by Doug Ball
The sound of metal against rock screeching added to the dissonance of sounds. The driver mashed the clutch and brakes. Ben checked the noise source. The drivers were rolling over a small boulder and jamming the top of the box into the ceiling. The driver reversed to allow one of Ben’s crew to remove the rock.
The second time things went well until a rear trailer wheel caused the same problem with its own rock. That cared for and all in place, having checked for more rocks, the rig moved forward again until all of it was in the sunshine.
From the condition of the rear of the box and the top corners it was evident that putting the rig in the mine tunnel had not been easy to do. It was a miracle the rear doors even opened with the damage they had received.
Walking out behind the rig was Tank.
Ben yelled, “Where you been?”
“Found a new branch off the shaft that goes downhill rather steeply. Been down there for hours I guess. There’s some promising rock down there. I may just be the hermit miner for a while if I can find some grocery money. Wanna stake me? I’ll pay triple if it’s as good as it looks.”
Ben looked around, “Sounds like some B Western movie where I stake you, you get rich, and so do I, and then we all live happily in riches ever after, or whenever the bad guy shows up, whichever comes first.”
“Yup, that’s about it. If you want I’ll sell ya half interest in the mine for ten grand.”
“Yeah, right. On the state payroll I’m gonna have ten grand to just blow. With three kids, a wife, two cars, two dogs, a mortgage, and a cat to support, oh yeah, all my expensive hobbies gotta be in there, you want me to speculate with ten grand. You know, if I had it, I would. Here.” He pulled out his wallet and handed Tank a hundred dollar bill. “Triple or nothing. I’m game.”
“You are on, my man, you are on. I can eat for a month on a hundred bucks. All beans and rice diet here I come.”
Ben got back to work.
Tank disappeared into the mine.
The driver rechecked everything in the daylight and then left.
Tan was left hanging on the location of Tank until two hours later when Ben remembered and climbed the saddle to report to him that Tank was alive and well, and how they could all get filthy rich. Tan ended with, “Tell him I have a couple hundred he can use, triple or nothing.”
“You got it.” Ben went back to work again.
#
Leon cruised Camelback Road west of Central looking for one of his favorite snitches. He called the man Birdie, because he sang so pretty for bird seed. Leon loved informants who talked cheap. His budget for his contacts always came out of his pocket except on those rare occasions they were really going deep and the force needed seriously heavy information. Even then he tried not to overpay and spoil the cheap ones with big money. Birdie was almost always found panhandling somewhere around Grand Canyon University. When he was not begging he was selling big name cosmetics to the college girls cheap, real cheap. One of these days some highly motivated cop would take him off the street.
As he rounded the corner onto 16th Avenue, there was Birdie standing in front of a smoke shop selling corncob pipes for a buck. Leon stopped at the curb across the street waiting to catch Birdie’s eye. When he did he held up three fingers casually and drove off.
Birdie packed up shop, got on his bicycle, and pedaled off in the opposite direction, turned right, pedaled three blocks, turned left, peddled three blocks, and stopped next to Leon’s car.
“What’s up, my man?” the snitch said. “Ain’t seed you in over two months.”
“Yeah, I been lying low for a bit. That meth bust you set up for me got me on a list. Not a good list either. How’s business? Pipes for a buck. How can you do that?”
“I got a great source. Makes’em themselves.”
“Okay, give me one.” He handed a dollar bill through the open window.
Birdie dug in his bag and handed the product to Leon. “Nothing but the finest for you, Leon, just the finest.”
Leon took the pipe and looked it over. “Birdie this thing on the bottom says ‘made in China.’ What’s up with that?”
“We put those stickers on so we won’t get hassled by the environmental boys and girls. They jump us if it ain’t there ‘cuz we don’t got no licensed factory.”
“That’s a good story, stick to it.” Leon looked the man over. He looked healthy. There were bulges in his pockets that were probably Spice or something else marginally illegal for him to possess, let alone sell. There were a couple of new needle marks on the back of his hand. “What’s with the needle marks, Birdie? Thought you would never do the stuff again.”
“Ain’t drugs. I was in the ER last night for food poisoning. I can prove it.”
“That girl of yours, Sophie, she your alibi and proof.”
“Yeah. She drove me there.”
Again Leon looked him over. “New bike?”
“Naw, same one, just washed it and put a rear fender on this piece of garbage. What you want, Leon?”
“Word on the street about something very big. Like blowing up a building or something like that.” Leon wondered how much he could say to this clown knowing it would be all over town in two hours.
“There’s a guy down on 24th and Van Buren that says he’s Napoleon.”
“Yeah, we been there before. He’ll be there in the state hospital for the rest of his life. Thinking you are Napoleon is one thing, raising an army to attack California is another.”
Birdie was looking around more than he usually did, “What’s wrong, Birdie, you’re awfully jumpy, my friend.”
“I am the recipient of threats. The latest is from a couple of suits that want me gone. I met them over to Deer Valley Airport a week or so ago. They didn’t like the way I looked over their car or their airplane. I think they stole’em and could prove it if you’d run them for me.”
