Old Friends, Old Enemies, Old Wars

By Ben DeWitt

Pat Rogers, the mystery novel author, was happy to create his own characters and make sure the good guys won. But when real killers with real bullets come after him, he must return to his own violent past to survive.

Rogers calls together old friends, who just happen to have been government-trained assassins during the Viet Nam war, to take on old enemies.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Oso Press
• Release date: May 26, 2010
• ISBN: 9781452409313

Ben DeWitt

Ben DeWitt was an officer in the U.S. Army field artillery for ten years. He served two combat tours in Viet Nam, the first with the First Infantry Division and the second with the Military Advisory Command Viet Nam, living with the Vietnamese military on the Cambodian border. He has worked in the oil fields of Wyoming, Michigan and Texas, mined copper in the open pits of Arizona and worked as a mechanic a thousand feet underground in Wyoming. DeWitt has raced cars and motorcycles most of his life and still does when the time and opportunity present themselves. He currently writes full time in Pueblo, Colorado.

Book preview

Chapter 1

I rolled out of bed and stepped in dog shit. It was still warm and squished between the toes of my right foot. I hobbled into the bathroom, walking on the heel of my right foot, stuck my toes in the toilet, wiggled them around, then flushed. It was the way I started too many mornings, both physically and metaphorically. At least I had a handle on the physical shit. I cleaned it up. Fed the dogs so they could do it again. Fed myself and walked the fifty feet to my study.

I was slouching in front of the computer, feet up on my grandmother’s old footstool, trying to decide if I should start another novel or play Free Cell. Free Cell won out. I was one novel ahead of my publisher and didn't feel the need to start a new cast of characters. I must say I love my characters once I get into them. I was answering phone calls, more out of boredom than wanting to talk to people. I have caller ID and almost always let the answering machine take care of the chore of fending off telemarketers and the occasional fan.

Crazy Larry, Weird Will and Wild Bill all called within a few minutes of each other. None of them is crazy, weird and/or wild, at least not at middle age. They had received the nicknames at Hacienda Heights Grade School from Principal Cox back in the fifties. Larry and Will had little to say. Just checking in to see if I was alive. Police Sergeant Bill Flanagan was the last call. Bill and I have been friends for a lot of years. He is my in-house reference on police matters, a knowledgeable individual that I have based one of my favorite characters on.

Pat?

Yeah, Flanagan, what you want?

How you know it was me? Caller ID?

After fifty years, I know your voice.

I haven't been around that long.

Okay, thirty years.

Fifteen years longer. Anyway, I need a favor.

You got it. Bill is one of four or five people that can ask any favor. If I can do it, I will.

There is this lady who is a big fan of yours. She wants to meet you.

You trying to get into this lady’s bloomers?

Naw, she just wants to meet you. This afternoon good?

Make it early. I didn't have anything to do but I was bored and could only play Free Cell so long.

See you after lunch.

Bill hung up and I returned to my computer game. I tried to remember if I had taken a shower in the past couple of days. Decided if I couldn't remember, I better clean up a little after I finished my game. Besides, my right foot might smell a little.

Bill came in with the fan and they made themselves comfortable while I was finishing my shower. I was a little surprised to see them as I came out of the bathroom in sweat pants and a tee shirt. I pushed back what little hair I have left and walked into the living room and let Bill do the introductions. The fan was attractive on the verge of being beautiful, in her early thirties. She also looked familiar. Bill made the intros.

Ms. May, glad to meet you. You’re really jeopardizing your reputation being seen with the infamous Sgt. Flanagan. Bill gave me a dirty look, but refused to respond to my crude baiting.

Please call me Debbie or Deb if you like.

Okay Debbie or Deb. What can I do for you?

She walked around the coffee table to the leather sofa and retrieved a large handbag that was almost as big as an army pack. I assumed she wanted me to sign one of my books. She pulled a notebook from her purse/pack and patted the sofa next to her.

Why don't you join me here? Bill, would you get us something to drink? It was more of a request to get lost.

Bill left the room. I joined Deb on the sofa. Deb was a bit taller than me, with hazel eyes that changed colors. Her hair was a soft brown. I think she was wearing contacts, but not sure. She had a nice shape to her. The body beneath the jeans and sweater didn't show any imperfections. I was, of course, very curious as to why she was in my home and really wanted her to be gone before Kay came home.

She started out with flattery, something that works very well on me. I have read all your novels at least twice.

Okay. I didn't see a need to show my witty side.

May I ask you a few questions?

Sure. No wit yet.

Where did you learn so much about the CIA, NSA, SRO, FBI, OSS, M-5, M-6, Swiss banking law, organized crime, etc.?

