Killer Geezer

by T. Jackson King

  “Claudia, I’m very glad to hear that. Can you give me a CD of these results? And my prior PET, MRI and Transcran scans? In case my family doc might need the data.”

  She nodded quickly. Then reached into the middle drawer of her desk. Claudia pulled out three CDs and handed them to me. “Here you are. Three copies of all my data on you.”

  I took the CDs and put them into my coat pocket. “Claudia, can I take you out to an early lunch? Maybe some place fancier than the University Club?”

  She looked startled, then smiled. “I had wondered why you were dressed so elegantly in that white linen suit, that lizard necktie and those handmade shoes. I gather you are no longer on a tight budget?”

  I nodded positively. “No longer. The last few days I got some investment advice. It brought in a nice chunk of money. You give me a ride in your hot rod sportster and I will treat you to a meal anywhere in Albuquerque!”

  Her belly laugh returned. Moisture appeared at the corners of her eyes. “Oh, Jack! You are so entertaining. And so generous. Of course I’ll take you for a ride in my Cadillac CTS-V!”

  I stood up. She stood up. Together in friendship we walked out of her lab, into the hall, up the stairs and out to the Logan Hall parking lot. Fernando would wait until I returned. Now, I had a bright and smart lady to treat to a meal. And maybe hear more about brain science and brain research. Anything more I could learn about how my brain had changed would be a help. And getting help in learning how to be a positive influence in society was something I really needed. Reaching out to other folks like Claudia was one way to find advice. Maybe attending tonight’s re-election gala for the mayor would be another way.

  CHAPTER EIGHTTEEN

  Saying goodbye to Fernando by way of a smile and a $100 tip, I stepped out of the limo and onto the narrow side at the entry to La Fonda Hotel. It was about 6:30 p.m., a half hour before the formal start of the re-election gala. I walked up to the double door entry, went in, passed by the check-in counter and headed for the atrium restaurant. My Guest lanyard hung from my neck. It partly covered my colorful lizard necktie. The afternoon had been busy. I’d opened an account at Wells Fargo, for which I now had checks. And I’d bought a Tom Ford Oil-Pattern Silk Dinner Jacket, along with black cotton shirt and black dress pants. The billowing clouds of purple, blue and burgundy were a bit showy. Almost neon-like. But my tie gave the grandiosity a touch of humor. Which was needed, I thought, in view of the $6,590 price tag for just the jacket! It would certainly draw attention to me as a rich donor type. And my newly trimmed beard and mustache, with freshly washed white hair that showed natural black streaks were a perfect compliment to the exotic look. A reception woman, dressed beautifully in a white full-length dress that appeared to shimmer with tiny pearls and diamonds, gave me a look I had never seen before. Impressed would be the word. I nodded to her.

  “Welcome to the gala, sir! May I find you a table, Mr. —?”

  “Jack Hansen, of Santa Fe.” I returned her welcoming smile. “And I can find my own place to sit. Thank you.”

  With that I walked past her into a brightly lit room. The Atrium was called that because its high ceiling was composed of rectangular glass skylights in a wood lattice that allowed in natural daylight. A half dozen doors composed of glass and white wood framing allowed entry into the large square room. At the room’s center was a stone-walled pond with water fountain. On either side of the fountain were giant pots that held full size trees. Dark brown wood pillars framed several entries. Those entries also featured carved crossbeams that ran from pillar to pillar. The floor was fitted flagstones while every table and every chair were natural wood with hand-carved backs higher than a person’s head. Clearly eating here was meant to resemble the ‘repast of kings’ and maybe even ‘queens’ like Eleanor of Aquitaine.

  I spotted detective Warren seated at a table in one corner. His chief, a man named Jeffrey Goodhue, sat next him. The other five chairs at the round table were occupied by two city police officers, two Santa Fe County deputies and a man wearing a blue officer’s cap, a blue dress shirt with four stars on each collar end, a black necktie and a clean-shaven face. The man sat opposite Chief Goodhue. He was talking animatedly with Goodhue while the lesser staff watched and listened in case either boss needed info on something. My focus on the cop table was due to more than the presence of Warren. The aura of the county sheriff, for those four tiny stars indicated he was the sheriff, had thick black streaks dominating an aura of colors that all indicated a man who schemed, lied, dominated and enjoyed causing misery to those under him. Before I knew it I had skimmed his mind.

