NOIR

Associations

By Steve Edward

Chapter Three

Entering the house with Randy, Kirika gazed at the sheriff sitting at the kitchen table who offered a smile and doffed his hat as she passed. Ahead of her, Randy ascended the stairs unconcerned with what was going on behind him.

Entering the second floor landing, Kirika took in the modest furnishings as Randy stopped at a doorway ahead.

Randy motioned Kirika in then followed behind her, as Doctor Francis was removing the stethoscope from Mireille's chest he turned to greet Kirika, "Hello young lady, it is pleasure to finally met you. Randy has told much about you. Please do not worry as there will be patient confidentially in this matter."

Kirika saw a matronly woman who was sitting on the opposite side of Mireille crocheting, the shape of her work appeared to be that of a small sweater.

Mireille who was sound asleep appeared at peace, what had happened Kirika wanted dearly to know and turned to Randy. "Do you know what happened to Mireille Mr. Baldwin?"

Turning and offering a chair to Kirika which she accepted Randy did his best to explain what he had seen, "Kirika, I heard the gunfire coming from across the river and someone firing from that direction sent some rounds flying over my head. I entered the river since I heard someone running through the under brush. I was about to come out of the river when Mireille appeared out of the wood line. It was about that point she was shot and she tumbled into the river. A man came out and was taking aim at her body when I shot and killed him. His partner showed up a few minutes later while I was engaged in CPR. I took him out as well. I decided enough was enough and put Mireille into my truck and brought her here where Doctor Francis and his wife treated her gunshot wound."

Sheriff Phil Nagle entering the room catching the last part of the story continued, "Randy stuck his neck out for the both of you, he brought you in from the cold. The only ones for the time being that knows what has happened are standing in this room and who ever was shooting at you. The reports I got from my road deputies indicates that there was some kind of shootout at the county line. One of my deputies did see a truck and a small SUV leaving the area at a high rate of speed but nothing else. He wisely did not venture towards the river since in all likelihood he would have found a killing ground."

Randy turned to the window and gazed out at the sun streaming across the farm yard, "Kirika? Where is your vehicle? Give me the keys" as he held out his hand, Kirika deposited the keys into Randy's hand and told him she had parked it in the wood line to the rear of the house.

Randy looked back at Kirika as he walked out the door, "Get cleaned up. Darla will help with any needs that you may have and do get some sleep. There is a spare bed room down the hall on the left, please feel free to use it. I am going to get your SUV and put it out of sight in the barn for now. I suspect we may have hunters roaming about looking for it; Phil would you come with me please."

A few moments later the Ford Crown Victoria eased down the drive and turned to the right and slowly headed down the country road and disappeared for a brief period. The black Ford Escape belonging to Kirika and Mireille appeared and was being followed at a brisk clip by the Crown Victoria.

Both vehicles entered the gravel drive and the Escape veered towards the barn, who's massive doors seemed to open on their own and then close as the vehicle passed through the entryway.

Sheriff Nagel waited patiently for Randy to rejoin him and after a brief conversation, Phil drove off headed back to Gainesville, Georgia with a special request; as Randy strolled back to the farm house he scanned the surrounding country side wondering if any hunters were nearby.

Martinez sat in reflection at his desk in the mansion's study. The attempt against his life had nearly been successful, but the price paid in human life had been sever; with no less than 15 dead and another 5 wounded with 5 more missing in all likelihood dead as well.

So the rumor had been true, that someone was seeking revenge against him but for what? True he was engaged in many illegal activities in many countries, but to send assassins here to his mansion in Georgia was a very clear message to him that he had been touched a nerve with someone.

The survivors of the gun battle gave different descriptions but they agreed one was a short dark haired man and the other was a blond haired man. One had said that the blond man had been shot and had fallen into the river, where he had been rescued by the dark haired man.

