Bamford Luck

By Arthur Eastly

Drug importers had murdered his parents who were growing old and on holidays. Now Bamford was seething with anger. He had waited for the police to solve the case and they had not. Now he was determined to do it for them. All the training in the military had equipped him for undercover and silent attack and he was going ahead. Using assumed names

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rushmore Press LLC
• Release date: Oct 25, 2021
• ISBN: 9781956010947

Book preview

ISBN 978-1-956010-93-0 (paperback)

ISBN 978-1-956010-94-7 (digital)

Copyright © 2021 by Arthur Eastly

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods without the prior written permission of the publisher. For permission requests, solicit the publisher via the address below.

Bamford Luck is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and events are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Events or locals or any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Rushmore Press LLC

1 800 460 9188

www.rushmorepress.com

Printed in the United States of America

Other books authored by Arthur C. Eastly

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

CHAPTER 1

Another great day for haying had arrived on the Bamford Ranch with the sun shining from a nearly cloudless sky. The sun had come up two hours before and would be drying the grass. Clay Bamford sat at the kitchen table nursing a mug of coffee with Alorenzo Gonzales doing the same across from him. They were waiting for Clay’s parents to come for breakfast. Most days both men would be long gone by this time except today the senior Bamfords were leaving to travel to the west coast. In total miles it was not so far from the ranch in eastern Idaho to Seattle, still Clay wasn’t sure it was a wise move with his mother fighting a weak heart and taking several medications. Well, she was excited about going to visit her sister.

Clay looked out a window. After dad drives away, I’ll go back to moving bales into storage.

What I figured you’d want to do. Alorenzo waved one hand. Reckon I will saddle my horse and take a ride through the bred heifers.

You do that Lorenz; probably take you all day to see them all.

Expect so Clay, if I don’t get to all of them today, just have to ride out again tomorrow. The sound of feet walking across the sitting room floor reached their ears.

What’s this about not seeing them all today? The words came from Will Bamford, and he smiled at the good shot he had gotten in at Alorenzo.

Alorenzo’s white haired head turned and his face grinned. Clay told me to slow down cu’s I been showing you up.

Will smiled as he slapped Alorenzo on the shoulder and went to pour a cup of coffee. With a full cup Will leaned back against the counter and looked at Clay, appraising his son who stood well over six feet tall with wide shoulders, a narrow waist, gray eyes, and was normally so quiet he could go all day hardly saying a word. With Robert dead Clay was their only son, in fact only child. Will smiled. Clay was not exactly a child; he was twenty-eight years old, made of solid muscle and bone, and tougher than an old Angus Bull. Still Clay’s mother thought of him as her child. Clayton William Bamford, his wife’s little boy. Some little boy! Will had recognized years before that inside Clay had the hard steel core of the old Bamfords. Always polite, especially to women, he would fight at the drop of a hat and once started he became like a whirling dervish with a cold hard intensity that few people could stand up to. Even as a school boy no one bothered Clay a second time. You couldn’t push him. It was a Bamford trait which served the family well for several generations.

Clay saw the slight smile and wondered what his dad could be thinking. Should I bring the motorhome to the house so we can pack it for your trip?

Thank you, Clay, while you’re getting the motorhome Lorenz and I will start cooking breakfast.

Clay walked to the mud room and pulled on a pair of boots, put on his everyday working Stetson, and went out the door. While crossing the ranch yard to the machine shed, he mentally reviewed everything done to get the motorhome prepared. The three men had vacuumed, washed windows both inside and out, checked the supplies, and wiped down the interior and appliances. While his mom put fresh sheets on the bed Clay checked engine oil, air pressure in the tires, and the lights. Will and Alorenzo brought lawn chairs to add to the storage bins. To the best of his reckoning the motor home was ready to go once his parents put their luggage on board.

The engine fired up immediately and leaving it running to warm up Clay walked through the unit doing a last-minute check. The closets were full of clothes, the kitchen cabinets seemed to have everything useful for cooking, and the fridge and freezer had so much food in them there was hardly any space not being used.

Sitting down in the driver’s seat Clay looked at the fuel gauges. The tanks were full of diesel and the water tank with water. Shifting the automatic transmission into low drive Clay pulled out of the machine shed and drove to the house. Everything was ready.

Mary sat at the table when Clay returned to the kitchen and smiled. Good morning mom, how are you?

Doing just fine Clay how is my son this great morning?

We have another good day for haying. If you’d get your husband loaded up and hit the road I could go to work.

We’ll be going in a few minutes. Be good for you to sit still for a while. Received a letter yesterday from your aunt Sadie over in Seattle; did Will tell you?

