start a Cajun Festival night to be held every Saturday evening, to include music and dancing. Of course, he would need to hire me, Jacques Lambert, as his Cajun cook since I’m from Acadia, Louisiana and well acquainted with that most delectable cuisine.

It was really strange, even weird, to be sitting there having such a conversation when the Redrock County Sheriff’s Department stormed in and arrested him.

Leading the charge was TJ Wolf, chief deputy. A large man an inch shorter than me, but 25 pounds heavier. He was decked out in his uniform complete with spit shined combat boots. My friend, Abraham Malik, was sitting next to me at the table. Four deputies and chief deputy Wolf, weapons drawn, approached our table. The tables around us were full with people, not for long, though, because they scattered like tumbleweeds in the wind.

“Put your hands on the table. NOW,” yelled chief deputy Wolf, his 9 mm pointed at my friend’s head.

“What’s this all about?” I asked.

Wolf gave me the once over and grinned, which I wanted to slap off his face. “Murder, that’s all.”

Two nearby deputies yanked my friend to his feet and cuffed his hands behind his back. “You couldn’t have done this more discreetly, Wolf?” I asked. The restaurant was packed with customers at this time on a Saturday night. But what can you expect from a man who was running for his boss's job.

“Don’t you worry about that, Mr. Boudreaux, or should I say Col. Boudreaux?” That same grin was on Wolf’s face.

The deputies began to pull my friend toward the door. For a brief moment, he resisted. “Please, Jack, you must help me. They will persecute me. Please, Jack please.” The deputies hauled my friend away.

Wolf got the last word. “Stay out of this, Boudreaux, understand.” It wasn’t a question, and I don’t take well to threats.

The last comment my friend made to me gnawed on me all night. Didn’t he mean prosecute? Anyway, what could I do? I wasn’t a licensed private eye, nor had I conducted an investigation since retiring from the Air Force Office of Special Investigations. Tomorrow I would go see my friend.

Sunday mornings were quiet in Redrock, more quiet than the other days. The chapels were filled with people who prayed and who gossiped while they talked of the things of God. My wife grew up among these people, that’s why we moved here, and she has often said that they are as rugged as the ragged edge of the red cliffs, as finicky as the fickle farmland, and as scathing as the sun seared sand, but they are faithful to a fault if you are a friend. Pretty much dead on, I’d say, based on my limited experience here.

After church I called the Sheriff’s office to see what time I could go visit my friend. The officer told me I could not visit my friend because he was locked up for a capital offense. “Nonsense,” I said and asked to speak to his supervisor. I was told that no one was available because they were preparing for a press conference that was about to begin.

It was only a ten block drive from my house to the Sheriff’s office. The press conference had not yet started by the time I arrived. A quick glance around revealed that reporters, both print and TV, were there from San Diego to Fresno. A further glance around revealed that some of Redrock’s more staunch community leaders, namely, Marcus Tindall, the most vocal of them all, were also present. At the podium stood Chief Deputy TJ Wolf and supervisor Dusty Morgan from the Redrock County Board, and the Sheriff who seemed disinterested in the whole thing.

Chief Deputy Wolf raised his hands like a quarterback silencing a crowd. “Listen up, people, let’s begin. I will make my opening remarks and afterwards you can ask questions. But not until I finish.”

In a statement said that the accused, Abraham Malik, was a Lebanese immigrant who had often been questioned by federal authorities about possible affiliation with terrorist groups; that he had previously been arrested for the sale and possession of illegal drugs; that forensics showed that his softball bat, which was found at the scene, was used to crush the head of the deceased; that Mr. Malik knew the victim, Frederico Ortega, who was affiliated with a powerful and violent LA gang; and that Mr. Malik had an argument with the dead man on the day of the murder.

The media’s interest in this case was becoming clear -- terrorism.

