Day of the Dead

by R. Allen Chappell

  Charlie, too, was thinking the Liaison Officer a little brusque and made a mental note to sound him out later. Billy Red Clay was no longer the carefree patrolman he had once been. The added stress and responsibilities of his new position seemed to be weighing on his usual good humor.

  At the table, Thomas took the chair facing the door, citing his oft-repeated admonishment regarding the fate of Wild Bill Hickok who, as he often cautioned, had been shot from behind when putting his back to the door. Thomas once saw it in an old movie starring the now-forgotten, Tom Brown, and had never been fully able to erase the scene from his mind. When he and Harley were drinkers—usually in the lowest sort of places—he had been particularly aware to take heed of such precautions.

  In those volatile times, Harley Ponyboy might have agreed Thomas had something to worry about, and taken a measure of comfort from such safeguards. Today, he only smiled at the notion.

  Though the three spent a goodly amount of time studying the menu, in the end it was agreed the “Special” was what they had come for. The orders were placed with a finality that denied any subsequent change—a thing frowned on by the cook, who might in turn, retaliate in various ways.

  Thomas, with his unimpeded view of the door, was first to notice the two men in suits, hesitating just inside. The pair searched the rapidly filling restaurant until one of them spotted who they were looking for—at the big table in the back.

  As their waitress brought a tray of salads and water, Thomas took advantage of the distraction by nudging Charlie, to whisper, “Now there’s a couple of ducks out of water,” indicating the two with his chin as they passed beyond their table.

  Charlie barely looked up as he reached for his salad. “Uh-huh…” He had hoped to get through the lunch as quickly as possible and without the usual drama brought on by strangers, which were generally few and far between.

  Harley caught Thomas’s inference and followed the well-dressed pair from under the brim of his hat, “Look like out of town law ta me.” Both he and Thomas were loaded with experience when it came to recognizing lawmen no matter the agency or how they were dressed.

  Charlie, dabbing at his Thousand Island dressing, finally glanced in the direction the two were looking and thought it possible the pair were indeed lawmen of some sort. “Well, Billy is the Liaison Officer for Tribal. They could be FBI.”

  “No, they’re not FBI,” Thomas murmured, and then pulled his hat lower. “Those boys are Feds alright, but I don’t think FBI…they’re…something else.”

  “Maybe there’s some sort of audit going on…or maybe Tribal’s undergoing a training session—the Feds do that for them occasionally.” Charlie was unimpressed and still concentrating on his salad, but when the waitress returned with their food he took a quick peek past her and a good hard look at the window table. He still didn’t comment but his expression changed slightly, and Thomas Begay caught it.

  The chicken was done perfectly; everyone agreed it had earned its “Special” designation and should again be taken advantage of the next time it came around. George Custer would be sorry he missed it.

  As the three finished lunch, Charlie, anxious to get back to the office, excused himself by mentioning he was trying to set a good example at the office. The other two exchanged a quick glance; both remembered him saying he wanted to speak to Billy Red Clay about something. The new recruit Billy came in with, left, and Thomas’s nephew was now deep in conversation with the men in suits.

  Thomas thought maybe Charlie had forgotten and said, “Didn’t you have something you wanted to ask Billy?”

  Charlie looked over at Red Clay’s table and thought about it but quickly turned away. “He looks pretty busy right now…I’d best catch him later.”

  In the restaurant parking lot, Harley, still licking his lips over lunch, patted his stomach, “The Doc’s gonna’ be sorry he missed that special fried chicken. It don’t come around very often.”

  Charlie acted as though he hadn’t heard, still looking back at the cafe giving the impression the investigator was thinking of returning…but he didn’t.

  Back in his office Charlie was uneasy and the more he thought about it, the more uneasy he became. Although he knew it was silly, he wondered if the men in the suits might actually be DEA, and if they were, what were they talking to Billy Red Clay about? Paranoia? He knew better, but still… The best thing to do is put it out of my mind. The entire thing was pretty far-fetched to his way of thinking. Realistically, he doubted he would ever hear from anyone at Drug Enforcement—despite what Fred Smith might think.

