In Gallup, Greed

by Tower Lowe

  “It’s a little confusing,” I added.

  “It is. Money can create a sense of entitlement. And the artists involved in Redemption exhibit a little anger and frustration.”

  “They do, but the vision doesn’t give us enough information to pick out which person involved with Redemption is angry and has a sense of entitlement, or why they stabbed Lonnie.”

  “No,” Burro admitted.

  “Lonnie had a party. Nez, Lolo and Johnnie were there and a few other people strayed in and out early in the evening. After nine or so, it was only Nez, Lolo and Johnnie and then Mirage when she showed up.

  “We know Mirage went out with Jerry, and he dropped her at the party around 11pm. According to Mirage, he left without going inside. Of course, she was in a blackout.”

  “So Jerry might have stayed at the party,” Burro pointed out.

  “True. Here’s the rest of what we know. Another suspect. Mirage remembers seeing Nez and Lolo in a fight, and she saw Lolo throw a beer bottle at Nez. She doesn’t remember anything about Lonnie.

  “Mirage found Lonnie the next morning, in his bedroom, dead from stab wounds to the stomach. The police found no weapon. The fingerprints belonged to partygoers or friends who spend a lot of time at Lonnie’s house anyway. Blood at the scene belonged to Lonnie.”

  The lemon donut arrived, and Burro split it.

  “As for motive,” I said, biting into the lemon filling, “Lonnie was suspicious of Jerry and he was planning to quit or even close the gallery.”

  “If Jerry was at the party, he had a motive to stop Lonnie from closing the gallery.”

  “Right. We have to find out from Nez, Lolo or Johnnie about that.”

  “Whoever did it, money has to be part of the motive.”

  “Because of the vision?”

  “Yeah, but more than that. We already know a lot of money is flowing around this venture and Lonnie was threatening to cut it off. We don’t know where all that money is coming from.”

  “There is something odd about the success of the gallery. They might pull in this kind of money for a few months out of the year after they establish a reputation. I don’t see how Jerry got high rolling buyers to pay so much so quickly.”

  “He could have been working on it for a while before he opened the Redemption,” Burro suggested.

  “Possible, but still not likely. Even Mirage can’t figure out how Jerry made this much money in the first place.”

  “He claims he made it in CGI, according to Mirage. But even she doubts he was that good at computer imaging.”

  “There’s a missing piece. And it has to do with the scrambled brains or the confusion you’re describing in your vision. We don’t know what is scrambled.”

  “We know about the money. We need to keep asking about the other motives. One of the artists knows more about it.”

  “There’s also the issue of the broken lock. If Lonnie locked up, he was alive until fairly late in the evening.”

  “Then someone came into the party late, after everyone else left.”

  “It’s certainly a possibility. Hey, want another donut? Let’s get one of those chocolate iced ones.”

  “With sprinkles,” Burro agreed, and then volunteered to get to work on contacting the artists. “I’ll get Nez and Lolo’s numbers from Mirage and see if I can set up a meeting about the party – explain it’s for Mirage.”

  “Good idea. See if we can figure a way to talk to Jerry, too.”

  With the donut ordered and more coffee on the way, I confided in Burro about the strange early a.m. phone call in my room at the Hampton Inn.

  “A strange thing happened, Burro.”

  “Jake proposed?” Burro joked.

  “Ha-ha. A woman called my hotel room last night at 2am.”

  “A woman?”

  “She spoke only one word, ‘Cinnamon.’”

  “Then hung up.” Burro guessed.

  “No. She stayed on the phone,” and I answered. I said, ‘Momma.’ And she said, ‘I’ll send you a note.’”

  “Had to be a dream.”

  “It wasn’t a dream,” I assured him. “But it might be somebody trying to spook me. I wonder if Lonnie’s murderer wants to get rid of one amateur detective who is investigating Redemption and its artists?”

  “And who knows about your search for Momma ...there’s Alice.”

  Cinnamon shook her head. “It wasn’t her.”

  “Mirage.

  “No.”

  “And anyone Alice and Mirage told.”

  “Right. So anybody....and there’s the possibility it really was Momma.”