The reporters fired questions like little boys shooting BBs at pigeons; they hit the target but don’t make any real marks.It was time to take matters into my own hands, so I moved to stand next to an older reporter whose name tag said he was from Lancaster. “I’m going to get things started on the right track, would you like to be part of this?”

The old man looked at me. He hadn’t had any of his questions answered so far. He shrugged, “why not?”

“How big was the dead man?” I yelled at him.

Chief Deputy Wolf looked to the back of the room where we were standing. He was trying to make out who asked the question. I stood behind a large camera and squatted a little so that my 6’3” frame was hidden behind it.

Wolf responded. “About 6 feet and 250 pounds.”

I slipped the old reporter a note with a couple of questions scratched on it.

“Did the dead man have any other bruises on his body?” The old man asked.

“Well, ah, not that I know of.”

“How big is the accused?” The old man came up with this one on his own.

Wolf fumbled through some papers on the podium. “He is 5’9” and weighs 160 pounds. So what?”

I stepped out from behind the camera. “So how did such a small man to such date damage to a large man like the victim?”

Wolf pointed his finger in my direction. “You’re not a reporter. I don’t have to answer that question.”

Supervisor Morgan stepped to the podium. Questions were being fired now like automatic weapons. He raised his palms. “Now, now, gentlemen and ladies, let’s settle down. The full investigation will be made in this case. But let me say this. The LA gangs are not welcome here in Redrock County. Nor are those who attempt to bring this great nation down. We will do whatever is necessary to ensure the demise of these groups. Thank you for coming. Chief deputy Wolf will keep you informed.”

“What was that?” The old man turned to me and asked.

I shrugged. “I don’t know, politics I suppose.”

I pushed through a crowd on my way to the front of the room. I wanted to catch Wolf before he got out of sight. A huge hand seized my biceps and stopped me in my tracks. “What do you think you’re doing, Boudreaux?” Big Marcus Tindall stared down at me.

I grabbed his wrist and twisted it off my arm. “I’m going to investigate this the right way, Mr. Tindall.” I walked away.

By the time I reached the front room, Wolf was gone. I asked the deputy who sat behind the counter what time visiting hours were for my friend. He said that he had talked to his boss and that I could come back at seven. I thanked him and left.

Persecuted, but he isn't Muslim. Nevertheless, I understood what my friend meant. Now it was simply a matter of what to do.
My friend Abraham was brought into the visiting room shackled at the waist with leg irons around his ankles. They sat him on a stainless steel stool anchored to the floor. They bolted my friend to the floor as well. We spoke on the phone through a plexiglass security window.

“How are they treating you, Abe?”

He shook his head back and forth, “Okay, I guess.”

“We don’t have much time, Abe. We need to get right to the meat. So tell me what happened.”

Abe explained, "I knew the man who was killed. We had met in LA sometime ago, but that I had not seen him for years. The man came to see me to recruit me into his drug network. He wanted me to transport meth to LA for him. We argued and I left.”

“Was there anything else he said to you, anything?”

Abe turned his head and raised his eyes to the ceiling. He shook his head slightly, “He said I would have no worries. He said his people had protection here from a powerful man.”

“Did he say who?”

“I am sorry, Jack, I did not ask. I wanted out of there and fast.”

We talked for a while longer, but nothing significant came up. Before leaving, he asked me if I would take care of some personal matters, most importantly, his apartment rent, and his cat. I asked him who the rent needed to be paid to. “TM Reality,” he said. I told him not to worry. I’d take care of everything.

When I entered the reception area, Chief Deputy Wolf halted me. He stood with his fists on his hips and legs spread apart, ala Superman complete. “We want to talk with you, Boudreaux. Follow me.”

County Supervisor Dusty Morgan and community hot shot Marcus Tindall were waiting for us in the conference room. Supervisor Morgan was opening an envelope with his Swiss Army knife when we walked in. He and Tindall stood up. Morgan, a thick barrel chested man, shook hands with me. Tindall just stared at me.

