The Family at Serpiente

by Raymond Tolman

  Hidalgo looked up from his plate and watched the boy walk across the floor. When he got to the booth the younger of the men defiantly raised his head and shouted at the boy, “Vamonous tu pollo” The other men looked at him in disgust then noticed Corey and Hidalgo watching them.

  One of them quickly walked over to Hidalgo and said, “You guys are about done here aren’t you?”

  “No,” Hidalgo answered with firmness to his voice.

  “You need to mind your own business!” angrily interjected the intruder.

  “We are minding our own business,” replied Hidalgo without losing eye contact.

  The other men motioned him to be quiet, but the young man was disgusted with the boy and willing to take it out on anyone around them.

  The boy had lost his fight in a tournament. Much like a cock fight, the boy had been in a fight in which men would bet enormous amounts of money on young boys who would fight bear knuckled in order to win the approval of their masters. Like the gladiators of old, they would fight until one of them couldn’t stand up or a white towel was tossed into the ring. Unfortunately, by this time they were usually a bloody mess.

  The young Mexican pushed Corey’s tea class over making a huge mess. This of course prompted Hidalgo to throw his glass of tea into the Mexican’s face and instantly everyone sprang to their feet. The two other Mexican men ran over and grabbed the younger man. The oldest man said a fast “lo siento” (I’m sorry) then they forced the young combatant out of the front door of the café and they left.

  “What was that all about,” asked Corey?

  “Well,” said Hidalgo, “As best I could tell from the limited Spanish I heard they were relatives of the boy who appeared to have been beaten up. Like cock fighting with roosters, it is illegal to have those kinds of fights. What happens is the boys who fight come out with serious medical problems such as concussions. The winner gets a small prize, usually anywhere from $25 to $100 dollars. The loser gets nothing but distain from everyone who lost money on him. The real money is being passed around in the audience in the form of bets. It is a nasty brutal sport. Something should be done. By the way, it was obvious they were worried that we would find out what they were up to. They wanted to keep it a secret. Otherwise, we really would have had a major brawl on our hands.”

  Searching for a Sponsor

  Back in Serpiente, June and Ken as well as Hidalgo, Corey and of course yours truly sat around the kitchen table while Ken talked on the telephone to mining and drilling experts that they knew. It helped that Ken’s brother Tim, who was also my father, was in the oil business.

  As it turned out Tim had a vast library of names of small companies who specialized in all forms mining and petroleum work. It appeared that their best bet was to find a company that specialized in rescue work; companies that could sink a large pipe down a hole to allow miners to escape a collapsed mine. If there was someone out there that could put a human size pipe down into the cave Tim would know. As it turned out he did know of one company that specialized in mine rescue work but they were very expensive. In fact, as it turns out putting a pipe large enough for humans to drop down and return would be a major expense, costing many thousands of dollars.

  June also was of help. As it turns out the idea of giant Indians is not so farfetched after all,” she told the group. “There actually is Calvary photographs of a tribe of Indians in the Needles, California area who were giants compared to other Indians. Some of the men in the photographs were approaching eleven feet tall.”

  “Still,” said June, “The skeleton that you are talking about in Estancia is probably certainly shorter than those found in Carlsbad Caverns.”

  I said, “Yes, but the skeleton in Carlsbad Caverns proves that it is a possibility. “What if,” I continued, “the California Indians were only a small branch of a much larger group of people who lived in North America thousands of years ago, wouldn’t that in itself cause a real stir in the scientific world?”

  “Why did they go deep into caves,” asked Corey?

  Hidalgo answered, “Not for the same reasons people do now days. Mayans actually built huge megalithic pyramids and other structures over natural cave entrances. They thought by going into the underworld they were going to where their Gods were located. Even over in Arizona, the Hopi believe they originated from a cave in the Grand Canyon. They believe they came from a whole different world that existed down there. Many Native Americans believed the earth is hollow.”