I read a lot. My military background is common knowledge; my clandestine activities are not. I saw no need to fill Deb in on what would be ancient history to her.

Much of the information you have written about is not well known to the man on the street.

Are you with the press, or worse, the government? A little wit coming forth.

She laughed. No, I own my own business in Austin and I have a need for someone with your knowledge and background.

What kind of business?

Ice cream and yogurt, frozen.

Why me?

Like I said, I have read your novels. My mother was one of your teachers at Bel Air High. Bill and I were friends a few years back and I asked him to introduce us.

If you’re into frozen, why are you asking me about different intelligence groups? There are at least twenty-seven running around the U.S. alone. Deb did look a lot like her mother, Mary May, a math teacher we all lusted after. Now I knew why she was familiar.

What do you know about Belize?

Used to be British Honduras. Dollar-based government. Belize dollar worth fifty cents. Let’s see… 220,000 citizens, trying to become like the Caymans in banking. That’s about it. Why the test?

Last month, my sister took a large amount of money to Belize to invest and has not been seen for a couple of weeks.

You talk to the police?

Yes.

Who else?

The American Embassy and the American Military advisor.

Why the military?

I always assumed that all the military attaches were spies. And a spy might be what I needed.

I was getting really curious about Deb's effort. It seemed she had covered a lot of strange ground. Any luck?

No, all he does is arrange funding for U.S. military equipment and training.

Okay, what do you want from me?

I need you to go to Belize and see if you can find out what happened to the money.

And your sister?

Yes.

Was the money yours?

Deb didn't make eye contact. She fidgeted around and looked for Bill. Bill was outside smoking his third cigarette.

All I can say is the money was legal, but.

No taxes paid. Never declared. I have numerous acquaintances with cash businesses and they are always trying to find ways to hide some of the income. If they worked as hard making it as hiding it, they would have a lot more of it. I don't worry about taxes because I want to live and die in my country. I also don’t make much and what I make is very easy to trace.

No, taxes have been paid.

Okay. Now what can I do for you. I didn’t believe her.

We, rather I, am ready to pay you a finder’s fee for the money.

What about your sister?

Where you find her, you will find the money or vice versa.

Deb was showing very little concern for the woman she was calling sister. Is this woman really your sister?

Deb stood up and walked around the sofa to the big glass folding doors that overlook the patio and most of the backyard. Bill was busy hacking something out of his lungs, trying to spit it on one of my dogs.

Beautiful place you have here.

I like it. I didn't mention that it was the only house in El Paso where the design came from the Bauhaus School of Architecture.

Quiet.

Yup.

The finder’s fee would be significant. Say 1% of the money, and expenses.

How much are we talking about?

A little over ten million.

That’s a lot of income.

I have several partners.

Look, Deb, I’m a writer, not a PI or cop. You need someone with those abilities and a background in Central America. I'm also a little long in the tooth and at least twenty pounds past my prime.

We all agree we need a knowledgeable person to find our money.

Sister?

We want someone who is known, but not an outright celeb.

Thanks. Deb was not doing my ego much good at the moment.

We need someone who is used to doing a lot of research. Someone who has an understanding of the gray areas of government, people and financial institutions. Someone with military and combat experience. I think that someone is you. A hundred grand is a lot of money, sir.

I really don’t need money, Deb. I'm comfortable.

This could turn into a great book. Make you money on both ends.

The truth is, I never need new ideas for novels. I can read the Wall Street Journal and come up with three or four good stories a day. What I really wanted, needed, was an adventure. Having a paid adventure appealed to my parsimonious side.

I’ll tell you what, Deb. You get me all the information on this little situation and I will consider it. I want $500 a day and expenses to look for your sister and money. I really didn't have any idea how much to ask for, but a guy had to start somewhere. I waited for the rejection and for the bartering to start.

Deal. I can give you a thirty-day retainer now.

Cash? I was sure it would be.

Of course. Now what information do you need?

A picture of your sister, the name of the bank and its representative in Belize. When she left Austin and the last time you talked to her. I was not sure what else. I write adventure, not mystery. Names of your partners and what they do for a living. Sounded like a good idea. How to get hold of you and them.

No.

No what?

I'm the only one you deal with. I will be going with you. However, my partners know I’m hiring you.

Flanagan padded through the house with Harry The Dumpster Dog, following. They both were making the hardwood floors creak and moan. Deb, you ready to go? I need to get back to work. The mayor keeps beeping me.

