Lawyer, Doctor, Indian Chief
Summer, 1977
Alec de la Vega punched the rewind button on the big
Sony umatic video tape player, and waited until the little counter numbers
reached two hundred, then pushed stop.
He paused briefly, shaking his head.
Collar-length dark brown hair fluttered across his face.
This
guy just doesn’t add up. Rodrigo Sanchez---petty thief, purse snatcher, gas
station hold-ups, mugger, and armed robbery---comes up with a story about a
middle-aged woman in the high-rent district taking him out while he burgled her
house.
Sanchez’s rap sheet laid on the
table in front of the Public Defender like a first draft of a travel book
called Hoosegows of the Desert Southwest. He’d been arrested and jailed all over the
West for more of his life than he’d been out during his forty-one years. The last had been county jail time in
Alec pushed forcefully down on the
play button to make the well-worn machine engage and watched the small monitor
as the black-and-white image of the questioning appeared after much clunking
and whirring from within the recorder.
The interrogating officer’s back was just visible at the bottom of the
screen.
“Yeah, man. Like I was out in d’hills, and I seen dis
nice place. Lookin’ rich-like an’ all
quiet. So’s I broke in an’ check aroun’ an’ there’s nobody there. I figured I had some time and had some chai
and a smoke an’ check out d’ rest of the place,
but like all d’ doors are like lockin’ before I kin open ‘em. Like they know’s I’m der, man.”
“The doors locked by
themselves? Did you lift anything?”
“Naw, man! I didn’t get to. That crazy lady shot me in d’ nuts! You gotta
‘rest her for shootin’ me! Then
she drugged me. Shot me up wit’ heroin
or somethin’ and don’t remember. Git me
a lawyer, man. I know my rights!”
“You were checked out at the
hospital, and you don’t appear to have any serious injuries. No gun shots, and just a few scrapes from
where you got tied up.”
“She used rubber bullets, man. Then she tied me up so I choked. I’m gonna get
her ‘rested! Get me a lawyer!”
Alec pressed stop again. His own questioning of his client revealed
the same responses, and the medial exam showed definite signs of bruising of
the penis, testicles, and inner thighs.
It also showed signs of an unknown drug in his system. There was no history of drug abuse, but he
certainly fit the pattern of a drug user.
Alec was wary of patterns, and something about this whole thing still
bugged him. Perhaps he thought about
things too hard. His Special Forces
instructors had tried to train that out of him to no avail, but he just managed
to survive
Born Alejandro Cortez, Alec’s
mother, Marisa, raised him on her own for the first 6 years of his life,
working in the fields in the
Marisa and David Morgan had three more children and
they still lived on the family farm near
Of course, it was Alejandro de la Vega who came
home, not Alec Morgan. The Hispanic
surname hindered him being hired by one of the big law firms, but being in the
Public Defender’s office suited both his need to serve and his taken name. Now Alec was assigned Rod Sanchez, and
something in the back of his mind was telling him the same thing his intuition
told him many times in ‘
|
Rodrigo is almost 42 years old |
looks like he could pass for 30 |
|
No fingerprints |
fire in a car accident 2 years ago |
|
No news of him for two years |
Recuperation? |
|
No record of a hospital stay |
Rod says he used a false name |
|
Small impact bruises |
Can’t get those falling on stairs |
|
Rope marks on neck |
Homeowner tied him up |
|
Rubber bullets? |
Not something you can buy just anywhere |
|
Single needle mark on arm |
Something in his system |
|
One petite blonde took him on? |
Police say she was lucky |
|
He had some chai in the burgled house |
What the hell is chai and how did Rod
know what it was? Coincidence? |
Alec saw two things from writing down
the problems he faced. His client was
not who or what he seemed, and/or his client’s victim was not what she seemed
either. Maybe she had help, and doesn’t
want to involve them. Maybe it’s
something else.
I’ve asked Rod and I don’t get
anywhere so maybe I need to talk to the lady who nabbed him.
Alec thought. He removed the tape
from the machine, returned it to the evidence lock-up and pulled the file on
the victim to contact the woman who was so good at home defense.
The phone rang and Jennifer bounded
toward it quickly.
