The Second It All Changed: Clear Spring Crime Series

wallacejayne@hotmail.com

Chapter 1

Stealing Away

The armadillo on the shoulder of the highway looked like the typical sales bargain you might find at a Florida truck stop. However, the smell, and the fact it was suspended on four nine-inch palmetto spikes, would convince most folks it was no sanitized, store-bought curiosity. The cool late summer morning had formed a tiny tear of condensation that trickled down the side of the armadillo’s shell. Soon the cool would yield to hot humidity that would consume the day and further putrefy the armadillo into the vilest of road-kill.

Whoa, did you see that? yelled the driver, as he strained against his seat belt to look off to the right side of the road. "There’s a lotta creepy bruja crap goin’ on in this town. Let’s pullover and take a look." He slowed down the car as he edged off the road.

"No way, esse…We got no time for that garbage…We got business," Manny blasted from the backseat.

"Negocio muy importante," the front seat passenger gruffly warned.

The gruff guy, Rudi Rodriquez, liked to be called Rudi. A short, solid, bulldozer, tough-guy wannabe with medium-length slicked back black hair and a major attitude. He was the leader of the gang. Rudi and Manny lived in a roach-infested trailer with a half dozen other underemployed, lost guys like them. They rented from a smarmy white slumlord who didn’t care who they were, or what they did, as long as they paid the rent on time – rent that was far higher than it should have been.

Rudi ruled the roost. Everybody stayed out of his way. He let it be known that he was an illegal who crossed the border after he offed some trafficanos in a deal gone bad.

The young driver, Anthony ‘Tony’ Morales, was tall and skinny, just like a taquito his brother said. His short, dark hair barely reached the top of the Virgin of Guadalupe tattoo that poked up eerily over the back of his ribbed, wife beater T-shirt.

Tony liked to cruise with the windows down, so he could hang his arm out to proudly display a crude Sacred Heart tattoo. He told Rudi and the others, he got the tattoo in the slammer while serving a stint for manslaughter; the conviction was overturned on a technicality.

Manny knew that was bullshit. Tony had never been in jail and his buddy did that rotten tattoo when they were high. Manny liked Tony. He trusted him a whole lot more than he did Rudi. Tony leveled with Manny. They were always honest with each other and truth be told, Tony was a pretty straight-up, law-abiding guy. He avoided fights with a passion. He tried to act like a hard case, but, in reality — tough guy? Not so much.

Manny often wished his life could be more like Tony’s. Manny’s family were dirt poor-farmers in northern Mexico. Tony had it easy. He had graduated high school with a decent GPA before he left his parents’ comfortable home to come to Clear Springs. No roach motel for him He lived comfortably with his brother, Miguel, owner of the ‘primo’ local Mexican restaurant. Tony trivialized the money he got from his work at his brother’s restaurant. He always acted like he was strapped for el dinero. Tony had to work hard, way too hard, to convince Rudi he was a player, a tough guy to be counted on when things got rough.

Sometimes Manny could hardly hold back the laughter. Tony worked tirelessly on his tough guy image, right down to the little black cigarillos wedged over an ear, in his left hand, or dangling from his mouth. When he didn’t think anyone was watching, he kept them out of sight in his pocket, rarely ever smoked one.

Image. It was all about image and Tony confessed he had the gangster bug since high school. Without Manny, Rudi would crush Tony like a bug. Manny was sure their gang didn’t live up to the Tony’s fantasy expectation, but then, Tony didn’t live up to Rudi’s gang member ideal either. As far as Rudi is concerned, Tony’s only contribution to the gang was that he had the most reliable vehicle and was free most of the day. Everybody else had transportation issues.

Tony’s car was a well-used dark Buick sedan, big and comfortable with no distinguishing characteristics. That is, unless you consider the Saint Christopher on the dash and the Mary, Queen of the Universe medallion which hung from the mirror unusual. Even though the air-conditioning worked fine, cruising with the windows down in the early part of the day was par for the course, since Tony was all about showing off that tacky tattoo.

