Derailed (35 page)

Gilson shrugged. “Point is, this is a big deal. Potentially tens of millions. The DEA wants our help, and we sure don't want Sinaloa using our trains. I mean, they kill people, lots of 'em. They're known as the most violent cartel in the world. Can you imagine what would happen to our ridership if people heard Sinaloa was using Amtrak? We gotta nip this in the bud.”

“All right. So, what's the drill?”

According to Gilson, the DEA liked my successful cover as a blind man, but they wouldn't be able to provide backup on the train. “Maybe it's better that way,” the captain said. “We don't want one of our trains turned into a shooting gallery. We gotta nail this mule as quietly as possible.”

“Okay, so give me his description.”

“Uh . . .” Gilson grimaced. “That's the other thing. The DEA mole has no idea who it's gonna be. But since this is a test shipment, they expect it'll be a fairly large amount and carried by someone high in their organization. A real prize if we can bust him. Might be able to turn him and blow open their Chicago organization.”

I blew out a long breath. “So, we have one of the most violent cartels in the world makin' a big run, and I have no idea who the bad guy is?”

Gilson clapped his hand and pointed a finger at me like a gun. “That's why you have Corky. She still behaving herself?”

“Yeah, she's good.”

“Okay. Stick around the station today. Study mug shots, get to know the Sinaloa, do your homework. I'll keep you informed. But be sure to keep your phone on. Didn't like not being able to reach you yesterday.”

“Sorry 'bout that. Won't let it happen again.” I got up and started for the door. “Say, shouldn't I be able to expense my cell phone?”

“Actually, Amtrak will provide you with a phone if you want, but it'd be nothin' like that baby you've got.”

“Then why would I want it?”

Gilson laughed. “You just catch the bad guys, Bentley, and I'll see what I can do about reimbursing your phone.”

Monday I went through mug shots and read reports on the Sinaloa cartel. They were even worse than the media portrayed them. The Mexican police and military were so afraid that
they
wore ski masks and bandannas as they stood behind sullen gang members in arrest photos. They feared reprisals. Given the bruises, puffy faces, and cut lips, it was obvious the police had worked over some of the arrestees. Still, all the cartel members looked brutish even in the photos they put up on the Internet to brag of their exploits. And they bragged. They even used a fleet of aircraft—including a 747—to fly drugs from South America to Mexico before shipping it to the States.

In the afternoon, I took Corky and worked the luggage room and cruised the station, but Tuesday morning I went back to studying photos. These thugs had a similar look—several were related—but I wanted to memorize their distinctive faces, especially since many had bribed their way out of prison and one of them could be my mule. But by afternoon, I was getting bored. Of course, I knew that was the nature of police work—hours of mind-numbing boredom interspersed with minutes of absolute chaos and terror.

I was looking forward to my Bible study that evening. Figured I could ask the guys for prayer without revealing too much of what I was up against. And I also hoped to take Rodney. But when I got home, he was out working.

“But,” Estelle said, “he wanted to know if you'd called the manager of your mom's building yet. Told him I'd ask you.”

I appreciated her gentle reminder. I called at work the next morning while I was again just waitin' around. After a little arm-twisting, the building manager agreed to put Rodney's name on the lease without raising the rent or charging him an additional security deposit.

By midmorning when Gilson hadn't yet called me, I took Corky into his office. “Hey, Captain, Corky here wants to know when she gets to go out to Disneyland.”

He shrugged. “Nothing yet. In fact, when I called last night, they said it might be put off until the weekend.”

Figured. Hurry up and wait. “So, can I take a short run today? I'm not doin' much good around here.”

He laughed. “You're keeping Corky on her toes, aren't you? Actually, I'm not as worried about keeping you busy as I am in having you in position on that Southwest Chief when the mule decides to come this way. To be honest, I'm feeling nervous about the quality of the DEA's intel.” He grabbed a notepad and a pencil. “At the very least, we'd have to have you at LAX by 4:30
P.M
. to catch a cab to Union Station, pick up a ticket, and get on the 6:15 Chief.” He looked up at me and grinned. “Even then, you'll be running.”

I snorted. “Blind men don't run through busy train stations, especially when they don't know where they're going and have to ask for help.” Gilson was off on one of his fantasies again, and I was determined to keep his feet on the ground or I'd be the one to disappear in a puff of pixie dust.

“Uh, right. Okay, add an hour. And use a Red Cap.” He scribbled some more on his note pad. “That means you'd need to be at LAX by 3:30, so you'd have to catch a plane out of O'Hare about four and a half hours before that, though there's a two-hour time difference.”

By the time we figured in the time it'd take to get to O'Hare, buy a ticket, check my weapon identifier code through the TSA, and the time it would take to get Corky checked in . . .

“Oh, and I'll need time on the other end to take her for a walk.”

“Okay, okay. Now you got me all confused.”

“Don't worry. I'm keeping track. I'd have to leave here by 9:00
A.M
.”

He took a deep breath and arched his eyebrows. “And that's presuming there are no delays.”

I shook my head. “Sounds impossible to me.”

“Hmm. Unless they give us a full twenty-four hours notice. So I'm thinkin'—”

“You don't want to wait for their call.”

He grinned. “Exactly. I think we oughta send you out tomorrow morning to get a jump on this thing. You can get in position and be
rested. If nothin' happens Friday or Saturday, you can take Corky to Disneyland.”

I didn't feel like going tomorrow and just sitting out there in some motel, but waiting for the DEA's call sounded worse. “All right. Tomorrow it is.”

Rodney was delighted that evening when I gave him the news about the apartment. I shrugged. “Looks like you can move in whenever you want.”