“Hello.” She said cheerfully.
“Hi, could I speak to Cinnamon
Carter please?” Alec smiled when he
heard the little girl’s voice.
“Whom should I say is calling?” Jennifer responded seriously.
“My name is Alec de la Vega.”
“de la Vega. I like that name. Just a minute.” Jen half-covered the mouthpiece as she
yelled. “Mommmm! Telephone!”
Cinnamon, wearing pale green sweats,
sneakers, and sweatband on her head came in with a light coating of moisture on
her face and a towel in her hand.
“Is that how we inform someone of a
phone call, young lady?”
“Sorry, Mom. There’s a Mr. de la Vega calling for you.”
“Thank you, Jen.” Cinnamon took the receiver from her. “Hello.”
“Mrs. Carter? My name is Alec de la Vega, I’m with the
public defenders office and I’d like to come out and talk to you about your
break-in. I have some questions about
the burglar.”
“Miss
Carter, Mr. de la Vega. I believe I
completely gave my statement to the police while they were here the other day. I don’t think there’s anything I can
add.” Cinnamon turned to see Jennifer
standing in the hall. She’d have to deal
with the fallout of mentioning the police with Jen later.
“Miss
Carter, I have a subpoena that I can serve, but I really did not want to
antagonize my only reliable witness.
There are a number of inconsistencies in Mr. Sanchez’s story I’d like to
check with you.”
Cinnamon considered for only a
moment all the possible directions she could move in this situation. If she stalled for time, Jim Phelps’ contacts
would be able to simply make it go away from the top. There could still be personal repercussions
since it was the local police, and they would forever look too closely at
Cinnamon Carter and her activities. She
could move to another area, disrupting Jennifer’s education and friendships,
but that was one of the reasons she and Rollin had initially gotten out of the
Game but now….
The simplest course she could follow
was to answer this investigator’s questions and re-direct his interest and see
what he knows before calling in the troops.
It’s
amazing what simple chance can do to your life. After all, I am the victim
here. Maybe I should have just killed that
character and had Jim take care of it all.
Too late for self-recriminations now.
Cinnamon mused in thought.
“Mr. de la Vega, why don’t you come by later
today---say
“That will be fine, Miss Carter. See you in a couple of hours.”
Cinnamon hung up the phone, but Jennifer was
gone. Hmmm. I guess a shower and
change is in order. Matronly or elegant
for this meeting? I’ll decide later. She headed for the master bathroom to prepare
for her performance.
Alec pulled into the driveway and parked his bright
orange AMX behind the red convertible already in the drive. He checked his appearance in the rearview
mirror, grabbed his small folder, and headed for the front door. Just as he reached in, it opened and a pretty
little girl and a tall, dark-haired man attempted to exit.
“Excuse me.”
Alec said, dodging to one side to avoid Jennifer.
“You must be Mr. de la Vega!” Jennifer said excitedly.
“And you must be Jennifer Carter.”
“Hand, actually.”
Rollin said somewhat defensively as he extended his hand. “Rollin Hand,
Jennifer’s father.”
The two men grasped hands and Alec noted the
sensation. Two men touching one another
evokes an immediate territorial response.
Each man squeezes hard, but not too hard, trying to impress the other
without causing real, embarrassing pain.
It’s what some call a ‘firm’ handshake, but Alec saw it for what it was;
a message that he received.
“You’re here to talk to Mom about the police. Aren’t you?”
Jennifer inquired confidently.
Alec squatted down in front of her as Rollin stepped closer behind her.
“About the burglary suspect, actually. The man she caught has a strange story, and I
wanted to ask your Mom about it.”
Rollin frowned.
He was about to ask this handsome stranger some biting question when
Cinnamon stepped up next to him, laying a hand on his and Jennifer’s shoulders.
“You two are already late. Terry and her folks are expecting you, so get
going. I’ll tell you all about it
later.” She pushed them toward Rollin’s
convertible.
“Come in Mr. de la Vega.”