Wolf stood in his Superman pose, while the other two men sat down. “Let me tell you something, Boudreaux, you made me look bad this morning. I don’t like that and I won’t put up with it.”

I don’t know what Wolf expected me to say; nor do I fully understand what he was trying to accomplish. If it was intimidation, well, what can I say? I ignored his comment and decided to go on the attack. I was taught that the best defense was a good offense. “Is it true that drug dealers around here receive protection?”

All three men jerked their heads in my direction. Wolf, who was standing at the far end of the table, leaned over it. “What are you saying, Boudreaux? I’m a crooked cop?”

“I just asked a question,” I raised my hands and shrugged. “When was the last time you caught a drug dealer or seized any significant quantities of drugs?”

“You dirty. . . .”

Dusty Morgan jumped up in time to stop Wolf from coming down after me. “Whoa, fellas, let’s act like reasonable men. Sit down, TJ. I am sure that Mr. Boudreaux meant nothing of the kind. Isn’t that right, Mr. Boudreaux?”

“I was just relating what I was told, that a man, a powerful man, was providing protection for the LA drug dealers.”

“I want to say something,” Tindall spoke up. “Who told you that? That towel head behind bars? Who can believe him? Besides, haven’t you done enough damage to our community with your stupid questions and accusations?”

“Let‘s settle down, Marcus. No sense in getting heated. Mr. Boudreaux, you go by he the name of Jack instead of Jacques, right? May I call you Jack?”

I nodded.

“I talked to the people at the air base, Jack, and they told me that you were good at what you did as an investigator with the Air Force. I know you want to help your friend. If he is not guilty, so do we. But, all the evidence points squarely at him. Wouldn’t you agree?” Morgan said.

“I would agree that the evidence points at him, however, I think he’s been framed.”

“Here we go again,” Wolf flopped himself into a chair.

“Yeah,” Tindall chimed in.

“Let’s give him a chance. Agreed?” Morgan smiled. “Please go ahead, Jack.”

“The killer had to be a large, physically powerful man, like one of us in this room to deliver such a crushing blow to the victim’s head. Abraham Malik is a small, frail man. Just the other day at the restaurant, I helped him pick up a 50 pound bag of flour because he could not handle it by himself. Does that sound like someone who could crush the skull of a man as big as the deceased?”

“What about the bat, Boudreaux?” Wolf smirked, “Did you forget about that? It belonged to your buddy Malik.” Wolf leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest.

“Yes, true. Consider this: the bat was a gift given to Abraham from a friend who played major league baseball. The bat was special, almost sacred to Abraham. There’s no way he would have used it in a murder. Someone else who had access to his apartment took it and used it to frame my friend.”

“This is nothing but garbage, and it stinks, big time.” Wolf stood, “I’ve had enough of this unfounded speculation.” Wolf bolted from the room with Tindall following in his wake.

Supervisor Morgan rose from his seat and extended his callused hand. “Thanks for talking with us, Jack. I appreciate it. I’m curious, though, who would have a motive to do something like this?”

“I have an idea that I’m not sure about, yet. I’ll figure it out, you can count on that.”

“I have no doubts about that, Jack. Keep me posted, would you?”

I studied Morgan for a moment, “What is your interest in this, Mr. Morgan?”

“I am a politician, Jack. My interest is in all public matters, especially public safety.” Morgan departed.

Wolf stopped me on the way out. “I’ve had enough of your garbage, Boudreaux. Watch your step. You’ve made me look bad for the last time.” He poked his finger in my chest. “Got it?”

My car was parked in the visitor's section across the parking lot from the office. As I walked toward it, I noticed that the rear end was slightly lower than the front. I glanced around the parking lot. No one was present. When I reached the car I discovered not one but two flat tires: slashed. Whoever did this intended for me to walk home. Okay, I’ll play along. I started on my trek home.

A squad car pulled alongside. “Do you need help?” a female deputy asked.

“No, thanks. I only have one spare. I’ll have to take care of it tomorrow.”