“Thanks, Dad. I'll go by the manager's office tomorrow and sign the papers.” He turned to Estelle. “Think you could come with me in the afternoon to clear out some of Grandma's stuff? I'll give you a nice ride in a limo.”

“You can do that?”

“Not if I get a call. But the boss allows minimal personal use of the car provided I pay mileage.”

“Can I help you move? I can be home from school before four.”

DaShawn hadn't said much at the news of his dad moving out, and Rodney hadn't explained about Donita. Made me wonder whether that would cause DaShawn to think his dad wanted to get away from him or didn't care about him. So I was relieved at Rodney's response.

“You bet, son. And if I can get that apartment set up, how 'bout goin' to a Cubs game with me Saturday afternoon? They're playin' the Arizona Diamondbacks. Should be a good game.”

“Can we go in the limo?”

“No way. We'll take the ‘L'.”

While I was helping clean up the kitchen after supper, Estelle said, “I called Leroy today, and he didn't sound too good. I think we should go see him.”

“That'd be a good idea. With the house and Mom's passin', it's been weeks.”

“More like months. Makes me feel bad.”

“When were you wantin' to go?”

“Saturday?”

“Sure, you should go. But I can't come.”

“Whaddaya mean?”

I told her about my trip. She got real quiet. Finally, her big eyes all sad lookin', she said, “I know it's your job, Harry, but I don't like it when you're away overnight. So, what's ‘a few days' mean?”

“Oh, I think you should still go see Leroy, 'cause—”

“That's not what I asked. How long're you actually gonna be gone?”

I explained this depended on the DEA, but avoided mentioning the cartel and the danger of going up against them. No need to scare her. “But once I'm on the train, it'll take two nights, about forty-one hours . . . if it's on time.”

“So . . . you'll be home Saturday?”

I winced. “But probably not in time to go with you. See, we don't exactly know. I might have to wait in California a day or two before headin' back. It all depends on when the drug runner decides to make his move.”

“Well then, what's your best
guess
for when you'll get home?”

I shrugged. “DEA is guessing the run'll be this weekend.”

“So you'll leave there Friday and get home Sunday?”

“Maybe, but it could be later . . . look, babe, I'll phone you regular and keep you informed.”

“You better phone me . . . every day. But how do the train conductors and crews manage these long runs? Do they have families?”

“Oh, yeah. Lot of 'em do.” I was beginning to sense this wasn't about me accompanying her to visit Leroy. “For the crew, it's two days out, sometimes a layover, and two days back—five days.”

She sighed and her eyebrows went up. “Well, you know that's not the way I like it.” We stood there, staring at each other, not knowing what to say.

“But then they get five days off,” I finally offered.

A mischievous grin slowly melted her features. “Five days, huh?” She whipped the end of a dishtowel around me, grabbed the other
end, and reeled me into a tight clinch. “So, what're we gonna do with
your
comp time? Should be a whole week when you add the weekend.” I could see her mind spinning. “Want me to take the time off work? We could go on a short cruise. They're always advertising those last-minute specials.”

I grinned back at her. With the swirl our lives had been in lately, we needed a rest, a real rest. But a cruise? “Ah gee, babe. I'd just be getting home from one long trip, might not be very eager for another. How 'bout a few nights in nice hotel downtown? We could take in a play, listen to some jazz, go to the art museum. There's lots of stuff we could do. Wanna ride a Segway again?”

“Not on your life, Harry Bentley. You got me on one of those two-wheeled things once, and that's enough.”

I chuckled. “Well, it got you to say yes to marryin' me. Thought I'd try for a rerun.”

“
No way
! Like you said, I'm a married woman. Don't need any more of those kinda thrills.”

“Okay, okay. But don't schedule anything until I actually get back. With this kind of an operation, you never know until it's over.”

I called home Thursday evening just to say I'd
arrived safely and had checked into the Great Wall of China Motel. “It's not got much in the way of amenities,” I told Estelle. “I think they call it the Great Wall because the whole thing's made out of concrete blocks. But it's clean and only a few blocks from Union Station. Oh, and bein' right here in Chinatown, there's some great-looking restaurants around.”

“Well, tell me if you like their breakfasts.”

“Why? What's the matter with breakfast?”

“Oh nothin', but I prefer a Danish and coffee, myself.” I heard her take a deep breath. “So when're you comin' home, Harry?”

“Just got here, babe. Still waitin' for the green light, ya know. But I'll call you as soon as I know.”

We chitchatted awhile longer, but I could tell she was already feeling lonely. I was too.

I wanted to try one of the restaurants I'd seen in the area, but didn't know whether to take Corky or leave her in the room. She was legally welcome anywhere, but I didn't think I wanted to spend my whole time in LA fighting for the rights of handicapped people.

Finally, I decided. “You stay, Corky. I'll bring you back something nice. Then we'll go for a walk.” Found a nice restaurant, and ordered seafood bean curd soup, moo shu chicken, and spicy stir-fried greens with garlic and shitake mushrooms. It was awesome and far more than I could eat. But it wasn't much fun having a fancy meal alone.

The next day I had lots of time on my hands, so I decided to try reading the Bible. It's something I genuinely wanted to do at home,
but I often got distracted. Here, I had plenty of time with no interruptions, but I still couldn't engage. What a sorry Christian I made. It was God's Word, after all. Ha! Reminded me of the disciples who couldn't watch and pray in the garden on the night of Jesus' betrayal. I looked up that story in Matthew 26. It wasn't very comforting to read how disappointed Jesus was when he came back and found the disciples sleeping, but apparently he understood. “The spirit is willing, but the body is weak.”