by Mark Reps
“Are you sure there isn’t something you would like to tell me first?” asked Zeb.
The old man closed his eyes and shook his head. He would only talk to the priest.
A call to Father Ortiz brought no immediate solution. The priest apologized for his busy schedule. He had a wedding service, a church service at the Desert Rose Nursing Home, and he had to hear confessions. Saturday, he said, was even busier than Sunday for a priest. He could be there by twelve-thirty on Sunday, earlier only if someone was dying and needed Extreme Unction. The law would have to wait for the Lord.
Zeb reminded himself to be patient. Seeking to change the ways of the Lord would only create anxiety. Justice moved at its own speed. Yet, his entire investigation of the bombing would move forward so much more easily if Felipe would just talk.
“Deputy Steele, I need to clear my head a little. I believe a cup of tea over at the Town Talk might just do the trick.”
“Sounds good. Bring me back a cup of Doreen’s best coffee, would you?”
“You got it.”
Zeb headed out the door to the Town Talk.
Kate remained at the office. She wracked her brain, thinking of how to break through Felipe Madrigal’s stubbornness. Her musing was interrupted by the ringing of her direct phone line. It was Eskadi reminding her of their date.
“Have you ever been to the cowboy rodeo?” he asked.
“I’ve never been to a rodeo, not even once,” replied Kate. “But if it’s as good as you claim, I can hardly wait.”
“It really is a lot of fun. Let’s get there early. Some of the reservation boys are riding the big broncos. I don’t want to miss that. There’s a street dance afterward. Geronimo’s Cadillac, the only all Apache rock and roll band on the planet, is going to be playing some good ol’ rock and roll.”
For the first time in weeks Eskadi carried genuine excitement in his voice. His tone was beautiful compared to the anger and jealousy he had been exuding lately.
Eskadi gave her a rundown of the events. His animation rose as he described bareback riding, bucking broncos and calf roping. It came to a fever pitch when he went off on a tirade about the history of rodeo clowns, their importance to the rodeo and how they had originally been a part of the sacred Indian culture. He even jokingly hypothesized the whole idea of rodeo clowns was yet another idea co-opted by the cowboy White man from the Native Americans. When he laughed at the silliness of his own statement, Kate felt maybe Eskadi was once again becoming the man she had fallen in love with.
“Oh, there’s one more thing,” said Eskadi. “You know that tape you had me listen to? The one with the bomb threats?”
“Yes. We’ve got the man who made the calls in jail.”
“Everyone knows that,” said Eskadi. “That old Mexican, Felipe Madrigal. The old men up here on the reservation who worked with him down at the Morenci Copper Mine say he was the best guy they ever worked with. He would hang out with the Natives because the Whites didn’t like him anymore than they liked the Mestizos or Mexicans. They would eat lunch together every day. Felipe’s wife, who was both Mescalero Apache and Mexican, was a great cook, and she made food for some of the guys who weren’t married. Old man Madrigal even learned some Apache language. He would tell a story in Spanish, and they would tell him the same story in Apache. Telling all those stories in two languages and listening to his wife’s accent is how he got the Apache accent in his voice. He even claims he has a little Mescalero Apache blood in his veins. I believe him, even if it is only because he married into it.”
“Did they say anything else about him?”
“Not much else except he was a better mechanic than any of the White guys. Oh, there was on other thing. He used to bring his grandson, a little pipsqueak of a kid, with him in the truck. When that kid wasn’t even ten years old, the old man used to let him drive that big truck all by himself. I guess that little squirt was a hell of a good driver.”
Eskadi promised to pick her up by five o’clock. Kate hung up the phone.
By the time Kate got done with her paperwork it was three o’clock and Zeb was back in the office. He handed her the cup of coffee she had requested.
“Before everyone heads off to the rodeo, did you learn anything new on your rounds today?” he asked.
“I got four more complaints about fast drivers. Some fella in a big truck has been going like a bat out of hell…pardon my language…out that way. But I didn’t see any speeders all afternoon. I sometimes think those ranchers out there complain just to have something to talk about or somebody to talk to.”