Once they got in town, Tony followed Rudi’s cryptic directions. Tony had no clue what the important business would be today. It might net him extra cash or fuel to get high, his secret vice from high school days.

Drugs were Tony’s Achilles heel. He had to go to a great deal of trouble to hide his vice from his brother. If he didn’t, his brother would make Tony’s life a living hell. For Miguel, drugs had no place in a successful life and he was sure Tony’s gang obsession would bring nothing but grief.

Good thing Miguel didn’t know where Tony was right now.

This is the house, Rudi said.

Tony parked on the street in front of the modest middle-class house.

For a second, they all sat silently in the car.

Manny got out of the backseat, ran his left hand through his long greasy hair, rubbed his paunch, and then flicked the cigarette from his right hand to the pavement. He turned quickly and bumped into the mailbox with ‘Lilly Hammond’ written in crude letters. Dammit. He looked up and down the street. Satisfied he said, Looks clear, Rudi.

Rudi looked straight at the front door of the house. Short and sweet, Manny. Keep the motor running, Tony.

Tony stayed in the car with the engine running. He wasn’t sure what kind of scam they were pulling today. This gangster life wasn’t working out. No MTV glamour here. No fawning, gorgeous chicks, begging to be laid. If it were not for the drugs, he would split in a minute.

Rudi and Manny headed to the front door. They both wore baggy work clothes, making it hard for anyone to tell if they are carrying anything. Except for the wool caps, they looked just like any other day laborers ready to clean up the yard.

When they get to the door, they pulled the caps down over their faces revealing the holes for their eyes and slits for their noses. They pulled small cloths from their pockets and poured chloroform on them from a single tiny green bottle.

Rudi knocked on the door. Cable guy! he chimed, trying not to betray his accent.

Inside the house, everything was quite, except for the television as someone watched the morning entertainment program. Lilly Hammond probably wondered why the cable guys were there since the cable seemed to be working fine.

Rudi was about to knock again when the door opened a crack. He and Manny could see the door was held by a pathetically inadequate safety chain. They hit the door with their full weight. The latch popped easily.

The old woman was knocked to the floor. Rudi leaned down, covered her nose and mouth with his cloth, and she went limp.

Once inside, Manny peeked out the door to see if their efforts had been noticed by anyone. He saw nothing. Still clear, he said as he gently closed the door.

Then they went quickly through the house, checking for other occupants and anything small of value. In one of the bedrooms, probably the woman’s, Manny got a pillowcase and began to fill it with jewelry. He rummaged through everything he could find. He tossed things off this way and that. He emptied the contents of purses and drawers alike.

Rudi went to another room where he found a sleeping baby, tightly clutching a little stuffed animal —a blue dog. As Rudi picked up the child, it awakened and started to cry. He placed his chloroformed cloth over the child’s face until it slumped into unconsciousness. This ain’t no regular gringo baby, he said under his breath.

Rudi joined Manny as ransacked another room. Let’s get out of here. he whispered nervously. Stay too long, we get caught.

They roughed up the house a little more, smashed some dishes, and busted the television set on the way out. Then they walked calmly to the car, trying not to be too obvious about their baggage.

They got in the car with their booty and Tony drove away as they pulled off their sweaty wool caps.

How’d it go? Tony asked.

Nothin easier, replied Rudi.

Tony glanced at Rudi. He had not expected to see him cuddling a baby. Startled, he yelled, What the hell’s that?

"We’re goin’ trade this for your next fix, amiguito, Rudi shot back. Now get us out-o-here."

Manny could tell by the look in Tony’s eyes in the rearview mirror that this did not sit well with him.

The ‘business’ had taken less than ten minutes from the time Manny flicked the cigarette to the pavement until they were back on the road, safely away from the house.

Everything worked out jus’ like the gringo tol’me, said Rudi.

