Starvation Mountain

by Robert Gilberg

  “What do the police think they were up to with the information?” Penny asked.

  “Who knows; start a territorial drug war? Move in on territories by taking out the dealers? Or squeeze the dealers and force them into their network or gang? All the above—and more?”

  “I wonder if the two we ran into out here and those three are all the people we need to worry about. Or are there others involved who know about us?” Penny asked, fidgeting and biting a fingernail.

  “Morton said they needed to move on the top guys in Carlos’s gang to determine that. But, this operation had to be too important for the top guys not to know. They want to shut them all down as fast as possible and warn them to lay off us,” Jim answered.

  “Glad to hear that,” Penny said, looking a little more relaxed.

  “But do they have anything on them?” Steve asked.

  “That’s the sixty-four-dollar question. My impression is that they don’t.”

  “There had to be cell phone conversations flying all around given the stuff that Penny and Jim stepped into,” Ali said. They must be able to trace who was calling who and discover the other people involved.”

  “They’re working that: trying to trace calls from the area between Needles and Farmington back to San Diego. If they can find who the dead guys’ phones called back in San Diego, they’ve got something to work with. Same with the two guys who broke into Penny’s place: find the numbers they were in contact with during the days before and after the break-in. They can’t get the conversations, but they can find out who was contacting who,” Jim said.

  “I think that’ll take a while,” Ali replied, frowning.

  Penny asked, “What’s ‘a while?’”

  “Probably weeks,” Ali said. “They’ve got to get the cell phone companies to cooperate, which means a court order—and assuming that happens, they can get copies of the call logs. Then they’ll have to run searches through the logs looking for the callers’ numbers and who they called. After that, they need to look at the frequency of calls to each call recipient to get an idea of who was being called the most. And after that, they need to get names of the persons with the highest number of received calls. It’s a lot of searching and analysis work.”

  “But they must have software tools to help with that,” Jim said.

  “Sure, but it depends on how up-to-date they are, and how well-trained, too.” Ali replied.

  “How do you know all this, Ali?” Penny asked.

  Ali lifted her drink, as if in a salute, “Too many years of doing the same thing—not on phone calls, but on hackers’ electronic signatures.”

  “All we can do is hope for the best,” Steve volunteered. “In the meanwhile, we’ve got a wedding tomorrow. Let’s drink a toast!”

  The dim entrance tunnel, slanting down to the dirt floor of the Great Kiva in Aztec, New Mexico

  “Why isn’t he wearing buckskins and feathers? He looks stupid in that cowboy hat,” Jim complained.

  “Shhhh. He’s telling us what we’re supposed to do,” Penny whispered.

  “The groom and bride will enter from this east entrance, walk clockwise around to the west side and wait for the others. The family members and friends will follow and be seated on the floor behind the bride and groom. Please enter now,” the shaman-justice of the peace in low-heeled boots and a tall, Hopalong Cassidy-style hat with a deep dent high on the crown front ordered in a solemn voice.

  Jim and Penny followed the orders, Penny pushing Jim in his wheelchair through the narrow, tunnel like entrance. She rotated the chair around to face the shaman as he finished explaining the ceremony, which first consisted of Penny taking water from a gourd and washing Jim’s hands, followed by Jim doing the same for Penny. The shaman then drew a cross from east to west and north to south with yellow corn pollen dust on the surface of a basket full of blue corn mush. He instructed the two to eat generous finger-pinches of the mush from each end of the pollen cross; Jim first, followed by Penny. They were to start with the east end of the cross and eat their way, clockwise, around the four compass points. Jim hesitated, not sure he’d understood the instructions: what the . . . .

  “Jim, you’re supposed to go first!” Penny whispered, edging the wheelchair forward and nudging him with an elbow as they began the ceremony, centered in the Great Kiva under the glare of ceiling-mounted flood lamps.

  “Do I have to? That blue mush doesn’t look like something I should eat,” he whispered back. “I don’t ever remember eating anything that was blue.”