The girl and her father were obviously aware of the
burglary attempt, the suspect’s capture and while she was curious, he was
obviously unhappy about it. He also
looked familiar to Alec for some reason, but before he pondered it further, the
attractive blonde was showing the way into the house. She closed the door behind him and led the
way to the living room. Alec did not
mind being led as it gave him an opportunity to watch the ‘runway walk’ his
hostess did down the hall. Man, I can see how she can be a model with
those legs! Alec thought.
Cinnamon decided on a gold skirt that ended two
inches above the knee and matching three inch heels. The ruffled collar of the sheer white blouse
reached up her long neck and under the flipped-up ends of her golden hair. She wanted to appear as dainty and feminine
as possible. Cinnamon also knew the
handsome investigator was checking her out.
In addition to the good looking witness, Alec
examined his surroundings. The home
showed its owner to have excellent taste in furnishings, décor, and art. In the living room, where Cinnamon motioned
him to take a seat, he noticed an extensive record collection, as well as
reel-to-reel, eight-track, and cassette tapes.
The Kenwood stereo equipment appeared to Alec to be top-of-the-line and
slight wear on the switches indicating regular use. Smooth-sounding jazz came from multiple
speakers.
“Coffee?”
Cinnamon asked.
“No, thanks.
I only drink tea. Chai if it’s available.” It had taken Alec two hours, but he finally
found someone who knew what chai was, and could send him to an Indian-Hindu herbalist
to find out more about it.
Cinnamon continued to smile but inwardly wondered
about her guest. Who is running a game on whom?
She picked up a taste for chai several years before in
“Chai? My
housekeeper drinks it. Maria?!” Cinnamon called knowing Maria was in the
laundry room, so she would not answer. “Let me go see if Maria has some
made.” She swept from the room and
returned moments later.
“Maria will have some made for us in a minute.” Cinnamon told him. There was already a pot ready in the kitchen,
and Maria would bring it in for her.
“Thank you.
Did you learn to like chai in
She thought for a moment that he knew something of
her work, but after momentary consideration she decided he was fishing.
“No. As I said,
Maria drinks it and I’ve learned to like it.
Now what can I do for you, Mr. de la Vega?”
It was Alec’s turn to pause. Seeing Miss Carter here, I think I understand President Carter saying
in that Playboy article how he “lusts after women” in his mind. Alec pushed the thought aside and proceeded
with his work.
“I’d like you to tell me about the incident with Mr.
Sanchez---your ‘burglar’.”
“Of course.
Whatever I can do to help.” She
retold the story, including him drinking some chai and smoking, her surprising
him, and his falling down the stairs.
“He says the doors were locked. Do you normally keep your room doors locked?”
“His presence tripped the security system which
locks the doors all over the house. I
was lucky I was already inside.”
“You seemed pretty lucky all around, Miss Carter.”
Maria arrived with the pot of chai and two china
cups and saucers, all in a Lady Margaret by Queen Anne pattern. She poured chai into the two cups on their
matching saucers and handed them to Alec and Cinnamon. They both took a sip of the spicy brew, and
Alec nodded appreciatively.
“Yes, I thought I was lucky. It could have turned
out very badly, especially if my little girl had been here. I don’t like to think what might have
happened.” Cinnamon looked down
sadly. She did not have to act very hard
to be sincere in her feelings about that.
“I understand.
Miss Carter, are you sure you don’t want to tell me about some one else
who was here at the time? Jennifer’s
father? A friend of yours?”
Cinnamon looked up, an angry expression on her face.
“What are you driving at, Mr. de la Vega? Jennifer’s father was out with her at the
time. There was no one else here but
Maria and myself. Are you accusing me of
something?”
“I’m not accusing you have anything illegal, Miss
Carter---but Mr. Sanchez’s story has a ring of truth to it. There’s no doubt he was burglarizing your
home, but the physical evidence would support his side if it comes to trial,
and we could bring you in on charges of excessive force or withholding evidence
pertinent to the case. None of which I
think is necessary. You need to be
straight with me. What went on here?
Cinnamon took only a moment; This was going in a very bad direction.
This de la Vega, in doing his job at a level far above the average, is
on the verge of exposing me as more than a homemaker and some-time model.
“I’m not sure I understand what you want, Mr. de la
Vega.”
“I’d like you to put the picture together for me,
Miss Carter. When that happens we will
have the truth.”
