Chapter 22 of The Loner
Joan Reirdon thought it was best, under the circumstances, to have Christmas Eve in Conway. It was a small town compared to Little Rock, and the media circus had reached new heights with the latest news on Royce’s disappearance.
Josh, Bonnie, and the boys had just arrived, and Pastor Williamson, along with his two sons, had accepted Joan’s invitation to spend Christmas Eve with the Reirdon family — less one.
Joan, of course, had informed everyone of the phone call she had received from Royce, a shocking four-minute conversation, which left the family with more questions than answers — and especially Lt. Drummond, who was the first person the concerned and frightened daughter-in-law called.
Drummond didn’t know what to make of it but confided in Joan to keep the information under wraps until he could get a handle on how to proceed.
The Lieutenant had informed Joan of what he knew so far, which wasn’t much different than the facts that had been released to all the news outlets in the last few hours.
The latest press release: Royce Reirdon was kidnapped by two men outside of Socorro, New Mexico. Four men died in a southwestern town near the border of New Mexico and Arizona — two of the men confirmed as the kidnappers. No sign of Reirdon or the owner of the property where the killings took place — a 26-year-old female by the name of Maria Consuelo Sanchez.
Blood samples at the scene are being analyzed, but it may take a week or more before the samples are analyzed and the information released to the authorities…
Missing, along with Reirdon and Sanchez, is Reirdon’s 2012 Lexus, while three additional vehicles at the crime scene received significant fire damage. One building on the property was burned entirely down…”
It was the consensus of the Reirdon family that Drummond and the authorities involved may have more facts but are keeping certain information close to the vest to protect Royce, maybe the Sanchez woman, or both.
What also worried Joan was the information she obtained from Harriet Mayweather, a clinical psychologist in Tucson, Arizona.
Joan had received a phone call earlier in the day from Mayweather, who advised her that Royce was under her care and that she couldn’t elaborate on certain specifics of the case but was concerned about his welfare.
It was Mayweather who initially informed authorities of his disappearance.
Joan informed Jake, Josh, and Bonnie of the phone call. “I guess he missed his appointment with her, and after repeated attempts, she became worried enough to contact the authorities.”
“Dad may have some issues we don’t know about,” Josh said. “I mean, he failed to mention when he was here that he had retired from the TV network. The man kept so much inside.”
“Poor man,” Bonnie added. “He felt so displaced when he divorced Maggie. I always had the feeling if he had it to do all over again, he would never have left Maggie…never left his family…never left Arkansas.”
Jake put both hands over his face and rubbed his eyes. “My dad doesn’t even know I’ve beaten cancer.”
“I know he wants to get home to you, Jake,” said Joan. “That alone will keep him going.”
Jake stood up and looked out the living room window. He looked toward the forest, eyed the top of the tallest trees, and looked toward the west, “Where are you, Dad? Where are you?”
Joan got up, went over to Jake, and hugged him. “Why don’t we bring the children in and get ready for dinner? We’ll have Walker lead us in prayer. Your father will come back to us. You’ll see.”
The family assembled in the dining room. Pastor Williamson blessed the food and gave thanks to the Lord. He added one short verse from Luke 11:9 — “Seek and you will find.”
Chapter 23
Drummond picked up Julie. She was waiting patiently by her front door. Harriet didn’t want to be alone on Christmas Eve, and she knew Drummond and Julie might feel the same way. She prepared a nice dinner — roast and potatoes as the main meal.
She was glad to have company. Even if it was just for a few hours. The weather had taken a drastic turn, and even snow was expected at the higher elevations — especially at the top of Mt. Lemmon, where two to four inches were forecast.
The doorbell rang, and she welcomed her guests.
Of course, the conversation at the dinner table turned to Royce Reirdon and the crazy twists in the case.
“I can’t figure out if this guy has fallen in love, has lost his mind, is shot to hell…or what,” said Drummond. “I mean, everything points to an escape with a woman young enough to be his granddaughter, for God’s sake.”
