I had seen the eyes of the condemned, staring up at me from a gurney in the death chamber of Delaware. Killers themselves whose own time had come by order of a judge having given a jury vote “great weight”, as the law required, before imposing sentence. My twenty years on the “white hat” side of the criminal law, as a prosecutor, were punctuated by these state-sanctioned midnight events: always at midnight. But the later years, particularly the last five or so, had me immersed in supervising an anxious-but-young group of drug prosecutors. At the same time, I personally handled hundreds of forfeiture cases, seizing the vehicles of drug traffickers as well as their drug-related cash proceeds, about a million dollars a year. Now in Mexico and comfortably retired from all such legal gyrations, I was more than a little puzzled when my wife, Linda, told me that a man named Mike had called and left a message for me. He was with the Drug Enforcement Administration in El Paso, Texas; the DEA, she said. Admittedly puzzled by what law enforcement authorities would want of me here in Mexico and perhaps a little flattered, at the same time, that they hadn’t completely forgotten me, I picked up our Vonage phone and dialed the number in El Paso.
“Mike Quillen here”, the agent answered. I then introduced myself and inquired as to how I might be of help. His follow up question dispelled any illusion I had about being “needed” still in my retirement.
“Sir, do you own a 28 foot Shasta, an RV?”, he asked me. “Well, I used to own one, Mike”, I told him. “But I sold it on consignment out of Dallas, Texas a few months ago. Frankly, that surprised us because Linda and I had been told that an RV probably couldn’t be sold in Texas until the Spring. It sold in January, as I recall and we were both happy to have it sold early. Got rid of those $300.00 payments.”
“I hear what you’re saying, Mr. Rambo”, he replied. “However, the fact of the matter is that the RV is still titled in your name and the registration is still in your name too. Any reason you know of for that?”
“No reason except buyer neglect that I can fathom. But tell me this, Mike. Why would the DEA care anyway?”, I pressed him.
“For a damn good reason, sir”, he responded quickly….a bit too quickly for comfort. “We just seized your RV and it had twelve hundred pounds of marijuana in it. It was seized in connection with an investigation here in El Paso and we’re looking for some answers today. We raided a drug house in town and your RV was parked outside. Our search warrant covered both properties.”
“I can only suggest that you get in touch with the consignment dealer in Dallas, Mike. Maybe a few subpoenas sent in his direction will help you get to the bottom of it”, I urged. After rummaging through a few desk drawers, I provided him with the dealer’s name and other necessary information.
Agent Quillen then went on to ask if I could also help him understand why I maintained warehouse space in Laredo, Texas. Apparently he was looking at a satellite photo, provided by Google Earth, of 827 Union Pacific Boulevard in Laredo as he spoke with me. I attempted to assure him that the Union Pacific address was merely a post office address for us and that I had no access to any warehouse space. Mike’s reply tightened me up and my trust in where our conversation was headed rapidly eroded. “Well, I’m looking at a photo right now of that address and I assure you that it is a warehouse, sir”. (I later checked out the address myself on Google and, dammit, it was clearly a warehouse in an industrial park!)
“Look, Mike, I don’t think that I can be any more helpful with this right now. My wife and I are a bit busy today down here.” “Down here? What do you mean by ‘down here’ , he pushed. “We have your address as Claymont, Delaware and I called you at area code 302, the Delaware code.”
“Mike, we’re in Mexico,” I volunteered. “We’ve been living here since last September. You’ve called me on a Vonage phone that maintains the Delaware area code.” “That’s a new one on me”, my interrogator replied, at the same time trying now to lighten his tone. “Mind my asking why you would go to Mexico?”
Then I knew it. All of my law enforcement instincts kicked in. I was in balance and focus. Mike thought that he had a “big fish”, a drug seizure prosecutor gone bad. A guy who knew all the tricks now trying to benefit from his experience. His efforts at toning himself down had failed little by little as our conversation had worn on. It wasn’t like I didn’t understand this drill, having been on the other side of it so many, many times. Another final salvo followed: “You know, we know all about your cousin.”, he offered. Now I was really irritated.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. I haven’t had any contact with my cousins in years and I haven’t heard anything about them either,” I shot back at him. “The fact is, your cousin was picked up for marijuana possession recently according to the report I have here,” he told me. Then came the last insult. “Are you sure that she’s not down there in Mexico with you now,” the guy asked. I began laughing…loud laughing and right into the phone. We were at the outer limits of reason, I thought, and when things get that ludicrous, the only thing left is a good belly laugh. Otherwise, you might resort to unwise use of the “f word”. Not prudent. No sense in burning bridges, I reasoned.
“Listen, Mike. Do you know about my previous life…my work,” I demanded. “I was a Chief Prosecutor in Delaware..no gumshoe guy. I was in charge of drug prosecutions there and also ran the drug forfeiture unit statewide!” “Yeah, I’ve already looked into that,” was his non-committal answer. I later learned that he had already made inquiries of the Attorney General’s Office in Delaware. “Well, if you’ve already looked into that, you should also know that my cousin’s not down here and that the space in Laredo is not warehouse space but a post office box location only,” I spat out.
Our interrogation/conversation was over, as I saw it. I then more-graciously-than-I-wanted-to said my good-byes to that government gnat. At the same time I couldn’t help wondering how many times I had been “the gnat” myself in my own law enforcement career. Likely more than just a few.
Over the next few days Linda and I had great fun in telling the story of “Rammy on the Run” to our new friends in Mexico, other prosecutors in Delaware and anyone else who would enjoy a good tale. Everybody loves a good story but they especially appreciate it when the heat comes down on the guy who used to apply the heat himself. Even Delaware’s Attorney General later smiled over coffee as he advised me to “stay out of trouble down there, Jim.” Those with us laughed as loud as I had at Mike’s blunt questions. It was during a return visit to the States and my relating my adventure had prompted others at the table to spin their own good stories. All in good fun, I thought. But something bothered me.
Down deep in my gut I was still angry. Not at the consignment dealer in Dallas; not even at the stupid drug dealer that created the situation in the first place. I was mad about a pattern of law enforcement behavior that I smelled even while I was within “the system”. The odor could be detected when a police officer was arrested for theft from the evidence unit, when a lawyer was caught dipping into client funds to continue living the high life or when a politician toed the ethical line to the point of indictment. Instead of disappointment or sadness in the faces of their so-called friends and associates in law enforcement, I had detected child-like glee in the nightmarish troubles those charged were facing. Bringing the big guys down drew adrenaline to the surface. It also more often brought smirks and smiles, not sorrow for those under the gun.
Riding in our friends’, Connie and Ted’s, van to the airport several weeks following the DEA call, all of these bad feelings were welling up inside me. I wasn’t the same invaluable law enforcement officer that I had imagined. I felt like just another potential target in an ongoing and ugly “notches in the belt” pattern of police behavior. I wondered, at the same time, if my name was on some list at the airport now that would prompt even more delay and security checking for us than for others: others who had not spent twenty years of their lives enforcing the law.
Our story had been great fun for others. Linda and I had our share of smiles over it too. But at the bottom of it all, it’s sad but true that its effects on me will be disappointing, long-lasting and slowly nibble away at the icing on my retirement cake.