I guess. She opened her purse/pack and handed me a shoebox-sized package. This has most of the information you asked for, plus the retainer. There is a first class ticket to Houston, where I will meet you in three days. We will fly to Belize from Houston. She then pulled out my first three novels that were only published in paperback and asked me to sign them. My ego was back in tact. Flanagan had left to start his city vehicle.

I quickly signed the three, To Debbie, and handed them back. I escorted her to the door where she turned around and planted a big wet one on my mouth, probing my lips with her tongue. See you Friday. I understand you’re not married. It was a statement of fact.

Deb was right. I am not married. Kay and I live together and we would be married, but Kay feels I am still to immature. I am not sure if being attracted to women is immature. I have this thing for smart women. If they are also physically attractive, I am pretty much putty in their hands. Kay is both attractive and smart. Yes, I am putty in her hands and have been since the first time we met.

I recovered enough to smile, saving my wit for later. I didn’t want to use it all up before I died. I also made no effort to explain my relationship with Kay.

I took the shoebox to my study to open it. Harry, the mutt, followed. He would make sure I didn’t sneak some cookies without him getting his ten percent. The shoebox contained $20,000 in hundreds and twenties. The hundred dollar bills looked new. There was a photo of a woman who resembled Deb, with Lucy May written on the back. The name of a bank was listed on a 3x5 card. It looked like a free trip to Belize with a beautiful, out-going woman. Now the trick was to keep Kay from going. She usually wanted to join me on all my research trips. I decided to ask her to go and let the cards fall. As a good friend would say, the signs will tell you how to act and what to do. If Kay joined us in the adventure, so be it.

I also wondered how Deb knew what kind of expense money I would ask for. I might have sold myself too cheap. I wondered if I had asked for a thousand a day if Deb would have said fine, here is a fifteen-day advance. All my life I have sold my services at a discount, and I probably just did it again.

Chapter 2

I spent the evening on the web checking out Belize. It was an entertaining trip. A couple could buy citizenship for fifty thousand U.S. dollars. Twenty-five was called a submission fee, not returnable if for some reason they turned you down. U.S. citizens did not need a visa, only a passport, $400 U.S. dollars and a ticket out of the country. Dual citizenship was okay with Belize. I wrote a note to myself to check if you had to be a citizen to bank in-country. The good people of Belize were following in the footsteps of offshore banking countries. Why not? They were also trying to get retirees there by allowing all monies brought into the country to be tax-free. All you had to do was prove you could generate $2000 a month in income. Pretty neat deal.

Kay came in just as I turned off the computer. She was curious why I was researching Belize. I ran through Deb’s story and asked her to join me on this new adventure. She was busy with the new college catalog but said she might join me later if the college gave her a little time off.

Bill called later and asked what I thought of Deb. I told him the truth. I really had no understanding of the woman. But that should not come as a surprise; very few of us males have an understanding of women. He added that Deb was not just the owner of a little yogurt stand, but owned the franchise for a five-state region. She also had multiplex movie theaters in the Austin area. I asked him if he had ever met Deb’s sister and he was sure he had not.

I guess it was Harry The Dumpster Dog banging his head against the bedroom door at 3:45 in the morning that woke me. I pulled on my sweatpants, thinking he had to go outside, when I heard the noise. There are several people with keys to my house. There are a couple of them that Harry does not tolerate. I picked up my little 380 semi-auto pistol, slammed the nine-round clip home, pulled the slide back and loaded a round.

Okay, Harry, let’s see who came to visit. Don’t bite anyone.

I reached down and patted him on his head. He gave a low growl as I opened the door. Harry sprinted for the living room, running into someone who was bent over trying to turn off the night light. Harry weighs over thirty pounds, short legs and a long, muscular body with shaggy salt and pepper hair. He also doesn’t see very well. He misjudged the distance and butted the man instead of biting him.

Hot Damn!

Don’t get up. Hold real still. Otherwise I will have to shoot you. I sounded real calm. Probably three octaves higher than normal. I didn't impress the intruder as much as Harry did.

The intruder still had his hand on the night light. Harry was sniffing him trying to decide if he should bite him just for general purposes.

The intruder pulled the light out of the socket, dropping the room into darkness. Harry barked, ran around in a circle a couple of times then chased the man as he ran out the front door. It is not hard to out speed or distance Harry or me. There was another man waiting in a late model Ford pickup. They sped away as I ran down the middle of the street, trying to see the license plate number. It seemed even the crooks drive better vehicles than I do.

I was standing in the middle of the street, half-naked, with my little 380 pointed at the ground when a local cop car came around the corner. I am sure I looked like a born killer with my hair sticking out in all directions and several tattoos on my back. He put his spot on me and told me to drop the gun.

