by Ted Clifton
Ray came back. “Tony wasn’t real thrilled but he agreed to sit in on the interviews. Something I haven’t mentioned to either of you yet is that Tony told me he dragged his feet on taking action against Marino because his wife’s half-sister used to be married to the guy. I still get an uneasy feeling that Tony isn’t telling us everything he knows—which is presenting a problem. I’m not sure I can trust him.”
The process of interviewing the twenty-two deputies was shortened when eight resigned and six didn’t respond to the request to come in to the office. That meant that only eight committed to showing up. Ray decided that since they’d have time to conduct the eight interviews with room to spare, he and Tony would first talk to the administrative staff, beginning with the receptionist.
“Tina, you should be aware that it’s possible there have been criminal acts committed by members of this department. This is an official investigation and if you’re uncomfortable with the process we can delay this meeting until you’ve contacted legal counsel. Do you understand what we’re doing and how this might affect you?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Do you want to continue this interview at this time?”
“I do. Mr. Pacheco, I’ve been wanting to talk to someone for a long time. I’m the lowest person on the totem pole around here, and mostly I’m ignored like I’m invisible. The only exception to that is if one of the morons who works here wants to make some inappropriate remark about my looks or my boobs, or just in general be offensive. I went to school at New Mexico State and graduated with honors with a degree in law enforcement, and I’ve been working here for almost a year. This place is a complete one hundred percent fucked up mess. I should have told someone a long time ago, but it seemed to me that everyone in authority was right in the middle of the mess.”
Ray looked at Tony but didn’t say anything.
“At least half of the deputies are crooks, just plain old-fashioned hoodlums. These people ran errands for Sheriff Rodriguez more than anything else. There’s no question in my mind that they were involved in selling drugs, or looking the other way when one of their gang was selling drugs—like Tito Annoya. When Rodriguez got sick, or whatever happened to him, the amazingly offensive Marino took over like it was some kind of gang operation where the meanest and dumbest gets to be in charge. I couldn’t believe it. I know I should have called someone, but to tell you the truth I was afraid.”
“It’s okay, Tina. We understand. Do you have any documentation or evidence that could help us with our investigation?”
“I do. I kept notes and copies of lots of things over the last three months. I recorded some phone conversations—maybe even illegally, I’m not sure—and I have other files that I took after Rodriguez went into the hospital.”
Ray had always believed it only took one good person to undo the damage of many; and sitting in front of him was that person—the lowest one on the totem pole—Tina.
Wrap-Up
One Month Later—Truth or Consequences, New Mexico
“Just talked to Tony. He says I’m officially no longer the acting Sheriff of Lincoln County. He gave me a run-down on what’s happened and where they see things headed over the next year or so.” Ray was addressing everyone—Sue, Tyee, and Big Jack—sitting at the conference table in the company offices in T or C, located in the outbuildings on Ray’s remote cabin property.
“Right now they’ve charged six deputies with criminal violations related to drug distribution. Eight others are still under investigation and have been fired from the department. That leaves eight of the existing deputies who’ve been cleared of any wrongdoing. Officer James has done such an excellent job that the Governor has appointed him the new Sheriff—he’ll be in office for fourteen months, when a new election will be held. They wanted to have enough time to clean things up and get back to some kind of normalcy before holding an open election.”
“What about Deputy Samson—the guy who shot the bookie. Was he charged or cleared?”
“Tony mentioned him and said he’s done an excellent job over the last month and he was cleared both of the drug charges and also the shooting death of the bookie. But what hasn’t happened is that no one’s been charged with the killing of Martin Marino. Also the only people charged with drug violations are Rodriguez, who has yet to be located, and the six deputies. All of the deputies say that the person running everything was either Rodriguez or Marino. Tito Annoya, the guy who owned bars in Ruidoso, was implicated by the deputies and by some of Tina’s information, but there wasn’t enough to charge him.”
“Indians get axed, Chiefs smoke victory pipe.”
“Your Apache wisdom hits home again. I’m afraid we still don’t know what happened in Ruidoso. Rodriguez wasn’t an idiot, but he was lazy. He never would have put that operation together without someone telling him what to do. I told Tony that he was letting this one go because it was politically expedient. He said I’d turned into an asshole and hung up.”
“Well that’s not very satisfying, letting the murder of someone go just because the guy was such a creep. I’m really surprised that Tony would do that.” Sue wanted justice in every one of life’s interactions, even though in much of her own life there’d been very little justice.
Big Jack hadn’t said much, sitting and listening, and sipping his beer, but now he piped up. “I think what isn’t being said is that maybe Tony doesn’t want to know what happened to Marino. We don’t know anything about what his wife or her half-sister did with regard to Marino—did they contact him or not?”
“I agree that this is for shit, but we have no way to pursue it unless we’re asked. On the plus side, we made a lot of money with this latest assignment. I believe that calls for a celebration dinner with steaks and lots of beer—how does that sound Big Jack?”
“As Tyee would say, White man is very wise.”
Over the following days things started to wind down and there was a quietness that seemed to settle over everyone. Ray and Tyee started fishing again. Ray was still a novice, but he seemed to be lucky—an important quality in many pursuits, including fishing.
