The Bootlegger’s Legacy

by Ted Clifton

  His father was his father, the husband of his mother. What did this all mean? No millions—some old stock certificates that were probably worth nothing, a slip of paper with numbers that meant nothing and had no obvious value, and a package addressed to his father’s mistress. Not exactly what Mike had been hoping for.

  Joe spoke up. “Seems like the first order of business is to go visit Mr. Emerson again and see what he has to say about this BDD company. Maybe there’s a simple explanation why he didn’t mention it before.”

  “That’s probably the best approach. Emerson is ruthless, but I don’t believe he’s dangerous. He’s kept a pretty low profile over the years—except, of course, for purchasing Citizen’s Bank. He doesn’t socialize with local people and he’s not active in politics or local charities.” Bates looked like he wanted to say something else but hesitated.

  “Jim and I go back many years. We’ve had some major clashes and I would say we’re far from friendly. For a while I was Citizen’s Bank’s legal counsel, and I questioned some of the things the bank was doing. I’m not saying it was illegal, although there’s no question that much of Emerson’s real estate activity involved very favorable treatment by the bank. There are all sorts of rules about how owners and officers of a bank conduct business with that bank and I thought they crossed that line. Jim’s solution to that problem was to fire me. You might say we’ve been enemies ever since. I’ve been concerned that some of that animus was rubbing off on you, Mike. More so than just something to do with your dad.”

  “Well, even if he doesn’t like my choice of attorney, or my dad, or me—Joe’s right. He’s the next stop. I think Joe and I will go alone and see what happens. But stand by in case we need to be rescued.”

  It was amazing, anyone they wanted to see was somewhere within a two block area. They walked to Emerson’s office and once again startled the lady at the front. She probably needed to get a bell for the door or give up coffee—she was very jumpy. Mike introduced himself again and asked to see Mr. Emerson. She told them to have a seat and went down the hall. She returned and said Mr. Emerson would be right with us.

  The wait was shorter than the previous time. Emerson looked like he had aged since they saw him last—and at his age that was a very bad thing. He didn’t offer to shake hands, but directed them back to his office and the conference table.

  “Mr. Allen, I don’t know why you’re here today. As I told you the other day, I only knew your dad slightly and have no information for you, so you’re wasting your time. And wasting my time. So unless you have something specific to say, I need to get back to work.” Not a warm and fuzzy kind of guy.

  “Mr. Emerson, I believe there are some very specific things we need to discuss.” Mike reached into his brief case and pulled out photocopies of the BDD stock certificates that he’d made at Jeff’s office. “These appear to be stock certificates for a company my father owned outright, and you’re listed as an officer. Why didn’t you mention this to me the other day?”

  “Mention what? I told you I was an employee of your father’s back in the 50s. I’m not sure what you’re trying to suggest, but I damn sure don’t like the tone of your question. I think this conversation’s over—if you need anything further you can contact my attorney, Frank Myers. Now, I’m going to get back to work.” Emerson rose slowly, then waited for Mike and Joe to do the same.

  “My attorney, Bill Bates, whom I guess you know, contacted the Secretary of State’s Office—this company is still active. I bet we will find out that you’re the one listed as the registered agent for Blue Devils. I’m also guessing that much of your holdings are tied up in this company—is that right Mr. Emerson? Believe me, I’m not going away, and I’ll have Bates dig up every record there is until I find out what all of this means—got it?” Mike was pissed and it showed.

  Emerson sat back down. He was quiet for a while, apparently deciding what he was going to do. He looked up and there was a new hardness to the old man. “Your father and I had a verbal agreement about the work I was doing for him. He promised me ownership if I would continue to operate the business. Then he dropped out of everything. I called him and wrote him, asking him what he wanted me to do. He just ignored me. I put everything into the business. I grew the business. It was all because your father had said it was going to be mine—I always did what I thought he would have wanted me to do.”

  Emerson went from being monstrous to forlorn. He wasn’t the force they’d thought he was—he was weak and seemed harmless, but there was evil there.