  “You have to. This is what you wanted, a traditional ceremony.”

  “I was thinking more of peyote and mezcal. Why don’t you go first?”

  “The shaman said the man goes first, followed by the woman. It’s symbolic for her committing to follow him forever after.”

  “Are you going to do that?”

  “Shhhh, don’t talk so loud . . . . Maybe . . . Depends . . . .”

  “On what?”

  “I don’t know. You keep finding good bike rides for the rest of our lives?” Pointing, Penny said, “Take a pinch of mush from that side of the bowl, for God’s sake! Then after I do the same, work your way around going clockwise. I’ll move your chair if you can’t reach it.”

  “Okay, but I don’t think I’m going to like it.”

  “Shhhh!”

  “What were you expecting, dear, an evening with Carlos Castañeda?” Penny asked.

  “Ha, yes, with chants and dancing around the fire, ghostly images of warriors silhouetted on the kiva walls, and peyote and mezcal?” Steve laughed.

  “No, not Castañeda, but a little more mysticism than eating mush out of a wicker basket from all four points of the compass under those mega-watt bulbs on the ceiling. And he could have worn some traditional clothes, you know, like buckskins and moccasins, with some feathers somewhere. Jeans, boots, and a cowboy hat just didn’t do it for me.” Jim’s face showed a touch of mild, but happy sarcasm.

  “But look, hon, it was traditional and pleasant, and a long way from ‘dearly beloved’,” Penny said. “The atmosphere in the kiva, with just the faux fire in the center lighting the ceremonial meal was nice. He couldn’t help it that the rules don’t allow real fires in a national monument. And he did have ceremonial paint on his face, and he did speak part of the ceremony in traditional language. I liked it!” Penny said.

  Ali added, “I liked it too, and he had his chest covered with strings of beads.”

  “So did I,” Steve joined in. “And he did have a feather in his hat!”

  “So there; three of us liked it and I’ll never forget it, honey. Please don’t be negative.”

  Jim snickered an ironical, “Yeah, a single scrawny feather curling out of his hat band, like Bob Dylan’s in ‘The Last Waltz’.” But he then brightened. “Yes, you’re all right; I’m just bummed out over this knee and my motorcycle. But the hell with that, I’m still alive and I’ve just married the woman of my dreams. Besides, we got two for one: the face paint gave us a shaman and the cowboy hat gave us the justice of the peace. We needed both, one for originality and the other to make our marriage legal everywhere. I need another drink!”

  “It has to be my last one since I’m the pilot tomorrow, but let’s have one more toast. Another round of mezcal, bartender.”

  “Looks even more barren and lonely from up here at ten thousand feet than riding a motorcycle through it,” Penny said to Jim as she looked out the rear window at the slowly passing desert landscape.

  “Yeah, it looks better when the sun is low in the morning or early evening with all the shadows and softer colors. And the viewing angle from ground level gives you a completely different perspective. Looking straight down on it from this altitude in mid-day sunlight, everything washes out.”

  “But this is the way to get back to San Diego fast if you need to,” Penny replied.

  Jim groaned as he painfully shifted his leg to the other rear facing seat, and said, “I know. But I’d ra
ther be down there—in it—than up here if I had my choice. It’s too sterile this way. I want to feel the heat—or cold—smell the surroundings, feel the highway, and see things up close.”

  “Are you complaining about Barton Airways back there?” Steve asked. Everyone had their headphones plugged into the cabin COMM system.

  “Hell no, man. This is the best way to travel with a fucked-up, in-a-splint leg ever invented. No offense meant, Steve, I’m still irritated over having to abort the trip because of those bastards,” Jim said, trying to sound nonchalant in spite of the danger and deaths.

  “Steve was just having a little fun with you,” Ali said. “Have you thought about how you’ll get around to see doctors and go to clinics to get that leg fixed?”