“I imagine some of those folks go for weeks without talking to anyone new,” he added.
“You know them better than I do,” said Kate. “And then there was one old couple who said a young Mexican kid came to their door asking for water for his car’s radiator. The car was parked down the road a piece so they couldn’t say for sure if it was a Vega, but it was yellow. The wife thought she might have seen a second person sitting in the car, but she couldn’t be sure because the kid came to the door by himself.”
“I’d sure like to find the kid driving that yellow Vega and figure out what that is all about.”
“We will,” said Kate. “What was the word over at the diner?”
“I didn’t think I was ever going to get out of the Town Talk. Every time I stopped to talk to somebody all they wanted to talk about was the rodeo. By the time I get cleaned up and Doreen and I get up there, it will be five or six. The rodeo starts at two. I would hate to miss three or four hours of it. It’s Doreen’s first time at the rodeo with me.”
Kate was glad to see a little less stress on the sheriff’s face.
“It goes on until nine or ten,” said Kate. “In fact Eskadi told me most of the best events are after five o’clock.”
“I guess you’re right. I sure don’t want Doreen to miss it when they let the bulls out to chase the clowns. I know she will just love that.”
“I would say it sounds more like you who doesn’t want to miss it, Zeb.” said Deputy Steele.
The sheriff chuckled. She was right. Ever since he was a little kid the bulls chasing the rodeo clowns around the arena had been his favorite part of the rodeo.
“Eskadi told me the clown show was at seven-thirty,” Kate continued. “He says that’s the best part.”
“It is a heckuva lot of fun,” replied Zeb. “Enjoy yourself.”
“You too, Sheriff. Relax. Have a little fun. Not much bad can happen at a rodeo.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
“Pull in that alley over there,” ordered Jimmie Joe.
Ángel took a right, then a left and pulled the pickup truck into the alleyway that ran behind the Morenci Credit Union. Both men, on high alert, kept an eye out for anything unusual. For the most part the small road was full of cars and trucks. Anyone looking for a parking spot at this hour would be looking elsewhere. These prime spots would have been taken hours ago. Ángel glanced at his watch. It was twenty two minutes past midnight. So far everything was right on schedule.
“Luck is with us, amigo,” said Jimmie Joe. “Look.”
Using his ugly, deformed hand Jimmie Joe pointed out a small drive to a loading dock. It was posted with a no parking sign. It couldn’t have been more perfect for their needs. It was an easy in and out. There was no way someone could accidentally block them in. Even more than that they could back in and use the back of the pickup to grab onto the fire escape ladder. From there they could easily reach the rooftop of the buildings. Ángel maneuvered the truck into the small driveway, put it into park and shut it off. He double checked to see if the second set of keys he had made were under the mat. It was a precaution his grandfather had taught him in case he lost his keys. Without a word Jimmie Joe hopped out of the truck and did a quick reconnaissance of the alley. He briefly checked each car and truck to make sure someone wasn’t passed out drunk in it or sitting and waiting for someone. It took less than five minutes to check everything o
ut. In the meantime Ángel double checked the gear. Jimmie Joe’s flak jacket, double holsters and handguns were where he had stashed them. The crow bar was under the seat, easy to grab. Ángel checked the access. Under his feet were two canvas bags to carry the loot. Last, he reached into the pouch in his pants where his trusty .22 was ready for action. Oddly, the little peashooter as Jimmie Joe called it, gave him the most comfort.
“We’re all set to go. You ready?”
All Ángel could think about was the money, Juanita and the beach in Mexico. Jimmie Joe shook him by the shoulder.
“Pay attention, amigo. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity. Don’t you dare fucking blow this for me.”
Ángel snapped to attention. He grabbed the canvas bags and the crow bar. “Don’t worry about me, Jimmie Joe. I am ready to be a rich man.”
The ugly hand pointed to the fire escape ladder. “Señorita first.” Ángel shot Jimmie Joe an angry look. “It’s only a joke,” said Jimmie Joe. “Don’t get your panties in a bunch now. We’ve got serious business to attend to.”
