Bloody Basin Page 5

  The two men shook hands and went their separate ways. Little did they know that the newspaper ads would create more havoc than they could have ever imagined.

  The next day at home with the house to myself, I started reading the journal I’d found. Unfortunately, some of it was written in Spanish, so it took me longer to get through because I had to translate some of the notes. After a while, I saw a pattern of references to people I took to be family members. This made sense to me. What better way to run your operation than to involve family members, people you could trust? The notebook was full of telephone numbers, partial addresses, and names. If the FBI got ahold of this information, they would put dozens of people in prison!

  Looking over my roadmap, I could see that I would be making a trip up to Flagstaff. I knew that I would have to talk to Carolyn sooner than later. It was the only way I could take these trips. Most people might think that if I had all this money, then why not just mail the book to the FBI? Well, that was a great question, and I asked myself that very thing over and over, but to tell the truth, I did not trust them to do the right thing with this information. Maybe after the trip to Flagstaff and Gallup, I would reconsider my position, but for now, the notebook was mine.

  I made up my mind to tell Carolyn the whole story this evening after she got home from work. The other thing I did that day was some rough calculations of the amount of money in the boxes I had taken from the storage shed. Each of the boxes weighed about thirty-five pounds, and if each box was full of hundred-dollar bills, then that means each box was worth about $1.2 million, with roughly $33 million sitting in my storage unit—holy crap!

  If the storage units in Flagstaff and Gallup turned out to be anything like this one, I could be sitting on $100 million!

  Meanwhile, two thousand miles away in Washington, D.C., a new part-time employee was introduced to her fellow workers at the Document Control and Archives Division of the FBI.

  The division was rather small, consisting of the supervisor and nine document control specialists.

  “Gather around, everyone. I’d like to introduce our new coworker to you.”

  As the group came forward—some smiling, some with a look of inquisitiveness on their faces—they saw the beautiful young woman that would be working with them.

  “Everyone, I would like you to meet Miss Fena LaStrange! Fena will be working with us on a part-time basis. She is currently enrolled at Georgetown University, studying international business and trade.”

  One by one, the staff came forward and shook hands and said, “Hello. Welcome to document control.”

  Fena’s makeup was applied perfectly, as if she was going to a photo shoot; her hair was moderately styled, and her attire showed her ample curves without being provocative. Her auburn hair highlighted her brown eyes and mocha complexion.

  “Hello, everyone. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” said Fena, smiling from ear to ear and making sure to have eye contact with each of her new coworkers.

  The supervisor enlisted the help of one of his senior employees to show Fena her cubicle and how to sign into the newly installed data-entry system.

  “Well, we are not quite in the computer age, but this is a start,” said the woman showing Fena the ropes. “I imagine in a few more years all of us will be computer experts.” Both women laughed at this suggestion.

  Over the next few days, Fena quickly learned the basics of working in the document control division. She would be responsible for reviewing all the agent field notes from the southwestern portion of the country and ensuring they were properly cataloged and archived as to make future retrieval of the documents possible.

  Working only three days a week and going to school, Fena would from time-to-time wear what the FBI referred to as inappropriate attire. She had a habit of wearing ankle bracelets and toe rings under her pantyhose. These bits of metal would set off the alarm system every time she entered or left the building. It didn’t take long for the young male guards to look forward to Fena passing through the security checkpoint. One of the young guards seemed to enjoy pointing out the fact that she was not to wear these types of jewelry.

  “Miss LaStrange,” said the guard, “I will need you to remove that ankle bracelet.”

  Fena’s eyes grew wide. “Should I do it here, or can I use your office so that I can remove my pantyhose?” replied Fena, and the young guard’s face turned red.

  “Okay,” said the guard, “but next time the pantyhose come off.” He smiled; she in turn just winked at him and continued on her way.

  Over the ensuing weeks, everyone in document control took a liking to Fena. The women she worked with were incredibly surprised at how friendly and personable she was. Fena would ask questions about their families, children, and how long they had been with the FBI, and she would relay some stories of being a student at Georgetown.

  Several of the women warned her: “Now don’t get too friendly with any of those security guards. They are all just a bunch of wolves in sheep’s clothing, and I’m sure a pretty girl like yourself is on their radar, so you be careful with them.”

  Fena just smiled and laughed and let the women know that she was aware of the young men’s intentions, as it were. Getting back to work after her break, Fena couldn’t help but giggle to herself at the term “wolves in sheep’s clothing,” because she was the real, she-wolf. Whenever she came across documentation or specific information of names, dates, and places regarding drug trafficking in the Southwest, she would be sure to make a duplicate copy of the field reports. She would then take the copies and place them into a compartment inside of her purse.

  The purse had been especially given to her by her real boss, the man that’d gotten her the job with the FBI. The outside of the purse had the feeling in texture of crushed paper, so if anyone physically held the purse, nothing would feel out of place—no hidden compartments, nothing to worry about.