Chapter 2

The Call

The operator at Davis County Hospital picked up the outside line at the switchboard. The call was for the Intensive Care Unit. Without thought, she relayed it to the desk of Mona Washington, the ward clerk.

The hospital had served local and indigent patients for as long as anyone could remember. Not what you would call a modern hospital, more like a postwar veterans’ home. But the staff were as professional and dedicated as any found in the big city. Still middle-class folks only went there in an emergency. They did not want their neighbors to spot them in the waiting room. They would not want to be caught dead at Davis County Hospital.

The smartly-dressed nurse glanced in the full-length mirror beside the nursing station and straightened the badge on her chest that read, Suzy Hachimotto, Registered Nurse.

Akira you little rascal, Suzy thought, you must’ve grabbed it when I dropped you off at Lilly’s.

She brushed back her glossy, shoulder-length black hair and gave it a little flip.

Umm, you still knock’em out, girl. Too bad there’s no one here to impress.

She tugged at the waist belt of the one-piece white, nurse’s uniform.

It was her first time back in a size nine since Akira was born. It still looked pretty good. Maybe a little short for her five nine height, and a smidgen tight around the hips, but she was almost back to pre-baby. She was going to have to work at it though. No time to slouch.

She went into the patient’s room with the medication injection ready for action.

The telephone rang and Mona Washington picked it up. She responded with her normal, snappy, ‘why-are-you-bothering-me?’ attitude. This is Mona Washington, Intensive Care Unit, she said. Pleased to find the call was not for her, she yelled for Suzy across the hall, not the least bit concerned about interrupting the patient’s care. Suzy, it’s for you. Mona put the call on hold and went back to making notes in a patient’s chart.

When Suzy finished the patient, she came to the telephone. She picked it up. Suzy Hachimotto. May I help you? There was a pause while she listened to the person on the other end of the line. Then she screamed and dropped the receiver.

The ward clerk stood, put her hand on Suzy’s shoulder and said, Are you okay, Suzy?

Suzy’s complexion paled as all the blood drained from her face. She became as white as her uniform. The look on her face was one of complete shock, as if she had run headlong into a plate glass wall. She struggled to bring her emotions under control and respond to what she heard.

Her panicked response was, No, no. It’s not okay. My baby’s gone! Akira has been stolen! I’ve got to leave. Please, get somebody to cover for me.

Suzy grabbed her purse and raced out the door.

Chapter 3

The Meeting

The dark Buick slowly drove off the highway into the orange grove. North of Clear Springs were acres upon acres of citrus groves. Many of these groves were seldom visited when it was not picking season. They could be undisturbed for months.

Straight rows of thirty-foot-high green trees stretched for several miles on either side of the narrow, sandy, rutted trail. The turnoff was marked by two bright pink ribbons —the sign the gringo left for them. The Buick and its occupants proceeded slowly down the trail. The gringo told them it would take them to a clearing near a creek at the back of the grove.

Manny could hardly hold back his enthusiasm. "Tony, we’ll cut you a chunk of nose candy. Get you blitz’d good. We’ll be out-o-your hair in no time, headed west to Rudi’s cousin in LA. This stuff’s gonna be big bucks. Your share’ll keep you flyin’ high. You could sell it or snort it. Mucho dinero, more than fair trade for your ride. You got insurance right? Jus’ tell’em the car got jacked."

Rudi broke in. Yeah, it’s the big one. You know you’re not cut out for this gangster life. Put it behind you, Manny and me, that’s another story. It’s all we got. We didn’t pack all our stuff in the trunk for nothin’. We’ll be out of here in a flash. No more Clear Springs dump for us. LA is what we need. Your ol’brother Miguel’ll probably send us a thank-you card. Don’t think he’s thinks much of us.

But stealing a baby? I’ve got to believe there’s going to be blowback on me when you guys split. Tony adjusted his rear-view mirror to see Manny grin in the backseat.

"Your part’s almost over, esse. Get us through the transfer and you’re out clean. Tell ‘em you were threatened. You know. We’d rob your brother, burn down that fine restaurant, rape his pretty wife. Make somethin’ up," Rudi said, nervously running his hand over his slick hair.