  “Not in my Porsche, for sure. We can push the front passenger seat all the way back in Penny’s Mustang, recline it to the max, and I’ll wedge myself in like I’m riding in an airliner, back in the cheap seats. My Scripps doctors and clinics are easy to get to and within fifteen minutes of my house. Don’t worry, Penny will take great care of me and get me where I need to go.”

  “I know she will, Jim.”

  Steve slipped back into the conversation. “Hey, Jim, you should check in with Morton at SDPD early tomorrow to find out what’s going on.”

  “Yeah, we will. By the way, did I mention to you that they kept my gun back there at Farmington? That piece will cost me six hundred dollars to replace!”

  “But you’re not sitting in a jail cell.”

  “Yeah, I can’t complain. And it saved our lives, so I guess it was worth it. But, you know what? Wouldn’t it have been ironic to have been locked up, just like Wyatt and Billy?

  “And have an alcoholic lawyer in the next cell? If you ask me, there were too many similarities between your trip and ‘Easy Rider’. I’m thinking of the shot-gunning out on that Louisiana highway.” Steve said.

  “Jesus, you can say that again,” Penny said with a bitter frown.

  “Never thought that movie could almost become our reality . . . like an omen. I’m starting to get spooked over the stuff that’s been happening lately, like the James Dean dream, and now this.” Jim said.

  “And some strange calendar coincidences we’ve had, too,” Penny added.

  Ali, confused by the conversation, asked, “What are you talking about back there? Sounds like you’re weirding out,” as Steve backed off the throttle to begin the descent to San Diego’s Montgomery Airport.

  Penny and Jim looked at each other, wondering how to answer the question. Penny finally said, “It’s too hard to talk over all the background noise in the plane. We’ll tell you about it sometime . . . .”

  Twenty-Six - Starvation Mountain

  Jim’s La Jolla Colony house, several weeks after returning from New Mexico

  “You’re right dear, that king-size bed of yours looks a lot better in here than that old lumpy twin of mine. But I’m not sure

  about those flowery drapes.”

  “Get used to them, James. I’m not living with those burlap-looking things you had hanging in here. And I know you’re going to like my big bed . . . .”

  “I’m not asking why you had it . . . .” dodging the pillow she threw at him.

  “Admit it, don’t you think you needed some new things around the house to get rid of that stale, man-cave atmosphere you had?”

  “Yes, I have to admit it. This place needed your touch. Now we’ve got the best of both of our things.”

  “We have to talk about that medieval desk and credenza soon . . . .”

  “No, not negotiable. Those have been with me since I lived in Los Gatos.”

  “Reminds me too much of that horrible old desk Mack had up at Ramona. I want to forget about him and that whole ugly story.”

  “Okay, I can understand that, hon. But you need to give me some time to find a replacement that feels right.”

  “What do you think is going to feel right?”

  “I don’t know, maybe something oriental . . . . Ali might have some good ideas.”

  “I think you’re right about that. She did a great job with their cabin in Julian and has good taste in clothes. She’s a very stylish lady.”

  “But so are you.”

  “Okay, we can have a fun day; the four of us tripping through stores in La Jolla and around San Diego, finding your new office furniture.”

  “Tripping is the right word, with this crutch and stiff leg! Not sure that I’ll be able to afford you, now that we’re married.”

  He dodged another pillow. “Too late Jim Schmidt!” Jim went down the hall to his office to answer the ringing phone.

  “Hi Jim. Can you get Penny on the line, too, if she’s there?” Dale Morton asked Jim.

  “Sure.”

  “Penny, it’s Detective Morton. He wants to talk to both of us,” Jim yelled into the hallway.

  Penny hurried into Jim’s office where she’d been setting up her new computer to view the cameras they’d brought from her condominium and installed around Jim’s La Jolla Colony house, now her home, too.

  “Hi, Detective Morton,” she said.

  “Hi, Penny. I’ve got either good news or bad news, depending on how you want to look at it.”

  “What is it?”

  “Mack Allen is dead. We found him in an alley in the Gaslamp district last night. He’d was shot—in the face.”