  “I’m still confused, Mr. Emerson. What’s Blue Devils Development?”

  “It’s your father’s company, and it owns real estate assets in Las Cruces, El Paso, and Oklahoma City. Your father started it in the early 50s. But I was the one who ran it—I was an officer of the company and I bought and sold the property on that authority. At first, I would send your father reports and we would talk often, but then something happened and he just stopped returning my calls. Eventually, I heard that he had died. I guess I thought someone would contact me and something would be worked out—but no one ever did—so I just continued running the business.”

  “Does that include the bank?”

  “No, that was a different deal. I had some money already and then borrowed some more from First National Bank. I was able to purchase the bank with a partner. The partner later wanted out and I was able to get the money to buy the rest of the bank. That had nothing to do with Mr. Allen.”

  “Mr. Emerson, it sounds to me like you might have stolen from my dad, or maybe you just helped him—I just don’t know what to believe.”

  “Look, Mike, maybe I’ve been an old fool. I’ve run this business as my own for so many years. When you showed up, I kind of panicked. I always trusted your father, but of course I don’t know you, so I didn’t know what to do. I thought I had an understanding with your father, but I don’t have anything in writing so I’m sure Bates will say I’m shit out of luck. Of course, you know there’s going to be one big legal mess straightening all of this out. Maybe, rather than having Bates spend the rest of his life in court, it would make sense to come to some kind of mutually beneficial deal.”

  “Like what kind of deal?”

  “I don’t know right now. Why don’t you give me until the morning to think about this and come up with a proposal—could you do that?”

  “Joe and I will back tomorrow morning at ten. If we can’t come up with something that makes sense, then I’ll turn it over to Bates and Young.”

  “I will see you in the morning.”

  Joe and Mike left Emerson sitting at his conference table. They walked back across the street and got in the car. They decided not to go back into the attorney’s office only to be told that they’d made a bad decision in giving Emerson any kind of consideration at all. So they decided to find a place to have lunch and then go to the closing on the cabin, which would be in the very same building.

  Joe was driving this time and he headed north on Main Street—suspiciously, it was the way to What-a-Burger. “I can’t decide what I think about Emerson. One minute I hated the guy and, then, the next I felt sorry for him.” Joe wasn’t going to mention What-a-Burger until they got closer.

  “I know, Joe. I feel the same way. You know what he was saying about my dad just ignoring him for years—I can see that happening. When he started being a dad and husband again and not going on his trips, it was like he became a different person. I bet you he didn’t want to talk to Emerson because it reminded him of his old life.”

  “Any ideas on what he might suggest tomorrow.”

  “None. I’m still not real sure I understand what we’re talking about. Part of me says to just turn it over to the lawyers and see what happens. But you know, maybe I feel the same way as my dad—I want this done and then I want to put it behind me. What I want to do is go back to Oklahoma City and get on with my new life.”

  “Yeah, I can understand that.” Well, he could if he
had a new life. Joe pulled into What-a-Burger.

  “Joe you have all of the culinary skills of a country hog.”

  “Nice way to talk to your driver.”

  No matter what Mike said, lunch was great. The green chili cheeseburger with fries was at the top of Joe’s list of the best stuff ever.

  After lunch they drove around for a while and saw some of the sights. They thought about going down to Old Mesilla and walking around the Plaza, but decided they didn’t have time. So they headed back to the First National Bank building to find the title company offices.

  Based on information from Chuck, Mike had agreed to $16,500 for the cabin, after Chuck’s fee. Agreeing to contribute $500 to the closing cost, Mike was going to net out $16,000 which would be transferred to his Oklahoma City account. The closing documents confirmed that the property taxes had been paid all of these years by, apparently, the same Dallas law firm. Mike told himself that someday he’d have to find out how that had been handled.

  They waited in the title company reception area for the Sheriff to arrive to sign the paperwork. Pacheco was only a few minutes late. He greeted Mike and Joe and seemed to be in a good mood.