“Hop in, I’ll give you a ride home.”

“Thanks anyway, but I’ll walk. The night air will be good for me.” She nodded and pulled away.

I continued to walk. The hair on the back of my neck stood out when I heard a car coming up from behind me. It moved slow, too slow. I unbuckled my belt and slid it off.

A pickup truck came around the corner and headed toward me. Its bright lights, fog lights, and cab lights were on full blast. I was blinded. The pickup screeched to a halt beside me. Someone got out. I could see who was. I took a quick glance down the street to see where the other vehicle was. It sped up and darted past us.

A fist smashed into my face. I stumbled backward. Stars in my eyes were brighter than the ones in the sky. Another fist in my way, I saw this one. I moved slightly to my left, I felt the wind as it went past. My assailant was off balance just enough for me to thrust my belt around his neck. I snapped it tight. He gasped and clawed at the belt trying to pull it off.

“Let him go, sir.” A 9 mm was leveled at my chest.

I loosened the belt and stepped back. “I guess you followed me, deputy.”

The deputy from the parking lot holstered her gun. “Mr. Tindall, get in your truck and kick rocks.”

“Wait a minute," I said, "I need to ask him some questions.” Tindall hesitated, then I asked, “Do you have a pass key to all your apartments?”

“What are you talking about?" Tindall answered, "I don’t own no apartments. I’m in the auto parts business, not real estate.” He hopped in his truck and drove away.

The deputy walked towards her car, “Come on, sir, I’ll give you a ride home.”

“My name is Jack Boudreaux. Are you sure you want to do this?”

She cocked her head toward me. “I know who you are, Mr. Boudreaux, you have been all over the news. Please, get in.”

This time I accepted her invitation.

“My name is Louise Rodrigues. Most people call me L-Rod.” She kept her head and her eyes moving as we drove to my home.

“Why didn’t you arrest Tindall? You must’ve seen what was happening.”

“Yes, sir, I followed you when I noticed the old Lincoln Town Car following you. That car belongs to some local wannabe gangsters. I was surprised to see Mr. Tindall pull up like he did. Why did he assault you?”

“I don’t know. You didn’t give me a chance to find out. Maybe your boss might know, though.” I studied her. She showed no reaction.

“I wouldn’t be surprised, Mr. Boudreaux. I don’t think I’ll ask him. I have enough trouble as it is.”

She pulled up and stopped in front of my house. She took a quick glance around the neighborhood. Nothing unusual appeared. “You have a nice night, Mr. Boudreaux.”

I pushed the car door open and began to get out. I wondered if this deputy could be trusted. From the little she said I gathered she was not part of the inner circle at the Sheriff’s office. After what occurred throughout the day, I was sure I knew who committed the murder. But I needed help and someone inside the Sheriff’s Department, who was not connected with the powers that be would be ideal. I had to take the risk on her.

“Do you believe in justice, L-Rod?”

She darted her eyes at me, “What kind of question is that, Mr. Boudreaux. I’m a cop.”

Here it goes. “Then I would like your help in catching the murderer.”

She shook her head and rubbed her hands in her hair. “This will probably cost me my job, Mr. Boudreaux, but I don’t think the accused committed the murder, either. So, I will help you. What do we do now?”

“Set a trap.”

I opened the car door but before I could get out L-Rod stopped me. “Maybe we should discuss a plan before you get out.”

I closed the squad car door. “Good idea.” An hour later the trap was planned. The first step in the trap was set when we taped an envelope on the front door of TM Realty. The note read:

I know you committed the murder and I can prove it. You had access to Malik’s apartment with your pass key to all the apartments you own and rent. You entered where you found and took the bat to frame Malik. What’s more, I know about your drug operation and how you get protection for it.

I want in. I want to be a partner or it will be all bad. Get my drift?

I will contact you soon.

Now it was time to wait and see what vermin the cheese attracted.