  “Yes”, answered Corey, but isn’t all of that talk of hollow earth stuff just superstition and mythology. Unlike what some science fiction writers would have us believe, as you drop down into the deepest of mines the temperature becomes unbearable as miners get near to the mantle of the earth.”

  “That’s true,” said Ken, “Diamond mines in Africa can only go so deep because the temperatures are so high that far down. Despite pumping tremendous amounts of refrigerated air into them the miners can only work in twenty minute shifts. Obviously what we might, and I do mean might, be dealing with is very different.”

  I said, “You say Don and Leslie dropped a camera on the end of a cable down into the cave? Exactly how big was that hand? If we could find a way to determine exactly how long the bones are in that hand we can extrapolate how big the entire skeleton is.”

  June said, “It seems to me that our next step is to find Mr. Sanchez and find out just what it will take to gain access to the property. Then go back there and drop another camera down that pipe and see for ourselves just how big that hand is and if there is anything else down there to look at. In the meantime, Don and Leslie can keep searching for a sponsor who might help us pay to get that rescue pipe down there, if we decide to actually drop into that cave.”

  The Insidious Fight Game

  Hidalgo had too many things on his mind to enjoy his dinner this evening and for Hidalgo who enjoyed good food better than most this was a remarkable turn of events. I kept pushing him to tell me what was bothering him but he simply shrugged it off. Everyone knew he was having a tumultuous argument in his mind. Finally after spending several hours out on the porch in the bitter cold by himself he came into the living area and made an announcement.

  Hidalgo sat down on a kitchen chair which is where most of the family business is taken care of. He brushed the long strands of black hair from his eyes. Usually well groomed, he hadn’t been to a barber in several weeks and was appearing more like a wild Indian by the day. I poured him a cup of hot coffee and added sugar and cream to it just like he liked it. Then everyone gathered around him patiently waiting for his thoughts.

  Hidalgo spoke very quietly in a determined, slow voice. “All of you remember why I left the La Plata police department and came to work for you.”

  “Sure,” Ken said, “You were disgruntled by the politics of the La Plata judicial system. The police were being used to round up young offenders who were sentenced to spend time in a private jail.”

  Hidalgo thought to himself about the dozens of young offenders he himself had rounded up; all of them arrogant and mouthy when arrested. They all thought that nothing could hurt them. They believed that they would live forever and eventually get retribution for being inconvenienced by the arresting officer. The act continued during the court proceedings, even as they were delivered to the juvenile facility that they were housed in. Many of them, in fact, were darn right proud of themselves. Deep in their hearts they each knew they could beat the system. But they were wrong. They came out looking like beat dogs.

  Ken continued, “Since the jailers were also the owners; they were given the right to decide who had been rehabilitated. All sentences were drawn out for several months, costing the parents one hundred and fifty dollars a day. It cost the jail only ten dollars a day to incarcerate the young prisoners. Needless to say, the jail was a money making operation. The situation came to a head when the local press realized that the judge was selective in who he sent to the jail and even more importantly he was
getting a kick back from the jail. He had gotten rich, rich enough to purchase land in the Caribbean where he could hide his wealth and avoid paying taxes on it. The judge left the United States as soon as the problem became public knowledge and is still hiding out, but living like a king. Since then, it has all been hushed up to avoid bad publicity for the tourist oriented County.

  Hidalgo answered with a simple, “uh huh.”

  Again, Ken continued his point, “When Tim, my brother met you there you were already considering quitting and soon you quit your job in disgust and La Plata County lost one of the best policeman they ever had. You were an up and coming star being considered for a lieutenants’ position. Tim suggested that if you were looking for work, you could contact me and as far as I am concerned that was the best thing that ever happened to this ranch.”

  “Thank you,” said Hidalgo, “But I have to do what my conscience tells me to do.”

  “What is your conscience telling you to do?” asked Corey.

  Hidalgo took another sip of coffee and looked at Corey saying, “If you search your heart, you know the answer.”