  “Oh my God!” Penny exclaimed. “I . . . I don’t know how to feel about it. He was a good guy at one point, and then all this happened. I never thought he meant to harm me. I just got caught up in his stupid so-called ‘businesses’.”

  “Well, intentionally or not, he almost killed you both. I don’t imagine you’ll be sending flowers.”

  “No, no flowers . . . .”

  “Any clues about who did it?” Jim asked.

  “No, there were no witnesses and we haven’t found any evidence yet. We’ll be checking security cameras in the surrounding businesses, but it looks like it happened in the alley where there’s no lighting. This will probably be a case where we have to roll someone who’ll want to bargain for reduced criminal charges—who we haven’t even caught yet. The drug world can be a black box when it wants to though.”

  “It has to be related to the notebook and what he learned in putting it together, don’t you think?” Penny asked.

  “Probably. It’s likely someone in Garcia’s gang; someone getting revenge and keeping him off the streets so he’s no longer a threat to the networks.”

  “What about us? Do you think this eliminates the danger for us?” Jim asked.

  “We can never say for sure, but it might. Now that the notebook maps are out there, and Mack was the one responsible for exposing the networks—and he’s dead, there’s no sensible reason anyone should have a motive to go after either of you.”

  “Sensible! These people aren’t sensible!” Penny exclaimed.

  “But crooks do have a logic they work from. They don’t want to take unnecessary risks and give the police more reason to be looking at them. If they don’t feel they have to do something in the interests of their businesses, they won’t. They don’t murder people just for the fun of it, or to get even—unless they’re trying to send a message to someone. And we think they must know by now that you were both caught up in Mack’s games by accident. They should be smart enough to know those two you shot in New Mexico—supposedly pros—are dead because of their own stupidity. So, the bottom line is that we’ll be ending the plainclothes stakeouts we’ve been doing at your place over the last two months.”

  “We’re not happy to hear that, but I guess we understand. How are you doing rounding up those names in the maps? Are you doing any major damage to the networks?” Jim asked.

  “So-so. We’ve been picking up a few street dealers and trying to roll them for information, but have had only a few successes, so it’s slow work. They’ve changed most of the street people and moved them around, so it’s getting hard to work it at
that level. We’re trying to move on up the chain and get the distributors and money people. It’s hard, slow work, unless we get lucky and have a major break.”

  “Yeah, I expected that,” Jim replied.

  “But it has slowed down the trafficking. We’re getting a lot fewer ODs and 911 drug emergencies, so that’s a good thing.”

  “Can’t expect miracles, I guess, but those are worthwhile results.” Jim said.

  “No, we don’t expect miracles. But this has been one of the biggest breaks we’ve ever had, so no one downtown is complaining.”

  “Great! By the way, now that you’re ending the stakeouts, I’ll want to carry a gun. Will I still have my permit?”

  “Sure, we don’t have any reason to revoke it. But you do have to update it to show what you’re going to carry.”

  “Same thing, Colt .45.”

  “That was fast.”

  “Had two, both legal.”

  “You’re an interesting guy, Jim.”

  “How so?”

  “You keep surprising us.”

  “Me too, detective,” Penny added with a smile.

  “How’s that leg doing? Are you back on it and riding motorcycles?”

  “My leg is too stiff to bend enough yet, so I’m still hobbling around with a crutch. They took out everything they could get to, but there’s still some buckshot scattered around in there that I’ll have to live with. Since the shifter is on the left side, and I don’t have good leg movement control yet, I can’t shift. I’m getting there, but I’m still a few weeks away from it.”

  “Must be hard on you, not being able to ride. I know you love it.”

  “I’m riding . . . .”

  “How? Did you fit on a hand shifter?”

  “No, those are suicide. I’m riding behind Penny!”

  “Now that’s got to be a good ride.”

  “Yeah, and I get to squeeze her the whole time.”

  “Okay, I don’t think we need to go any further with—” Morton said.

  “No, you don’t need to go any further,” Penny said, cutting them off, but laughing.