“What you got to run?”
“License and registration numbers.”
Leon had heard this kind of paranoia from Birdie before, but never to this extent. “I’ll run them. What do ya think is going down?”
Birdie handed the numbers over after digging deep in his left cargo pocket.
“How do you know they are after you?”
“They went by just before you came and they been askin’ ‘bout me on the street. LaRay told me so yesterday and two days before.”
“I’ll get on it. Anything else you got?”
“Nah, just the usual crap. Organized crime getting bad. Hookers paying protection. Some clown thinks he gonna get a bazillion outta the city. Hell, everyone knows the city don’t got no money. If they did they’d run us bums out.”
“What’s that about a bazillion?”
“Yeah, some tweeker over around 7th Avenue thinks he gonna be rich when his buddy makes a delivery.”
“What kind of delivery?”
“I don’t know, Leon, he ain’t saying.”
“What’s his name?”
“I don’t know.”
“I need that name, and location if possible. Soonest, Birdie.”
“I’m on it.”
“Extra in it for you, Birdie.”
“I am on it. I told ya.” He pushed on the pedals and left.
Leon was left thinking, ‘How many ways could a tweeker get rich?’ The answer came to him, ‘about a bazillion.’
#
The Hawk hated these meetings where everyone just wanted to argue. He had tried every tactic he knew trying to bring these idiot spend it all boys and girls to the right way of thinking. Finally, he’d had enough. “Look, boys and girls, just because we can is not a reason to tax and spend. Just because we can is a reason to spend no more than needed and tax as little as possible. President Reagan proved that theory years ago and now we have the opportunity to implement an expanded version of that in Arizona. We need a balanced budget law. We need a large rainy day fund. We need to continue to cut everywhere we can as long as the people are safe, jobs are av
ailable, and our state facilities look reasonably well maintained. If we can reduce and still supply, then we need to reduce more. If we have nothing left over we are where we should be.
“Now here’s my proposal. Legislators serve for no pay, no per diem, no upgrading offices, and as small a staff as possible, most of our staff will be interns from local colleges who are paid with the experience and education they are receiving. We demand a balanced budget of ourselves. Term limits of no more than 8 years in government service, except in the case of the Governor’s Office, a person can do eight in the Legislature and then eight in the Governor’s Office. We need to see a person operate in order to determine whether they will make a good Governor.”
A hand went up.
“Yes?”
“That means you are serving your last term, right?”
“You are correct. We will make that rule apply no matter when a person took office.”
“Thank you. That’s one way to get rid of you.” The speaker was smiling, but serious.
“You have caught on quite well. It also means you only have four years to go.”
“Or, be Governor.”
“True, there is always that possibility, isn’t there. I don’t think you would do too bad in the job if you find the guts deep down inside to stand alone against the world.”
The haggling went on for four more hours before Hawk got just about everything he wanted in the bill. A state food stamp program using only state funds was the one thing he relented on, knowing the Conservatives would amend the bill to take that out. What some of these folks hadn’t realized yet, almost nobody was on food stamps in Arizona anymore. He might have been born in the dark, but it wasn’t last night.
#
The Governor laid back her chair and put her heels on the desk and began reading the two items from her IN box. The first was a report on the state lands income and the second was a letter to the President of these United States requesting that all federal properties, except reservations, be turned over to the state as per some referenced Supreme Court finding. She liked both of them. A quick whip of the pen signed the letter and and a flick of the wrist sent the report from the State Land Department to the Legislature to let the law and money folks deal with the suggestions listed therein. Calling Rachel in, she directed her to write another letter to the President requesting the reservation lands be turned over to the tribes which would allow them to truly govern themselves now that they were counties within the state.
“That’s enough fighting the establishment for one day,” she paused, “or is it?”
Rachel shrugged her shoulders. “Beats the heck outta me, you’re the Governor. I am just your obedient servant.”
“Right!”
Next Morning
Chuck pulled into the Denny’s, locked the unit, and went inside. The big rig in the corner of the lot told him Larry was probably inside already. He looked around as a waiter asked, “How many?”
Seeing a man who fit the description of Larry sitting in a far corner wearing a ball cap and a trucking company shirt, he flashed his UConn tee shirt and the guy nodded. “I see my friend over there, thanks. Coffee please,” and walked past the waiter toward the driver.
Two cups, one full and one upside down, were on the table along with the latest glorious pictures of tantalizing delights on a placemat held down with a napkin rolled around a knife, fork, and spoon. He turned the cup over and nodded yes to the waiter with the carafe following him. “You must be Larry. I’m Chuck.”
“That’d be me. Not happy to meet you under these circumstances and I have 45 minutes before I really must leave. Either that or I lose my job. I need this job. May I see your badge, please?”
“No problem.” He threw his badge holder on the table. It flopped open showing the badge on one side and his picture ID on the other.
The waiter returned, got their orders, and left.
“I’ll get right to the point. Tell me what happened from when you passed the Oracle cut off until you were walking back to Oracle.”