“Believe you me,” Harriet said, responding and a little disturbed at Drummond’s comment. “I’ve known him for two years…mostly on a professional basis, of course, but he has made so much progress…maybe forty years ago, you could expect something like that out of a young Reirdon, but not now. There has to be something more…something you’re missing.”
“I’m sorry, Harriet. If you want to know the truth, I agree with you. I think the man is trying to stay alive at any cost, whatever it takes. He’s proven that so far.”
Harriet let out a little smile. “I like that analysis better, Charlie.”
Julie perked up, “I know I’m like from the outside looking in here, but I trust Harriet’s judgment on this. Reirdon may not even have a say in all this. What if he’s the one wounded, and he’s still a prisoner?”
“Could very well be,” added Drummond. “Then again, maybe the woman is the one clinging to life, but we have contacted or have alerted every hospital from here to the coast. Nothing…absolutely nothing. No man reported with gunshot wounds who matched Reirdon’s description, and no woman reported, either.”
“My God!” Harriet said. “It’s Christmas Eve, and Royce wanted to be home with his family on Christmas Day. He’s made so much progress…and now this!”
“And the vehicle, Drummond added, “A black, late-model Lexus, for goodness sake. Reirdon will stick out like a sore thumb!”
Harriet, Julie, and Lt. Drummond finished their meal in silence…all three deep in their thoughts, still with more questions than answers.
Chapter 24
I could barely keep my eyes open as I pulled the Lexus into a gas station on the outskirts of Magdalena. I pulled out the crumpled piece of paper in my pocket, which had the address of Ramon Perez Sanchez.
“Si…Si,” said the gas station/convenience store clerk. “It’s four miles down, and turn left and go five blocks. It’ll take you right there.”
I was in luck for the first time…maybe the second time all day — the first piece of luck, of course, getting past the border guards. Now, a man who speaks enough English…just enough English to get me to my destination.
Five minutes later, I pulled into the driveway. The white mailbox on the porch read 808 Mexicali Ave…the name R. Sanchez in black letters…barely visible.
The less talking, the better. I decided not to knock first but carry Maria to the front door. If nothing else, she would be the entry ticket. Maria moaned as I grabbed hold of her and cradled her in my arms.
I then knocked three times on the screen door.
The door opened slowly, and a short man, maybe five feet six, who looked like he could be the twin brother of actor Cheech Marin, opened the door and yelled, “Oh, my God! It’s Maria!”
Sanchez motioned me to follow him to the back bedroom. He pulled down the sheets and let me position her on the bed comfortably.
“What happened to her?”
“Let’s just say it was a drug bust gone bad.”
“I knew this day would come. The same thing happened to her younger brother just six years ago.”
“Mr. Sanchez, you know your daughter is dealing drugs?”
“Yes, I know. She chose such a life soon after her brother was killed. I tried to stop her. Most young people want to get out of here…find their way in life somewhere else…, especially in the United States. I couldn’t stop my son…and now my daughter.”
“Maria said you had a contact at a clinic. Someone who will help her and keep quiet. We’re not sure who’s chasing us, if anyone. I promised her I’d bring her home to you.”
“Thank you…Thank you. I’m in your debt. Please stay by her side. The clinic is two miles away. I’ll get my truck…I’ll be back with her cousin Enrique…he runs the clinic and is a doctor.”
Sanchez grabbed his keys, stopped at the door, and looked back at me. “Sir, what is your name?”
“My name is Royce.”
The door slammed. I heard him start up his pickup…and he was gone.
I found a towel, dampened it, and placed it on Maria’s forehead. Her eyes opened, and she looked around the room. “My father’s house…I’m home.”
She pointed to a photo on the wall of the Sanchez family, a family of four. “That’s me, my brother Rico, my father…and my mother. She died when I was only fifteen…she was tired of life…It was a Sunday morning, and we were getting ready for church. She hadn’t got dressed yet, so I went to her room…she was lying there…her eyes wide open.”
Maria tried to get up but stopped herself. “It hurts, it hurts.”
“Your cousin Enrique will be here soon. Just lie back. You’ve come a long way. You need to rest.”
She insisted she must show me something. Maria pointed to the dining room and the light above the table…eight white crosses hung down, along with the string that turned the light on and off. “The crosses…the crosses?”