  Corey shifted his weight in his chair, leaning back while balancing the chair on two legs, smiled and said, “You are still bothered by what happened in that café in Albuquerque.”

  “Yeah,” Hidalgo answered softly.”

  I was carefully looking in his eyes hoping to find an answer to his mysterious mood and was startled when I saw moisture starting to well up, something that never happens to a Navajo and particularly Hidalgo.

  “I have to do something about this insidious fight game that is operating around New Mexico. The real losers are the young boys who are forced to fight for the enjoyment of the spectators. They are breaking dozens of laws but seem to be able to do it without fear of any retribution. Someone is protecting them. I don’t know if it is a politician or a corrupt police department but somehow they are able to operate without any real fear. There are too many people involved and I suspect a lot of money changes hands. Someone is making money at the expense of those that are least able to defend themselves and to tell you the truth; I suspect that the fight game is a cover up for something even greater that is going on. Anyway I have to try to get to the bottom of this mystery; I have to do something about it.”

  I got out of my chair, walked up behind him and draped my arms around Hidalgo in a firm and loving grip and said, “First of all, I don’t understand why you feel it is your responsibility to solve this problem. Besides, there is no way you can do it alone.”

  Hidalgo’s voice dropped to a whisper, “That’s true, but if I’m going to find out who is promoting the fight game, I will need to do it under cover, silently using stealth. Crimes like these always come with long tendrils connected to many people and places. Somewhere out there is a snake, a serpent making money. Cut off the head of that serpent and the problem is solved.”

  Several eyebrows went up. June, deciding to play devil’s advocate, immediately joined in the conversation by asking, “What I can’t figure is how the games produce enough income for a gang or cartel to mess with, in the first place? Sure, the men exchange money while they are betting but the money stays among them. Even a door fee, an admission fee certainly wouldn’t cover the cost of a lawyer if the games were busted. There has to be far more going on here than watching boys cock fight. Something else, but I can’t imagine what.”

  “I can.” Hidalgo quietly says. Deep in thought, he brought his finger up and pointed it at each of us stopping with me; the gesture for someone making a point, something that was not a gesture I had ever seen him do before.

  For your own safety, I need to do this alone.

  “What about for your safety?” I implored him. “You are not alone here,” I said. “If there is anything we can do, let us.”

  He was getting a little exasperated as he replied, “I really appreciate what you are trying to say, but trust me; I suspect that this is something that I have to do all on my own. I wouldn’t want to have to worry about everyone. It is easier if I am alone.”

  “Yes,” I countered, “But sometimes it is better to have an angel looking over your shoulder.” The warm kitchen got quiet for a moment. Then Hidalgo continued, “I can chew gum and walk at the same time, I suspect I can work on this and still help you solve this caving problem.”

  Corey reached over and put his hand on Hidalgo’s shoulder and said, “Well, you know we are pretty good at multitasking ourselves. If this is that important to you, there is no reason we can’t help you. Besides, what you are proposing is a dangerous game indeed. You are going to need help, help from all of us, and like Ken said, you are a part of what makes this family. We couldn’t operate without you.”

  June said, “Again, what are you going to do now and how can we help you?”

  Hidalgo thought about the question for a minute then answered, “I think I would like to talk to Richard Holliday again. Richard seems to know a lot about what is happening in the South Valley of Albuquerque. I seriously doubt that the South Valley is the center of this problem, but it is a place to start.”

  Ken asked, “Do you think that this is a problem in other cities here in the southwest?”

  “Sure,” answered Hidalgo. “If there is real money in this operation then they will be staging fights in many cities across this area, possibly in other regions of America as well.”

  Ken, who was thinking aloud said, “Well, I knew they did things like that in Mexico but I never dreamed it could be a problem here.”