The head of security was sending searchers to investigate the area in hopes of finding something useful. Someone had seen a small SUV with a dark haired driver leaving the river area which left after a frightened fisherman fled in his truck. There had been no news reports of the shooting, but in the next county over a sheriff deputy had reported by radio that he had been hearing gunfire but could not locate the source, it was likely fortunate he had not come to the river otherwise the authorities would be involved.

Angelina Alejandro Lopez arrived at the Baldwin farm at 9 AM, to begin her house cleaning duties. Letting herself in with the pass key, she busied herself cleaning what was an already spotless home.

Preparing to go upstairs, she called the elevator to the first floor and was surprised when Darla Francis stepped out of the elevator.

Darla greeted her with a smile and the ever present hug, "Angelina, Mr. Baldwin was up all night and there are two house guests upstairs. He has gone to bed to get some sleep so there will be no need for you to clean the second floor. He has asked me to request if you would be so kind and go to the market for him. He has left the shopping list on the counter in the kitchen along with the money."

Angelina bowed slightly to Darla and returned the cleaning supplies to the storage closet and walked back to the kitchen to retrieve the list. Angelina scanned the list and put the money into her apron, then waved to Darla as she left.

Darla giving a sigh of relief took the elevator back to the second floor and returned to Mireille's room to continue monitoring her vital signs. Thankfully the young woman that she was caring for was in excellent health it had made things much easier.

Mireille felt like she was floating on a cloud, which was warm, comfortable and peaceful. Opening her eyes reality returned. She was in a bed, yet not the motel room but somewhere else. Then the memories flooded back followed by the pain as she tried to sit up. The hand of an older woman lightly touched her shoulder, "Now, now dear. There is no need to rush it."

Mireille relaxed slightly and turned her head to see who was speaking to her, the matronly woman possibly in her sixties or seventies sat on the edge of a chair; the expression of concern on her face with that of a pleasant smile eased her concerns further.

"Where am I and who are you? As Mireille tried to get her bearings, the woman replied "Mireille my name is Darla Francis. You are in the house belonging to Mr. Randy Baldwin. He rescued you from the river last night."

Mireille her features neutral but on the inside surprised. "Baldwin? The American how could this be?" as Mireille began to remember the fragmented memories jolting into place then the pain from her chest, the pain of the gunshot wound, the shock of the cold river water then the man leaning over her breathing into her mouth forcing life giving air into her lungs.

Mireille continued to listen as Darla explained what had happened to her. Mireille remembered the rough and painful ride down the highway. Obviously it had been Mr. Baldwin whom she had leaned against, his hand maintaining a tight grip while driving like a madman through the darkness.

Foot steps from the hallway announced the presence of Randy Baldwin as he neared Mireille's room. Darla looked towards the door just as Randy entered.

"Mr. Baldwin, your guest is awake," as Mireille took in Randy Baldwin and his manner of dress. There was no way to overlook the Colt Combat Commander as it hung from the shoulder holster.

Tilting his head slightly and smiling Randy took time to observe Mireille. Her coloring had improved considerably from the night before. Instead of a pasty white appearance, a near normal skin tone had returned.

Randy walked to the side of the bed and held out his hand, "Welcome back to the world of the living. You put a considerable scare into me last night."

Mireille feeling her left side looked at Randy, "Mr. Baldwin, I must say I am grateful for the aid that you have given; but I must go and find Kirika. She may be in trouble."

Randy sat on the edge of the bed and crossed his arms, "You are welcome, but there will be no need to find Kirika. She is here as well, sleeping in the next bedroom. You could say getting her out of the cold so to speak was a bit of a hassle but well worth some of the bruises that I got for my trouble. She is still the feisty young woman that I remembered."

Nodding at Darla, who had gathered her personal belongings "Darla I appreciate the assistance that you and Harold have provided; it will not be forgotten."