  As Charlie pulled up the drive to his house that afternoon, he didn’t see Sue’s pickup and it took him a moment to remember it was her grocery-shopping day. His wife was in Farmington and probably wouldn’t be home until later despite having the kids along. It was the blue sedan, in her parking place, that was unexpected. He didn’t recognize the car, but he did recognize the two men sitting inside—the same two men in suits from the restaurant. Charlie pulled in alongside, noticing the Colorado plates and the disguised two-way antenna. Thomas was right; they weren’t FBI. He shut off the engine and got out. The car’s driver met him halfway to the front of the truck.

  “Mr. Yazzie.” He didn’t bother making it a question. He was a big man in a cheap suit, and appeared a bit uncomfortable. “Officer Red Clay pointed you out at lunch today. We’d hoped to have a word with you when you’d finished your meal…but when I looked up you were gone.” His smile faded. “I left a message for you at your office, but you must have missed it. I didn’t hear back.” He looked at the investigator and seemed to expect a reply before going on.

  “New receptionist…I didn’t get the message.” Charlie looked the man straight in the eye. “But I wish I had now, I might have saved you the trip out here.”

  “Oh, it’s not that far, Mr. Yazzie, and we didn’t have anything else to do anyway.” He was smiling again when he put out his hand. “I’m Agent Freeman…Bob Freeman, Department of Drug Enforcement. My partner and I are out of the Denver office.” He pointed to the car. “That’s my partner there in the car. He’s waiting for a callback on the radio.”

  Charlie nodded, and pushed his tongue against the inside of his cheek to keep from saying anything. You always want to let these people do the talking. Or so he’d heard.

  “I was wondering if I might have a word with you, if you have just a minute.” The agent waited a few seconds before going on. “We could come back tomorrow Mr. Yazzie, if you’re pressed for time right now. Whatever’s more convenient for you.”

  Charlie took a deep breath, “I assume from that, you’re going to be around for a while?”

  “Just as long as it takes, Mr. Yazzie. I’m not on a schedule… I can be here as long as it takes.”

  Takes for what? Charlie was wondering as he glanced over at the man in the car; the other agent was talking into a handset, filling in a form at the same time. He seemed to sense Charlie looking at him and gave the investigator a quick nod.

  Charlie acknowledged the man with a lift of his chin and supposed he might just as well get this over with. “I was about to feed the horses. You can tag along if you like.” He turned without waiting for a reply and headed for the corral. Both horses were standing at the fence, curious about the strangers probably, and hoping they wouldn’t interfere with dinner. When Charlie forked a bale off the stack it tumbled and rolled almost to the agent’s feet. “Sorry, I should have warned you…these are heavy bales.”

  The agent nodded, hooked the two strands of baling twine with one big hand, and with little apparent effort carried it over to the horses. It obviously wasn’t his first time to feed horses. Charlie, right behind him, took out a pocketknife and cut the strings. There were two feeders hanging off the fence and the agent stood back as Charlie filled the first one; both men watched the mare lay her ears back at the gelding and take over the feed.

  “She’s a little bossy, isn’t she?” The agent eyed the broken bal
e, watching as Charlie filled the other feeder. “That’s good-looking hay you’ve got there, about a forty/sixty mix, I’d say.”

  “I suppose that’s about right if you take out for the weeds.” Charlie smiled. The man seemed to know something about horses, and hay, too. Bob was a smooth operator, all right. The old people had a name for it, but Charlie couldn’t bring it to mind.

  “Nice little place you’ve got here Charlie. You don’t mind if I call you ‘Charlie’, do you?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “What I’m here for, Charlie, is to see if you might be willing to help us out on a little problem we have coming out of Sinaloa, Mexico, and by ‘we’ I mean your people and mine.”

  Bob Freeman was the sort of man you wanted to like, but the investigator knew that could be a slippery slope, especially in view of what Charlie now suspected they were really after.

