Chapter 23
Christine helped Lori pack her things, ensuring there were no hidden cell phones or other communication devices making the trip.
When they were ready to go, I stepped outside and scanned the area. There was no sign of Orlando, but there was a huge scene going on up the street.
Tony had parked behind the subject SUV, with his lights flashing, and he had arranged for a couple of patrol cars to provide backup. The patrol cars had parked diagonally, obstructing the street at both ends of the block, with their blue and red lights flashing. People had come out of their homes to watch as the drama unfolded.
The two men who had been in the SUV were now sitting on the front lawn of someone’s home, with a patrolman standing behind them. Tony and another uniformed officer were searching their vehicle.
“So much for being sneaky,” I said.
Christine laughed.
This provided the perfect distraction for us to leave the area unobserved.
We drove straight to Christine’s apartment to get Lori settled in. Christine’s apartment was a two-bedroom unit. Christine’s roommate had moved out a few months earlier and Christine liked having a “guest” room. Lori instantly fell in love with “Mr. Tumescence”, Christine’s cat. I could see that she and “Tummy” were going to become great friends.
Tony called me.
“I shook down those boys in the SUV.”
“Yeah, I saw that. It was quite a scene. Why were you searching their vehicle?”
“They gave me permission. When I approached the vehicle, they were quick to show me their concealed carry permits. Both men were carrying Glock 19s. Get this-they had credentials for something called the ‘World Wide Security Agency’. They had badges with WWSA worked into the logo. Badges, as if they were some sort of official agency! I was tempted to arrest them for imitating a Police Officer or Federal Agent. But they weren’t actually doing that. It’s more like they’re ‘rent- a- cops’. I explained to them we had received a report of a suspicious vehicle, and I asked if we could search their SUV. The bozos said ‘yes’, so we did.
“Did you find anything illegal?”
“No, J.W. Everything was very clean.”
“Thanks, Tony. Maybe they’ll get the message and leave me alone.”
“There’s something else, J.W.”
“What’s that?”
Christine was watching me closely.
“There were no wants or warrants out on either of them. They had no criminal records, and they were both former military.”
“No surprise there.”
“Ok, but neither of them was carrying their ID on their person. They had their wallets stashed in the console. They had to dig them out when I asked for their ID.”
“Sounds sort of familiar, but it’s not illegal, Tony.”
“It sounds dangerous. Especially given that both of these guys sort of match the profile of the guy who tried to kill you a couple of months ago.”
“Thanks, Tony. I hear what you’re saying.”
My research on the World Wide Security Agency turned up some rather interesting information. WWSA was a Private Security Contractor or PSC, often employed by various government agencies to provide security services for traveling diplomats and celebrities, in dangerous hot spots around the world.
I knew these guys. Not these guys in particular, but guys just like them. I had been detailed on missions where I had to work in close proximity with private contractors and Non-Government Organizations or NGOs.
In dangerous parts of the globe, in circumstances where use of the military would not be appropriate, various governments rely on PSCs to protect important assets and NGO employees. These PSCs are routinely manned by former military men, now making much better pay than they had made while working directly for Uncle Sam. I had nearly gone to work for one of those agencies myself. I probably would have, but the company got into some serious hot water when some civilians were killed in a controversial gun battle.
Further digging revealed the WWSA was owned by Strategic International Corporation, probably an umbrella corporation. I would have to do much more in depth research to find out who the real owners were.
What in the world did a PSC want with me? These guys and gals usually provided personal protection details for VIPs. Why would they be tailing me, and was there a connection to Simpson Oil and Gas Company?
At the office, Christine was schooling Lori on the proper etiquette for answering a business telephone.
“Good afternoon, Tucker Investigation, how may I direct your call?”
“That was really well done, girlfriend. You sounded professional and friendly, just perfect.”
Christine gave Lori a little hug.
“Christine, can I see you in my office? Lori, you’ve got the phone. If anyone actually calls, you answer it just like that.”
“Really, Mr Tucker, can I answer the phone?”
“You bet, you keep working like you have been, we might just put you on the payroll. I think you should start calling me John, OK?”
Lori made a face. I realized my mistake.
“If it’s OK with you, sir, I’ll just call you Mr. Tucker or maybe ‘Boss man’.”
I nodded.
“That’ll work.”
When I had Christine in my office, behind closed doors, I opened a drawer in my desk and brought out a .380 semi-automatic handgun.
Christine raised her eyebrows, then her hands.
“I surrender,” she said.
“Christine, do you have any experience shooting a handgun?”
She snorted.
How very unladylike!
“Are you kidding, I grew up in the Hill Country of Texas, with brothers. We all hunted and fished. I’ve fired pretty much all of the typically available handguns. Even toys like that one,” she said, derisively.
“Guns aren’t toys, Christine. I’m concerned for your safety.”
She crossed her arms and looked at me, like I had just insulted her.
Today, Christine was wearing a grey skirt with a royal blue sleeveless blouse. Her hair was pulled back into a fancy, swirly thing behind her head. Her lipstick was red/orange, to match her hair. She had on silver jewelry.
She managed to look tough and beautiful, all at the same time.
“John, did you really think you were the only person around here that can shoot? I have a concealed carry permit. Right now, out there in my purse, I have a Lady Smith revolver in .357 magnum. That’s my concealed carry piece. I prefer revolvers because they are highly reliable and always ready to fire. That little semi-auto gem has to be cocked, and it’s subject to jamming. It’s like a whittled down 9 mm.”
I looked at her and put my hands up.
“I stand corrected.”
“My daddy always told me, ‘A lady should have a little something more about her than meets the eye.”
“Well, you surely do, Christine.”
She smiled.
“Count on it.”
After Christine returned to the reception area, I called Tom Montgomery.
“Mr. Montgomery, I have concluded our investigation of Tim Shaw. We were unable to find anything to indicate that he is dangerous, or that he poses any sort of threat to you or your sister.”
“Are you sure, I mean maybe there is something you could find out if you spent more time on surveillance.”
“Yes, sir, I’m quite sure. There would be no point to any further surveillance.”
“Yeah, well my information suggests you haven’t followed him around enough, yet.”
I thought about his statement.
…His ‘information?’ Now, who could have informed him of my surveillance endeavors?
“Mr. Montgomery, I’ve searched his background and current social and business activities. I’v
e personally interviewed people who know him, and I’ve detailed one of my associates to do surveillance on him for several hours every day, for a week. I have video tape of him everywhere he’s been after work, for the entire period of time. He’s pretty much spent all his free time with your sister. I’m telling you there’s nothing there. Your informant is wrong. If you’ll tell me who your informant is, I’ll interview him or her, and perhaps be able to gather more useful data.”
“…Uhhh, no, that won’t be necessary. I guess we’re done then.”
“Yes sir, we are done. I’ll send you my bill.”
“Ok fine…how much…”
“And please say ‘hello’ to Walter for me.” I interrupted.
“Yeah, Ok, I mean…who’s Walter?”
I hung up the phone.
This was starting to be fun.