Clay pulled out a chair and sat down at the table. Not a word, he’s getting cussed mean about sharing the news.

Mary laughed, ‘He probably didn’t think it was important enough to go around talking. The letter boils down to her telling me they will be happy to see us and have us stay for a few days."

Will came with a box of corn flakes and a bowl for Mary. He went to the fridge and pulled out a box of milk to bring to the table. Sadie’s letter didn’t have much in it Clay; just women’s talk.

Mary swatted Will on the hip with her hand. You men don’t think anything is important unless it is about your cows. Mary poured corn flakes into her bowl and reached for the milk.

Alorenzo brought a platter full of bacon strips and a pile of whole wheat toast. Will brought a platter of scrambled eggs. The two men pulled out chairs to sit in. You want to try some to this bacon Mary?

Best not do that Lorenz. Must stick close to the doctor’s diet. You men go ahead and eat up. It saddened Alorenzo to see Mary eating so little and hardly any of the good food. She was thin and had no color in her cheeks. Damn heart taking in after her and for all the years she was always so lively and full of fun. Now she was struggling to stay alive.

Alorenzo looked at Will before asking. What road you taking to Seattle?

Plan to go out here to the highway and follow 93 up to Missoula then take Interstate 90 up through Coeur d’Alene and over to Spokane. Mary has some cousins up there we have not visited with for many years. When Mary is ready to move on, we will stick with Interstate 90 all the way to Seattle.

The men settled down to eating and conversation faded away. When they were done eating Clay brought the coffee pot and refilled cups. Mary was drinking milk with her cereal.

You are going to finish stacking the bales, Clay?

Hopefully, the weather stays good. Probably take a couple of weeks or more to finish up. You want bales here in the yard or loose hay?

When the weather turns nasty it is always nice to have hay in the loft. For the rest of the winter bales are fine. You do whatever you think is right. Time is getting near to separate the bulls from the herd. When you have a slow day gather up the bulls and move them into the bull pasture.

Sounds good dad, hope you two enjoy your trip. Is your suitcase packed mom?

It’s lying open on the bed with everything I want to take packed. Please close the case for me and bring it out to the motorhome.

Clay stood up. Don’t forget to take your pills mom. He walked away and a few minutes later came back with the case. Will and Alorenzo had the table cleared and Mary was standing at the sink washing down pills.

Will and Clay carried the luggage out to the motorhome and Alorenzo came from the house with Mary holding on to his arm. Alorenzo doted on Mary who had nursed and looked after him for many years after his rodeo accident. They got her settled in the large well-padded bosses chair and Clay buckled her in. Will did up his seat belt. Clay and Alorenzo stood off to one side as the motorhome started moving and waved goodbye to them. The men stayed right there and watched the vehicle until it was out of sight.

Clay commented. Hope they have a good trip, and it isn’t going to be too much for mom. Alorenzo shrugged his shoulders. Clay looked at his watch. I’ve lost a couple of hours; going to drive out to the hay field. See you later Lorenz. Clay walked away and Alorenzo watched him go thinking, ‘Clay is always so quiet, but he walks like a cougar stalking his next meal and he is smart and tough. Had his troubles over the years and has all those scars on his body. Sure would like to hear some of the stories. Don’t expect it is going to happen, Clay doesn’t like to talk about his army days.’

* * *

The motor home rolled along the county gravel road throwing up a dense cloud of dust and came to a halt at the stop sign at Highway 93. A car was coming toward them from the south and Will shifted the transmission into park. Mighty dry out there Mary; we put up a dense cloud of dust coming along the road.

Like Clay said Will, it is good haying weather.

Right, you are Mary, close to three weeks since the last rain. Weather stays like this the bales should be gathered up by the time we get home.

Don’t you be worrying Will. Clay and the men will get the work done. You haven’t been on a holiday in a coon’s age and darn well better relax and enjoy yourself. Besides I plan to kick your butt playing crib.

Will watched the car go past and drove onto the highway, turning north for Missoula, Montana. He looked in the large mirror at Mary who was peering at the road map and smiled. How many years since we were in Missoula?

Mary shook her head thoughtfully, Four or five years or more. Sure, is more comfortable riding in this motor home than the old pickup you had.

Reckon you are right Mary. We are not so young anymore and both of us are getting soft. More and more we want things to be comfortable and convenient; don’t want to put up with roughing it.

You may be right Will. Our son is sure not soft. You grab his arm or watch him, and it is obvious he is solid muscle. He moves really fast when he needs to.

You’re a very observant mother. Clay has never said much about his years in the army and mostly only about training camps and such. The training he got and whatever he did hardened him up. I can tell you one thing. Watching him since he came back to the ranch he is not a man you want to get into a fight with. He would be very rough.

