Twelve Fifteen

By Ron Scott

1993 - After 25 years of exile in Vietnam, James Curtis returns to the United States with a vengeance. He brings with him skills acquired surviving in the under-belly of black marketing, extortion and murder. His mission is revenge.
James Curtis is an expert at manipulation and recruits old friendships as he evades the law while staying on mission. He becomes the primary target of two senior FBI agents as they follow his blood trail cross country. Who is his target?
Join in the chase as you turn the pages.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Feb 6, 2015
• ISBN: 9781503536838

Ron Scott

Ron Scott is an author who wears two hats: novelist and poet. He is a member of the Long Island Authors’ Group and Long Island Writers’ Guild in addition to Executive Vice President of the Nassau County Poet Laureate Society. Ron’s work has appeared in various publications throughout the region, First prize Poetyr Magazine 2007, The North Sea Poetry Scene 2007,2008 and 2009, Balance Moving Forward 2009, and in Newsday. In 2010, Ron debuted as a novelist with the publication of Face of the Enemy; a Vietnam novel based on actual events. Ron invites you to join him in Twelve Fifteen, a continued journey of memorable characters.

Book preview

Copyright © 2015 by Ron Scott.

Library of Congress Control Number:   2015901122

ISBN:   Hardcover            978-1-5035-3681-4

            Softcover               978-1-5035-3682-1

            eBook                     978-1-5035-3683-8

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted

in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system,

without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the

product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance

to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Rev. date: 02/02/2015

Xlibris

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CONTENTS

PART I

ARRIVAL

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

PART II

REUNION

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter-Forty

Chapter Forty-One

Chapter Forty-Two

Chapter Forty-Three

Chapter Forty-Four

Chapter Forty-Five

Chapter Forty-Six

Acknowledgements

Dedicated to my Soulmate, editor and wife of 49 years, Brandy

PART I

Arrival

CHAPTER ONE

His entrance into the suite was unannounced, but it was not unexpected. She knew he was in possession of the electronic key. He had insisted on that as a precondition to working within the operation. Loretta did not see this as an intrusion to doing business. However, she did have problems with a few other company mandates.

A woman of unparalleled self-control, Loretta sat on the edge of a disheveled bed, adjusting the wrap to a white satin chemise top. The slippery garment fell off her shoulder, revealing a sculptured breast that displayed a dark erect nipple. Loretta had always been cognizant of her God-gifted body; she didn’t hesitate to flaunt it. At five feet eleven inches, her chocolate frame encased a near-perfect symmetrical figure. Piercing black eyes and matching hair served as the final complement.

Closed curtains effectively severed the room from an imposing view of the city, transforming midafternoon into night with the one burning bedside lamp. Loretta gave a casual glance at the tall man standing across the room and said, You’re early. I thought we were on for breakfast, tomorrow.

The figure stepped further into the light, revealing his ebony features. Something’s come up. So I thought I’d pay you a visit. Did I interrupt something?

Of course not. I know you better than to make that mistake.

This was her way of acknowledging the open security bolt on the door, nullifying any real surprises. Loretta sensed a weakness. She knew he was tempted to break one of his staunch rules: that in spite of himself, he wanted her. In keeping with her persona, she teased, Don’t you want some of this? You don’t have to lie to me. We both know—you could taste it.

The words came at him as she slipped into red stilettos and stood full frontal with an unraveling chemise top. She started for the bathroom in a hurried manner, interrupting his moment to respond. En route, she allowed her body to brush against his, forcing her lower extremity against his thigh.

He knew Loretta well. This was her silent opportunity to break his will. Her scent permeated the room. He knew the aroma was not hers alone. The sound of the shower reinforced his positive feeling of her as a professional. He had witnessed the client’s exodus before making his entrance.

Flirting became a mutual game they played with each other from the day she had joined the company, always with an aura of class and always at a respectable distance. This behavior placed him in the uncomfortable position of justifying his first rule of conduct: The boss does not sleep with staff. All of his ladies were so informed.

Lately, he could not help but notice Loretta’s overt disregard of his rules. She had expertly played a vulnerable spot in him that he would never acknowledge. Her apparent attributes made it easier for him to dismiss disconcerting issues.