Darla walking to the door turned, "Randy, it is nothing. Your friend was in need. We understand the circumstances of the situation. Harold will drop by later this evening to check on Mireille and Kirika, as for myself I while go home and to bed as well. We all had a long night, Good day Randy.

Turning to Mireille after Darla had entered the elevator, Randy moved to vacated chair "Ok Ms. Bouquet, there is no one else here besides us now. Care to tell me just what in the hell you are doing here in Georgia and carrying on a gun battle at my favorite fishing hole?" as Crabby followed by Kirby scampered into the bedroom with Crabby making a beeline for the bed.

Frowning at the cat, Randy began reaching for the wayward animal but was stopped by Mireille who had watched the sideways walking of the cat and gathered it into her arms. Kirby took a position next to Randy, placing his front paws on the bed then cocking his head to the side in what passed for anticipation of a story.

Mireille resigned to the fact that Randy had become involved told him everything. Taking notes from time to time, Randy slipping back to his days of being in the Agency asked questions that were meant to reveal more than Mireille wanted to admit, but she did anyway.

Looking at his notes Randy seemed taken aback by it all, "So Mireille this whole thing started with the murder of a Catholic Priest in Columbia?" as he leaned back Mireille nodded, "Yes, but not just any Priest. He had been well respected and had served as a mediator between certain criminal elements and law enforcement circles. He was not the typical priest from that region; but an American who had accepted the call to serve there. He had been in Columbia for nearly 24 years and there had been several documented cases of him performing miracles, several which resulted in the saving of gravely ill persons who had been inflicted with life threatening illnesses of which there were at the time no treatments for."

Musing for a moment Randy replied, "Father George Skinner? Was that the Priest?" Mireille nodded sadly, "Yes, but how do you know of him?" Randy set the note pad down on the table, "George was born and raised in Cleveland, Georgia about 20 miles from here, surrounded by bible thumping Baptists and Methodists. Instead of choosing either faith, George decided he wanted to be a Catholic Priest and did so. He was ostracized for awhile for his decision but his mother and father gave their full support."

Randy with some sadness in his voice continued, "After becoming ordained, he returned to North Georgia and began ministering to a growing flock. After being successful here, Father Skinner was sent to Columbia by the Church. From what I heard afterward, George had been doing rather well; though I was not aware of the miracles that had been attributed to him. I had briefly met him under less than ideal conditions while on a mission in Columbia, but it was intermittent contact after that. Then the report of his death being announced over CNN, I guess it had been a slow news day; it was nearly six months ago. Shook the entire community to the core, the news reports indicated Father Skinner had been driving in known bandit country when he was killed along with another priest."

Mireille nodded, "Yes another priest did die as well. However it was not an ambush gone wrong as had been reported, but an assignation that was ordered after Father Skinner had begun interfering in the operations of a drug cartel; which had been kidnapping the local populace for slave labor. Father Skinner was carrying a computer data disk containing information about the drug cartel operations along with other illicit activities. He also had the name of the man who was responsible. The data on the disk contained the information linking him to the kidnappings and the financial information linking both his legal businesses and his illicit businesses to his financial empire. The man who ordered the assignation was Santiago Jesus Martinez."

Randy reflected on the memories of his childhood friendship with George Skinner. George had stood next to him at the funeral for his parents who had been killed in an automobile accident when he was just 9 years old. While other children tended to avoid George, Randy had not and neither did Phil Nagel. All three had become inseparable during their early years.

They would ride their bicycles to the swimming and fishing holes in the summer when not doing farm chores or working at the local hardware store. In the winter they would catch the creaking yellow bus that sometimes never made it all the way to school and would have to run together in all kinds of weather to make it on time.

After graduation from High School, they each went their separate ways making promises to keep in touch. Randy's part of keeping the promise had been difficult because of his eventual involvement in Agency work. Only two men knew his true employment and that had been his grandfather now deceased and Phil Nagel. He had been out of touch with Father Skinner for nearly 12 years, and it was while in Bogotá, Columbia he had encountered George once again.