“What about them?”
“On my property…the crosses…my ranch…the crosses.”
I heard the pickup. Sanchez had returned with the doctor. They rushed into the house. The doctor rushed to her side, “Maria…Maria, what have you done?”
“My time has run out. Father, where are you?”
“I’m right here, Maria.”
I stood at the end of the bed. Ramon leaned over. Hugged her and kissed her on the cheek. Enrique frantically cleaned the wound. “The pellets are too deep. I need to operate. We must get her to…”
“Stop, Enrique!” Ramon beckoned. He placed his right hand over her eyes and slowly closed them. “She’s gone.”
Ramon dropped to his knees, “My little girl is gone. Tomorrow’s her birthday. She turns twenty-seven…she’s too young to die.”
Less than an hour later, Maria was gone from the house. Enrique had made the arrangements. I tried to comfort Ramon as best as I could. We both sat at the dining room table. We sat there, listening only to the white crosses jingling above us as a slight breeze came through the screen door, causing them to move.
Suddenly, Ramon looked at the crosses, “Mr. Royce, you must go. You’re in danger!”
“What are you trying to tell me, Ramon?”
For the next twenty minutes, I sat and listened to Maria’s father explaining his daughter’s involvement with the Tijuana Cartel, her duties over the past two years…maybe three. Ramon talked quickly and continued to fill in the blanks.
“I know I accepted the money. I know it was wrong. I used the money to keep my head above water. It’s tough to keep food on the table and hang on to this house. I’ve lost everything important to me, my wife, my son, and now, Maria…”
Ramon rambled on. He felt guilty for accepting the “dirty” money.
“She came home once a year…maybe twice…each time she’d hand me an envelope. I bought the old, run-down gas station, fixed it up, and became a businessman. I tried to make something positive out of my life, attended school at night, and learned English so I could communicate with people like you from America. That’s what Maria wanted me to do.”
He kept calling me Mr. Royce. I continued to stay quiet and listen.
What would it accomplish to interrupt him and explain the devastation Maria’s actions had caused and how the Cartel continues to push drugs into the United States…continues to ruin the lives of our young people…young and old.
I looked at his face as he continued to let all his anguish out while my mind ventured far beyond Magdalena de Kino…to the border…and back to southwestern New Mexico, where I could still visualize the smoldering barn, the money, and the drugs going up in smoke.
Then Ramon jolted me. “You know, Mr. Royce. There’s more out there…hidden under these white crosses,” he points to the light above the table…the crosses continuing to jingle.
“What are you telling me, Ramon?”
“There’s more hidden on her ranch. Millions and Millions of dollars are out there…drugs, too…waiting to be picked up. If what you say is true and you burned what was to be one transfer…one transaction…it doesn’t put a dent into what is out there under the crosses.”
I was stunned as Ramon continued to explain. “She has different pickup points, scattered all over her property…the men come and go…they come at night…car lights flashing, looking for the crosses…the money…the drugs hidden in containers twenty feet below the surface.”
I sat back in the chair. I had accomplished nothing.
“Mr. Royce, you must go. You can’t stay in Sonora…the Cartel is south of here, but they will find you. You must get back to the States.”
It’s Christmas Eve. Just maybe the border guards will be understaffed. It’s a shot. I would have a better chance if I had some other vehicle. By now, the police on both sides of the border are looking for a Black Lexus.
I tried to quickly gather my thoughts. “Ramon, how would you like to trade vehicles? My Lexus for your pickup truck. You have Mexican plates…I have Arizona plates…just maybe, I’ll have a better chance to get to the border in your pickup.”
“Okay, Mr. Royce. It's not a very good trade for you. But, the idea makes perfect sense.”
“Done!”
I’ll head directly for Nogales. If stopped, I’ll explain I’m picking up some late Christmas gifts…that’s lame. I’ll think of something, but first, I must make a long-distance call. Can you help me?”
“I have a phone at the tire shop. You can call out.”