He relished her flexibility at presentations with product display the order of the day. Armed with a broad college education, Loretta could market a preschool toy to a room full of high-tech programmers. After all, the real product on sale was sex, and the hotel conference rooms were usually exclusive to men. One meeting could guarantee several days of appointments. Without a doubt, she was the best of his professionals.

Loretta partially opened the bathroom door. He could see escaping steam as she maneuvered in front of the bathroom mirror, giving him a partial view of her nude body. Why didn’t she inquire the reason for his unscheduled visit? Did she know the reason?

It was questions that brought him here. Shirley, his operations manager, alerted him of her concerns. She feared Loretta had started a love affair with cocaine. This, in itself, he could tolerate. He was decidedly not a hypocrite and therefore, would not prohibit something he occasionally enjoyed. Something else bothered him.

Loretta had been seen in the company of one Anthony Chavez, a celebrated dealer of drugs, women, and any indiscriminant endeavor that presented itself. Anthony Chavez had another face. He was an informant, a deduction on the part of Shirley after crunching the numbers. Tony’s proximity to the demise of several known crime figures, absent indictment, more than verified her analysis. As Shirley predicted, the Loretta-Chavez relationship represented a serious breach of security to the company.

Watching Loretta apply her makeup through the partially open bathroom door, he thought of saving his questions for breakfast. His thought process came to an abrupt halt at the ringing sound of the telephone. Loretta’s voice resonated through the ringing. Honey, fix us a drink. You’ll find your favorite at the bar.

He took this as a mistake on her part. He had no intention of answering the phone. This was her office. At the completion of the sixth ring, the telephone became silent. The hotel answering service clicked on, indicated by a red flashing light atop the telephone.

He poured a generous portion of Johnny Walker Black over ice cubes, with a dash of lemon. A feeling came over him—unanswered questions. With drink in hand, he moved toward the flashing light, pressed the button, and lifted the receiver.

Hello, Lo, Tony here. See you tonight … Got some stuff just for you …

He replaced the receiver in time with Loretta’s exit from the bathroom. She was wearing a black lace bra and panties—halfway to fully dress. The perfume aroma of Gardenia entered the room. Loretta registered his proximity and took notice.

Was it anyone important?

Not really. He decided to join her by suspending intros. It was more in tune with their history.

Having made his decision, he offered, Your drink is waiting. Are you going to waste my masterpiece?

Wow! Nobody makes this like you do. When are you going to let me in on the recipe?

What does Tony Chavez mean to you?

Tony’s a businessman, just like you. He means nothing more than a business venture. Hey, this is America. A girl’s got a right to cover her ass when planning on a future.

He was staring at unparalleled self-control.

You planning a future with Tony?

Loretta recognized the tone of his question, and for the first time, thought she might be in danger. She had never seen him angry. His past was surrounded in rumor. Nevertheless, their meetings were always on a level of friendship, never overbearing.

His concern with her relationship with Anthony Chavez disturbed her. She thought her first encounter with Tony at a club accidental. Tony’s devil may care manner and sense of humor was the ideal tonic for her mood. Tony’s level of gifts increased handsomely, as did his level of inquisition. Some of those gifts came in the form of a white powder. Loretta always felt in control, avoiding any Company exposure.

In answering him, she chose her words carefully. "Right now, we’re just friends—nothing serious. Plus, he’s got too many women around him for me. He does give me a free pass now and then. You know—some coke. Like I said, ‘He’s a businessman.’"

She watched him shake his empty glass, rattling the ice cubes. He stood and moved toward the bar. Turning to her, he said, Ready for another?

What is this called anyway?

"A Rob Roy … Doesn’t take much, but every ingredient is important."

Loretta, sensing a change in topic, began to relax. She saw a window of opportunity to resume a long-standing project of hers.

You know, it’s not too late. My outfit is still in the closet. You can have the honor.

He took in the view of Loretta, posing with legs crossed on the second undisturbed bed. He approached her with a glass in each hand and set both drinks on the night table between the double beds. He stood facing her as she opened the front of his trousers, taking him into her mouth. Bringing him to the threshold of climax, she stopped. He was discovering firsthand the expert he had in Loretta.

He ordered, Stand up and turn around.

Loretta followed his instructions, knowing he was doing exactly what she wanted. She undid her bra and let it fall to the floor. He embraced her from behind. She felt something strange about his touch, something she was unable to identify.

