The Heart is a Lonely Hunter (25 page)

“Mr. Stanton. I’m Terry Shannon. I guess you’re curious as to why I’ve asked you to take a few minutes out of your travels to speak to me.”

“Frankly, I am, sir.” William was just that now. His anxiety gave way to sudden curiosity of knowing there was a crisis at hand but had no clue as to what it pertained to.

“Well, so as not to delay you any further or keep you in suspense since you obviously do not know why you are here, let me get right to the point. The reason I’ve asked you here, Mr. Stanton, is that from all our surveillance, we are quite sure, better yet we strongly believe that you are carrying contraband.”

William blinked in bafflement. He was so utterly appalled by the allegations that he felt the hair tingle on the nape of his neck. Angry, seething, he stared at the little Irishman.
‘Fat, little bastard. I ought to level him’,
he thought to himself. The last time he had been this angry was when Sill left that damn meat cleaver on his pillow. He was sure these three pugs would do more than just threaten him. Who the hell do they think they are?

Slowly composing himself, William said, “Mr. Shannon is it? Mr. Shannon, I had the pleasure of meeting with the U.S. Ambassador to Nigeria and Mr. C.J. Davenport. I’m sure you’re familiar with Davenport Enterprises. Both of whom assured me that the small quantities of ivory that I would be transporting into the U.S. were within the legal parameters.” Still, he wondered,
‘What kind of games are they playing?’
He was once again on the defensive almost hostile.

The thought of these toy cops pulling him out of thousands of commuters to question him about a few ounces of ivory was for lack of a better word, absurd. This was a complete waste of time. He could be spending this time with Sill, making amends, relaxing.

“You mentioned a Mr. Davenport. By the way, is this you first trip to Nigeria, Mr. Stanton?”

“Yes, sir. Yes, it is.”

“And you’re aware that Mr. Davenport and your boss, Mr. Morris, if I’m correct have been doing business for many years.” Mr. Shannon was alluding to something or another, trying to establish some causal-effect type of relationship. But what? Where the hell was he attempting to go with all this conjecture?

Why didn’t he just ask what it was that he wanted to know instead of beating around the damn mulberry bush?

“Yes, I’m aware that Mr. Davenport and Mr. Morris conducted business prior to my joining the agency. Now, would you be so kind as to tell me what this is really all about? I know it’s not about the ivory because the ivory is legal. Aside from that, I’ve been living in hotels for three weeks and am a bit anxious to get on home to my wife and my own bed.” There! No more bullshit, he’d said what he had to say and in a way as to not enrage these stupid wanna-be cops.

“All in due time, Mr. Stanton. All in due time. Please try to bear with us. I assure you this won’t take much longer. Now, did you by any chance get a chance to check your cargo prior to leaving Lagos, Mr. Stanton?”

“No, I did not.” William slumped down in the worn-out leather chair resigning himself to the fact that he wouldn’t be going anywhere, anytime soon.

“Mr. Stanton, everything you’ve told us corresponds to what the Nigerian authorities have told us. We are also aware of a network that has been in operation for many years now and, yes, long before your arrival at Hill and Morris. This network was set up between Davenport and your supervisor in the late Seventies and has flourished under the guise of importing ivory. Now that there is no trade in ivory, their interest in Nigeria became more and more suspicious. Certain members of the Justice Department became increasingly concerned since both men were welcomed and openly embraced by a military regime openly hostile to foreigners and Americans in particular. The country was under martial law. There was a new government in power, a power that emanated almost out of the blue. So, secret was the coup that our intelligence wasn’t even aware of them until they were firmly entrenched. Yet, both Davenport and Morris, seemed abreast of everything.

At first, it was thought that they were supplying the new regime with weapons. You know gun running and we have not ruled this out entirely. However, we’ve no concrete evidence to support our allegations on this theory. Of one thing we are certain, however, and that is that they have been using the export of ivory as a cover-up for the smuggling of narcotics into the U.S. and other countries. Heroin, to be more specific.”

William was visibly shaken.

“Can you tell us who it was that approached you concerning the trip to Lagos? Did Morris come to you, personally?” Shannon questioned.