  His name was Adan Ríos and he was talking emphatically about a federal grant he had just received. The grant was for advanced SWAT training for some of his deputies. It included money for equipment like a small armored personnel carrier with machine gun on top. He was offering to ‘share’ time in the APC with Warren’s boss. What I had not expected to learn by my quick skim was the fact he planned to personally pocket a million bucks from the $7.5 million grant. His Accountant Senior, a woman named Millicent Diego, was going to run the funds through a pretend outside contractor whose bank would then transfer the funds to an account controlled by Ríos. Corruption did not surprise me. What upset me was the fact Ríos was threatening to tell Diego’s husband that she had had an affair with Ríos. Which would lead to divorce and her loss of access to her four children. Threatening a woman in order to benefit from corruption was a step too far. I took a seat at one of the few two person tables, which lay ten feet from the cop table. Around us other people sat or stood at one of the fifteen tables in the room. About 60 folks had now gathered. Some of them were looking toward the alcove side of the room where a gas fireplace lit a stucco carving. In front of the alcove was a raised platform with podium and microphone. The podium was fronted by a Re-Elect Dave Johnson! sign.

  Looking around I saw plenty of black streaks in the auras of most people in the room. After all, half of them were politicians from both parties, while the other half were real estate developers. A few local corporation types were also present. But none were as vicious and deeply black as the Ríos aura. Which made me wonder about him. For some reason the man glanced my way as Goodhue consulted his closest officer. Ríos’ eyes were brown-black. They were deeply penetrating and did not show any of the duplicity present on the surface of his mind. One black eyebrow rose.

  “That is Jack Hansen, the rich dude who donated to the mayor’s campaign,” he thought. “Best to get him involved in my own re-election effort next month. He should be willing, judging by the fancy suit he’s wearing.” The man’s mood turned blacker than night. “If he won’t donate, maybe a few nights in my cell will convince him. A fake arrest would do it. The rich types always fold at the slightest pressure.”

  Disgust filled me. The man was not only corrupt, he was willing to misuse his arrest powers to get money for his campaign. While the fact he knew my name meant word of my donor status had spread, his awareness of me was not welcome. His intent to put me in jail was a personal threat. Not quite trying to kill me. Still, it felt personal. Far too personal. I needed to talk with Warren about this guy.

  “Ladies and gentlemen!” came the booming voice of the Santa Fe city manager, a man named Joaquin Madera. He stood behind the podium, a tall Hispanic with curly black hair and a black mustache. Next to him was a tall Anglo whose waist showed a few extra pounds. That was the mayor. Johnson wore a bright brown dress suit with green necktie, blue dress shirt, turquoise rings on three fingers and a clean-shaven face that fairly radiated wholesomeness. My skim of his mind showed he meant well as mayor, and had pushed the city utility department to repair old streets, fill potholes and clean weeds out of medians. All three were chronic problems in Santa Fe. As was poor management of state and federal grants. Funds for local park upgrades had been poorly spent over the last ten years and Johnson knew he had to fix that issue. The few flares of blackness came when he glanced at three real estate develo
pers and recalled how they had donated to his first election on the understanding the mayor and city council would make it easier to build higher priced apartments on city property. Corruption again, but fairly modest considering New Mexico’s history.

  “The last four years of Mayor Johnson’s administration has seen better safety at schools, potholes filled in, streets repaved and new businesses brought to town!” Madera said loudly, his manner almost cheer leaderish. “Now, it is my great pleasure to ask Mayor Dave Johnson to speak to us!”