  Hidalgo looked up at him and answered with determination in his soft voice, “I think it’s time to get our facts together. My bet is Richard or his friends will know something about what is going on and one of them will provide me with a lead. In any case I will need to go under cover. I will have to become one of them to learn anything and in order to do that I will have to work alone. I don’t want your help; I don’t want to endanger any of you”

  Everyone around the table looked at each other, grinned and agreed not to interfere with Hidalgo in anyway whatsoever. We all lied.

  Hidalgo’s Decision

  Hidalgo knew that he needed more information. In doing so he would have to emulate and become the serpent himself. He mentally rehearsed ideas that might give him an introduction. Perhaps, he thought, that by proposing that young Indians also take part in the game? He hated the exercise, always thinking several steps ahead, like a cat stalking its prey.

  Early the next morning he set off to Albuquerque with the Jeep Cherokee packed with everything from camping gear to maps and food. He carried anything that he might need in an emergency, including extra cash, cash he had worked hard for on the ranch doing real work for little pay. He knew if he needed it, he had other resources hidden away in the bank of Los Lunas. Money was not the problem; he actually seldom used his own money. He had little use for it, even the gas he burned was purchased out of a common account billed to the Serpiente ranch. The only cash he personally used was for meals on the road and clothes.

  Where he really spent his money was in helping his family who lived on the Navajo reservation close to Shiprock and for the Indian Polytechnic Institute, located in Farmington. That money was entered into a blind fund where only a few knew who the philanthropist was.

  This time, when he left Serpiente he was alone and the road was bone dry, with the promise, but not the appearance, of those first small bits of greenery that would eventually feed cows and mark the turn of the seasons. When he got to the split in the road above Isleta Pueblo where the flat volcanic hills were, this time he took the right hand turn which was a more direct route through the south valley to Valley Road and the Holliday house.

  Shortly he found himself sitting at the kitchen table talking to Alice and her son Richard. They were surprised; Hidalgo had never visited without other members of our family there, something was obviously in motion. They were curious yet polite. They decided they would shortly learn why was Hidalgo visiting them? It di
dn’t matter, the Holliday family had long ago adopted Hidalgo and after coffee along with some chocolate cake with thick icing, Hidalgo offered a short explanation then asked Richard directly, if he knew anything about the fight games being staged in Albuquerque.

  Richard blushed and then said, “The last thing in the world I have ever wanted to do was get involved with is fighting. It hurts too much! Trust me; I have gone out of my way to keep a low profile when around fighters. It hurts even if you win the fight, and then it takes time for everything to heal. Then afterwards, there are the years when you hope you do not run into this person again. You do know that I went to Rio Grande High School,” Richard sarcastically explained. “Rio Grande is a south valley school in a predominately Hispanic community. My senior year it was eighty two percent Hispanic and ten percent Native American. The Indian kids usually, but not always came from the Isleta Pueblo area. That leaves Ray Maxie who was the only African-American and star of the football team and Lotus Lee who was the only Asian student and who was able to blow the top off of every grading scale in school. She had graduated this last year with a perfect 4.0 average.”

  “What about you,” teased Hidalgo?

  “Well,” Richard said slowly choosing his words carefully, “Rio Grande is a very multicultural school, if you go to school there, you learn to deal with everyone and everyone learns to deal with you. Don’t get me wrong, Rio Grande was for me, a great experience. For the most part, I truly enjoyed going to school there and as far as how well did I do?” Richard blushed again, ever so slightly. “I made A’s in most of the classes I liked and C’s or D’s in the classes that I didn’t.”

  “Then again,” there was another redirection in the conversation, “my favorite class was band. Playing the trumpet in the high school band took me far and basically kept me out of trouble. I was lucky, the band needed me. You see, Rio Grande has seldom boasted of winning football teams but everyone there learned to escape to make believe worlds, each created by a good teacher. Our band program was a good example, many people would come to the football games over at Milne Stadium to watch the half time show and then leave as soon as it was over. The only reason to stick around would be to find out how lopsided the score would be. On the other hand, our stage band would actually perform homecoming dances for other schools that were in different districts.”