On the run and in dire straights, Randy had been wounded on a mission in Columbia gathering intelligence on an active terrorist cell. Making his way through the dark back alleys he had come upon a Catholic Church and decided to seek shelter for a short period of time to recover his strength. While sitting half asleep exhausted in a pew he felt a presence next to him and then an arm around his shoulder.

The soothing yet familiar voice spoke in Spanish, "Welcome home my brother. You are safe from harm." He had turned to see the face and it was his childhood friend Father George Skinner. George did find out what he was really doing for a living, but did not hold it against him.

George summoned a doctor who could remain discreet in such matters, and Randy eventually made his way out of Columbia with the critical information after being treated for the gunshot wound.

Every year afterward where ever Father Skinner was serving as a priest in Columbia, his church would receive a considerable donation for the Father to help carry out his work, until his death this year. The funds had been used instead to pay for the Georgia granite grave marker that had been made to mark his final resting place at a small cemetery not far from the Baldwin farm.

Returning to the present, Randy felt a presence behind him, it was Kirika. Randy leaned his head far enough back to get an upside down view of the young woman to confirm it and then straightened back up and looked at Mireille.

Randy retrieved the note pad, "Mireille, was the data disk ever found?" as Kirika wearing a borrowed night gown sat next to Randy.

Mireille showing her relief at seeing Kirika shook her head no, "According to my information it was never found, both bodies had been heavily and repeatedly searched and their vehicle torn apart. The only thing that had remained unscathed was Father Skinner's Bible." The Bible, George had never traveled far without one even when attending local public school. He never preached to anyone or tried to convert anyone but he would always carry The Book with him.

Mireille continued, "Father Skinner's apparent last act had been to write the name of the man responsible in the dirt. He used his Bible to cover it. How the attackers missed it is not known but that was the only information retrieved."

Mireille watching Randy observed a change in his features the sadness fading away replaced with one who had a sudden revelation. Kirika also taking note of the change asked if there was something wrong.

Randy shook his head no but smiled, "Even on the verge of death, Father George Skinner remained faithful to his purpose. George knew his Bible would be returned to his parents. I was at their home when the personal effects arrived from Columbia. It still had some of his blood on it too, the jacket was a patchwork of repairs. The Book was nearly stiff as a board, from all the repairs. I believe I know where that disk is and it's in the jacket covering the Bible."

The sound of a car driving up the gravel drive interrupted their discussions. Randy who glanced out the window saw it was Angelina Lopez with Roberto her husband. Looking at his watch, Randy noted it was nearly 1 PM in the afternoon.

There was no clothing in the house to fit Mireille so till Randy headed to their motel to retrieve their belongings she would have make do with the borrowed nightgown from Mrs. Francis. Kirika on the other hand could wear some of the clothing that had belonged to his late grandmother. Randy had not had the heart to throw out or donate anything.

Going to the closet, Randy opened it and pulled out a wheel chair that once belonged to his grandmother, and quickly putting it together he wheeled it about and approached the bed, "Early dinner anyone?"

Angelina and Roberto Lopez had been in the employ of Randy Baldwin now for two years. Angelina and Roberto remembered the crossing of the border to the United States from their native homeland of Mexico.

It had been dangerous, difficult and tiring but they had been lucky by not falling into the many pitfalls that had ensnared others before them. Pregnant at the time of the crossing nearly ten years earlier Angelina gave birth to Maria now 9 years old in a small clinic located outside of Laredo, Texas.

One year later Esteban now 8 years old followed, born in Little Rock, Arkansas where Angelina and Roberto had drifted to seeking jobs. Staying in Arkansas till they could earn enough money to continue traveling, Angelina worked at local poultry plants preparing chicken for shipment while Roberto did work as a day laborer and helping out on distant farms.