  The reception woman sat down in the other chair at my table, her expensive dress swirling like a white cloud as she turned her chair to focus on the mayor. Her name tag said Barbara Segura. The twenty-something woman gave me a quick nod, her green eyes contrasting sharply with her fake blond hair. “Hi there Mr. Hansen. So glad to have you here. We’ll be inviting donations after the mayor finishes his speech.”

  I gave her a quick smile. She had not ignored me, after all. “Thanks. Good to know that. I assume the campaign accepts checks?”

  “That we do,” she burbled, then focused on the mayor.

  I shut my ears, as much as I could, to the standard re-election homilies of a politician who had been an administrator at Sandia National Laboratory, near Albuquerque. He had the background, education and knowledge to be a decent mayor. Which he had demonstrated over the last four years. What mattered to me was not Johnson. It was my sense of what I should do about Ríos. The man was not a gangbanger murderer. Nor was he trying to kill me. But he was surely evil incarnate. How far did my Soldier for Life duty extend?

  When the mayor’s speech ended, detective Warren stood up, tapped his watch to Chief Goodhue, and headed for the nearest exit. I stood up also. “Miz Segura, I’ll be back with a check. I need to visit with the detective.”

  Her words of “Oh, sounds good” faded as I followed Warren out the Atrium exit and toward the bar area.

  “Detective Warren? A moment, please.”

  The man glanced over his shoulder, saw me, then gave a shrug and slowed his pace. “I’ve got a few moments before duty calls me back to the office.”

  “Good.” I pointed at a small table near the bar. “Can we sit and chat? I’ll buy our drinks.”

  Warren scanned my flashy silk suit, gave a half smile and nodded. “Fine. Your new status as an arts lover and political donor explains your fancy clothing. A bit of a change from your usual blue hoodie, bluejeans and sneakers, yes?”

  “Yes, it is.” I touched my crocodile tie. “Though I do believe in humor.”

  He laughed. Then he tugged loose the top of the red necktie he wore over his white dress shirt. The man’s brown sport jacket was tight over his wide shoulders. Warren sat opposite me. His look at me said ‘Hurry Up!’

  I sat in a wire-frame chair at the black-top table which was in easy sight of the bartender. Who cast a glance our way. I nodded to her. She gestured to a waitress dressed in blue dress with white apron. Who now came over with a big smile. Anglo she was, young she was and her aura showed tiredness balanced by appreciation for her job at the upscale hotel and bar. As such her minimum hourly wage was $11.80 an hour, thanks to a vote by the city council years ago.

  “I’m Billie. What can I get for you gentlemen?”

  I looked to Warren.

  “A Blue Moon beer for me.”

  I smiled at the woman. “Same for me, Billie. And maybe some chips and salsa.”

  “Great! Be right back!”

  As she departed Warren looked at me. Curiosity showed on his face, along with alertness. His aura was normal with no black streaks. But the aura colors showed a man in a rush to be doing things, along with mild irritation at having to attend a political event when he would rather be on the street chasing down leads.

  “Well, Mr. Hansen?”

  I sat forward and folded my hands atop the table. “Detective Warren, being newly rich has brought me attention. From both politicians and from more secretive persons. I’ve learned that Sheriff Ríos is involved in diverting a million dollars from his recent federal grant to his personal benefit.” The man’s black eyebrows rose. “Ríos will do this with the vital help of his Accountant Senior, Millicent Diego. She will transfer the money into a shell corporation, which will then transfer funds to the sheriff’s personal account. One separate from the bank he uses for his county paycheck.”

  The man’s formal manner had returned. Puzzlement and worry showed on his face. “Why would she help the sheriff defraud the feds?”

  “He has threatened to tell her husband that she had an affair with him.” Disgust now showed on Warren’s face. “She is afraid she will lose her children in the resulting divorce. Despite the fact she and her husband are devout Catholics, no man likes being made a fool of by his wife. Children or no children.”

  Warren looked up as Billie delivered his beer with frosted glass. She gave me the same. And put down the chips and salsa bowl. I handed her a $20 bill. “Keep the change.”

  “Ohhh, thank you sir!”

  I took a sip straight from the bottle. “Well?”