“Let me show you something.” Cinnamon decided on one more ploy to try to
obfuscate the truth he sought. She led
him to the kitchen. “Your Mr. Sanchez
came in here, smoked a cigarette and drank some tea.”
“Chai.” Alec
corrected.
“Yes, just so.
She walked down the hall from the kitchen and paused in the family room
doorway. “This is the room in which my
daughter spends most of her time when she is in the house. I shudder to think what might have happened
if she had been here. He was invading my
home!”
It didn’t take much acting for Cinnamon to become
incensed about the whole thing and yet de la Vega remained impassive.
“And that’s when you shot him with rubber
bullets. Three shots, not two inches
apart, into the man’s groin while he was moving. That, Miss Carter, is not luck. It’s marksmanship.”
“Cinnamon! I’m back!” Rollin’s voice rang out cheerily from the
foyer as the front door slammed.
Rollin? Why
is he back? How could he possibly know I
was in need of a white knight?
“Back here, Rollin.”
She called. Cinnamon was not
about to send the Cavalry away.
Rollin entered the living room with a broad smile
like Robert Young in “Father Knows Best”, but the eye contact he made with
Cinnamon told her the truth. He was here
to find out what she’d been hiding.
“Hi Cinnamon-Love.
Mr. de la Vega.” The nuance of
how Rollin said the two names spoke both the depth of his feelings for Cinnamon
and his distain for this stranger. Alec
nodded his recognition and receipt of the message.
“Rollin, you’re back quickly. I thought you were staying a Terry’s with
Jen.” The phone rang, but Cinnamon
ignored it, knowing Maria would answer it when she was busy.
“Terry’s mother said she didn’t need any help with
the girls, so here I am.” He smiled the smile
that always melted her heart, and she turned away as Maria called her from the
doorway, glad for the diversion.
“Phone Miss Cinnamon.” Maria’s attractively accented statement was
in her ‘company voice’ reserved for the presence of strangers.
“Thank you, Maria.” Cinnamon went to the hall phone, leaving
Rollin and Alec in the living room alone.
“So, Mr. de la Vega, what kind of investigator are
you?” Rollin asked more pleasantly.
“I’m the kind who’s a public defender trying to
reach the truth, and so far your Miss Carter has been expert at evading it.”
Cinnamon came back, announcing the call was the
secretary at Alec’s office. He left to
take the call, and Cinnamon stood with her arms folded---anticipating a barrage
of questions from Rollin.
“I wish you’d be more comfortable with asking me for
help. Jennifer’s wellbeing is my
concern, too.” Rollin was low-key and
sincere making immediately feel guilty and she hated the feeling. She turned to face him, old feelings rising.
“I did what I needed to do. I was angry and just wanted to hurt someone
that threatened my home. And I didn’t
see you around at the time.”
Sounds like transference to me, Rollin thought looking pensive
but saying nothing aloud.
“What? No quick retort? Yes, there were other options, but I chose a
path and now it’s come back to haunt me.”
Rollin continued to hold his tongue. Cinnamon had a problem and needed to vent,
and sometimes it was better to just step back to let things take their own
course. He tried to learn from his
previous mistakes and sat to listen instead of talk.
Alec picked up the phone.
“de la Vega.”
Alec said.
“Alec, it’s Grace. I’m sorry, but I just got some information I
thought you should have. It took me a
while to find your calendar, or I would have let you know sooner, so….”
“Grace,” Alec interrupted, “what’s
going on?”
“Mr. Sanchez escaped from custody
after you saw him this afternoon. He was
being held in minimum security and he overpowered two guards and took a
gun. Three guards were shot, and one of
them died. He got out of the lockup and
hasn’t been seen since.”
“I see. Call me here if you hear any more
information.”
“Yes, sir. Good bye.”
“Bye Grace.”
Alec returned to the quiet pair in
the living room bearing a grim countenance.
“That was my office. We have a problem.”
“We?
What does your office have to do with us?” Rollin asked pointedly.
“Mr. Hand, I suspect our Mr. Sanchez
is more than he appears, and quite possibly is not Ronaldo Sanchez at all. I think he came here specifically---not by
accident. Further, I think he wanted
something with or from one or both of you.
