The Butterfly Forest

EIGHTY-NINE

Two nurses came into my room, ignored the federal agents, one older nurse saying, “We need to check your vitals. Looks like you’ll be leaving us soon. You were a quart low when you came in. Now, you’re humming along fine.”

“Where are my clothes?”

“You might want to toss those out, hon. They looked like you’d worn them in a war. What’s left of them are in the closet.”

Dave said, “I brought you a fresh change of clothes.”

The nurses left and Agent Jenkins asked, “What happened to Izzy Gonzales?”

“He was a millimeter away from squeezing a .45 into my head. I managed to be a little faster. Did you find Frank Soto?’’

“You mean did we find his body?” asked Agent Keyes.

“Did you find him dead or alive?”

Detective Sandberg said, “No, unfortunately, we didn’t.

Agent Jenkins added, “We found two dead gang members wearing AB tats, three soldiers who looked like growers — one of them blown in half on the bombing range, and Palmer swaying from a tree. Anything we missed?’’

“Yeah, Ed Crews, the park ranger. He was working for them.”

“What?” asked Agent Keyes, his eyebrows lifting.

I said, “I know it’s hard to believe, someone on the government payroll. But it’s true. He was the eyes and ears, giving them the green light to grow, pack and ship.”

“You’d better just start from the beginning,” said Agent Flores.

I told them everything I could remember. They took notes, no one interrupting me. They acknowledged seeing the video camera bolted to the tree. I asked, “Do you know where the images were being seen?”

Agent Flores said, “No, not yet, but maybe that’s where we’ll find Pablo Gonzales.”

“If you can find Izzy’s body, you might find Uncle Pablo,” I said. “Someone must have taken the body out of the forest as Soto and his squad chased Billie and me.”

Agent Jenkins looked at the setting sun through the window, its light was a smoldering red flame heating the belly of a purple cloud. He said, “The body could be on its way to Mexico. Finding it would be like hitting the lotto.”

I smiled. “If you have the right numbers, you hit the lotto. If you have GPS coordinates to Izzy Gonzales, you’d be able to find the body within fifteen feet, anywhere in the world.”

Agent Keyes inhaled, his eyes rolling slightly as he said, “Sounds like a hypothetical road to me, O’Brien.”

I looked at Dave, a glint in his eye. “Dave, would you write down the password and username for Agent Keyes?”

“Absolutely,” he said jotting them on a piece of paper and handing it to Keyes.

“What’s this?” Keyes asked.

I said, “It’s a computer password and username that will let you follow a GPS tracker I put in Gonzales’ shorts after he died. My back was facing the video camera, so chances are Pablo didn’t see me do it.”

The federal agents said nothing. The hum of the cold air through the vent over my bed was the only sound. Detective Sandberg finally said, “You dropped a tracker in a dead man’s fucking shorts?”

“It’s probably the last place they’ll look.”

Agent Flores smiled, her direct eyes looking softer. She said, “Thank you, Mr. O’Brien. We will take everything from here. You can disengage.”

Agent Jenkins said, “That’s not going to be easy. Unfortunately, Pablo Gonzales will think you owe him your life, and he’ll send someone to collect. We’ll do what we can to protect you. You might want to take a long vacation somewhere far away.”

I said, “I hear the weather in Mexico is great this time of year.”

“Don’t even think about going in that direction,” warned Agent Keyes. He turned to Detective Sandberg and said, “It might be a good idea to have a deputy on duty all night outside Mr. O’Brien’s room.”

Detective Sandberg touched a spot on his cheek, his face filled with unsettling thoughts, much like a man awaking from a lethargic sleep, not sure whether to simply sit at the edge of the bed or take a step into the steel gray beginning of an overcast morning.