They lapsed into silence and an hour later Mary was sleeping in her chair.

* * *

Luong An Chie’n eyed two teenagers smoking outside the entrance to the building housing the Seattle Asian Youth Club. A local businessman, Luong owned a popular Vietnamese Restaurant located three blocks away on the edge of this old historical part of Seattle. Many of these buildings were built way back in the 1800’s and the years of storms and weathering had given them a well-used appearance. Many sat unused and uncared for, which caused outsiders to categorize the area as a rundown, slum neighborhood. Luong was a sponsor the Asian Club and provided the major source of its funding. Both teenagers moved aside making room for him to go past and Luong noted this, briefly wondering if the slim young girl was putting out for her older companion.

Inside, Luong glanced around the large main room at the ping pong and pool tables, and empty chairs, before climbing the long wooden stairs to the second floor. Each step going up caused the old, worn wooden steps to creak and squeal. No one could approach the second floor without his arrival being loudly announced.

Voices coming from the upstairs meeting room which Luong used as an office alerted him to the presence of two of his lieutenants. Conversation stopped when he pulled the door open. Good morning my friends, Luong greeted the two men inside, Are there any messages? He watched Quang, his senior lieutenant at the club, for an answer.

No messages, Uncle.

Quang delivered messages; carried money from the drug operation to the club house, and in turn delivered cash to pay for shipments coming in through their supply network. Quang, son of Luong’s second sister, as a family member, rated consideration as being more trustworthy than other young people, who were not relatives. Quang used the generous cash income he received from Luong to support his mother, brothers and sisters.

Luong smiled to himself, thinking what a wise decision this building had been. When he decided to purchase this old, long unused, brick bank building with its large vault on the main floor many thought he had lost his mind. Luong used the vault to store large stacks of money generated from his distribution operations. The large vault proved to be invaluable. Long hidden from view in a work room behind a heavy oak door, the vault was a special feature of the building. Few people in the area remembered the existence of the vault from when a bank operated in this building during the early years of the city. Even better had been Luong’s follow-up decision to sponsor a youth club, centered on the building, a community service which provided a cover for the real use he intended for the building. During afternoons and evenings, the club became crowded with laughing, joking teens. Two of the top table tennis players in the Pacific Northwest played from and represented the club.

Pleased with himself, Luong’s thoughts turned to the Fish Market, a business selling a large volume of sea food, which another relative operated for him on the waterfront. The business was located in a long wooden building with its front door on a paved street and back door exiting onto its own saltwater dock. The original owner operated as a Ship Chandler, selling supplies and providing minor repairs to ship owners, sea going sail boats, and fishermen. Now, well over a hundred years in age, it was widely known as an excellent source of sea food.

Quang have you been to the fish market recently?

Quang thought for a moment. It has been two months except for the Friday night when I deliver money for the boat.

It would please me if you went one day this week to look over the operation. Find out if it is running smoothly, are the people on the staff happy, is the fish being kept fresh. Are the customers happy, those types of things? Bring me a report.

Certainly Uncle, I will go this coming week during a day when the store is in full operation.

Luong thought for a minute. It will be best if you go in the afternoon and check on the building. The building enjoyed a long history at the current location on Salmon Bay a short distance around a knob of land from Fisherman’s Terminal. Old and badly weathered, the building had existed for many years. Luong’s extended family operated the extremely popular fish marketing business generating substantial profits. More importantly, the fish business provided a cover for the importation and distribution of drugs.

While you are there talk to the men in the back, find out what they have to say about the charter business. Often much is learned from the idle talk of employees.

Luong mused. Large numbers of shoppers came to the market to purchase sea food. His workers had been told to make sure the various types of sea food were always fresh and sold at extremely competitive or often lower prices than available elsewhere. Particularly on Fridays and Saturdays, customers crowded the market, buying large quantities of fresh sea food. On those busy days, cars and people crowded the immediate area, overflowing the parking lot and searching the street for empty parking spaces. The noise created by crowds of jostling, hurried people and the pervading smell of sea food, provided a perfect cover for Luong’s primary operation which imported and distributed a totally different product. Right under the noses of happy shoppers laughing and talking in a variety of languages, the hidden product was being processed for distribution. When ready it was shipped in what seemed to be normal vehicles leaving the area; always with a smelly fish or two wrapped in brown paper lying on the floor.

Luong smiled at his thoughts. ‘He provided the brains, planning and management, keeping himself remote from the product, relying instead on his henchmen. This arrangement required strict discipline and harsh punishment of anyone who broke the rules, stole from him, or dared to use the product they sold.’