In the middle of the story their food arrived. Larry continued the story for another ten minutes as he tried to talk and eat at the same time.
“So, let me get this straight, you were just getting suspicious when your truck took off. What was the clue that triggered the suspicion?”
“The make of the vehicle for a county cop car started it and then the old style roof lights. Not many cops have those anymore even out there in the rural areas. The clincher on the deal was my taillights shining bright and the engine revving. What do you do when the red-and-blues come on behind you, you stop? I did and got the shaft.
“You find anything yet?”
“Sure did. We found the car at McDonald’s in Globe and the truck buried in an old mine. I’d say you got the shaft, but that’s a lousy pun. I’ve been told they are driving it out today. Lots of dents, but otherwise in running order. Cargo missing. So, let me ask this. During your run, did anything other than the stop hit you as strange, anything at all, no matter how trivial you might think it was?”
Larry thought for a few moments and answered, “Other than all the hullaballoo over the explosives, not really.”
“Nobody watching you. Same car passing you more than once? Car that hung behind you for a long time? Car that stayed ahead of you for a long time? Anything at all, no matter how small?”
Chuck filled their cups from the carafe on the table. Cutting another bite of steak, he thought of what he’d missed in the story. Something was banging on his mind from all this, but he couldn’t place it. Then it came to him, “How’d the new driver get to the cab without you seeing him in the mirror?”
“I’ve asked myself that a dozen times and the only thing I have come up with is the cop. He kept me focused on him all the way from the time he came up to the cab all the way to the back of the box.”
“Why wasn’t the other door locked? Don’t you usually keep the passenger door locked?”
“Yeah, I thought it was, but I guess I slipped. All I wanted was to get home to my wife. Hadn’t seen her for quite a while and was looking forward to our 47th honeymoon.”
“47th?”
“It’s a joke of ours. Every time I come home from a trip longer than a week we call the reunion a honeymoon.”
“Makes sense to me.”
“I just remembered. There was a phone call to my house earlier that evening asking for me. My wife told them to call back after noon the next day and the guy said he would, but didn’t. He wouldn’t identify himself or tell my wife what it was all about. Nope, he never called back.”
“Interesting, but I don’t see how we could get anything out of it. What time was that and I’ll check with the phone company, but that’s about all. Unless, your wife thought there was something different we could use. I may just want to talk with her on this.”
Larry checked his watch. “I got four minutes left, Officer.”
“I think we’re done. I have your cell and home numbers. I’ll be in touch sooner or later.”
“The company ain’t gonna be happy with the dents. That was a new Volvo.”
“Insurance will cover it I’m sure.”
“Probably. Catch ya later.” Larry stood, shook hands with Chuck, and made for the door in a hurry.
Chuck sat back down and finished his meal. ‘Good coffee in this place,’ he thought.
#
Bruce called Florence again to see if he could see the dead driver’s running mate. The last time he called he was told the yard was in lock down due to an influx of drugs causing the guards to search everywhere. After being shuffled through three offices he was given the okay to come out and talk with one, Abdul Smith.
“Hell’s bells and cockle shells, it’s about time.”
An hour and a half later, Bruce parked his car and entered the administrative gate of the prison complex where he was dutifully screened, scanned, and searched before being allowed to enter the deputy warden’s office
to set up the face to face with Abdul. An hour later he was escorted to a small room and invited to take a seat on a stool bolted to the floor. He read the instructions on the wall before he looked through the heavy glass window in front of him.
After another fifteen minutes a man with a very dark complexion entered the room on the other side of the glass. He took one look at Bruce and shook his head before he grabbed the handset on his side. “Who the hell are you? You ain’t on my list.”
Bruce picked up his own handset, smiled, and said, “I am Bruce Knotts, Special Investigator for the Governor’s Office. Are you Abdul Smith?”
“Yeah. What do ya want? I ain’t telling nobody nothing ‘bout nobody or nothing.”
“Tell me about Roger Wolinski.”
“Ski, how is he?”
“Dead.”
Abdul sat down on his own stool and slowly shook his head back and forth like a dancing elephant at the circus. “What happened?”
“He was driving a hijacked truck after a hijacking. Somebody killed him after he did his part in the job and left him in the empty truck. I’m hoping you can help me find his killer.”
Again Abdul acted like he had been hurt. He stared at the floor for minutes before putting the handset back to his ear and saying, “He was a weasel and not too bright, but he didn’t deserve to die that way. He was my buddy, loyal as a hound dog, he was. How can I help from in here? ”
“Didn’t you two communicate?’
“Yeah. He wrote me a letter or two and I called him once. Then they found out he was an ex-con and took him off my list.”
“And that stopped you for how long?” Bruce knew a few things about prison communications. “Whose girlfriend did you use? His or yours?”
Abdul smiled a touch. “His.”
“Do you know anything about a truck heist he was working on?”
“Is that what killed him?”
“Not the heist. Someone did him in after the heist, three days after, from what we’re piecing together.” Bruce was patient as he watched that sink in as Abdul looked at the floor again.