  In a few days she would have enough documentation to fill a small three-ring notebook, and as soon as that notebook was full, she would contact her boss and begin the process of getting rich. The more documents she removed from the FBI, the more money she would be paid, and the thought of more money always put a smile on Fena’s beautiful face.

  Chapter 5

  She Hears The Tale

  As I heard the garage door open, my stomach started to flip-flop. I was not at all sure how this was going to work out. “How was your day, Carolyn?” I asked.

  “Not too bad,” she said. “More problems with the new computer. I swear those things will be running our life, if what they tell me is true, and of course the phones never stop ringing. How about you? Anything interesting going on?” she asked.

  “As a matter of fact, there is something I have to tell you.” I cleared my throat several times before continuing. “And honestly, I’m not sure how to do it, so I’ll just tell you from the start, okay?”

  Carolyn sat next to me on the sofa. “So, what’s going on?” she asked.

  “Remember last Sunday when I went up north in the storm?” “Yes, I do. You said it was raining so hard that you had to turn around and come home.”

  “Something happened. Something crazy. Do you remember hearing on the radio about the drug dealers that were killed up in that area?”

  “Yeah, I remember,” she said. “Well, I saw the two guys that morning.”

  “What are you talking about?” she said.

  So, I proceeded to tell her the tale, everything that had happened that morning: the storm, one of the men still being alive, and the money. I gave her every detail as best as I could remember. The rain coming down, the noise inside the diner, even the police car coming up behind me with the flashers on.

  When I was done, she said, “I think you’ve been taking too much pain medication.”

  She then laughed, and the whole time, my face was serious and unmoving.

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p; “Do you mean to tell me everything that you said in the last twenty minutes really happened?” All I could do was nod. That instantly erased her smile.

  “Do you think the police have any idea you were there that morning? If they think you were there, they must be looking for you—oh my God, what are we going to do?” Carolyn got very animated at this point, standing up walking around living room, her arms flying around. What if this? What if that? She kept going on.

  “Honey, it’s okay. Nobody knows I was there. The rain was coming down so hard it washed everything off the side of the roadway. It’s all gone—no tracks, no footprints, no fingerprints, no nothing. Let me prove to you that everything I’ve said is true.” I took a roll of hundred-dollar bills out of my pocket and handed it to her.

  Carolyn took the cash, $5,000 in hundred-dollar bills. “What the hell? Where did you get this?”

  “I told you where I got this and a lot more. Follow me,” I said, and motioned with my hands as we went into the pantry. There I moved some boxes out of the way and removed the panel from the wall so she could see all the packets of cash neatly stacked inside.

  She knelt and removed two of the packages stacked just inside the wall, and as she looked at them, it all became clear to her, and she believed everything I had just told her. As she carried them back to the living room, all she said was, “I need to sit down.” She did not sit down; she more of collapsed onto the sofa, scaring the hell out of the cat, which ran out of the room and hid securely under our bed.

  “How much do you think is here?” she asked. “Is it real? Are you absolutely sure nobody saw you?”

  I replied, “So far, it looks like about $2 million. Yes, dear, I am sure nobody saw me, and yes, I’m sure the money is real. Remember I cashed some of it at the casino? They even passed it underneath a scanner to double-check.”

  As she sat there taking it all in, I continued to give her my thoughts as to what we should do about this sudden influx of cash.

  “You know we just can’t go to the bank and pay off our mortgage, and we can’t go around flashing this money to anyone. We must be smart about it—not that we’re not smart—we need to be very careful spending the money. Fighting the urge to buy big things and pay cash. Especially things that are high-dollar items, like a new car,” I said.

  “But from now on, you go to the gas station? Pay in cash. We go to the grocery store. Pay in cash. You go to the mall for clothing or shoes or whatever? Pay in cash. Is that agreed?” I asked.

  Carolyn nodded. “That does make sense. But what about Philip? When do we tell him?”

  “I think for now we should just keep this to ourselves. He has enough on his mind with school,” I said. “I think you’re right,” said Carolyn, “but when school’s done, we tell him. Agreed?” I nodded. “We’ll tell him everything when school’s done.”

  Getting back to what we were going to do with the money, I told her my idea of going to the bank once a month and laying $300 or $400 down against the mortgage. She liked that idea.

  It was Carolyn who suggested that we could now be very generous with the collection plate at church every Sunday. I told her I loved the idea and that we could put the cash in an unmarked envelope and just drop it into the plate. That way nobody would know where the money was coming from. And with that, we both nodded in agreement.

  “What time does Philip get home from school?” I asked.

  Looking at her watch, Carolyn said, “Not for a couple of hours. Why do you ask?”

  I just smiled, took her by the hand, and slowly led her away to our bedroom.

  “You are turning into such a dirty old man.” She smiled and laughed as we made our way to the master suite. We escaped to the comfort and solitude of our king-size bed.

  “You look absolutely lovely,” I told her, and for the next hour or so, we were lost in each other’s arms, thoroughly enjoying the feelings of love and intimacy that were heightened by each other’s knowing touches and caresses…and then that damn cat came out from under the bed, meowing and spitting, wanting to be let out of the bedroom.