Luong’s oldest brother, along with a cousin of the same generation, handled the punishment of employees who broke the rules. They also punished any customer who failed to pay promptly. The rules became an established and accepted system which worked well based on ten years’ experience building the business. Luong was not popular with the people he employed—he demanded loyalty and obedience—because of his stern, demanding manner and the severe punishment meted out to those who strayed.

Luong was of medium height with a slim build, and dark brown eyes that stared unblinking, particularly when he was angry. He always combed his black hair straight back and had it regularly trimmed. He wore baggy, wrinkled suits and shoes which rarely received polish. Luong never wasted money and did not want to attract the attention of anyone by appearing successful. Setting aside his review, Luong walked to the desk to sit down before asking, Do you have everything ready to make collections on Monday?

Yes uncle. The list of how much each dealer owes is ready and they know not to miss an appointment.

Good. As usual keep careful records. My business plans will take me away until Sunday. As always keep an eye on the club. Now you two leave, I need time to think.

Luong watched the door close behind both teenaged boys and unlocked a file drawer in the battered desk purchased cheaply from a dealer in used furniture. He removed a Washington State highway map and a street map of Portland, Oregon. From a brown folder he got a computer printout of an e-mail with the name, phone number and address of his contact in Portland.

The agreed meeting would occur this evening. Allowing three hours for the drive, plenty of time remained. Luong never drove fast, always staying under the speed limit. It is never wise to attract the attention of policemen. On this trip Luong planned to propose to his contact an expansion in the Portland distribution business, which if agreed, would provide growth in Luong’s imports; eventually resulting in a large increase in profits for him. The Portland contact did not know Luong had been promised a lower per unit price for increasing the total volume of his imports and he felt no need to share these savings with his customers. Luong knew there was no hurry to commence the drive south.

Sitting quietly, he used the time to mentally review operations. Luong fathered and continued to build a business dynasty which would make his sons and their son’s rich beyond belief and he, Luong An Chie’n, would be remembered by future generations of the family as the founder of a vast business empire.

* * *

After spending four days in the Spokane area Will Bamford drove the large motor home west on Interstate 90 arriving in Seattle after the sun set. Over twenty years had slipped by since he last drove the streets of this city which had grown and changed. Or maybe it could be his memory was not so good anymore. Bamford resided in the country, wasn’t young anymore, and never liked city driving, especially at night when it was dark. He glanced in the mirror at his wife Mary, lounging in the leather captain’s chair, before telling her, I’m going to get off the highway and find a place to stop for the night. In the day light we can follow the street map easier.

You do that, Will. I’ll make sandwiches and give you a crib lesson.

Will was pleased to hear Mary so perky. In the mirror he grinned at her, You never saw the day. Bamford took the off ramp and drove slowly along the dark streets, thinking, ‘This is an old neighborhood.’ A service station, closed for the night, appeared as he approached the next street corner. He stopped on the street and for several minutes considered the service station. He could see nothing that disturbed him, so he drove in, turned the motor home around, and backed up to park for the night. After lowering the hydraulic jacks to level and stabilize the vehicle he went out with a flashlight to check. When he came back Mary asked, Everything look okay to you?

Seems to be fine, from what I can see this is an old area of the city. Can’t see much of it; in the morning we will get a better look at things.

Mary took sliced ham, mustard, and dill pickles from the fridge and began making Will a sandwich. With a wet cloth Will wiped the table top off before filling two drinking glasses with water. He kept an eye on Mary; she was not eating near as much as he thought she should. Mary brought his sandwich and put it on the table before going back and cutting a slice of bread in half and topped it with a small slice of ham.

Sitting at the table Mary bit off a bite of bread and chewed. She had a thoughtful look on her face and Will recognized something was coming. Wonder how Clay is making out on the ranch?

Willed grinned, Probably working twelve to fourteen hours a day stacking those big round bales. Don’t you go worrying about your son?

He’s always so darned quiet.

Clay has always been quiet. Will started to bite into his sandwich, now he put it back on his plate. Actually, more quiet since he came home from the army.

I always get the feeling there is something bothering him. Maybe it is bad memories of something that happened in the army.

Don’t know about that Mary. You remember the general who came out to the ranch to visit Clay? Mary nodded her head. He told me Clay had seen some tough action and spent time overseas visiting other countries. Told me we should be proud of our son. Clay has never mentioned anything about what he did or where he went. Except we know he was in Switzerland where he bought this Rolex I’m wearing.

Well, he hasn’t been back for two years yet. Mary sighed, Maybe more time will take care of things. Will went back to eating and Mary nibbled. When they were done Will gathered the dishes, washed them, and stored them away.

Mary held the deck of cards and put a pad of paper to keep score on out on