You know more than you’re telling me.
“This whole situation smells, and I
can’t identify the odor---but I think one of you could if sufficiently
motivated, so here you go. Ron Sanchez,
three-time loser but never for anything bigger than auto theft disappeared two
years ago. Suddenly, he turns up in your
house where a mild-mannered suburban homemaker single-handedly subdues him.
“Sanchez, who looks ten years younger
than his last mug shot, has extenuating circumstances with you and may do 30
days for b&e. That would be his
shortest jail stay ever, but this same guy---who the day before yesterday is
taken out by Miss Carter, decides instead breaks away from a jailhouse full of
armed guards and kills one of them in the process. Now he is armed, wanted for cop killing, and
still wants something. Where do you
think he’ll go?”
Rollin stood looking seriously at
Cinnamon who returned the look as the lights and stereo went off. Without hesitation, Rollin dashed to the hall
to confirm what he suspected and came back to Cinnamon and Alec.
“Phones are dead. I’ll be glad when those new portable
radio-phones are pocket sized. Is
everything where it was?” Rollin asked
Cinnamon.
“Yes, but the security system is
disengaged.”
“de la Vega? Can you handle yourself with a gun?” Rollin was in the hall leading to the foyer,
pulling the elegantly framed Frazetta from the wall to reveal a safe which he
quickly opened.
“Call me Alec. I was a Green Beret for three years. Just
don’t give me rubber bullets if we’re expecting a firefight.”
“Right. Sanchez is here and he may not be alone. I’d call in a strike team which means him and
at least three more.” Rollin tossed Alec
a chrome .45 semi-automatic and took a Beretta for himself. Alec noticed Cinnamon already had a petite,
but deadly-looking gun in her hand.
“If my squad had four men, I’d pick
three different entry points with a one man backup.” Alec said quietly, listening for tell-tails.
“Agreed. Rollin whispered. “Sanchez could have been a
scout or he could be a one-man mission expert.
Either way, he’s playing for keeps this time.”
There was a dull thud from the
kitchen, and Rollin signed he was going to look. When he got there, he dodged a cast iron
skillet swung at him by Maria.
“Mr. Rollin!” Maria whispered. “I found him,” she pointed to the
stocking-masked figure on the floor behind her, “in my kitchen.” Blood pooled beneath the prone man’s head,
and Rollin ushered Maria to the pantry.
Her eyes were wide when she saw the gun in the Rollin’s hand.
“Good work, but stay in the pantry,
and don’t open the door unless you hear Cinnamon or me. There may be more of them.” He gestured over his shoulder. “Keep that pan ready.” He smiled, kissed her on the top of the head,
and closed the louvered pantry door before returning to the living room.
“One down.” He whispered.
“Maria got him and I put her in hiding in the pantry.”
A creak sounded from upstairs and
muted sounds of breaking glass from the basement revealed the presence of other
intruders.
“Alec, here’s the upstairs.” Rollin immediately took charge of their
defense as he drew a map of the upper floor in the plush carpeting. As soon as he finished, Alec was on the move
to the back stairway. “Cinnamon, you can
cover both the patio-kitchen entry and the front door from here. I’ll take the basement.”
Cinnamon nodded her head as Rollin
headed toward the foyer. The study stood
to the south of the foyer just past the front staircase and next to that the
library. From the library Rollin entered
the utility room at the end of which was the landing for the basement
staircase. Rollin trusted Cinnamon to
not let him be surprised from the kitchen opposite the basement landing.
Alec closed his eyes for a moment as
he reached the top of the stairs, imagining himself back in the jungles of
Listen for the sounds the enemy
makes. His movement will give away his
location if you just listen for it.
Alec thought the mantra he had been
taught and in turn taught to others. He
could feel Rollin moving on the floor below, but Cinnamon must be standing
rock-still. There was another presence
very near on the second floor with him and he visualized the map Rollin and
drawn.
Reflexes Alec thought he’d left on
the other side of the world took over as a hand holding a gun appeared from
around a corner. Alec thumbed the safety
and slid his own gun into his belt.