“Let’s go, Ramon. “There isn’t much time to spare…”
Chapter 25
Lt. Drummond was back at his desk. Harriet had prepared a nice meal. There was a moment at Harriet’s when he had sat back and relaxed. The moment was over. Unfortunately, the case had consumed him. Now wasn’t the time to relax. He told Julie he was sorry, dropped her off at her home, kissed her good night, and hustled back to the office.
A file was on his desk…the file of Maria Consuelo Sanchez. He loosened his tie and sat down. “What a beautiful woman,” he said out loud. “How could a beautiful woman get so involved with the Cartel?” Drummond looked around the room. No one was listening. He was alone — after all, it was Christmas Eve.
He shook his head and delved into Maria’s file. He learned all he could about the young woman with long black hair.
Her last known address is in Rodeo, New Mexico, with a PO Box number in the care of Maria’s Art Shop. Her birthplace is Douglas, Arizona…December 25, 1986…Her parents’ home — Magdalena de Kino, Sonora. Mother deceased. Father is still alive.
Drummond was so engrossed in Maria’s file that he had failed to check his messages. He had one message. It looked like a lengthy one. “Lt. Drummond, my daughter-in-law, gave me your number. This is Royce Reirdon.”
The detective stood up and put the phone on speaker. Reirdon’s voice ricocheted throughout the office.
“Drummond, you must get back to Maria’s place. Maria is dead. I burned down the barn…burned the vehicles…thought I was doing the right thing…Now I know what I turned into ashes was nothing compared to what is still out there on the ranch…still buried on her property…you’ll need plenty of officers, vans…trucks…I must go. I’m trying to stay alive… get back to my family…It’s almost Christmas Day. I promised them I’d be home…I’m having a hard time getting there. I’m so tired…worn out. I know how you can locate the money and the drugs that are out there…find all the white crosses…find all the white crosses. I’m sure the Cartel will be coming for all of it. Be careful. I wish you the best.”
The detective was stunned.
Drummond’s first call was to Willie Sampson, second and third to both the border patrol headquarters in New Mexico and Arizona…then his partner, Avery, and their new sidekick, Officer Dalton.
“Stop what you’re doing. We’re heading back to Rodeo.”
He checked his cell phone. One last call. “This is Joan Reirdon. Is this Lt. Drummond? Did Royce call you?”
“That he did, Mrs. Reirdon. He provided us with some information, and we’re on it. Did he say where he was?”
“Yes, he said he was at a tire shop in Magdalena de Kino, owned by Maria Sanchez’s father. He said Maria lost a lot of blood, and he was trying to get her to her father’s. He said Maria saved his life, and he was trying to save her, but she died three hours ago. Royce said she was just 26 years old. She would’ve been 27 on Christmas Day.”
“I know. I have her file right in front of me. Five dead and somehow your 69-year-old father-in-law is still alive…still trying to get back to you and your family.”
“Is he still in danger, Lt. Drummond?”
“I’m afraid he still is, but he seems very resourceful. He sounds very tired. He’s been through quite an ordeal.”
“He has a heart condition, Lt. Drummond. I doubt he’s had his medicine in two weeks. Please find him for us.”
“I’ll do my best. If you hear from him before I do, please call me.”
“I will, Lt. Drummond. “I will.”
Drummond, Avery, and Dalton were back on the road, heading east on I-10 toward Rodeo. Drummond handed Dalton his black book. “Sammy, call Ms. Webster and Ms. Mayweather. Advise them, Royce Reirdon, as of one hour ago, is still alive.”
Chapter 26
I shook the hand of Ramon. He was all alone. I decided I would never be alone again.
The yearning to be with my family had grabbed hold of my insides — my heart ached, and my body ached. I had forgotten entirely about my pills. I hadn’t seen my heart medicine since the morning I left Santa Fe.
My bottle of Metoprolol…my Lisinopril…Simvastatin…my surgeon had said — “take these pills religiously for the rest of your life.”
Chances are, the pills were thrown to the wind by the two thugs who started all this craziness, one of many senseless acts by two men who had sat at a corner table at a bar in Santa Fe and smirked at me as I left the cantina two weeks ago.
I refused to be a defenseless old man any longer.