  Burro hesitated; I knew he didn’t want to encourage this hope. “I don’t know, Cinnamon.”

  “We’re going to find out what happened to Lonnie, and then find out if Momma really made that phone call.”

  We swallowed iced chocolate donuts, and planned our questions for Nez and Lolo. In the mid-afternoon, we returned to the Hampton Inn. I wanted to nap after my late night phone calls from Jake and the woman who might be Momma.

  I lay on the pile of fluffy pillows the Hampton is known for and reached inside the upper pocket of my plum colored luggage.

  I pulled out a pink keepsake envelope with a string and button closure and opened it slowly. The letters were written on plain white typing paper, enclosed in #10 business envelopes. The only nod to sentiment was the brown powder sprinkled at the bottom of each enclosure – cinnamon spice. I inhaled, as I always did when I opened one of her letters, breathing in the bittersweet smell, taking the comfort of lost memory from childhood.

  Dear Cinnamon,

  You are ten years old today, as I write this letter from Zuni Pueblo. The sun is rich and strong here, pouring over purple mesas. I wish you could see the vast desert stretching out to a green-blue sky on the distant horizon. I found what I was looking for when I left Virginia and you. I found the treasure of my life. Now I can come back to you.

  It’s not that easy, understand, my little one. New Mexico and Zuni Pueblo are a long way from my life in Virginia. For one, the weather is dry and the earth is golden, not green with plants and growth. A place like this has ancient history preserved in the earth, and it’s not so easy to escape the call of spirit that echoes through the land. I can’t explain it, but I am called here; I belong here. I promise to come back for you now that my treasure is found, and I will explain it all, and I will bring you here to see what kept me so long from my beloved little Cinnamon.

  Be brave, be smart, and be strong. One day we will be united.

  Happy birthday, little one.

  Love, Momma

  She wrote in blue pen, a weak scrawl across the page, faded with time but easily legible. Over the years, I had examined the curled shapes of her cursive for any hint of feeling. The writing looked hurried and guilty, but not caring or concerned. The words confused me. I only read abandonment on the crisp white paper. To me, the blue ink unfolded a different message: A pretty sunset means more than you, Cinnamon. An annoying little girl can’t hold a candle to the ancient history of the southwest. That’s what I read between the lines. Momma could catch a plane flight easily enough. Those ancient ruins weren’t going anywhere. How could a week away in Virginia harm her treasure quest?

  I put the letter back, ran her thumb over the remaining 19, and wound the thread around the pearl buttons on the outside of the folder. The voice that spoke her name on the phone last night was completely unfamiliar, the voice of a stranger. And yet, the question flew from her lips, “Momma?”

  I skipped dinner and slept restlessly that night. I awoke at 8:10 am to

  Mozart’s Jupiter ringing on my phone, a welcome distraction.

  “Cinnamon.”

  “Burro. Did you get Nez?”

  “He called me. Can you meet at 11?”

  “Sure. We can do that. See you in the lobby at 10:30.

  ∆

  Good Control Over My Women

  It was afternoon at Sammy’
s Bar and Grille and a waiter unlocked the door and crept through the dust and cobwebs to a light switch near a rear exit. He wore a kitchen apron, pockets stuffed with rags and Pledge. It had been months since he or anyone else entered this creepy backroom, slightly bigger than a walk-in closet. He ducked under a decrepit moose head to throw the light switch. He squinted—dust and spider webs everywhere. Jerry from Redemption had rented the room for the afternoon, so the bartender needed to make the place presentable enough with booze, chips, and salsa for Jerry and his high tipping guests.

  He left briefly to get a cloth mask, afraid of Hantavirus from the mouse droppings in the corners of the room. He was polishing the table, close to done, when Jerry burst through the door with his drunken pal, Johnnie. The waiter stopped then, figuring the two of them were drunk enough not to notice any remaining droppings or dust.

  “A bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue and two Coronas!” Jerry cheered.

  Johnnie slapped the server on the back, and the evening was on.

  “This Burro and Cinnamon duo are a problem for us, Johnnie. When Mirage brought them into town, I thought they were a couple of drinking buddies to help her get her through Lonnie’s death. Now I think they could be real trouble.