Big Jack started campaigning again for the position of Mayor of T or C. The election was about two months out, and it was a two-man race between Big Jack and the former mayor, Martinez. The two men were more than opponents—they really hated one another. Martinez held Big Jack partially responsible for his son’s downfall as sheriff of Sierra County. The ex-sheriff was now serving time, and his father definitely held a grudge since Ray and his team had been instrumental in proving the Sheriff was involved in criminal activity, for which he was convicted.
After his son’s arrest Martinez had resigned as mayor and gone to Las Cruces to stay with his brother. Many people had thought that he’d never return to T or C, but he had. After licking his wounds—some said that his brother had kicked him out—he’d come back to live in his old house in T or C and had entered the race for mayor. There was a complication, though, since in a technical sense he was still mayor. While he had resigned, the county commissioners, demonstrating their usual incompetence, had never officially accepted his resignation. Rather than fight a legal battle with the rotund demon, they’d declared his resignation invalid and he’d resumed his duties as Mayor. Now back in office, and fueled by his hatred of Big Jack, the Mayor had come out swinging, accusing Big Jack of almost every bad thing a person could do.
The mayoral race’s nastiest phase officially began when Martinez accused Big Jack of being a crook himself, saying he had evidence that Big Jack was in reality a disbarred lawyer from Texas. Ironically, Big Jack really was a disbarred lawyer, but from L.A. The information Martinez had was close to the truth, but contained many inaccuracies. At their first debate, Big Jack tore into Martinez for making up stuff about him and laid out the actual story of his past in great detail. This detailed past was bullshit, a fabrication by the FBI in support of the new identity they’d created for him, but with the bureau involved the new identity appeared as solid
as if it were true. Before the episode was over, Mayor Martinez had to apologize for getting bad information from someone. Ray guessed that it had actually come from Big Jack himself.
Another odd twist was that the mobile home in which Big Jack lived was parked next to his store on Elephant Butte, which was almost three miles from T or C. Any sensible person would have thought that Big Jack didn’t live in T or C and, therefore, couldn’t run for the Mayor’s job. But in his constant conniving, Mayor Martinez had been instrumental in getting the town to annex a small strip of land out to the lake and along the north shore, so that things were not what they seemed at first glance. At the time it had made many of the lake people angry, though the Mayor didn’t give a shit. His goal was to collect taxes on what he anticipated would be huge growth along this edge of the lake. It didn’t turn out that way due to a host of factors, ranging from economic circumstance to a long dry spell that caused the lake’s water level to drop almost ten feet, exposing an ugly shoreline right on the land the city had annexed. That had been years before and the city largely forgot about the annexation. Nonetheless, it meant that Big Jack was a T or C resident.
“Who owns this pile of shit?”
“Who the fuck are you?”
“Inspector Morris with codes enforcement, if you must know fat man.”
Big Jack stared at the man for a long moment, as if making up his mind about something. In a single quick, smooth motion, he picked up his favorite Johnny Bench signature baseball bat and headed toward the offensive asshole who had just walked into his store. Chester stepped in front of Big Jack and held up his hands.
“Not sure you should kill this asshole until we know what he wants.”
The matter-of-fact way Chester said ‘kill this asshole’ seemed to alarm Inspector Morris. He had a police radio attached to his uniform, and he pressed the button, asking for the sheriff’s department to send backup.
“Once the Sheriff’s deputies have arrived, I’ll beat your brains into the floor. You got that Morris? If your ass is still standing here when they get here, I’ll kill you. I’m going to wait until they’re here just to make sure I get the proper credit for eliminating your sorry inspector butt from all existence.” Big Jack had lost any semblance of control and may have been foaming a little around the corners of his mouth.
Morris wasn’t used to this kind of response, and now looked confused about what he should do.
“Look buddy,” Chester said, “I’m sure you’re here to write a ticket about some code violation or something—probably at the urging of the mayor. My suggestion to you is to get the fuck out of here while you can, and when the sheriff’s deputies arrive we’ll tell them what happened: that you threatened Big Jack with violence and he defended himself. You can, of course, dispute that, but it’ll be your word against Big Jack’s word and the testimony of an eyewitness, which is me.” Chester wasn’t only a great shopkeeper, he also was a natural-born negotiator.
Inspector Morris turned and headed for the parking lot. He didn’t leave, he seemed to be waiting for reinforcements.
The election was getting ready to turn nasty.
Tony’s Story
1963—Midwest City, Oklahoma
There are times in life when all things seem possible. Today was one of those times: October first, Tony’s birthday, the best day of the year. Not sure why he liked his birthdays. Most times there hadn’t been much fuss—a few gifts, a couple of hugs, and maybe five bucks—but something about the day of his birth made it seem like a day of promise.
Tony’s perception was very likely distorted by the fact that any day in October in Oklahoma held promise. The place had the worst fucking weather in the world—tornados, ice storms, monsoon rains, snow—shit, it was just bad. But along comes October and for a few days it all seems like heaven. The state fair was in October, which meant it would rain some, but that was a small price to pay for mostly pleasant, gentle weather—not often seen in God’s country.