I pulled $4,000 out of the black leather bag. I handed the money to Ramon, “If you have any drug money left, don’t use it to bury your daughter…take this…use it for a proper burial.” I looked into Ramon’s eyes…he understood.
“I will, Mr. Royce…I will…Vaya con Dios, Mr. Royce.”
Ramon’s 2006 Chevy Silverado had 102,352 miles on it. The auto looked to be in better shape than my Lexus; undoubtedly, the man tinkered with it constantly in his garage at Ramon’s Auto Repair and Tire Shop.
The pickup had a rigged-up cassette deck with an am/FM radio. I couldn’t believe what was on the floor, a handful of cassettes…the one on top of the pile…a Willie Nelson tape of all his greatest hits. I was ready to rumble… prepared to get back to my home country…to my family, to Jake, Josh, Joan, and Bonnie. Back to my grandchildren…back to Samantha…and her sweet smile.
I backed out of the driveway, looked at the crumpled piece of paper…the directions Ramon had given me so I’d be able to find the turnoff — the northbound exit, which would put me on a straight shot to Nogales, Highway 15 — ninety-two kilometers…121 miles to the border.
Ramon had warmed up a couple of tortillas, mixed up a batch of scrambled eggs and green peppers, stuffed the mixture inside each tortilla, put them in a paper bag, and handed the bag to me, along with a thermos of hot coffee.
I took a bite out of one of the tortillas, took a sip of coffee, and pressed the gas pedal. The first step is to get to Nogales, park the car, and then move across the border into Arizona. Sounds easy enough… could I really pull it off?
The odometer seemed to be moving in slow motion. One mile…two…ten…twenty. It was four in the morning…Christmas Day. It was dark and dreary outside as I pushed Ramon’s truck to its limit. Finally, over an hour had passed, and I saw lights up ahead…a checkpoint. “Please, God! Help me through this!”
I slowed Ramon’s pickup to a crawl. Followed the directions and came to a stop. Most of the officials were examining a black van, and six men were handcuffed, sitting on a bench with their heads down.
“Papers pronto! What’s your destination?”
“Just going to Nogales for a friend. Picking up a last-minute Christmas gift and then heading back to Magdalena.”
“What’s the gift?”
“A giant piñata, would you believe? Special made. His daughter’s birthday is today. Big celebration planned.”
“I remember those days. I used to take a baseball bat…take a swing at those things, and the candy went flying,” said the official, jokingly. “I had a swing like Sammy Sosa.”
I was motionless. I couldn’t believe I had just said that. A piñata? What the hell was I thinking?
The official handed me back my passport and ID. “Hey, take a swing for me.”
I smiled. He waved me through.
Now the odometer seemed to move faster. I had gone a hundred miles. Another twenty miles and I’d be at the border.
Finally, I could see the southern end of Nogales. I weaved my way through traffic. Stayed on Highway 15 until I reached the Morley Avenue exit. Ramon suggested I park the pick-up at the Food Mart, and he would eventually arrange to get his Silverado back.
We would work on getting my Lexus back at a later date — after this nightmare was over.
So far, so good. I grabbed my satchel, entered the Food Mart, and bought a toothbrush… shaving cream, razor, and enough essentials to fill up the bag — along with my passports and ID. I put a couple of hundred dollars in my pocket and left a little under a grand at the bottom of the bag.
I left the Food Mart and gradually made my way to the border crossing…now just minutes away from the entrance into Arizona…back in my country…back where I belong.
I held my breath as I slowly made my way through the scanner…it couldn’t have worked out any better. The following words I heard were, “Welcome to the United States.”
Surprisingly, I found an open store with one clerk on duty. I could see a clothing department in the back of the store. I rushed in and quickly looked for a pair of pants. It took a while. I must have lost a good ten pounds in the past two weeks, so I went down a size. I found a pair that fit, a light-colored dress shirt, and a belt, as well as a new pair of dark shoes.
I paid the clerk and made my way down the street, selecting the first motel I came to, which housed a sign that read: Daily, $29.95. It certainly wasn’t the Hilton, but I didn’t plan on being there very long, just enough time to grab a hot shower, shave…and make a very important phone call.
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