  “How soon is your retirement, Sheriff?”

  “Joe, I am looking at just six more weeks and I will no longer be the Dona Ana County Sheriff. At one time I thought I didn’t want to retire, just keep working. But as I’ve spent more time thinking about it, the more eager I am to stop chasing bad guys.”

  “Well, we sure wish you luck. Guess we’ll have to take a rain check on the drug dealer story, but tell me, why do you think he shot me?”

  “He said he thought you and Joe were feds. The DEA people had been monitoring Hector, the Sheriff in Sierra County, for some time, and that was how they got onto Max. So the Sheriff cut a deal with the Feds and Max had heard about it—it was on the same day you drove up there—so he went into a panic when he saw you all and decided to shoot and run. I really don’t think Max was smart enough to be the person behind what was going on, and I also don’t think it was the Sheriff, but so far the DEA people can’t determine who was running the show. This was a very elaborate scheme involving transporting drugs out of Mexico and flying them out of an old airstrip in T or C up to Albuquerque and Denver. Lots of moving parts, as they say, and it would appear none of the moving parts knew about the others—so, pretty damn sophisticated.”

  That set Joe to thinking. Who would know how to do all of that? Maybe an old bootlegger with connections in Mexico and experience transporting contraband. Could it be? No way—he’s too damn old. “How much money do you think was involved?”

  “Nobody told me an exact number, but the DEA agents indicated it was millions in annual sales. Big bucks—way beyond anything Max could have dreamed up.”

  The title clerk came out and said she was ready. They entered the conference room and took seats at the table with the Sheriff on one side and Mike on the other, their pens at the ready. It took about ten minutes to get everything signed and notarized. Joe and Mike told the Sheriff that they might be in Las Cruces again and that they’d look him up, but they all knew they wouldn’t. Everyone left.

  “Why don’t we go back to the hotel and rest a while?”

  “Sure. Feels like we’ve put in a full day. I was wondering if you were listening to the Sheriff when he was talking about the drug operation in T or C.”

  “Sort of—not sure I was real interested. Why?”

  “Maybe this sounds farfetched, but when he was describing what was involved in moving that volume of drugs it sounded real similar to moving booze.”

  “Jeez, are you kidding? Old man Emerson is now a big time drug dealer? Joe, you need to find more productive things to dream up.”

  “Well, scoff if you want. But it’s basically the same business. Let’s suppose most of what Emerson was saying is true—but not all. He said he was only involved in the real estate business with your dad. Does that make any sense at all? Why would your dad hire somebody to run the real estate business—that’s mostly about doing maintenance and collecting rents. There are plenty of property management companies you can hire to do that. No, what makes sense is that he needed someone to keep the supply lines open out of Mexico and get the booze shipped into Oklahoma. Now, there was a job he needed filled. I know you don’t want to think about what your dad was doing—and fine, I understand—but I’m telling you that if there’s anybody in Las Cruces who would know how to set up a drug smuggling business it’s Emerson.”

  “Well, okay. If you assume that he was involved in the bootlegging business and transporting booze out of Mexico, I admit that’s similar to drug smuggling. But he said he wasn’t involved in the bootlegging part of my father’s past and I’m going to believe him.”

  “Okay. Fine. Just bury your head in the sand.”

  Mike looked unhappy. “Joe, I’m not trying to deny that my father did some bad, maybe even horrible, things. I’m just trying to forget them. Whatever happened, he’s dead. My mother’s dead. I want to forget the past and live right now, from this point forward, and I’m just fine with not talking about my father and his wicked ways anymore.”

  Joe realized now how hurtful all of this information about his dad was to Mike. It hadn’t touched Joe, but for Mike it destroyed all his memories of his father, and it hurt.

  “All right. I’ll shut up.”

  “Well, there’s some good news.” Mike smiled, although he didn’t really look happy.

  Back at the hotel they each went to their rooms to rest and regroup. Joe said he would probably be in the bar around five or so. Mike said he would see him later.