The hand stopped its movement and
began to recede, but Alec brought down a lightening-fast right-handed chop onto
the wrist that cracked bone. The gun
dangled useless as the assassin lunged forward and met a left-hand chop to the
larynx which prevented any cry of warning.
The heel of Alec’s right palm drove into the wounded mute’s nose,
pushing it into his skull and it was over.
Alec lowered the dead weight to the floor.
Downstairs, Rollin heard a whispered
exchange too low to pick up but it came from the stairwell to the
basement. In the glass of the door
leading outside from the landing, Rollin saw movement reflected. He quietly raced back into the study to pick
up a nearly square oak chest an uncle had once given him. The box by itself was heavy, but filled with
whatever it currently contained, it seemed massive. He carried it to the corner around from the
stairwell and listened. The faint sounds
told him there were two of them about halfway up the stairs as he swung the
chest around the corner to let it fly.
As soon as he released it he pulled his berretta and rolled to the floor
at the head of the stairwell. The chest
bounced from the far wall and struck the lead man in the top of the head as he
tried to duck. Oak chest, lead and
following intruder careened down the basement steps, finally resting in an
unmoving heap on the floor at the bottom.
Rollin rose, and then descended the stairs to verify their incapacity.
Cinnamon heard the commotion and
began down the hall toward the kitchen and thought better of it; but she turned
to find another masked felon facing her with his gun drawn.
“Drop it, Miss Carter.” The interloper ordered, and she complied
putting the gun down on the coffee table.
“You seem to temporarily have the
advantage, Mr. Sanchez. And I don’t imagine you are using rubber bullets as I
did.”
“Sanchez. Yes, today.
Tomorrow maybe not; just like you.
Your recent activities were hard to trace, but you confirmed I was right
by the way you ‘handled’ me. That took
me by surprise, but not this time.”
“Not me this time, but the man
behind you will take care of that.”
“Do you really believe I’ll fall….”
Alec connected the butt of his .45
with the back of Sanchez’s head, and the would-be killer hit the floor like a
one hundred eighty pound bag of wet cement.
“Looks like it.” Cinnamon answered his question, but expected
no come-back. She looked Alec de la Vega
in the eyes. He’d heard and already
suspected a great deal.
“You’re not exactly ‘Suzie
Homemaker’ Miss Carter.” Alec said finally.
“And you’re gifted in many ways that
have little to do with being a public defender.” Rollin said, entering the room from the
kitchen. “I sent Maria to her quarters
and gave her Jim’s number. Her phone
line is separate from the main house.”
“Thank you, Rollin. And thank you, Mr. de la Vega.” Cinnamon said sincerely.
“Don’t thank me yet; and call me
Alec. This is going to be hard to
explain to the police when they come.”
“I think it will be cleared up without
much trouble. Our real problem is you, Alec.”
Rollin responded.
Alec furrowed his brow. Carter
and Hand are obviously more than they appeared.
Probably government connected.
FBI, CIA, Black Ops. Some kind of
agents.
“You see? I think you’ve already figured it out.” Rollin pursed his lips. “If I had Jim’s ear, Cinnamon, I’d hire Alec
here on the spot.”
“I’ll talk with Jim about it when he
gets here. I assume you told Maria
exactly what to say?”
Rollin emoted exaggerated shock.
“I haven’t been away that long! There should be a clean-up team here in
minutes, and Jim close behind. You were
always his favorite.”
“Yes, but Willy always liked you
best.”
“And Barney only hung around with me
so he’d be close to you.” Cinnamon and
Rollin looked into each other’s eyes for a long moment before Cinnamon turned
from Rollin to her rescuer.
“Alec, stay around if you can. I’d like you to meet someone.”
“Gee, I’m glad you two remembered I
was still in the room.” Alec chuckled.
“He’ll fit in perfectly; and you
know what a good judge of character I am.”
Rollin said, forgoing any attempt at modesty.
“Hmmph.” Cinnamon muttered.
“Are you asking me to become a
secret agent, or something?”
“Actually, we are asking you to meet
someone who can ask you officially. Or
unofficially, really. Something like
that.” Cinnamon looked at Rollin. “We agree he has the potential?”
“Yes, I’d say that’s something we
can finally agree on.”
THE END
Candy
Carlton