  The detective grimaced, took a long slug of beer, then put it down and stared at me as if I were an exotic animal, like a two-legged armadillo. “Jack Hansen, the mayor needs Sheriff Ríos’ endorsement for his re-election. My chief knows that. Sooo, there is no way our department will investigate an alleged case of corruption. Surely not before the mayoral election in two weeks.” The man paused, looked past me as guests to the mayor’s gala event filed past, then fixed on me. “While I appreciate your community concern, the city cannot be involved in this. Why not pass the info on to the FBI? They have an office in Albuquerque.”

  It was not a bad idea. Except an FBI investigation would take a year or more. And the sheriff, no doubt, would learn of it. And likely learn I had been the informant. Which would send him hunting after me. That left only one option. “I will consider alerting the FBI. Thank you for your time, detective.”

  Warren grabbed his beer, a chip he dipped in salsa, then stood up and gave me a concerned look. “Mr. Hansen, be careful with your political donations. Some politicians play rough.”

  Well, this was a decent change from being treated as a suspect in double incinerations of gangbangers. “Thank you, detective. My recent acquisition of lots of money has made me eager to help this community’s arts scene. And public safety. Have a good week.”

  Warren gave me a nod, munched on his chip and joined the flow of gala guests as they headed for the main entry or the elevator that would take them down to the underground parking garage that was reserved for hotel guests. And Atrium customers.

  Ríos walked past with his two deputies at either side, his head bent forward like a hunting predator. Similar to a tiger who has scented prey. He barely noticed me, his manner intent as he followed after Warren. The surface of his mind said Ríos planned to convince Warren to get his chief to cooperate on the APC time sharing. Which Goodhue had been cautious about doing. Going after Warren was not good.

  I turned left and headed for the other elevator that led up to the second and third floors. Rooms were present on both floors. But the third floor gave access to a courtyard with low wall that gave a view of the nearby cathedral basilica, which lay directly opposite the hotel. Since the hotel parking exit put cars out on East San Francisco Street, a one-way route, his county car would have to turn right onto Cathedral Place road in order to reach a road leading out of Santa Fe. The old narrow streets of downtown Santa Fe were 300 years old and one-way traffic routes were common. So, I knew where the sheriff’s car would exit and where it would travel. Walking out of the elevator I headed for the courtyard wall and its view of the basilica. A few hotel guests, both men and women, were lounging in comfy recliners. Some of them held mixed drinks in their hands, thanks to the bar and café that shared the rooftop with the courtyard. A security camera had caught my image as I exited the elevator. I told it to go to sleep. Then I sent my persona awareness down, aiming for the undergro
und parking.

  Ríos was easy to find. A dark red life force surrounded by a tornado of utter blackness stood out from the several dozen auras of other drivers walking to their cars, or getting out of them. The auras of hotel guests in the floors between my position and the parking were all normally human complex. As I stood there, an early evening breeze swept over me, its coolness bringing the scent of daffodils and distant pine trees. The honking of hundreds of cars on streets within a mile of where I stood, surveying the core of downtown, was loud but normal. The smells of sweat, onions, green and red chilis roasting in gas-fired rotating barrels, and gasoline exhaust all enveloped me. Fortunately the breeze blew away the worst smells, while my mind held onto the natural, nice smells. I leaned forward, looking down. The front of Ríos’ county sheriff’s cruiser showed below me as it pulled out of the parking exit. It turned right and found a slot between other cars. Inside I felt the presence of two deputies, one driving, while Ríos sat alone in the back seat. His mood was irritated. He had not been able to catch Warren. So now he was thinking of how to hurt Millicent Diego, who was a hard worker always in her office. His mind carried the image of him forcing her into his office, where he would lock the door and then rape her. With the threat if she said anything she would lose her job and her children. Anger filled me. Raping the mother of children was right up there with the worst of human abominations.

  “She will like it,” he thought to himself. “Uppity women always do. And it will increase my power over her. She will hop to it when the fed money comes in. And her fear of me will climb. I like it when people fear me!”