There in the clearing, as expected, was another car —a shiny, new, black Lexus with darkly-tinted windows. As Tony parked, a tall, slim, muscled man in an expensive gray suit, sunglasses, and black leather gloves emerged from the Lexus.

He had a briefcase, which he placed roughly on the hood of the Buick, with no apparent worry about scratching the hood…Plumpf!

Rudi smirked, got out of the car and approached the tall man.

Tony stayed behind the wheel with the motor running, his fingers tapped nervously on the steering wheel.

Calm down, buddy, Manny placed a reassuring hand on Tony’s shoulder. We got this. It’s goin’ to work like a charm. We’ll be out of here in less than fifteen minutes.

Tony pulled his baseball cap further down on his head and adjusted his dark sun-glasses.

Manny watched uneasily from the backseat, not making a sound as he tried to hear every word.

Did you get the package? the tall man asked.

Like you said, no problem, Rudi replied. You got our stuff?

The tall man popped the latches on the briefcase —click…click— and the top popped open.

Rudi leaned in. His eyes involuntarily widened.

Manny could just barely see from his vantage point that the case was full of small bags bulging with white powder. "Oh, man, this is way too good. We’ll jack this load…stiff this estupido Norte Americano," Manny said so only Tony could hear it.

Rudi was flipping. He could hardly restrain himself as he twirled away from the tall man and mumbled inaudibly.

What’d you say? the tall man asked.

Nothin’…Just talkin’ to myself, Rudi said as he turned to face the tall man.

The tall man noticed the gleam in the Mexican’s eye. Remember, the deal’s four bags. This is a super high-quality product. Very valuable on the street, especially if you know how to cut it right.

Rudi got out his pocket knife.

This is not good. Rudi’s trying to act confident. Hope the tall man doesn’t notice Rudi’s right hand. It’s shaking like a leaf. His machismo is wavering…. Hard to read the tall man. Maybe it slipped by him. Come on, Rudi. Let’s move it along before the guy gets the jump on us, Manny whispered to Tony.

Tony squirmed in his seat to get a better view of the open briefcase, My god! I never seen that much dope in my entire life, not even in my dreams, he whispered.

Rudi punctured one of the bags. He took the unusually long fingernail of his left-hand little finger and hooked it into the contents. He brought up a little scoop of the white powder to his nose and snorted.

Whoa! Primo stuff. He said as he staggered back and sat momentarily on the Lexus.

The tall man responded quickly. He yanked him off the car and scolded. Don’t touch the car!

Jhez man, it’s only a Toyota. Cut me some slack, gringo, Rudi replied with a grin.

Rudi then turned toward Manny and yelled, Bring the kid.

Manny was convinced that dope packed a punch. Rudi looked a little zonked. Might ease his nerves, but he hoped it didn’t slow him down when it was time to act.

Manny got out, then reached into the other side of the back seat and slid the baby toward him. He carefully picked up the child and turned toward the tall man. He walked over and handed the still quiet baby to the man. As he did an involuntary smile flashed two golden teeth at the tall man.

The tall man grimaced and glared as he timidly took the baby in his arms. He leaned in and checked the baby for breathing. Satisfied the child was still alive, he went to the Lexus and opened the rear door. He handed the sleeping baby to someone in the back seat of the Lexus, someone hidden by the blackened windows. It looked like an old woman dressed in black, with big dark sunglasses. A hat covered her hair and much of her face.

Was it a Mexican woman? Why would she want a foreign baby like this? Manny thought, as he checked to see that his silver, twenty- dollar, thirty-eight caliber snub nose revolver was securely tucked in his belt behind his back. He was ready to dance.

When the tall man turned around, he had something in his hand. It was not hard to recognize.

Manny had expected it, as his hand grabbed behind his back to bring his thirty-eight to action. As Manny had told Tony, he had faced men with guns many times before and they were almost always for show. A harmless, cowardly, deterrent easily talked down by one as silver-tongued as he was.