Harry came up and stood by my right foot. The cop approached with his gun still in his holster, the safety strap released and his hand close by.

Okay, tell me about it.

Harry growled. The policeman ignored him.

I ran through the strange events and explained I lived in the neighborhood. The officer decided to cuff me before we walked back to my house. My pistol was still lying in the middle of the street. I was not a happy camper.

I turned on the overhead light in the big living room, using my nose to lift the switch, and sat down on the sofa.

Does anyone else live with you?

Yes. My wife is sleeping in the bedroom. I didn’t want to confuse the officer by explaining Kay’s and my relationship, which has never been real clear to me anyway.

Why don’t you wake her up.

Are you going to take the cuffs off?

No.

I padded into the bedroom and managed to bring Kay out of a deep sleep.

Honey, I think you better come into the living room. Put on some clothes.

Kay joined us in a few minutes. She looked at the policeman and then at the cuffs. Harry was sitting between me and the officer.

What did you do now, Pat? Kay assumed I was at fault.

Ma’am, your husband was running down the middle of the street waving a pistol. Half-naked. The half-naked part seemed to bother the policeman more than the pistol.

He was what? Kay was used to me being a little strange, but not crazy. She glared at me but didn’t correct the officer about not being my wife.

I will explain later. Officer, I have a permit to carry a concealed weapon in Texas.

Ma’am, would you be so kind as to get your husband’s driver’s license?

Of course, officer. Kay brought my wallet and presented the young man with my license which also showed my permit to carry.

I’m sorry, sir, but you did look more than a little suspicious. He unlocked the cuffs and put them back on his belt.

Yeah, right. I was robbing my neighbors, half-naked in bare feet in thirty-degree weather.

Would you go over your story one more time?

This time the officer had his notebook out.

Kay listened without comment.

When I was finished, Kay left to start the morning coffee and I returned to the street to retrieve my pistol. I turned on the porch light and looked to see how the intruder defeated the lock. He either had a key or was very good at what he did.

Kay and I sat at the kitchen table trying to understand what just happened. The intruder was not armed that I could see. He was taller than average. I might recognize him. What in the hell did he want?

Sgt. Bill Flanagan wandered in around five in the morning, followed by a couple of lab techs who would go over the house for clues. He didn’t say anything. He poured coffee and sat down.

When I started to talk, he simply held his hand up for me to wait. He would need two cups before he was ready to listen. I ran through the scenario again, making sure Bill understood how pissed I was about being cuffed. He and Kay thought it amusing. Harry the mutt was checking out the lab techs. The fingerprint powder made him sneeze. The laser didn't bother him; he seemed to like it. My other mutt, Ginger, was still sleeping on her cedar bed in the bedroom. Kay had closed the door to make sure she was not disturbed. The dogs had a better life than I did.

Kay started getting ready for work around seven. I ran everyone out of the house, including Bill. I had checked everything of value plus the shoebox Deb had left with me. It was still on my desk. I couldn't find anything missing. Harry caught the intruder before he could do what he came to do. I should have been afraid, but I didn't have a clue why at the time.

There was a pale blue haze with streaks of gray in the living room from the powder. It would take a while to dissipate. I got pissed again about my treatment by the young officer and the mess the lab people made in my home. Bill said they had given me the VIP treatment because of my semi-celeb status in the community. Normal procedure would have been a cop taking down a report, probably over the phone. So they had messed up my house for my benefit.

Chapter 3

I spent the next two days researching Belize and buying clothes. I didn’t expect to spend time in the jungles, but one never knew. In reality, Kay kept me on a firm budget which left little to be crazy with. Once or twice a year she would turn me loose and I would get to buy rare books or art. This was like Christmas to me.

Kay dropped me at the airport and told me to have a good adventure. I wondered if her trust in me was that sound or if she didn’t really care. She once told me it was never a matter of trust, but a realization of a lack of control. She never explained if it was her lack of control over me or my lack of control in general.

The Continental flight to Houston was on a small jet which I enjoyed. Deb was waiting for me when I came down the ramp.

How was your flight?

Wonderful. I didn’t even miss the peanuts.

Oh, ah, good. Deb had no idea what I was talking about. She probably never flew anywhere except first class.

Our flight to Belize leaves in about two hours. It is also on Continental. Care for a drink or anything?

Let’s walk. I have always flown into Hobby Airport. This is my first time at Bush Intercontinental.

Anything special you want to look at?

Booksellers. I always look for my books and offer to sign a couple for the owners or managers. I don't know if it pays to do it, but I enjoy talking with avid readers, and