Tony had graduated from high school after a less-than-glorious educational experience. The whole system was screwed up, and his experience was exacerbated by his own not-so-stellar contributions. Maybe some people just were not meant to be educated. Stewart Bellman, whom Tony had known since grade school, was destined to be a doctor or something else that would demonstrate his superiority in a socially acceptable way, but Tony knew he didn’t know shit. How does that happen? What he knew was how to do school. He was the absolute best student there had ever been—but a doctor, not so sure.
Success in school was something you were either good at achieving or not. The ones who were good at school might or might not be good at anything else. They had learned how to study—big fucking deal. They had learned how to suck up—actually a quite valuable skill. They had often learned how to cheat—best goddamn educational tool of all—and with some exceptions those who were the best at cheating became political leaders.
Life had given Tony, in a fairly short period of time, many opportunities to poke fun at the smarter, more studious achievers who seemed to surround him, and he took the opportunity with great relish, shaking his rattles like some strange witch doctor, and proclaiming that normal standards of achievement were a big fucking crock. The spectacle he created was real, but there wasn’t much of an audience.
His goal was to seek truth—take that Mister Asshole Bellman. Tony’s biggest challenge in this quest was his total lack of knowledge about what actual truth was. Living as a protected child in a protected world meant that truth was based more on what he saw on television than much of anything else.
At the ripe old age of eighteen he determined that the only way to seek truth was to head to the most foreign land that existed in his world: California. You might wonder about Nepal, or maybe fucking Timbuktu—but no, those weren’t real to Tony. What was real and represented all the knowledge that anyone might ever have was Los Angeles, California. Truth was somewhere on the beach, or in the Hollywood Hills.
As a precursor to his trip he left a note for his doting parents, basically saying that they had screwed up and that as a result he was leaving to find out who he was. So long Ma and Pa, I’m headed to the bright lights of another world.
Tony had an old beat up car, thanks to his long-suffering parents, which might or might not get him to California. He had about $250, also thanks to his parents. The car and the limited money seemed adequate to reach California—what would happen after he ran out of gas and money didn’t deter him, but there were other issues.
Tony’s girlfriend’s name was Vickie. He had been dating off and on for over five years, but she was still not the person for him—he was sure it was true, Vickie thought he was wrong. What complicated things was that Vickie and he were having sex. There had been many a day over the last few months when he’d actually given thanks to the almighty for Vickie—what a wonderful, sexual being she was. It was difficult for him to imagine giving up sex with her, which was going to be a real problem if he was in the promised land of California and Vickie was still in God’s country, Oklahoma.
While not on anyone’s list for valedictorian, even he could figure out that the only solution was to take Vickie to California with him. He was pretty sure that bringing her along didn’t violate any of those crossing-state-lines-for-illicit-purposes acts that he’d seen on the FBI shows, but he also was pretty damn sure that her parents would be looking for his head on a stick once they found out she was gone. Her father scared the shit out of him, and he wanted nothing to do with her less-than-bright brothers—but sex was a powerful force. At eighteen the idea that you only live once had almost no real meaning for him—nonetheless, it was the mantra that settled him on a plan of action.
Vickie, of course, thought that going to California with an unemployable near-juvenile, with $250, in an unreliable piece of shit car, was an absolutely brilliant idea. The failure of the educational system wasn’t gender-biased.
The plan was to leave at night and make it as far as poss
ible before anyone noticed they were gone. The flaw in the plan was that the 1953 Ford Victoria’s right headlight wasn’t working, so the strategy was changed to leaving first thing in the morning. And since they were no longer leaving that night, they went to Potter’s, which was the place to be in the town of Midwest City. The headlight didn’t matter in Tony’s hometown—everybody knew Tony Garcia, even the cops.
Tony wasn’t a star athlete, he wasn’t an academic super star—he wasn’t really much of anything, except maybe known. Tony had lived in the night realm for several years. With an aplomb not often seen in young men, he’d established a reputation for being a stand-up guy in a night-time world. He was young, almost childlike, but was accepted by mature, grown men in the little town’s nightlife.
“Tony, I love you so much.”
There were times when he found Vickie a little too much. He was still not sure what love was—he had a better understanding of lust, and Vickie definitely fit into his idea of lust.
“Hey Vickie, you know I’m not sure what I know about love. You and I, I think, are having a good time—maybe that’s love. Shit I don’t know.”
“Tony, how can I love you so much and also think you’re such an asshole?”
Vickie had big tits but she wasn’t stupid. You had to like both qualities.
“Sorry, Vickie. Maybe you should stay here with your parents. If going to California is going to cause a bunch of problems.”
“Look you asshole. I’m going. You know why I’m going? Because if you go by yourself you’ll be dead and then I won’t have a boyfriend. You are too fucking stupid to understand that without me you’ve got no chance of surviving in the real world—so there’s no discussion. I’m going.”
Goddamn he hated it when she bossed him around. He didn’t think she was right, but on the other hand he sure enjoyed sex, and if she didn’t go it might be a long time before his next lay. Fuck, life was so complicated.