by Ted Clifton
Entering the hotel, Ray was once again impressed by its soaring lobby, and by the Dome Bar with its incredible domed ceiling. He went to the registration desk and asked to speak to a manager. He introduced himself as a past sheriff of Dona Ana County doing some investigative work for the sheriff’s department. Of course it was a little white lie, but he knew the new sheriff would support him if something ever came back to bite him.
“What can we do for you, sheriff?” The manager was a very tall, impeccably dressed man in his mid-forties. He seemed to exude confidence and professionalism. Ray wondered if he always said “we” when he meant “I.”
“I’m looking into the disappearance of two ladies who were guests here a couple of weeks ago. They were part of the dog show that was being held at the hotel. Monica Jackson and Betty Adams are their names. Not sure if Monica Jackson actually made it to the hotel, in that she seems to have disappeared on her way here when she had made a stop in T or C. However, we do know that Betty Adams was staying here and that she talked to Monica. Looking for any information that might be available about either one of these women.”
“Well of course. We are aware of the disappearance of Monica Jackson—several law enforcement agencies, as well as her relatives, have contacted us about that—but we have no information regarding Ms. Jackson. Our records indicated that she phoned and canceled her first night’s reservation and then didn’t show up for her second night. Regarding Ms. Adams, I wasn’t aware that she was considered missing. Are you saying that they’re connected somehow?”
“Yes, that’s what we currently believe. At this point we don’t know that for sure—but we think it’s possible that Ms. Adams and Ms. Jackson met here, maybe on Saturday, and either left together or maybe rented another room here and stayed some days longer, more or less in hiding. Is there any way to check your registration for two women staying here on Sunday of that week?”
The super-manager didn’t look pleased. “Not sure about that, sheriff. Our guest’s privacy is very important to us, and we won’t give out information unless you’ve gone through the proper legal channels.”
Could have just said no. Ray and the manager discussed the reasons Ray thought he should by-pass his concerns and provide him with the information. The manager said he appreciated Ray’s concern for the ladies’ safety, but the answer was still no unless he had a court order. Ray left.
Ray wasn’t sure what he’d expected to learn at the hotel. While learning nothing wasn’t helpful, at least he knew now that the hotel wasn’t a source to pursue. That’s what investigations are mostly about, crossing off the things that don’t provide you with any information so you can concentrate on the ones that might actually help. Well, that was the theory—it was still very frustrating to continue to plod along gaining very little ground.
The El Paso FBI office was only a few blocks away from the hotel. Ray found the building easily and pulled into the underground parking lot. Once inside, he went to the eighth floor and entered an enclosed reception area. A very attractive young woman sat behind a glass barrier.
“May I help you?”
“Good morning. My name is Ray Pacheco and I’d like to see Agent Sanchez if he’s available.”
“Do you have an appointment with him?”
“Nope. Just tell him my name and that I used to be the sheriff of Dona Ana County.”
She placed a call and had a conversation Ray couldn’t hear.
“Mr. Pacheco, Agent Sanchez will be with you in a few minutes.”
Ray thanked her and took a seat. He didn’t remember Sanchez as the type to play games, so he thought it would probably actually be only a few minutes. Then it turned into fifteen—maybe everybody was playing games.
Agent Sanchez entered the reception area like he was in a hurry. He greeted Ray and immediately showed him to his office.
“Sorry for the wait, Ray. I was on the phone with a buddy of yours. Special Agent Myers in Albuquerque. When I mentioned that you were here, he proceeded to describe you in several ways—none of them nice. What have you done to piss off Myers?”
“I dropped in at his office in Albuquerque and was going to ask him about a man who had been killed. This guy was somehow tied into a task force headed by the FBI. I didn’t get to ask him anything, though. He said something to the effect that I was an asshole and our meeting ended.”
Agent Sanchez chuckled. “Yeah, he’s a real head case. Ray, this is great that you dropped by today. I was going to try and contact you next week to set up a meeting. We have some things we need to discuss.”
Ray wasn’t sure what that meant and didn’t know whether it was good or bad—but at least he didn’t toss Ray out of his office. Sanchez asked for someone to bring some coffee to the small conference room, then escorted Ray into what was, literally, a small conference room. He asked Ray to take a seat, saying he would be right back. Once again, waiting.
The very attractive young woman from the front desk brought in a tray with a carafe of coffee and a small tray of pastries and left. Ray was still alone. He poured himself a coffee and was eyeing one of the donuts when Agent Sanchez reentered the room.
“Ray, I’d like to introduce Special Agent Crawford.”
Crawford was a big man in his sixties. No question, at that age and still in the FBI, he had to be someone from Washington. They shook hands and everyone took seats.
“Ray, I’ve heard some very good things about you over the years. The FBI was very sorry when you decided to retire. It’s more unusual than we’d like to have a good working relationship with local officials, and we hated losing your expertise.” This was said by Crawford without preamble and without any details about who he was or what he was doing here.