“Yes, sir. Do I need to call my lawyer?” William asked nervously.

“We are not charging you with anything, Mr. Stanton. We’re pretty sure that the old man was simply using you as a mule, a courier. He’s done it before. We’ve just never had enough evidence for an indictment. We’re hoping that with your cooperation, we’ll finally get enough evidence to make for an airtight case.”

“And if I decide not to cooperate with customs?” William inquired, although he knew his options were few. The only reason they were being so cordial was that a cooperative witness could only be a boon to their efforts for an indictment.

“Well, the choice is yours, Mr. Stanton. The way it stands now, I think the DEA would be somewhat interested in the final destination of your cargo. Let’s see, we have three cartons containing a little more than thirty-five pounds of high-grade heroin with your name attached. That’s enough in itself to send you away for how long, Pete?”

The shorter of the two men standing was from DEA. He seemed to relish this part of the inquiry and didn’t hesitate to throw the book at him.

“Do you believe in reincarnation, Mr. Stanton? Throw in concealment, conspiracy, attempting to distribute, international trafficking and that kind of weight. Well, let me put it this way, Stanton: If you died and came back you’d still be facing a life sentence or two.”

Shannon spoke up again.

“We’re not even considering that as an option, Mr. Stanton. We’ve taken the liberty to check your background. We know you’re not a player. From all accounts, our records indicate that you’ve never had so much as a traffic violation let alone a trafficking conviction. Your boss is the one we’re really after, Stanton. Say, you don’t mind if I call you William, do you?”

William nodded, giving his consent to the feeble attempts at familiarity and friendship.

“Call me Terry. I don’t think there’s a need for all the formality being that we’re going to be working with each other for the next few months. Do you agree?”

Again William consented. He had no desire to fight some long, drawn out legal battle with the Government with the odds clearly stacked against him.

“William, do you have any idea what two hundred pounds of pure heroin can do to a city the size of say New York or better yet right here in Fulton County? I’ve seen it. Trust me. It’s not a pretty sight. Just think of the kids. Isn’t your wife a teacher? Think of little Alex and his brothers and sisters on that shit. C’mon, Stanton, think!”

William was doing just that. He was thinking of Sylvia. She had begged him not to go and he had ignored her pleas, her remarks, and her better judgment until he could bear it no more. Then he’d done something he’d seen his father do so many times to his mother. He slapped her. And for what? At the time, he thought Sill was like every other no-account sister, grateful to be wherever, with whomever, doing whatever with no more sense of purpose than a man on the moon. Criticizing Mr. Morris because to fathom a trip to Africa was beyond her comprehension. She, who was so in touch with her Black-ness...How could she possibly turn down a trip to the Motherland? The thoughts of his last encounter with Sylvia swirled around in his head until he found himself becoming lightheaded. How could he possibly face her? She with her holier-than-thou attitude? Shannon was still speaking to him but little mattered now. William felt betrayed and then Shannon said something that pierced the sea of self-pity he found himself adrift in.

“By the way, if it’s any consolation, the Nigerian people were extremely pleased with the way you carried yourself while you were there and the way you befriended young Alex. Everyone to the person, from the doorman at the hotel, to the U.S. ambassador told us the story of Alex and the trust fund. By the time I reached the airport, I knew I had the wrong guy. Did a world of good for our diplomatic relations over there. Might wanna pass on a tip or two to some of our ambassadors about conducting foreign policy.”

William smiled sheepishly. After all he’d just been through; it felt good to know that his entire trip had not been in vain. Despite appearing to be a notorious international drug lord, his trip thanks to a nine year old boy, did have some redeeming value.

“Listen William, I can see you’re exhausted. Take your time. Call your lawyer. See what he advises. Get reacquainted with the wife. Then give me a call. Here’s my card. I must ask that you stay in the country for the time being, however. If for any reason you’re compelled to leave the county, all I ask is that you contact me first.”

Shannon stood to take William’s hand in his own. Grasping it tightly, he warned William to stay on his p’s and q’s and be cognizant of any peculiarities at work. William thought of the times when he was a small boy not much bigger than Alex when he fashioned himself to be a junior G-man. Now, here he was playing the role in real life.