Ángel scooted up the fire escape ladder with Jimmie Joe close on his heels. Little did Ángel know that Jimmie Joe wanted him to go first in case there was a guard on the roof. If that were the cas,e Ángel would take the bullet. The music from the street dance was suddenly louder on the angled roof top. Ángel glanced across the tops of the buildings to make sure no one had decided to watch the street party or listen to the music from up there. It was clear.
“Move it. Rápido.”
Ángel scooted low on the roof top. Jimmie Joe also kept low. Ángel knew precisely when they were on top of the credit union. It looked exactly as Jimmie Joe had drawn it out in his notebook. At the center of the building was the air conditioning unit. Next to it was the grate-covered air exchange vent that led directly to the vault. Next to that was the trap door, their first choice of entry. Jimmie Joe jammed the crow bar hard into the edge of the trap door. It banged hard against cement. Someone had sealed it off from the inside. A couple of hard whacks and a few curse words later it became obvious that entering by the trap door was not going to happen. Ángel remembered all the times Jimmie Joe spent lifting weights in the prison yard. He would need dynamite instead of brute strength to get through the trap door.
“Plan B. You go in through the vent,” said Jimmie Joe reaching inside his vest and grabbing a can of WD-40. “Strip to your undies and close your eyes.”
“No,” said Ángel. “I can make it through there without that stuff on me.”
Jimmie Joe hesitated, stunned momentarily by Ángel’s defiance. He looked at the opening, at Ángel. He smiled.
“You are a fucking crazy fuck. I like that. Okay, go on, but you had better squeeze your skinny ass through there without any trouble.”
In the street below, Geronimo’s Cadillac was playing a tribute to Paul Revere and the Raiders. The song Kicks came through the air. The words kicks just keep getting harder to find caused Jimmie Joe to chuckle and comment, “Ain’t that the truth?” Ángel didn’t know what the crazy devil was even talking about.
This time Jimmie Joe yanked so hard against the grate that he stumbled backward as it came off easily. He slid it aside and ordered Ángel into the opening. Ángel slipped through the opening and quickly found himself in the crawl space. He lifted a single vent and stepped down onto the top of the old safe. It creaked under his weight. Jumping to the floor he eyed the vault. Would it open as easily as Jimmie Joe had promised? Ángel tugged hard. Nothing. He tugged again. The door seemed to come a bit loose. One last time he pulled at the handle with all he had. This time it was his turn to be surprised as the door flew open and Ángel stumbled backward. He regained his footing and stared into the open safe. It held his dreams of freedom and the rich man’s life.
“What’s going on down there?” Jimmie Joe’s voice echoing through the ventilation system seemed to be coming from a million miles away.
Ángel walked over to the vent and in a whispering shout said, “I’m in.”
“Hurry the fuck up.”
Ángel jammed the stacks of money into the two bags. Each bag was about the same size when the stacks of bills were in them. Ángel was surprised that they were as small as they were. Maybe there was less money than Jimmie Joe had promised. He jumped back onto the top of the safe after yanking the bags tightly shut. He tossed them into the ventilator shaft and crawled up after them. He made his way to the shaft.
“Jimmie Joe.”
“Toss up the money bags.”
For a brief second Ángel considered that Jimmie Joe might take the money and run. He tossed up one bag and quickly hooked the drawstring on the second bag tightly around his ankle.
“Where is the other bag?”
“I had to tie it to my ankle. Now hand me the crow bar.”
Jimmie Joe stuck it down the shaft and pulled Ángel to safety.
“Let’s get the hell out of here,” said Ángel.
Keeping low, the pair scooted across the building tops and down the fire escape to their truck. Three minutes later they were past the outskirts of Morenci and on the road to freedom.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
The rodeo had turned out far better than Kate expected. The rodeo clowns were even funnier than Eskadi had described. There was hardly a single event that didn’t have the crowd on its feet cheering, whistling, making noise and just generally having a great time. At the end of the night things took an exhilarating turn as Eskadi whispered in her ear.