I watched the TM Realty office from down the street. The building was one story with lots of windows, no curtains or blinds covered them. A pretty young lady showed up about 8:30, removed the envelope and unlocked the door. L-Rod called a little later and said that supervisor Morgan was meeting with chief deputy Wolf. About an hour later Morgan showed up at the TM Realty office.

Through my high-powered binoculars I could see Morgan sitting behind his desk. He read the note, picked up the phone and dialed. I could not see what numbers he pushed nor could I read his lips because his head was turned away from me. I called L-Rod and told her what was going on. A short time later L-Rod showed up at Morgan’s office. While she waited to see him, I saw Morgan place another call. When he finished, he walked to his office door and L-Rod entered. He motioned to a chair. She sat down wrapping her hand around the arm of the chair. Morgan stuck his head through the door. A short time later the young woman who had unlocked the building left the office.

I could see the color drain from Morgan’s face as L-Rod spoke.

“Get out of the car, Boudreaux, slowly.’’ A cold piece of steel pressed up against the back of my neck. I laid the binoculars down on the seat next to me and got out of the car.

Tindall grinned at me. “Surprised?”

“A little.” I wasn’t surprised. Ever since he caught me on the street that night, I had a funny feeling about him.

He pointed in the direction of Morgan’s office. “Put your hands behind your back and walk in front of me.”

“How did you know I was out here waiting for you?” I asked.

Tindall shrugged. “I figured you were behind this note by the way you handled your self at the Sheriff’s office.”

“You know, Tindall, I’m not without reinforcements.”

“Give me a break, Boudreaux. That cop in Morgan’s office doesn’t have a clue that I’m here with you.”

Tindall locked the door behind us as we entered the TM Realty office. He pointed at Morgan’s office door and motioned for me to open it.

Tindall stood about 5 feet behind me, too much distance between us. I flung the door open, darted to my left and somersaulted. L-Rod moved a hair too slow. Tindall fired three quick shots. She stumbled, fell against the wall and slumped to the floor.

He leveled his gun on me to fire. “No!” Morgan yelled. “One body is enough to carry out of here, Marcus. No more killing.”

Tindall turned his gun on Morgan who was sitting behind his desk. He threw his hands up in the air. “What are you doing?” Morgan screamed.
Tindall walked over to Morgan who was shaking like a frightened dog. He put the gun to Morgan’s temple. “A murder suicide, my old friend.”

“Why?” Morgan asked.

Tindall pressed the gun harder against Morgan’s head.” I know you, Dusty. What did you tell the cop?”

“I… I didn’t have a choice. She already knew everything. The pass key, the bat, protection by Wolf about raids on our drug operation. Everything.”

“You stupid….”

Two shots rang out. Tindall dropped to the floor.

“Don’t move, supervisor Morgan.” L-Rod stood, “put your hands on top of your head.”

“I was wondering how long it would take you to recover.” She snorted something inaudible, then handed me her cuffs, which I snapped on Morgan. “Even with my vest on, three to the chest hurts.”

I nodded.

Morgan looked down at Tindall’s body lying on the floor, blood staining the carpet. “You don’t have anything on me,” he said to L-Rod.

“Oh, I think we do.” L-Rod reached underneath the arm of the chair where she sat and removed a small listening device. “I have everything right here.” She held the device up for Morgan to see.

Things were hectic over the next few weeks. The local newspaper ran several articles on local corruption. The Sheriff’s Department, especially TJ Wolf, looked incompetent, self-serving, and tainted.

I just finished reading one of those articles when L-Rod walked in. “You wanted to see me?” L-Rod asked.

I laid the newspaper down on my new desk and leaned back in my new chair. “I did. I’m appointing you as the new chief deputy of this department.”

She cocked her head, “What about Wolf?”

I shrugged. “He quit.”

“I see. Well, I guess I should say thanks, Sheriff Boudreaux.”

I smiled. I don’t think she had a clue of what was in store for her with me at the helm.