“Agent Crawford, I appreciate your kind words. I always felt like the law enforcement community should be a team—however, often that wasn’t the case because of overbearing members of Federal agencies. This office always treated everyone with respect, and that led to good cooperation. Some other agencies were more difficult. I’m not sure why you’re in here today. Does this have something to do with me?”
“Yes, it does, Ray. I was here to talk to Agent Sanchez about approaching you to assist us. He and I had been discussing the details when you showed up out of the blue. We were surprised, but we thought why not take the opportunity to discuss with you what we had in mind. I’m sorry if I seem abrupt—maybe that’s a problem all Federal people share—we need to learn to be more open. It’s not in our nature, so it’ll take some practice.”
Ray liked Crawford. He seemed like a no-nonsense kind of person who focused on results and not egos—just Ray’s kind of guy.
“Look Agent Crawford, maybe I’m the one being abrupt, but what do you mean by assisting you?”
“Ray, we at the FBI are putting together a new approach, hiring outside people to help us with some internal matters along with certain investigations. Some of this is being driven by budgets, with more money being allocated for private contractors as opposed to employees. Mostly, though, this is about results. We want to experiment with hiring special contractors such as yourself with unique experience in certain parts of the country to provide our people with a better understanding of that local environment. I think Agent Sanchez, as you pointed out, is doing an excellent job in El Paso, but we have areas where our agents do run roughshod over the local officials and are creating barriers to getting the job done. Agent Sanchez was going to contact you and set up a meeting next week to discuss this, but what the hell, you’re here now so I thought let’s take advantage of the coincidence and tell you what we were thinking.”
“Hire me as a contractor to the FBI?”
“Yes. There would obviously be restrictions on what you could do and how you could conduct yourself. But in essence you would be providing us with investigative services outside of our normal channels. We also would be looking for you to provide us with insight on how our people are handling themselves. Your association with the
FBI would only be known by a select group—your contact agent—in this case Agent Sanchez—and select people in Washington, including myself.”
“Well, that’s the last thing I expected when I walked in here.”
“Yeah, I bet that’s true. When you retired we’d planned on talking to you about this idea. But you moved to T or C pretty fast and seemed settled into retirement, so we dropped it. Recently, you’ve been looking into this missing woman, and we were notified that you’d applied for a PI license, so we thought maybe you’d decided that retirement was boring. We thought we’d approach you and see if you were interested. What are your thoughts?”
“Well, the part about retirement being boring’s correct. I thought I wanted to just be left alone. Then after a few months, I needed something to do. Settled on fishing, which as it turns out I do like, but what really got me to thinking I wanted to be more involved was this thing with the missing woman. I’ve been more alive and happier since I’ve had something to do and to think about. How’d you know I applied for a license?”
“Ray, we’re nosy. Part of it’s our job and part of it’s just our nature. As I said, we thought we might be hiring you once you’d retired, so your name was entered into a tracking system that monitors public information about that person. So when you filed your application, it sent a red flag to Agent Sanchez. I hope you don’t think that’s sinister. Much of what we do is about compiling data, most of which we never use. Anyway, when we saw that you’d applied for a PI license, we knew we should talk to you. I’m in the process of putting together a proposal for you that would include a monthly retainer we would pay, plus hourly rates for you or your firm’s services. If you decide to do this, anyone in your firm who’d have access to FBI information would have to pass an extensive background check. I’d hope to have the final proposal to you by mid-week next week.”
Background check. Ray wondered about Tyee. And most assuredly he was concerned about Big Jack—or whatever his name was.
“Agent Crawford, I believe I’m interested in discussing this further. My plan is to start this investigation business with a recent acquaintance of mine, Tyee Chino. I’ll need to talk to him and see if this is something he’d be interested in pursuing. Can we leave this open until after I get your proposal? We could talk about specifics then.”
“That’s just fine. Please give Agent Sanchez your contact information and we’ll be in touch.” Agent Crawford stood and shook Ray’s hand before leaving the conference room.
“Sorry, Ray, if that felt like an ambush—I had no idea you were going to be here today and Crawford didn’t want to pass up the opportunity to talk to you himself. I hope you decide to do this—I think you could help us with a lot of things we’re working on right now. And your insights into this part of the world would be greatly appreciated.”
“Thanks. I’m going to think about this real hard. The reason I dropped in was to ask you if you had any information about the missing woman from T or C, or the murder of her son in Albuquerque. Sounds like you know something about my involvement with the missing woman, which only started because of her dog.”
Ray related the whole story about the dog showing up, how he eventually met the ex-husband, and the call from the ex-husband saying his son had been killed. Also, the information from the local police that it had something to do with a joint task force headed by the FBI and Ray’s short, ugly meeting with Agent Myers in Albuquerque.
“Yeah, Myers called me. He says you’re a loose cannon. He’s always been difficult and I have no idea how he landed the job in Albuquerque. Listen Ray, this is just between us girls, I happen to know that there have been a lot of complaints about his performance in Albuquerque and he’s getting some pretty close scrutiny right now. He’s not only angry at you, but everyone else too. So rest assured his opinion about you has no impact on anything. As far as information about the missing woman or the murder of the son, I have none. I know it has something to do with forged documents coming out of central L.A.”