But Manny was wrong this time. There was no talk. He had not factored in the tall man’s speed and resolve. Without hesitation, the tall man aimed his Smith & Wesson nine-millimeter directly at Manny’s face and pulled the trigger.

Bang! Thud! The gun spit.

Manny fell backward and bounced off the side of the Buick before he hit the ground. Almost involuntarily, his left hand swept the back of his head. His long black hair was a bloody, tangled, spongy mess. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the feathering of hair stuck in a trail of blood on the door as his body slid down. He was in a great deal of pain, but still alive.

A wild shot from the Rudi’s thirty-eight only angered the tall man, who quickly turned to him.

Thud came the second bullet. The bullet opened a hole in the middle of the Rudi’s nose. He fell flat on his back with a crunch. Manny could see Rudi’s unfocused eyes stare in shock at the blue sky. As Rudi struggled to breathe coarsely and loudly.

Manny heard Tony, still in the front seat of the Buick, fumble to get the car in gear as he tried desperately to get the hell out of there.

But time played against Tony too. The tall man pointed the barrel of the nine-millimeter in the open driver’s side window. Manny heard the blast as Tony’s body slammed across the front seat.

Manny mumbled, Oh, God! The pain! I’m going to die because I wasn’t fast enough.

Manny felt his gun still in my hand. He raised it to shoot up at the tall man, less than a foot away, but his arm would not cooperate.

The tall man simply looked down and said, Tough shit, greaser, as he fired another shot into Manny’s head.

Chapter 4

Brother’s Concern

The telephone rang twice before the dispatcher, Betty Newman picked it up. Davis County Sheriff’s Department.

My name is Miguel Morales. I would like to report a missing person. Miguel had to struggle to make sure his kitchen Spanish didn’t rollover on his carefully-orchestrated ‘white’ accent.

Are you Miguel of the Agua Caliente?

Yes, ma’am, Miguel impatiently responded, annoyed that his reputation got in the way of even the most important of his personal concerns. My brother, Anthony Morales, has not been home for three days. He’s been out of touch for a day or two in the past, but this is unusual for him. I’ve checked the hospitals and jails, but nobody has any record of him.

When did you last see him?

Anthony was helping close up the restaurant three nights ago. He mentioned he’d be hanging out with friends the next day, ‘wrapping up loose ends’, and might be late to help with lunch. When I got up the next morning, he and his car were gone. Today, I checked out at the trailer where his friends stay. The guy that opened the door said he hadn’t seen Anthony, and his buddies hadn’t been around for days.

Have you checked with your relatives to see if he might’ve gone there?

Yes. No one has heard from him.

You said he has a car?

Yes, Miguel responded, and then gave her a description of the car, along with the tag number.

Alright, Mr. Morales, I’m going to open a case file on this right away. Someone will be in touch within the next few hours.

Thanks. I’m worried about him. He’s been hanging out with a rough crowd.

He hung up the phone and stared out the window.

Theresa came into the room and asked, Did they know anything?

No. They just said they’d look into it, he said as he picked up the glass of Tequila and sipped.

Legally he may be an adult, but he’s still my little brother. I warned him those low-life’s would it get him in the kind of trouble that neither us or your well-connected family could get him out of. If that misguided Sheriff LaRoy had listened to me when Tony got in trouble last month, we could’ve gotten him some much-needed tough love. A stiff fine and a couple of nights in jail would’ve grabbed his attention faster than a couple of weeks picking up trash. Tony has potential. He could be something I never could. You know he’s a smart kid. Just got bored, and turned to drugs and dead-end losers. If he hadn’t been such a stoner, his high school grades would have been much better. He might even have been motivated to go on to college where he should be, instead of busing tables in my restaurant.

He is smart and deserves better. Maybe we should help him get into college, we can afford it, Theresa took the half-empty tequila bottle from the table and put it on the shelf. Don’t let yourself slide, Miguel. Drinking’s not going to make this any easier to deal with.