Shannon assured him before his leaving that the confiscated drugs would be allowed to continue on their journey so as not to affect the sting operation. However, William’s thoughts returned to Shannon. ‘Get acquainted with the wife’ he’d said. William’s thought of Sill. She had warned him about going in the first place. If he had only listened. What was it they said about a woman’s intuition?

Terry was still talking when William’s focus returned.

“You know, William, most of the people affected by that shit would be little African-American boys and girls. Not to say that they’ll necessarily be the one’s shooting it into their veins. It’s the trickle-down effect that really eats at me. Anyway, it was nice to meet you. Wish it could have been under different circumstances. And don’t worry. There’s no need to look over your shoulder. There won’t be anyone following you. What we’ll be following are the drugs. And from our reports they’ve already left the airport. You have a good day, sir. We’ll be in touch.”

A good day! How the hell could anyone in their right mind have a good day after being informed that they were for all intensive purposes a drug courier? By the time William left the airport, he was exhausted. Drained both mentally and physically. He was glad Melinda hadn’t waited. He could have taken the airport shuttle but felt the long walk in the brisk, night air might help clear his head. He cursed Ol’ Man Morris, sometimes aloud, calling him among other things, ‘A dirty bastard.’

An hour or so later, William turned the nose of the Mercedes into the long driveway. Opening the trunk, he arranged the many gifts and souvenirs in the order he wanted Sill to open them. Then he rang the doorbell. He was sure that in spite of everything she would be glad to see him. With all the adversity befalling him, she was still the one constant in his life. He rang the doorbell again. Still, there was no answer. He had no idea where she could be. It was well past five o’clock. Too late for her to still be at school and too early for Bible study. She hadn’t been home when he’d called each evening either. His mind began to race. And after a day like today, he refused to think the worst. No, Sill had to be home. Maybe she’d gone out to grab a bite to eat. William put the packages down, rummaged through his trouser pockets, found his keys and opened the front door. And there he stood, frozen in his tracks.

“What the hell!” he yelled.

His initial thoughts were that they’d been robbed. There was nothing there except for the big-screen TV. And then it dawned on him. No wonder she hadn’t answered the phone. Dropping the packages, he ran from room to room, screaming Sill’s name, half expecting to find her in a crumpled up heap, blood everywhere in the corner of some room. Or maybe he’d find her, clothes ripped and torn, sprawled across their bed, a victim of rape. Gruesome images hurled their way through the muck and mire, which clouded his mind. And then in the middle of the empty room, where their bed once stood, sat a bottle of cognac with a note attached. He caught his breath, bent down, picked up the empty bottle and read the note:

m

“Thought it best that you go your way and I go mine. I gave all that I could give and now I’m taking a little something back. You’ve always had a liking for nice cars, good food and good liquor so I’m leaving you a sandwich in the fridge, a bottle of good whiskey and you’ll find your car outside. Good luck!”

Sill

Devastated and on the verge of tears, William uncorked the bottle. An hour later, he was still sitting there in middle of the now empty room, Sill’s note in one hand and an almost empty bottle of
Courvosier
in the other. In a drunken stupor, William Stanton did something that day, which he hadn’t done in years. He cried. Cried like a baby.

The following day was Thursday. William’s head was still buzzing when he came to the sudden realization that he was alone, had always been alone and more than likely always would be. But for William this was by no means the end. Thanks, in large part to Sill and his recent fiasco abroad, he had to force himself gather himself together and take a new lease on life.

He wouldn’t forget, however and in time there were those that would be held accountable for the grief and heartache, which he was forced to endure. Sylvia and Ol’ Man Morris were at the top of his list. They would pay. They had to pay.

He called West Lansing later that day only to find that Mrs. Stanton was no longer employed there. He then called Terry Shannon at DEA to offer his assistance. Not due to return to the office until the following day, William—a bundle of nerves—was perpetual motion. Several times while wandering around the house, he caught himself muttering to himself and wondered if he were on the verge of a nervous breakdown.