  “I looked around a little on the Internet and discovered they are Civil Rights Investigators for the state of New Mexico...but they’ve got PI licenses, too. They have a website devoted mostly to finding Cinnamon’s mother, but they’ve uncovered a few crimes around the state. They got written up in the Santa Fe New Mexican for helping solve a couple crimes in Roswell and Carlsbad. They even got into the death of a gay hairdresser in Santa Fe, helping prove the man died of natural causes.”

  “Why would they be a threat to us?”

  “I’m not sure. Mirage is emotional about Lonnie’s death, not thinking rationally...these two investigators are busybodies. They stick their investigative noses where they don’t belong. You and me, we get it – we get what happened here.”

  “Lonnie had to go, I get that. Planned on shutting us down, or he was headed in that direction. He took the whole thing too seriously.”

  “Exactly right. So you and me got to get rid of these two investigators. That’s why I invited Jake to join us here. Get a plan to run these two out of town.”

  “Jake? How can he help?”

  “He knows Cinnamon.”

  “That doesn’t mean he can drive her out of town.”

  “We can provide the motivation for that.”

  “Money.” Johnny guessed.

  “He’s a wanderer, right? Wanderers need money like everybody else. Fact is wanderers need money more than everybody else. Guys like that take odd jobs ‘til they got enough money to move on. We can give him enough money to keep him moving for quite a while.”

  “What’s your plan?”

  “He’ll be here any minute, and watch me hook him on the idea of managing the gallery. Mirage can’t do it any more – too ripped up about Lonnie—ridiculous, really. Lonnie was headed to die one way or another the way he was behaving with the booze and his physical health.”

  Jake pushed his head into the backroom. “This the party?”

  “Jake, man, come on in,” Jerry invited. “I was telling Johnnie here you’re the right man for the job.”

  Jake sat, helped himself to a shot in an empty glass left for him. He knocked back the Johnnie Walker stiffly, but he needed it. Jake’s body and brain changed as the liquid slid down his throat. He felt pumped up, real, and ready for action.

  The bartender appeared with a Corona, and Jake sucked down half the bottle. He wanted this new identity, another adventure, and a way out of any heavy involvement with Cinnamon, but part of him knew it wasn’t the right path, that it was another dead end. That part needed Corona and bourbon.

  “What you got in mind, boys?” he spilled the question like dice, hoping for a seven.

  “You’re the kind of man I need to run Redemption Gallery, Jake—independent, adventurous. You’re looking to collect a pile of money so you can head out on another road trip, right? In this job, I can pay you decent, and even give you a commission. And, listen to me, bud, the sales are easy. I bring in the buyers, and they love the stuff. I spend a lot of prep time, you know, soap ‘em up, tell ‘em how native art is the up and coming thing, an important investment in the future, all that.”

  Jake suspected Jerry was lying, mainly because he was suspicious by nature, but also because Cinnamon was skeptical of the gallery and it’s motives. Plus, there was no way this guy, knocking back bourbon and Corona, talking like a reality show guru, persuaded serious art investors to come to Gallup and over-spend. Still, who was Jake to be picky? He didn’t plan on staying in Gallup forever. And if the money was too good to be true, so was Jake.

  “When do I start?”

  Jake and Johnnie looked at each other.

  “We got to straighten a few things out first,” Johnnie explained. “A woman named Mirage is managing the gallery now. Lonnie, the one I was telling you got stabbed, was her brother, so she needs a break, you know? So we got to let her know.”

  “Johnnie take care of that,” Jer promised, then fixed on Johnnie’s face and added, “or I will. Whatever.”

  “Okay.” Jake needed to be cautious, now. The details of this gig might supply him for a year or end him up in jail.

  “Then there are those two PI’s working for Mirage. We need to get them out of town quick so we can get back to business. Mirage feels guilty about Lonnie getting stabbed while she was in a blackout and all, but she’ll get past it once these troublemakers leave town. A gallery like this depends on prestige and a good name. I don’t want Redemption caught up in some murder investigation or CNN coming around, for god’s sake, trying to make a headline out of our little mini-drama.”