“Central L.A.? I’d heard the documents were being made in Mexico.”
“Don’t believe that to be the case, Ray. Most of this activity is being driven by the Mexican Mafia—but their base is L.A. not Mexico.”
They talked some more, but Ray didn’t learn anything new. He had a bunch to think about. Sanchez had his new contact phone number, so he said his goodbyes and headed out.
Once back on I-10, Ray put it on auto-pilot and thought about everything that had happened. He couldn’t be more surprised by the offer to work as a contractor for the FBI. His ego was pleased, but there was a part of his brain saying he should be cautious.
After a few hours, Ray took the T or C exit toward Main Street and the Lone Post Café. It was Friday night, and Ray was going to ask Sue to join him for dinner at his cabin. He parked in front and went in. There were no customers and only the lady at the cashier. Ray asked if Sue was still there, but was told she just left. He’d learned that Sue lived only a short distance off of Main, and that she didn’t have a phone. While he was reluctant to just drop in, without a phone he had no choice if he wanted to see her.
Within a few blocks of the café, Ray pulled up to a small, plain house that was in need of some repairs. Out front was Sue’s car. He sat for a while, and was about to get out when the front door opened and out walked Sue.
“Hi. Were you just going to sit out here until I came out?”
“Maybe.”
Sue laughed. “For some reason I thought you’d come by the Café today. I was real disappointed when you didn’t.”
“Yeah, I went to El Paso. I did come by, but it was just after you left, the lady said. By the way, who is that lady and why does she dislike me?”
“Ray, you really are something. She doesn’t dislike you—she just thinks you’re too old for me. And I believe she has a crush on you.”
“Oh, I didn’t know that. Sue would you have dinner with me?”
“I’d be most pleased to have dinner with you, Ray Pacheco. Would you like for me to bring anything?”
“Don’t think so. I have an old grill I use sometimes, so I was thinking maybe some grilled chicken with pasta and a salad. That okay?”
“My goodness, Ray, you really are a cook aren’t you?”
“I’m trying to impress you.”
“I thought it was the woman who was supposed to cook to impress the man.”
“Yeah, guess I got that confused.”
“I’ll see you in about two hours. And you stay away from the Café cashier lady, okay. For the time being you are mine.”
Ray smiled. He knew she was teasing him and he liked it.
Saturday
Ray had two Clayton campaign events scheduled for the day. He also hoped to talk to Tyee and Big Jack about the FBI offer. He still didn’t know what to think about the idea. Obviously it would give them an immediate boost in business, but somehow working with the FBI felt a little odd to him.
Sue had left before he was up. She’d fixed coffee and left Ray a note saying she was working this morning and had left very early. He felt bad that he hadn’t remembered that she worked the Saturday early shift. Once again it proved to Ray that he was a lot more self-absorbed than he thought. Deciding he needed to do a better job of seeing the world from other people’s perspective, especially Sue’s, he started getting ready for the day.
As Ray and Happy stepped out onto the porch, he noticed large trucks in the distance and men milling about. A better look told him it was the telephone company. How about that. It looked like they were working on getting phone service to his property. While Ray’s instinctive impulse to hide from the world during his retirement still held a warm spot in his heart, being involved with Sue and the new business had given him a renewed sense of purpose in life that felt good. The phone would be a tangible sign that he wasn’t hiding any longer.
Ray found Big Jack on his dock dealing with a customer. The customer seemed irritated with Big Jack
about something. As Ray approached he heard some of the conversation.
“Listen, fat man. Just because you own this pile of shit store gives you no right to tell me what I can do on this goddamn lake—got it?”
Ray could see immediately that the customer was very drunk—and it was barely eight in the morning. He had a buddy in the boat who looked like he was passed out.
“Hey, pal. I’m not telling you what to do—I’m telling you I won’t sell you anymore beer. Now get the fuck off of my dock.”
Not the thing you say to a big drunk guy so early in the morning. The big customer took a step toward Big Jack. In a move that completely surprised Ray, Big Jack moved unexpectedly fast, with impressive power and skill, and quickly had the man flat on the dock. By all appearances, Big Jack had dislocated the drunk’s shoulder. Ray ran up and helped Big Jack subdue the man, who was yelling his shoulder was broken. Ray finally got the man’s attention and told him to shut up.
Big Jack headed back into the store where Ray hoped he was calling the sheriff and an ambulance. T or C only had a small clinic for emergencies, so the guy would probably have to be transported to Las Cruces—but this guy was going to need some immediate help.
As Ray tried to make the man comfortable, he could see that he was going into shock from the pain. He found an old tarp and tried to cover the man to keep him warm.
“Dumb, drunk bastard. Found him trying to steal beer out of the store room. Then he wanted to buy beer, and I told him he’d drunk enough. He starts yelling at me. Sure didn’t mean to hurt him that much—you think he’ll be okay?” There was genuine concern in Big Jack’s voice.
“He’ll need medical help quick or it could be serious.”
“I called the sheriff’s office and they said they’d dispatch the ambulance. Should be here pretty soon.”