by Ted Clifton
Ray would never have guessed that a man as large as Big Jack could have moved that fast and with that much power. He could easily see the years of training that had to be behind the coordinated moves. He also had the feeling that if Big Jack had wanted it, the man could easily be dead now rather than just injured.
They heard the siren as the ambulance neared the store. The paramedics moved in quickly and took charge of the injured man, speaking on the radio with someone as they examined him. In one of those moves that’s probably best not to watch, one of the paramedics skillfully relocated the man’s shoulder. With a deep groan the drunk patient passed out.
“He’s going to be fine. Don’t see anything else wrong with him other than the shoulder. We’re going to take him to the clinic and let the doc look at him. Might keep him there or take him to Las Cruces. Will the sheriff be involved in this?”
Big Jack said he wasn’t going to press charges so he didn’t know, but that a deputy would be there soon and Big Jack would let him know where they were taking the guy.
“How about his buddy over there?”
“I think he’s just passed out. I’ll let the deputy handle that one.”
The paramedics put the man onto a gurney and took him to the ambulance. As they were pulling out, a deputy’s car pulled in. After a discussion with Big Jack, the deputy roused the other morning drunk and got him out of the boat and into the deputy’s car.
“Life in the big city, right Big Jack?”
“Well, there’re morons everywhere.” Big Jack was headed to the store to make some more coffee. It was obvious he was a little pumped up, and it would take him some time to calm down.
Happy, who had observed all of this from his customary spot on the dock, decided it was all over and it was time for his fifth morning nap. Ray followed Big Jack into the store.
“Big Jack, there’s something I need to talk to you about. You know yesterday I was in El Paso. I dropped in the hotel and went to the FBI office. I was just poking around looking for anything that might give me some ideas on where Monica might be, and something very surprising happened.”
Ray went on to relate what had happened in the FBI office. He gave Big Jack the details, as far as he understood them, regarding the FBI offer. Ray said he thought it was something they should consider but that there were problems.
“The biggest issue I see at this point is the background checks. I only want to do this new business if you and Tyee are involved, and I understood your reluctance to have your identity compromised. I guess I’m not real sure of Tyee’s background as far as an FBI check.”
About that time, Tyee entered the store from the dock. “What’s this? The FBI wants to check my background?”
Ray explained everything that had happened to Tyee.
“Let me say I think we have some flexibility here with the FBI. Of course I don’t know what they might find, but my gut says they’ll overlook some things to get us onboard with this new program of theirs.”
“Ray, what you’re saying is they might overlook some minor things in my past, or Tyee’s, to get you to work for them. I’m not sure they want us at all.”
“You can read it anyway you want. I’m telling you that if this doesn’t work for either one of you, I won’t do it. This isn’t just being loyal—it’s reality. I can’t do everything I once could. I’m not dead yet, but I’m also not getting any younger. Whatever we’re going to do with this business, I’ll only do with you and Tyee as partners—end of story.”
“Ray, my story is fairly simple,” Tyee said. “I don’t have a criminal background, just a lot of stupid personal decisions. After a messy and very emotionally trying divorce, I dropped out of life. My family had turned against me when I married a white woman I’d met in college, so I couldn’t ask them for help. The woman was the love of my life, and when she left me for another man I fell completely apart. When I graduated from college I’d been hired by a software company in Denver and I was on a path to financial success like nothing I’d ever dreamed about. But due to my depression and drinking, I was fired. Everything got very bad. I spent a lot of years just barely getting by and avoiding all responsibility. Looking for a place to hide, I ended up on this lake. Then you came along and things started to change for me. This company and our friendships mean a great deal to me—I’ll do whatever we agree is the right thing to do. ”
Ray was touched by Tyee’s honesty and trust. He knew that trusting people after a personal trauma like that was the hardest human skill to regain. They all stood there quietly for a while as they absorbed their friend’s difficult past.
“Well, fellas. My story isn’t so simple.” That was Big Jack. “There may be some criminal charges, and there are definitely some less than desirable associations. On the good side is that there are no convictions.”
Big Jack wasn’t going to be as casually forthcoming as Tyee. It was going to take a while to get the whole story. Ray was concerned that Big Jack wouldn’t see the benefit to him of letting someone delving into his past. Why risk whatever threat his past held for him by becoming visible again? But then Big Jack continued.
“Fuck it—what the hell. First off, my real name’s Philip Duncan. I’m a graduate of the Stanford Law School. I was practicing law in L.A. and was a very successful criminal defense attorney working for the largest firm in California. I was making big bucks. Life couldn’t have been better. One day I was contacted by a member of the Mexican Mafia—you may think this doesn’t exist, but let me tell you, it does. He wanted me to represent him. Most of my clients were criminals, obviously, but this guy was a real kingpin. I should’ve stayed away. I knew this guy was the lowest of the low, but greed got in the way.”