  Mike didn’t want to think about the past, but Joe did. He was convinced that there was a connection between Emerson and the drug operation in T or C. That was probably why Emerson was eager to put a stop to any investigation or court case around the development company before it even got started. He probably already had his hands full covering his tracks after two of his underlings had been arrested. But that didn’t make sense. If those two knew about Emerson they would have already given him up to the DEA to get a better deal. And why was he even thinking about this? He knew nothing about drugs, the DEA, or anything else for that matter.

  Joe had held onto the package addressed to Sally Thompson. If anyone was going to try to find Sally it would have to be him. Mike was in his “if I don’t think about it, maybe it didn’t happen” mode. And Mike sure didn’t want to be reminded about his father’s less than virtuous past. But Joe wanted to know who Sally was. He would try to find her. He wasn’t sure how, but it would give him something to think about other than Liz and the pending doom of their divorce.

  Joe took a nap, then went to the bar, which turned out to be empty except for the bartender—the same guy who, on their previous trip, had suggested they leave. Maybe he wouldn’t remember. “Hey, Joe, how about an El Grande?” Nothing worse than a wiseass bartender with a good memory.

  “You know that El Grande may be more than a simple Okie can handle. How about a gin and tonic.”

  “Good choice, sir.” With a grin—wiseass bartender.

  Joe nursed his drink for a while, expecting to see Mike. After a while he killed the drink and ordered another one. Probably Mike was practicing sermons on the phone with Sam.

  The bar was starting to fill up and Joe no longer felt like he stuck out like a sore thumb. He ordered an appetizer plate with a selection of finger foods and another drink. By the time he had finished it was almost seven, so Joe paid his tab and went to his room. He called Mike, just to make sure he was okay, but got a busy signal. He was sure it had something to do with Samantha. He started watching a basketball game on TV between two teams he couldn’t have cared less about, but after a short time he turned it off and went to sleep.

  Joe woke up about four in the morning ready to start his day. Early to bed, early to rise may not actually contribute to wisdom or wealth, but will have you up ready to go at a god-awful early hour
in the morning. There was a small coffee pot in the room. He fixed some coffee and sat, just waiting for time to pass.

  Around six Joe went down to the breakfast buffet area to see if they were open yet. They weren’t, but they did have coffee ready. Joe got an El Paso paper and some coffee and took a seat.

  Later Mike found his table. “Sorry about last night. I tell you we have so much to talk about with our new church. And Sam is so excited. She was talking to a graphic designer yesterday and the guy has come up with what she says is the neatest logo for the church. Man, I can’t wait to get back and get that started. Anyway, time just got away from me, and I guess you went to bed early. I came down here about nine and the bartender said you’d gone to your room some time before. I can sure understand that, I was tired too. Well, we can go see Emerson in a little while, find out what he’s thinking and then head home.”

  Mike seemed a little wound up—it was irritating.

  They chatted over coffee and some toast about nothing. They were losing the ability to talk to each other—no doubt this would be the last field trip for the boys.

  By the time they got everything packed into the car and checked out, it was time to head to Emerson’s office. Neither Mike nor Joe had any idea what might happen. Joe was starting to question whether it was wise to meet Emerson without an attorney present, but he kept his mouth shut.

  Like all trips in Las Cruces, it didn’t take long. They parked in front of Emerson’s office. There was no one at the front desk. Joe hoped Emerson hadn’t eliminated her as a witness or something.

  “Hello.” Joe called in a loud voice toward the back room.

  In a while Emerson came out of his office and, without any mention of there being no one at the front desk, asked them to come on back. Once seated, Emerson began.

  “Let me tell you what we’re talking about. There are nine buildings in total, four of them here in Las Cruces, one in El Paso, and four in Oklahoma City. I estimate that the buildings in Las Cruces and El Paso are worth maybe $3.2 million with mortgages of about $2 million, or a net value of $1.2 million. The four buildings in Oklahoma City are worth just about $1.2 million with no mortgages. All of the buildings and the debt are in the name of the development company.”