He brought his hands about her in a caress. Loretta focused: Something is wrong with his hands. He’s wearing gloves—surgical gloves!

She felt a pressure on the back of her neck. Her mouth was now covered by one hand. The smell of latex entered her nostrils. She was being carried about the room, locked from behind in a vertical position. Flailing about the arms, she felt one last excruciating pain. Then it was over.

CHAPTER TWO

James Curtis sat in the parked car with the engine running. He needed a few moments to gather himself and give the air-condition a fighting chance against the sweltering heat. Albuquerque in August is among the hottest places on earth. The freshly poured Johnny Black lay on the console between the front seats.

There was no reason to hurry. Loretta’s availability for afternoon sex discounted any pressing appointments on her part. It would be hours before Tony missed her. And why waste such a finely blended scotch?

James manufactured a string of reasons not to put the car in gear. The Truth—he felt viscerally repulsed by the events of the last hour. Unsure of his feelings, he denied the possibility of sentimental attachment to the woman. It was his indecision that scared him most. He knew before he entered the room his mission was to protect the company; yet, he allowed her to seduce him. Her expert manipulation of him made everything perfectly clear; she would not leave the room alive.

He thought aloud, Raphael would be disappointed. It should not have taken so long. Maybe if she wasn’t so tall. It must be the rust.

James reached for the glass; his hand was unsteady. What have I lost in twenty years?

Six years had elapsed since James returned to the States. Not until this day did he feel compelled to terminate a life while in the World. Life in Saigon was much different. Rules did not exist in that time and place. An entire country lived by one motto: staying alive. Raphael became the man who would teach James how to stay alive. As an expatriate in a war-torn country, James credited their improbable meeting as the beginning of a second chance.

Ten years James’ senior, Raphael Devereux had little respect for improbable meetings. Always the optimist, Raphael looked at all forms of chance as a prospect. That day on the street, he heard the shot that sent a vehicle careening into a food stand. He saw the tall black man extricate himself from the wreck and stumble down the avenue. Filling in the pieces was easy. The black man was in trouble. He was running from the police, and he was a soldier. How odd—a black soldier running from the police in Saigon!

James would learn much from the diminutive Raphael. A graduate of French parochial schools, Raphael spoke fluent English in addition to several other languages.

However, he was ambivalent in his use of language, randomly interchanging English and French in sentence structure. To James’ advantage, this contributed to his enhancement of English, in addition to a transient knowledge of French.

Raphael loved Saigon most for its insidious offerings. In this part of the world, the word underground was an oxymoron. Corruption ran rampant, and the black market operated freely on the street with the blessings of obliging police.

The cost of doing business in this environment came at a price. Raphael would teach James that on occasion, that cost translated to the ultimate price. In time, James proved to be very efficient at collecting debts.

Raphael had emphasized the importance of eliminating emotion in doing business. He cautioned against revenge, but refused to negate it by saying, Money and revenge are the deadliest corruptions; nevertheless, they both feel good.

James knew his new life was not far removed from the disease he knew as a combat soldier. He adapted to the lifestyle of his mentor out of necessity rather than choice. Adapting to his mentor’s idiosyncrasies was more difficult. Raphael may have been attentive to his gambling parlors and brothels, but he was most delinquent in monitoring his health. He admitted to a phobia of doctors, particularly in Saigon, while insisting all the real doctors were found in France.

An incessant smoker, Raphael fit in with the general populace. It would not be the threat of cancer to dislodge him from Saigon. Nor would it be the advancing North Vietnamese Army upon the city. Raphael Devereux secured plane tickets for himself and James to Paris for the purpose of addressing the pain that accompanies neglected dental work.

Once airborne, James thought about the Freedom Bird he failed to catch a few years earlier. He also pondered: Are good dentists found only in France?

James was well aware of the possibilities of strange circumstance. Here he was, leaving Vietnam for the first time, albeit with the help of a forged passport. Raphael assured him there was nothing to worry about—his contact did excellent work.

The trip became a catharsis for James, reminding him a world did exist beyond Vietnam. He felt ashamed of losing perspective of his own homeland and the boy child that existed as a picture in his wallet. It made him wonder: Are they still looking for me?

The Communist had reclaimed their land or claimed it for the first time. James was never sure. The North was eager to assert its authority. Saigon became Ho Chi Minh City overnight, the same night James accompanied Raphael back to Saigon because he truly believed he had no other place to go.

