by Ted Clifton
What was supposed to be an easy plane ride of an hour or so was turning into a civil war. Ray continued to stomp around in the dirt, watching as Sue and Tyee engaged in some kind of conversation.
“We go.” Tyee made this statement in his infamous minimalist Indian-speak, then climbed aboard the plane.
“What did you say to him?”
“None of your business, Ray. Let’s get on the plane before he changes his mind.”
Sue and Ray boarded. Tyee was slumped in his seat, frowning out the window.
“If everyone will get buckled up we’ll be taking off in just a minute or two.” The pilot sealed the door as he gave them this information. It was reassuring that he sported a professional-looking uniform and had the classic look of a pilot from the movies—complete with a broad smile. Of course that didn’t mean he knew how to fly a plane.
In a matter of minutes they were in the air and everyone relaxed a little. Tyee was still not speaking to Ray, but he did smile at Sue. Ray just sighed.
After what seemed like a short time, the pilot announced that they were about ten minutes from Farmington and that everyone should buckle up.
Flying into Farmington had put the fear of flying into many a seasoned traveler. The airstrip sat on top of a small mesa in the middle of the town. While the location was convenient once you landed, the visual coming in for a landing was more than a little disturbing. The approach made it seem as if the plane was headed directly into the side of the mesa. While common sense said that the pilots weren’t going to crash into the side of the cliff, your eyes told you that was exactly what would happen. Especially on a windy day like today, with the plane tossing about from side to side and up and down. Tyee glanced from the window to Ray with a look that suggested Ray had condemned him to death. But then, just when disaster seemed imminent, the plane settled onto the runway, easily clearing the mesa wall. Sue applauded, Tyee actually smiled, and Ray let his breath out.
Ray had been to many areas where the locals described the landscape as rugged, but this had to be the very definition of rugged. The natural terrain was jagged, with no level ground. The rocky faces included a variety of different colors of stone, but only limited vegetation. There were hills everywhere, and everything seemed exposed. It was an odd place to locate a town. After they’d deplaned, the wind immediately caught their attention. It was cold and gusty, making the whole area seem doubly inhospitable.
“The governor says we’re at your disposal for the next several days, Mr. Pacheco,” the pilot said. “We’re a little less than an hour away from our base in Santa Fe, so if you agree, we’ll head back to Santa Fe and whenever you need us again, just give us a call and we’ll head out immediately.” With that, he gave Ray a card with several names and phone numbers.
“Sounds great, captain. Not sure about our schedule at this point, but I’d guess we’ll want to head back to T or C in a day or two. I’ll give you a call as soon as we know.” They shook hands, and Ray headed off to the small terminal.
“Sheriff Pacheco, hello. I’m Chief Deputy Thad Trujillo—welcome to Farmington.”
“Thanks, appreciate you meeting us.”
“No problem. The governor and the AG made it clear we’re to assist you in any way we can. Even without the big brass giving me orders, I’m very pleased to meet the famous sheriff from southern New Mexico.”
“Well now Deputy Trujillo, I think you might be messing with me.” Trujillo grinned in a mischievous way.
“Your associates have gone to the restrooms. Your luggage has been placed in the patrol car outside. That car is yours to use as you see fit. Sorry we didn’t have an unmarked car available, but I imagine you’re used to riding in a patrol car.”
“Yes, I’ve done that some. Any word from Sheriff Jackson?”
“Nothing direct. One of his followers came into the office yesterday to tell us he thought the sheriff had gone off the deep end. This guy belonged to Americans For Liberty—that’s the group the sheriff has been active with—and he said the sheriff told them they’d begin seceding from the country as of October first. The guy said he enjoyed all the rah-rah stuff and the military crap, but he didn’t want to leave his country. Seems like the sheriff may have taken this guy’s truck—he wanted to report it stolen.”
“What do you know about the Americans for Liberty?”
“It’s a long-term anti-government militia group. Been in existence for maybe ten or fifteen years. Never thought they’d cause any real harm—just a bunch of beer bellies pretending to be tougher and meaner than they really are. The sheriff got involved about five years ago and he seems to take it pretty seriously. Lot of the softer guys dropped out after he started making them exercise and do real training.”
“Does Sheriff Jackson have a family?”
“He’s married, although they’ve been separated for a couple of years. Wife’s name is Barbara—she lives in an apartment downtown. Don’t believe they ever got a divorce, but lots of bitterness between them. His wife is active in local politics and the sheriff wanted her to stop, but she said no and moved out.”
“I’d like to talk to her. Could you get me an address and phone number?”
“Sure.”
“Sheriff have any friends who might know what’s going on?”
“Our sheriff was a loner. The only person I know that he was close to was his mother, who died some years ago. All he cared about was work and stuff to do with the militia.”
“Did you think he was a good sheriff?”
“Well, that’s kind of a loaded question. He was, or is, my boss. He’s a difficult man to get to know. Not very friendly. But in terms of running the department, I’d say he did a good job. A lot of people didn’t like him much, but I think that was mostly because he was just not very friendly. Some people thought he was a real asshole, but those were generally lawbreakers or people who wanted a special favor and didn’t get it. The sheriff didn’t play politics and more or less treated everyone about the same—even if he was a little cold. Occasionally he would drink a bit too much, which could create problems—but that mostly had to do with his estranged wife.”
“Deputy, do you know where he is right now?”