Big Jack paused for a moment, then continued. “Almost from the beginning, things went wrong. I’d quoted him a huge figure as a retainer. The next day several large boxes showed up at my house, and inside was the retainer in cash. Should have stopped right there and called the cops. Instead I counted it. More cash than I’d ever seen. I put the boxes in the garage. Went to work and was in court all day on another case. Got a call from the police that my house was on fire. When I arrived it had burned almost to the ground, including the garage. So this asshole calls me at the office the next day and says that it’s really tough about my house—he hopes I put his retainer in a safe place.”
“No question in my mind, some of his goons stole the cash back and then burned down the house. After a couple of days of worrying about this mess I called him and said I wasn’t going to represent him. He said sure that was okay. Just give him back the retainer. I told him I didn’t have it—it had been in the house and burned up with everything else. He said I had two choices, represent him or return the retainer. So I represented him for nothing. The partners in the law firm came unglued. Not only were they not going to associate with these assholes, they weren’t going to associate with me—I was fired. I told the client I’d been fired and couldn’t represent him anymore. He said fuck that—I was still an attorney, and I would represent him until I returned the retainer or I was fired by him. One day I’m on top of the world, making more money than I can spend, and the next day I’m a legal slave to the lowest scum on the planet.”
“It actually got worse. I wasn’t being paid and now he had me representing one scum bag after another who worked for him. I was being chauffeured around in a big black SUV by an armed thug and being watched at the apartment I rented by an around-the-clock team of thugs. I confronted him. They broke my leg. I was in the hospital for a week. When I got out, they were there. Now, I’d lost all contact with any friends or associates. Everyone had decided that I’d gone to the dark side. I had two ex-wives who were receiving substantial alimony payments, but over the next few months of living on my savings and going to court defending these useless indefensible creeps, I missed two months of payments. I was served a summons by both ex-wives to appear in court. One night I’m sitting around drowning my sorrows, and the FBI shows
up at the door. In full site of the babysitting thugs, they drop in to ask me to testify against my so-called clients. I told them that any information I had was protected by privilege. They said they didn’t give a big fuck, they wanted me to become a confidential informant and they’d put me into the witness protection program. They said I had two days to join their side or they would drop a big rock on me.
“The next day during a court recess I took a taxi to the bus station and left town. Left everything behind and told no one. Except that morning I’d cashed out my savings and had it in a duffle bag. Went to Portland first, bought an old car and started driving. Lived in the car for a week or so before I began to relax. My savings had been depleted over the last few months, but it was still substantial and it was in the trunk. I expected at any moment to be stopped for some violation of something and never see freedom again. Somehow or another I made it to Las Cruces via Phoenix. Was hanging out there in an incredibly cheap motel when I decided to head north. Wandering had become my practice, so I would often take exits and see where they headed—that’s how I ended up here at Elephant Butte. Most of the story you’ve heard about me buying Big Jack’s is true—it was just a fluke and an impulsive decision. I thought I could hide here forever and none of the people who wanted me dead or in jail would be able to find me.”
“My god, Big Jack, what a story.” Ray was stunned that his friend, whom he considered an honorable man, had such a past.
Tyee shook his head. “Wow, Ray, you’ve got two fucked up partners.” Big Jack looked like he might laugh at Tyee’s comment, but didn’t.
“Do we still call you Big Jack or Philip?”
“I never liked the name Philip—you could shorten my new name to just Jack if you like.” Why that was funny Ray didn’t know, but suddenly he was laughing, and soon all of them were laughing.
“Jack, I don’t know this for a fact but I have a feeling you were a pretty good lawyer. What would you do right now if you were your own client?”
“Interesting question.”
“Fuck white man before white man can fuck you.” Tyee’s wisdom sounded right on target, but nobody actually understood what he was saying.
“What in the hell does that mean, Tyee?”
“You’ve got to give them what they want and in return they give you what you want. Tell the FBI—that Washington guy—your story, and say you’ll provide confidential information about what you know concerning the Mexican Mafia but won’t testify in court. In return they give you a new identity and clear you to work with Pacheco and Chino.”
“I suppose that could work—probably depends on what they think I know. Plus, it’s been a few years and the whole landscape of the L.A. scene has changed several times, I’m sure. Might be they don’t give a shit about what I know because all those thugs are dead and have been replaced by new thugs.”
“Jack, let me act as go-between. I can call the Washington agent and tell him your story without mentioning your real name and see if he’s interested in discussing this or not.”
“Why not, Ray.”
They agreed to talk later. Ray headed out to the first campaign event. It was being held at a small campsite just off of the lake. They were expecting fifty or so people, but when Ray got there it looked to be twice that amount. Ray greeted people, some of whom he had met before. He gave his usual stump speech and then answered some questions.
“Ray, are you going to help Clayton if he’s elected?”
“Well, I will if Deputy Clayton feels he needs help, but he has a lot of years of experience in the department and I don’t believe he’ll need any assistance from me. The area he may find the most difficult is the political side of things—but I have great confidence in Deputy Clayton. He knows law enforcement and he knows people—he’ll do just fine.”