  “We’re told you know Tressa Tarango.”

  Charlie looked down the line of peach trees along the fence. He’d planted them two years before, and thought he’d put them just out of reach of the horses, now he could see he hadn’t. A few trees had mangled branches on the corral side. Bringing his attention back to the agent, he said, “You were told wrong, Bob. I’ve never seen the woman…let alone know her.”

  “Well, it seems she knows you, Charlie. That’s what’s important to us right now.”

  “What makes you think I can help you, Agent?”

  Freeman chewed on this a bit before answering. “It’s complicated, Charlie, and a lot of it’s classified. It would require a certain, leap of faith on both sides, if you know what I mean.”

  “No, I guess I don’t know what you mean, Bob.” Charlie started the water, and both men concentrated on watching the tank fill. “I’d have to know a hell of a lot more about it to even begin thinking how I could help.”

  This didn’t seem to bother agent Freeman. “I can understand that. We didn’t just pick you out of the phone book, Charlie. We’ve taken the trouble to learn something about you, and we think you’re the man for the job. Possibly the only man for the job.”

  Charlie shut off the water and turned to the agent just as Sue’s pickup turned off the highway and up the drive. “Drop by my office in the morning. I have Saturday off, but I have to go in for a couple of hours. Let’s make it early…say about seven o’clock?” The agent glanced down the drive, gave a little half-salute and nodded.