Tony doesn’t want to admit it, but he’s as middle class as a Mexican can get in this town. He wants to hide that from his buddies. He wants them to think he’s like them —outsiders, living on the edge of society, preying on the weakness of others, as mean as they come. But that’s not Tony. That’s not the real Tony.

I know. He’s just trying to make his mark on the world. He’s young yet. Theresa said brushing Miguel’s hair back off this forehead. We all did things we regret at his age.

Our parents instilled in us the belief that we alone could determine our place in life. Only hard work would ensure success. When our grandparents emigrated from Mexico they worked long and hard in the tomato fields in Ruskin. Our parents, the first generation born in America, got decent jobs and worked carefully to blend into the predominantly white culture. They wanted to distance themselves from their parent’s humble beginnings, so they raised their kids educated and Americanized. The Morales boys would have all the opportunities our parents lacked due to a social status and education. Our parents took satisfaction in knowing that their struggles allowed us to count ourselves among a growing middle class, easing onto the bottom rung of the social ladder.

Your parents did well and I know you’ve made them proud. I’m sure Tony looks up to you and wishes he could have your success and stability.

I got lucky. I learned early that one way to insure my place in the world and still be true to my Mexican heritage was to become a cook. As soon as high school was over, I moved from Ruskin to Tampa to earn my cooking chops. It was a long trudge from busboy to line cook, but my skills and determination helped me move up through the ranks quickly.

I’m sure it was lots of hot, hard, thankless work.

I even credit my culinary skills with my marriage to you. I never dreamed I would be able to marry such a beautiful wife with such a high social standing.

So you want me to believe that, without your cooking skills, you’d never have married a white girl from the sticks, who just happened to be the ex-prom queen, former debutante Theresa Younger, hottest real estate broker in Davis County? Theresa said as she laughed then leaned over to kiss him, hard, on the lips.

Yeah. You were way out of my league. Without you to convince me to open a restaurant in Clear Springs, I’d still be slaving under those guys in Tampa. Coming here to your hometown, where your parents have far-reaching influence, has been good for both of us.

We can make big things happen, baby, she said. Townsfolk here, in particular the more affluent white ones, can’t get enough of your Agua Caliente Restaurant. The finest and most authentic Mexican restaurant in all of central Florida, they say. People drive in from Tampa and Orlando, with no compunction to drop lots of money, to indulge in your traditional Hispanic specialties. You knock their socks off. It’s not going to be long before you start winning awards. You make good money and most night’s your brother pitches in where he’s needed. He needs the steady money and, as much as he hates to admit, it may one day help him to dump that imaginary gangster life and get on with a legitimate life.

He’s a good study. I’ve taught him the basic recipes and techniques, but he’s not ready to give in yet. I just hope he didn’t wait too late.

Chapter 5

The Aftermath

Johnny pulled his cruiser into the clearing near the creek at the back of the orange grove.

This is the middle of nowhere. How in God’s name did anyone find this mess? Especially, at this time of the year, he wondered, as he noted one of his County squad cars parked well off to the side of the clearing.

Being the first black Sheriff of Davis County was not without its challenges. Small budget, limited staff, apprehensive citizens —the list went on. But the scene he saw here was not a common sight in his quiet little part of the world.

A late 80’s Buick sedan burned down to the rims, trunk lid up, in the middle of the clearing with one badly-burned body leaning against the back door and another body, lightly-charred, flat on its back a few feet from the front of the car, eyes wide open, as if it looked at the clouds floating by.

Eric Graves, the Department’s new recruit, fresh out of the Academy, busily worked the crime scene, already roped-off with crime scene tape.

Johnny felt lucky to get this kid, who specialized in forensic investigations. A diamond in the rough, Eric proved to be quite an asset to the department.

Johnny got out of his squad car. Eric, how in the world did we find this?

"A buncha deer hunters, off track, stumbled