“We have all kinds of problems around the lake that the sheriff has completely ignored for years. How is the new sheriff going help us?”
“Mr. Ramos, right? Well, he’s said he’s going to try and keep one patrol car in the lake area on most days to cut down on response time. Also, he wants to organize a monthly meeting where he can answer questions about what the department’s doing to support the lake community. Let’s be candid: Deputy Clayton’s relying on your support to elect him—when he wins, he isn’t going to forget that.”
“I talked to the Mayor and he says that he can cut the department’s budget. If Clayton wins that’s exactly what he’ll do.”
“The Mayor and his son have said some things that are very self-serving. So what’s the Mayor saying? Vote for my son or you won’t have any services around the lake. Well, he can say that but the Mayor’s one vote on the commission, and he’s losing support because of these kinds of threats. Deputy Clayton wants to provide the best policing services for the entire county—not just T or C. I think the Mayor’s comments and attitude are the best reasons to vote for Deputy Clayton. Thanks everybody for coming today. Make sure that you and your neighbors are registered and remember to vote. Thanks.”
Ray stayed around for a little while, shaking hands and answering a few more questions, and then he left. The next event was only about a mile away, so he headed that way.
The second event only had about twenty-five people. But, all in all, Ray was impressed that people were showing up and seemed very interested.
Ray gave the same speech. Some of the questions were more or less the same, except one.
“You just moved up here a couple of months ago and now you think you can run Sierra County like you ran Dona Ana. I, for one, think it’s a bunch of crap to have you interfere in this race. You don’t know anything about this county. You and your crazy Indian and that old fat fart who owns the store, are not part of the community. The Mayor and his son have lived here their entire lives and it’s wrong for you to try and take their jobs away.”
There was a smattering of boos. Ray raised his hand for quiet.
“Don’t know you, sir—but I’m not trying to run any county. I’m supporting Deputy Clayton because I think he’s the best professional law enforcement officer in this county. Nobody’s taking anyone’s job—this is an election where the residents decide who best can serve their needs. If you think that’s Sheriff Martinez, then by all means you should vote for him. The Mayor isn’t up for election yet. And I take offense to your characterization of my friends. So why don’t you watch your mouth?”
This got a brief round of applause. The loudmouth left in a huff, mumbling things under his breath, while Ray shook hands. As far as he could see, the moron’s comments had done more than anything he could have said to firm up the support for Clayton.
Some Days in the Past—Monica’s Story
Monica loved driving her little Subaru—especially with Bruce asleep in the back. It felt cozy and safe. She’d had so much on her mind lately that she could never seem to fully relax—her mind was so preoccupied with her many worries that it was impossible to just think about nothing. It was one of the reasons she’d looked forward to this weekend in El Paso.
While she loved her car, it didn’t go far on a tank of gas. She had mapped out her trip and knew she was going to stop in T or C to get gas. And it was also a good place to eat. She’d been there before and seemed to remember a local café that would meet her needs. Monica hated the fast food places that made every town look—and taste—the same. When she’d been young each town had had its own character. They were unique, the stores were unique, the restaurants were unique. One of the joys of traveling was stopping at different restaurants that looked nothing like the restaurants in your town. Now every exit had a McDonalds and a Subway—the same in California as in Texas as in Florida—and she hated it.
Bruce was the Icelandic Sheepdog she was showing at the El Paso dog show. He was a champion, and if it hadn’t been for dishonest judges he would’ve been named overall champ. Monica could get real pissed when she thought about the show judges and how they made sure their friends’ dogs won.
Monica only had one real enemy that she knew of, an eighty-something-year-old woman named Mrs. Richards who thought that Monica had cheated her on a dog Mrs. Richards had bought from her. The woman was relentless. Monica would have given her the money back just to have it done with, but that didn’t seem to be what she wanted—she wanted Monica to be punished for hurting her and her husband.
When this had first come up, Monica had talked to her about the fact that the dog seemed to be a bit flawed, although all of his papers were in order. Mrs. Richards insisted that Monica had to pay triple damages to make up for her suffering. The one time Monica had talked to Mr. Richards on the phone, he’d been more reasonable. He’d explained that his wife was having some mental issues, and he hoped to have her in a controlled environment in a few weeks—a nursing home. He had told Monica that trying to take care of her had just about worn him out. Monica thought the best thing she could do was just wait until everything quieted down and then try and give the refund to the husband. Unfortunately, it didn’t go that way. The husband had a heart attack and died—and everything got worse.
Mrs. Richards started calling Monica every day. She insisted that Monica pay for all of the things that had happened to her and for killing her husband. Monica reported her threatening phone calls to the police, who told her that they’d spoken with Richards’s son, who said he was trying to get his mother into an Alzheimer’s facility in Albuquerque. They advised Monica to ignore the threats and said time would take care of the problem.
After reading this terrible note, Monica knew it had to be from Mrs. Richards. But slashing the tires—that seem pretty far-fetched for an eighty year old woman. Then again, who knew? She sure was angry, and Monica had decided she was also crazy.