  Charlie watched as the blue sedan maneuvered back down the lane giving Sue plenty of room to get by. He saw his wife’s head turn as the car passed, and wondered who he could tell her it was.

  ~~~~~~

  Charlie Yazzie liked to sleep in on Saturday mornings but had very little sleep of any kind the night before. He reached for the steaming travel-cup as he started the truck, and was nearly down to the dregs by the time he hit the outskirts of Shiprock. There was almost no one on the streets. The sun was still not quite up; the little town looked cold and grey and would, until the sun edged above the big water tank on the hill. Charlie was glad now that Sue hadn’t settled for an apartment, or even trailer house in town, just so they could be close to their jobs. The little settlement of Waterflow had been the right choice, a bit of a drive, but worth it. She hadn’t worked since before the babies came, but had been threatening to go back when they started school. He didn’t want to think about that right now; he could worry about that when the time came.

  When the Legal Services Investigator pulled into the parking lot, the blue Ford sedan was already in front of the building. He saw only one person in the vehicle, the driver, who appeared to be busy fiddling with the radio.

  Bob Freeman had come alone and when he rolled down the window, Charlie called over to him, “Your partner sleeping in this morning?”

  Bob seemed in a more serious frame of mind than he had the evening before but smiled as he got out of the car, then stretched and yawned. “No, I had to put him on the early flight to Albuquerque this morning. Something came up.” The agent looked like he’d had no more sleep than Charlie.

  When the men settled themselves in Charlie’s office, the first thing Agent Freeman said was, “I hope you’ve had time to think about our little talk last evening?”

  Charlie didn’t change expression. “There really wasn’t that much to think about, Bob. Maybe you can give me a clue as to what you’re really after.” Charlie didn’t mean to sound rude, but was fully aware it might come across that way.

  The DEA agent nodded. “I understand where you’re coming from, Charlie. I spent a good bit of time on the telephone last night explaining that very thing to my boss. He finally agreed to lifting a few restrictions and thought we could let you know more about what we need from you…should you decide to go with it, of course. Your position here at Legal Services had something to do with it—along with your past involvement with the Robert Ashki prosecution. Not to mention a good report from the FBI and Officer Red Clay’s input, as well.”

  Charlie had pretty much figured this was about Tressa Tarango, but still couldn’t link Robert Ashki to Luca Tarango’s ex-wife. His curiosity was up now, however. “I can’t, for the life of me, see what connection the Tarango woman might have with Ashki…or with me for that matter?”

  Agent Freeman took a deep breath. “Both of those people have only recently come across our radar. Tressa Tarango has been a ‘person of interest’ for only a short while, mostly due to her friendship with Abraham Garza Jr. He’s the son of a former cartel member in Sinaloa by the same name. We’ve been tracking “Abraham the Elder,” as he’s known down there, for several years now. He no longer holds the influence in the organization he once did. Oh, he still knows most of what goes on but he’s lost the ear of the powers that be. He’s been relegated to the sidelines, almost ignored I guess, and he resents it. So we’re focusing on the father by way of the son.” The agent paused, took a breath, and continued. “As far as this Robert Ashki goes, he only entered the picture a few days ago; when Fred Smith over at FBI made us aware he was out of prison and thought the man might have it in for you and a few of your friends. As it turns out, Ashki apparently does have an agenda, something we’ve had to factor in before asking your help. We still don’t know his whole story…but we’re working on it.” The agent stopped to see how Charlie was taking all this, then indicated the investigator now had the floor.

  “How do you know so much about Tressa Tarango in so short a time?” Charlie was honestly interested in the mechanics of the agency and was fairly certain the agent had further information regarding Robert Ashki he wasn’t willing to divulge.

  “We have someone inside, Charlie; he’s been embedded I suppose you could say, for quite a while, even before Tressa Tarango was a factor.”

  “You mean a plant, right there in the restaurant where she works?”

  “Well, we don’t refer to them as plants but yes, I guess you could say so. You’ll understand why we don’t say more about him at this point, his job is risky enough as it is.”

  Charlie nodded. “I hope you don’t want me to give up my job and work in a restaurant.” Charlie was only half-joking, but the agent saw the humor in it and took it as a sign he was making headway with the Navajo. He was beginning to think the man had more going for him than some thought. He didn’t bother to dissuade him of the thought that their informant worked in the restaurant.

  It was only after another thirty minutes of animated discussion that Charlie began to feel more comfortable with the agent. Finally, he came right out and asked, “What sort of timeline are we talking about, Bob…for my part…if I should come on board, I mean?” Charlie had no intention of “coming on board,” at this point but was beginning to find the proposal interesting and couldn’t help a certain curiosity in hearing more about it.

  Freeman grew more cautious. “Our investigation has ramped up considerably in the last forty-eight hours. We now think our prime target, the younger Abraham Garza, or Little Abe as he’s known, may have been roped into a dangerous plot
by this Tarango woman. It complicates things and, quite frankly, it’s the reason your help has become so important. We can’t stand by and let this guy get by us, Charlie. Not with nearly two years work invested. And I might mention, several of our people’s lives on the line, here, in the states and in Mexico.

  Agent Bob Freeman had not played his last card. This Charlie Yazzie might, if nothing else, be swayed by dedication to duty. The drug problem was real enough, and from what he’d heard of the man, he was convinced the investigator would help. He was, in fact, fairly certain he had the investigator coming his way.

  ~~~~~~

  After the agent left the office, the Legal Services Investigator watched as early arrivals filed into the building. He’d trained most of them and couldn’t help wondering what he might be getting himself into; there was after all, his family to think about. Though Freeman had mentioned he would probably never be in any real danger, Charlie knew that might be a weak promise at best; realistically, the consequences might be far more real than the agent let on. In the end, Charlie Yazzie left the meeting with more information than he could get his head around, and was still having a hard time processing it as he left the office. The DEA man, as a final incentive, had made mention of the burgeoning drug problem right there on the reservation, a problem Charlie was well aware of and already knew a good deal about. Over the last few years just about everyone in law enforcement had come to recognize the trafficking affecting their part of the country originated in Sinaloa State. Charlie had seen its debilitating effect on families in every part and social layer of the Diné Bikeyah.

  Charlie pulled out of the parking lot with the thought in mind he should swing by Billy Red Clay’s office over at Tribal. Billy had mentioned he was working this Saturday morning, as well, and Charlie had the feeling the young officer might know more than he’d originally been willing to say. The more he thought about this the more it bothered him. He’d known Thomas’s nephew since he was a kid and had been a big supporter of the young policeman since he joined the force.