  “Son of a bitch,” I said as I begrudgingly made my way to the door, letting the cat out. I almost kicked him in his hairy ass as he walked past me, then I closed the door. Looking back at Carolyn, we both laughed, almost hysterically. She walked over to me, and we embraced, holding each other for long, quiet moments, reflecting on the situation and then kissing as only lovers can kiss.

  Back in Washington, D.C., there was also some passionate kissing going on, only this was not between two lovers; it was between one of the security guards from the FBI and Fena LaStrange. Over the last week or so, Fena had been busy forming a relationship with one of the young, unmarried security officers. She would make sure to wear extra metal embellishments on her body on the days he was working. They were usually in the form of ankle bracelets or toe rings, but this time she had chosen to wear a pair of panties with small heart-shaped metal pieces of gold attached to them.

  The young security officer just had not been able to help himself. She was a beautiful young woman who was, as far as he was concerned, purposely wearing metal that would set off the alarm system, and this in turn required him to do a more thorough inspection of the security fender in the privacy of his office.

  After Fena and the young man broke away from their passionate kiss, he told her that he could not expect her to work without her panties on; however, he suggested he help her remove them later that evening.

  “My, oh my, you are a forward person, aren’t you?” said Fena.

  Both just smiled that knowing smile, acknowledging something sexy and unauthorized was soon coming their way.

  “I guess the only thing to do,” whispered Fena, “is to have you help me remove them later this evening. Why don’t we go to your place?”

  The young security officer gave her another passionate kiss and replied, “You have a date.”

  Both the guard and Fena composed themselves and then quite nonchalantly left the security office, with Fena making her way up to the second floor and the security guard returning to his post. As the young man watched her walk down the hall, he could not help but think, I am one lucky son of a bitch.

  Carolyn and I were sitting at the kitchen table, sipping iced tea and looking at the notebook I found.

  “You know, I just thought of something,” said Carolyn. “Do you see how all the notes in the book are written in Spanish?” “Yeah,” I replied.

  “And on the news, they’re saying the two drug dealers that were shot north of town were Hispanic. Well, I don’t want to seem like a jerk, but doesn’t it make sense that one of these guys might have driven over from California?”

  “If you really want to go and open more storage units, don’t you think we should make your vehicle look like it’s from California? Even the most basic mom-and-pop storage facility will have some kind of video camera system, don’t you think?” she said.

  “Okay, but how do we make my truck look like it’s from California?”

  “Good heavens,” she replied. “First you have to take the dealer sticker off the back of your truck. It gives the dealer’s name and the city, which is in Arizona.”

  “That’s easy enough to do,” I told her. And as I thought more about the idea of making my vehicle look like it was from California, I came up with the idea of making paper license plates that we would tape over my original Arizona plates.

  Astonishingly enough, the final touch came from Carolyn. She got up from the table, hurried out of the room, and soon came back with a Los Angeles bumper sticker we had picked up the year before during a vacation to California.

  After I looked at the bumper sticker for a moment, I said, “You know, honey, this will work. As far as anyone will know, if we are being videotaped going in or out of the storage unit, we’ll look like any other pickup truck from California.”
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  Just then Philip came into the room. “So, what have the two of you been up to today?” he asked. Carolyn jumped right in. “We’re just making a shopping list. Do you need anything from the store?” “Some fresh fruit would be good,” said Phil. “By the way, what’s for dinner?” “That depends,” I told him. “Depends on what?” he said.

  “On what you want to pay for. I thought it would be nice if you took your mother and me out to dinner!”

  “Dad,” said Phil, “I’m just a starving student. I can’t afford that type of thing.”

  Carolyn and I laughed. “Okay, son. Why don’t I take you and your mother out for a nice dinner? She’s had a pretty tough day, and I’m sure your day at the university was no picnic.”

  “That sounds great,” said Phil. “Let me wash up a bit, and then we can go to any restaurant that you want to pay for.”

  We decided to go to little diner we all enjoyed. The service was wonderful, the food was fantastic, and it would afford us a quiet environment to talk for a little while.

  As we ate, Philip said, “Hey, Dad, are you going to a wildlife banquet up north next week?”

  I had completely forgotten about it with everything that was going on of late. I had purchased tickets to the banquet months ago and remembered I was going to be staying at my friend Tom Pazwaski’s home up in Pinetop, Arizona.

  Tom and I had worked together for years. Tom was a few years older than me—it was about fourteen years older than me—and when he retired, he had sold everything he owned in the Phoenix area and moved up north. I really did enjoy my time visiting Tom. Just the drive up to Pinetop was a stress reliever for me.

  Tom had found a small home on ten acres nestled in the tall pines outside of the small town. It was his way to relax and unwind and enjoy his life. In the evenings there were so many stars visible in the dark night sky that it was almost impossible at first to pick one out. It was not unusual to sit on his front porch early in the morning and watch the elk graze in his front yard. In the spring, wild turkey walked through his property, gobbling and strutting and making one hell of a racket.