Getting the money together had been difficult at best but scrimping as they did, the Lopez's eventually had enough to buy a used car. The aging Oldsmobile which had seen better days took them from Arkansas to Georgia in an effort to find better work and a better life.

Roberto did all the driving, saving the money for gas and food they had sought refuge in highway rest stops. Entering Georgia from Alabama, the Oldsmobile's alternator had failed, but Roberto found a replacement but it had been expensive. Arriving on the outskirts of Atlanta, the Lopez's took their bearings in what had become massive thunderstorm. The wipers of the car barely keeping up in the deluge, Roberto found I-285 and circled the city of Atlanta on its west side.

Roberto at the time could not read, but Angelina could do so very well after having a kind woman who worked with her at the poultry plant took the time teach her to read and write English during their short lunch hours.

Angelina had been pensive during the ride along I-285. She had kept looking for a city named Gainesville, but instead many other towns had appeared. Place names like Vinings, Smyrna, Sandy Springs, Chamblee and Doraville. Angelina kept looking for Gainesville, but looking at the map of Georgia she saw they had to get onto I-85 and travel much further north.

Roberto successfully navigated the confusing array of overpasses which he learned later had been nicknamed "Malfunction Junction" among other names some of which were X-Rated. After entering the Interstate, Roberto knew that they had to get gas so with the last of their money he filled the tank for the last time at a gas station on a street named Jimmy Carter Boulevard, saving enough to get crackers and soda for his two children.

The storms passing through had pounded the Atlanta area rather hard this late Saturday night and as the Lopez's drove northward the crash of thunder and lightning did little to ease the worries of Angelina, her two children riding in the back seat would occasionally be illuminated by the flashes of lightning but rode in silence.

Seeing the first sign for Gainesville, Georgia Angelina pointed it out to her husband who nodded and followed the arrow which took them past the Highway 316 interchange and to the next obstacle which was the Interstate 985/Highway 365 interchange. Instead of being a right hand exit, it would require them to exit left off of I-85.

Roberto after being directed by Angelina to go left had begun to switch lanes in the driving rain but a loud air horn from a tractor trailer saved them from colliding with the truck, its tractor drive wheel mere inches from Oldsmobile Roberto shakily corrected.

The traffic from I-85 thinned out, leaving the Lopez's alone on I-985. The storms passing through had knocked out power in many places so Angelina had to depend on the headlights of the aging car to see the signs. It was just past 1:15 AM on that Sunday morning when the Lopez's passed the exit for Oakwood, Georgia.

Sheriff Phil Nagel had been wrestling with a disturbing trend in his county and that had been attacks against the Hispanic community by their own kind. Many Hispanics were illegals or undocumented workers living within the county and as such it was difficult to get any information out of them when things did happen.

The English-Spanish language barrier was a common problem and even when the deputies responding to an incident did speak Spanish the ones seeking help would clam up and refuse to give details for fear of being deported or receiving retribution.

This nasty Sunday morning, Sheriff Phil Nagel was on stake-out, near the northern end of the county at the intersection of Highway 52 and Highway 365. He had not been in a happy mood since 12:30 AM when the power had flickered then went out altogether plunging the area into darkness and closing down his only source of fresh coffee, the Waffle House of which he was parked backed next to the dumpster.

Phil had at least filled his thermos, if he had to go pee well he would just open the door and do it. An Ex-Navy Seal, Phil was accustomed to the harsh conditions as was his friend who was observing things across the way from him. He had been hesitant at first to allow his participation but Randy Baldwin having heard Phil talk about the Hispanic gang activity had offered his services and for free to boot. So Phil had deputized him and issued him a badge, but did not have to issue any side arms; since Randy when he went out on a job became a walking arsenal. Phil was also well aware of Randy's martial arts abilities.

The glowing hands of the Seiko told Randy it was close to 1:45 AM. Had the storms not put in an appearance this intersection would have likely still been lively with traffic but the down pours coupled with the power outages had chased the more sensible people into their homes. The last car to pass by had been 15 minutes earlier, the driving rain forcing the driver to take it slow.