“Why don’t you spend the night with me?”
Kate’s words came without hesitation. “I was waiting for your invitation.”
Eskadi’s gentle touch had returned. His edgy jealousy seemed a distant memory.
Kate was deep asleep in Eskadi’s arms when her slumber was broken by the ringing of her cell phone. It was Sheriff Hanks.
“Did I wake you?” he asked gruffly.
Kate reached over and ran her hand over Eskadi’s broad back and shoulders.
“Yes.”
Kate looked at the clock. It was nearly nine. She had not slept this late in years.
“What’s going on?”
“Did you go to the rodeo up in Morenci last night?”
“Yes.”
“Did you see anything funny? Was anyone acting suspiciously?”
“The clowns were funny. I didn’t see anything suspicious. What’s this about?”
“I just got a call from the Morenci PD. There was one hell of a robbery up there last night. Maybe a million or more bucks was taken,” said the sheriff.
“A million dollars? What’s that kind of cash doing in Morenci? A rodeo doesn’t bring in that kind of money.”
Sheriff Hanks explained the profit sharing money and rodeo prize money totaled over four million dollars. The local police had asked for their assistance. He wanted her to meet him in Morenci right away. She said she would be there ASAP.
“Somebody stole a million dollars from the credit union in Morenci?” asked Eskadi wiping the sleep from his eyes. “That greedy corporation has too much money. Maybe they should learn to share their wealth.”
“They were. It was profit sharing money for the workers. I’ve got to run. I don’t know when I’ll be back. I’m meeting Sheriff Hanks in Morenci.”
Kate got dressed, pulled her long hair into a ponytail, kissed Eskadi goodbye and headed out the door. Zeb was standing inside the credit union’s walk-in vault when she arrived. He introduced her to Morenci’s finest.
“They’re a hundred percent certain it was an inside job,” said Sheriff Hanks. “The robbers came in through the roof, then through a grate-covered air vent that runs through a crawl space just above the safe. The safe itself is over a hundred years old. It has a heavy door but the lock mechanism is faulty. One good hard tug opened it.”
“Why did they have a safe with a faulty locking mechanism?” asked Deputy Steele.
“No one wants to answer that question. Everyone possibly i
n charge of fixing keeps pointing the finger at the next guy.”
One of the Morenci policemen took Sheriff Hanks and Deputy Steele to the roof and ran them through the presumed order of events. As far as the local police knew no one had seen or heard anything. They believed the robbers came after midnight but before five in the morning. The street music was so loud that the two guards posted inside the building didn’t hear anything. The music continued on until almost three a.m. The money was mostly in unmarked twenties, fifties and hundreds. The vault also contained safe deposit boxes, none of which were touched. Most of the stolen cash was the bonus money promised to the copper miners. The rodeo prize money had also been stolen. By the time the FBI agents arrived from Tucson it appeared like the perfect crime had been committed.
Hours later Sheriff Hanks and Deputy Steele returned to their Safford office in time to see Father Ortiz exiting their jail.
“Father Ortiz,” said the sheriff. “Bringing the word of the Lord to our prisoner?”
“Yes, Sheriff Hanks. I was offering him a temporary cleansing of his troubled soul,” replied the priest.
“I know you can’t discuss anything he told you in confidence,” said Sheriff Hanks. “But is there anything we should talk to him about? Anything we can do to make the load he is carrying a little lighter?”
“He seems to trust you. He has wanted for some time now to tell you what he knows. He hasn’t because he has been afraid. I think his mind is clearer now.” Sheriff Hanks thanked the priest. “My vows of silence won’t allow me to tell you anything he told me, but I would highly suggest you get in there and talk to him on the double.”
The men shook hands. Zeb once again thanked the priest who parted with an ominous warning.
“Please hurry. But not only for the sake of the old man.”
Zeb hustled past Helen who seemed to know already what was going on. “I think Mr. Madrigal confessed to Father Ortiz. If I know how Catholics think, now that Mr. Madrigal has made his peace, he is ready to talk to you.”