Despite the efforts of the controlling government in Hanoi, the new and improved Ho Chi Minh City stubbornly adhered to the tenants of radicalism. Having tasted the lascivious side of capitalism, the reformed political and business community accepted the new social mandates in diluted form. Cold Turkey was not on the menu.

In time, Hanoi’s presence began to assert itself. This was facilitated by a not so subtle internal transformation. The benefits of world trade could not be ignored when confronting national reconstruction. Hanoi faced a unique dilemma. This necessitated a moderate reduction of anticapitalistic initiatives directly affecting the former Saigon.

Resources needed to rebuild the country were abundantly available in the West, in general, and the United States in particular. The United States had spent billions in rebuilding Germany and Japan after World War II. The United States was the decisive winner. In the aftermath of the Vietnam War, Hanoi was the winner.

Ten years after the fall of the Republic of South Vietnam, Raphael Devereux announced to James Curtis he was returning to France. Raphael had become disenchanted with Vietnam. He argued the city was no longer home to a dishonest businessman. The thrill was gone.

Raphael offered James a free ticket if he would accompany him to Paris. Always the businessman, Raphael proposed financial assistance to James should he decide to reenter the United States. The proposal was based on the assumption James would establish a business similar to the Saigon operation. Running an honest business and paying taxes was out of the question.

James knew his mentor was in failing health. He suspected this was the real reason for the return to France. Raphael was unapproachable on the subject of his health. He did share his contact sources more freely with James, something unheard of in the past. Toward the end, Raphael turned his bank accounts over to James. James would come to learn his mentor didn’t have much use for banks.

On his death bed, Raphael again warned James against the hazards of revenge.

Jimmy, it’s too short …

What’s too short?

Life … this life. No excuse, no excuse for mistakes. That’s my life, not yours.

Old man, you did well. I don’t see you begging for anything. Stop that talk … You ain’t going anywhere.

But, James, you have a place to go. Don’t cloud your eyes with the past.

James could not bring himself to accept how well his mentor knew him. It’s been over twenty years since he disappeared from the face of the earth. Even James came to believe he would not see his homeland again. The remoteness of this event enabled James to subjugate his desire for revenge. Vietnam, however, did leave its marks, marks that scared him for life. If the opportunity presented itself, he was prepared to do what was necessary to open an exit from purgatory.

Keeping the thought alive, he reached for the glove compartment. The .45 caliber pistol was in pristine condition, the only token from a friend and prison escort on that fateful day. He had never used it in his assignments under Raphael. He had vowed only one occasion for its use. James gave thanks to his mentor for teaching him patience and perseverance. The day was drawing near when he would put this special weapon to use and ignore his mentor’s admonition.

CHAPTER THREE

James pulled the Lincoln into rush-hour traffic at Albuquerque’s sprawling New Town. He had become familiar with the city’s irregular geography, a city that developed in accordance with a shifting Rio Grande. Over a two-hundred-year period, the river gradually shifted west from the original Old Town, bringing with it a population shift. In 1880, the railroad arrived in central New Mexico. Its tracks missed Old Town by two miles, causing another population shift. New Town was borne out of the train depot and grew until it eventually engulfed Old Town.

The entire city abounds with art in all forms, something apparent to anyone stepping off a plane at Albuquerque International Sunport. The terminal serves as an exhibit for New Mexico’s artists throughout its structure. Through his association with Raphael, James acquired a liking for various forms of art. Over the years, what was a slight fascination developed into a passion.

James Curtis would be first to admit he was light-years removed from the streets of Newark, New Jersey. This was made evident to him on his first visit to the States. He made that trip against Raphael’s advice—too risky. James decided to take that risk to pay his last respects to his mother. He was surprised at the ease of entering the country as a wanted man. It made him wonder if the government was still looking for him. Nevertheless, it reassured him he was not among the ten most wanted.

He said his goodbyes in the funeral chapel, attracting only a few curious eyes. The obligatory mourners that make up every family weighed in on the same question: Doesn’t he look like Harriett’s son? The group was put at ease by the remark of one family historian who insisted Harriett’s son died in Vietnam.

James lingered in the hope Veronica might appear with his son, Darrell. Veronica failed to make her presence known, but, James did get the chance to see the young man his son had become. He looked at the younger version of himself from afar. A burning sensation