  Jake refilled his shot glass, sipped the bourbon, and felt the alcohol shoot like power threw his veins. Jake karma landed on time and in place. Prevaricating was his stock and trade, and this was going to require quite a bit of it.

  “Listen up, Jer, I keep pretty good control over my women. I can get Cinnamon out of here in a flash. Let me know, and I’ll make it happen.”

  Jerry smiled. “Good control, huh? Maybe you can give me a few tips on that one.”

  “Here’s the deal,” Johnnie threw it on the table.

  “Find out what they are doing in this Lonnie investigation, persuade them it’s nonsense, an accident, a local dust up. Then get them out of town and away from Mirage. The sooner these two leave town, the sooner we set you up as manager of Redemption.”

  “How much money are we talking?” Jake needed to know the dollar amount to justify his betrayal.

  “$100,000, including commissions for 6 months, total of around $250,000 for a year.”

  “You got me,” Jake laughed. “Those two will be out of town in a couple of days. Don’t you sweat it.”

  The trio called the bartender back and ordered burritos with extra Hatch green chile. They consumed the food and the scotch, with Corona for dessert.

  “We need to hang around and entertain some buyers,” Jerry explained about 9 o’clock. “Fill them in on the status of this Lonnie thing, make sure they don’t bolt. But you’re our guy on the ground, man. Get that lady out of town and we are ready to roll.”

  Jake felt like a cowboy, free-spirited and brave, unfettered by women. With a bitter breeze to his back, Jake biked over to the Hampton and threw a kiss to the stars.

  ∆

  Are You Here?

  Alice’s afternoon in Mirage’s apartment dragged, and her thoughts wandered back to Dr. Stuart and Cinnamon. Alice remembered older Cinnamon sitting next to her father, Dr. Stuart, viewing diagrams of an archeological dig outside Gallup. Her hair was light brown and fell in thin wisps over her deep green eyes. Even in middle age, the woman was quite pretty. Dr. Stuart entranced her with his words, describing digging tools and pottery types. His voice was dry and repetitive to Alice, but not to this woman from the s
outhern states.

  Cinnamon’s voice was melodic and vibrated with emotion as she described her discovery from yesterday’s dig. Dr. Stuart listened carefully, even seemed to smile. Alice was jealous in a way, but happy for her dad, too. He was a hard man to love.

  They were all living with Mirage, a woman Alice met at school in Gallup. Mirage lived in an apartment in Gallup, but she couldn’t pay for it without a roommate. Mirage didn’t seem to mind when Alice, her father and his girlfriend squeezed into the one bedroom place. She even let the elder Cinnamon stay for a while after Dr. Stuart died. At the time, Alice thought Mirage was generous, but now she saw that Mirage lacked boundaries. That’s why she gave Lolo a key to the place and let Jerry invade her life as a lover.

  Before their life in Gallup, and after Alice dropped out of college, she went with her father and Cinnamon on a dig near Carlsbad, and they all stayed in a run-down trailer at the site. The middle-aged Cinnamon was nothing like the daughter Alice met later. The daughter shared her mother’s appearance and deep green eyes. But the young Cinnamon possessed a telescopic focus on two goals: solving mysteries and finding Momma. The older Cinnamon possessed an ephemeral quality, making her conversation vague and unfocused unless she described a native artifact or tool she found at a site. At a dig she focused on the task at hand, dusted with precision until an artifact unfolded beneath her brush. It was like the dig fixed whatever was wrong with woman’s wandering mind. Cinnamon the mother needed a focus, and, the way Alice saw it, Dr. Stuart was that focus.

  Alice, Cinnamon, and her father lived for many months outside Carlsbad, cooking in the small trailer and sweeping dust from rocks and artifacts in a big hole in the New Mexico desert floor. Cinnamon spoke only in phrases to Alice, and she sure never mentioned a daughter or a life in Virginia. She acted like her life started the day she met Dr. Stuart and contained nothing but archaeology and artifacts.

  Dr. Stuart was all intellect. No one asked him about anything but intellectual matters related to history or art. He and Cinnamon were impassioned by a shared science. All their emotion fell to ancient cultures and civilizations long past, dead and buried, waiting to be analyzed in the light of the twenty first century.