At first thinking it was the wind, Randy kept hearing a squealing sound in the distance. Radioing Phil and asking him if he could hear it, Phil replied in the negative. Well dressed for the weather, Randy Baldwin stood under the overhang of the closed convenience store scanning the highway.

Looking to his left a pair of head lights that appeared to be growing dimmer by the second the car struggling to make the incline approached the closed station and turned in.

Randy keyed the radio alerting Phil who had already taken notice. Then Phil keyed back with the report that another car was coming south.

The Oldsmobile had given up the ghost coming up the grade. Roberto watched the idiot lights flicker on one by one and the temperature and oil gauges showing distress climbed or dropped into their respective danger zones. The battery charge gage too had fallen into the danger area and with the engine wheezing and clacking the car came to a rest under the overhang of the fuel pumps.

Randy held back, he could see two in the car then with additional movement it climbed to four. Keying the radio to report to Phil, Randy watched the southbound car travel past then the brake lights of the southbound car lit up and it turned around in the access entry for the divided highway.

A flash of lightning illuminated the car as it headed back north. Randy recognized it as the same car that had passed by earlier. Calling Phil on the radio again, this time to alert him to pending trouble Phil replied with two mike clicks then put his car into gear to head to the station.

Randy remained unseen, his dark leather rain gear concealing him from immediate detection; his jump suit underneath made of Gore-Tex and black as were his boots.

The car had pulled opposite of the other, its driver already out examining the engine. Randy had heard the death rattle, the Oldsmobile would travel no further under its own power.

Three men exited the vehicle, and their body language clearly did not signal that they were there to help. Roberto who had turned to greet the men suddenly found himself with a gun pointed to his forehead.

Randy keyed the radio one last time, "Phil damn it get a move on!" as he broke from cover, and unsnapping the single clasp that held the rain coat shut; the wind picking up the open raincoat arrayed it behind him.

Yelling in Spanish for the man to get down he startled the robbing crew, who took in the sight of Randy dressed all in black in a driving rain the flash of lighting momentarily bringing his features into focus.

The one with the gun stupidly raised and changed firing hands turning his weapon sideways trying to copy what he had seen on some rap video or television movie. Randy did not wait, sending two 245 grain . 45 caliber Remington hollow points screaming down range into the gunman who was knocked backwards onto the car in which he had been riding.

Two more punched through the windshield of the car, killing the driver instantly as he had just stuck a revolver out the window, the other two also armed turned to run and began firing their guns at Randy as he advanced.

Phil having crossed the highway and driving down the wrong side of the road turned into the entrance and spun out. Lowering the right side window Sheriff Phil Nagel sent four rounds of out of his .44 caliber magnum into the two running men who were peppering their own car with gun fire.

Randy stepping to side sent two more rounds sizzling down range, the thunderous reports of both weapons mixing in with the thunder overhead. Roberto hugging the pavement cowering in fear, saw the boots walking around the car towards him. Looking up into the driving rain his vision partially obscured he would lay eyes on for the first time of the man named Randy Maynard Baldwin.

Sheriff Phil Nagel leaving his car walked slowly past the two bodies looking for signs of life but with the back of their heads blown open there was little doubt both were dead. The frightened crying from the other car drew his attention next, still ever cautious Phil cleared the interior of the car visually. A young Hispanic woman trying to cover her two children looked up in terror as Phil shined his flashlight inward, "Seniorita? You are safe. Welcome to Georgia."

The gun battle on the rural highway briefly made national news, but swept by the wayside with other world events. Locally in the county it was still talked about even two years after. Hispanic gangs took quick notice and ceased their preying their own countrymen. Though there was crime still taking place; at least the victims were no longer afraid of talking to the police. Randy's part was reduced to being identified only as an undercover officer which was fine by him.

To Be Continued...