“Not for sure, sheriff. My guess is that he’s in Colorado at the militia’s base camp. I think it’s close to Ignacio, but definitely in backwoods territory. The guy who came in to file the stolen vehicle charge said the headquarters were in a very remote part of La Plata County. That’s a sparsely populated area with limited access. The guy also said they have more weapons and ammunition up there than you can imagine. He said it would be a bloodbath if anyone tried to get them out of that camp.”
“How about the military surplus equipment? I understand that he took some of that stuff with him into Colorado?”
“Yeah, I have definitely gotten an earful from the governor about that. Most of the equipment is missing from the armory where it was stored. I guess the sheriff and his people took it. Most of that old junk was useless. It’s old army shit that I think they just wanted to unload on law enforcement. But it was all in bad shape and would cost a fortune to maintain—even assuming you had a use for an armored troop carrier. The sheriff loved that military crap, though. Almost every weekend he would have people out there from the militia, washing and oiling. But we never used any of it in the sheriff’s department. It just took up space. I told the governor it was a waste of money and he should just let Colorado have it—turns out that wasn’t the thing to say. The governor went nuts, telling me the goddamn governor of Colorado was not getting any of our shit. Then he hung up.”
“Our governor and the governor of Colorado seemed to have their own little war going on.”
“Well, what’s our plan Ray?” Tyee had forgiven Ray for the plane ride, given that he’d survived.
“We’ll get checked into the hotel and then go back to the sheriff’s department and get the contact information for the sheriff’s ex-wife. Might go talk to her and se
e if she knows anything about the sheriff’s plans. Want to talk to Deputy Trujillo some more, but my first impression is that he has everything under control. If that’s the case then I think the issue of the sheriff stealing equipment and then holing up in some remote part of Colorado with a small army is a problem for some federal agency, not anything to do with us. So once we’re comfortable that Deputy Trujillo has everything handled in Farmington, we can report to the governor and go home.” No one objected to that.
Many Years Prior—Colorado
“Ladies and Gentlemen it is with great pleasure that I introduce my great friend and one of the best representatives this country has ever had, Congressman Jeremiah Johnson.” There was thunderous applause—the event was being held to honor the Congressman, so you wouldn’t expect any boos.
“Thank you, Senator Graham. Good to see you back in Colorado for a change. Tommy and I have known each other for many years and have generally had good things to say about each other—although I do have some stories I’ve been saving in case we ever become opponents—but I guess I’ll just keep saving those little gems.” Senator Graham smiled, but directed a suspicious eye toward his not-so-great friend.
“When I announced my intention not to run for reelection, I know some of you were surprised, maybe even a little upset, but I also know that many of you were happier than pigs in shit. Well, I’m going to make that crowd even happier. My wife Jane and I are moving to Las Cruces, New Mexico. I’ve enjoyed my time representing the great state of Colorado, but my old bones have requested that I move to a warmer clime. By the way, that was not a reference to my long-suffering wife.” Jane looked pained, but continued to smile. Loving the old bastard took real fortitude and a great deal of patience.
The speech wasn’t long, which was good, but he wasn’t very kind. Congressman Johnson had a way of pissing people off—it was one of his most consistent qualities. He had been elected and then re-elected because he had a way of getting things done, but his skills were more those of a bully than a diplomat. Not many people would be sorry to see him leave, especially Senator Graham.
“You know it’s not your job to make the senator angry.”
“I know, Jane. I should learn to be more diplomatic. But if I did that I wouldn’t be me, now would I?”
“No.” Jane snuggled a little closer, giving him a quick hug and a little peck on the cheek.
“I don’t deserve you, Jane.”
“No, you don’t.” She smiled at her husband. “It was nice of the senator to come to your going away party.”
“Well, I’m sure it was because of the going away part. He’s nothing but an old crook dressed up in fancy clothes and hiding behind a law degree—if I could make his life more miserable, I would.” The congressman’s eyes narrowed.
Jane knew the look and tensed for what was about to come.
“Senator, mind if I have a few private words?”
“You know Jeremiah, there’s no reason for us to be enemies—why don’t we part as friends?”
“Tommy, you are the biggest bullshitter I’ve ever met. Plus you’re a crook. Why the fuck would I want you as a friend?”
“Listen you dumb son-of-a-bitch, I’ve had it with your foul mouth and holier-than-thou attitude. Fuck you!” The senator turned to leave, an ugly expression on his face.
“I know what you and your lowlife brother are trying to do in Pueblo. I won’t stand for it. I have documentation on who owns that land and what’ll happen to its value if that road project you’re pushing through actually happens. That road to nowhere is a boondoggle, designed for no reason except to line your pockets. Either drop the project or I’ll expose you.”
The senator stopped, turning slowly. His face was red, and he was starting to perspire. “You do anything like that, and I’ll have you killed.” He spat the words in Jeremiah’s face.
“I would rethink that senator, you two-bit thug. Your little threat is on tape.” He pulled a small recorder out of his pocket. “Now, unless you want to go back to Pueblo and work in your idiot brother’s construction business, you better do what I told you.” Jeremiah Johnson’s first instinct was to punch the fat senator in his fat face, but he saw Jane staring at him in a familiar stop-whatever-you’re-doing way, so he just walked off.
“You know my dear, I think it’s time we move.”
The next few months were full of activity. They sold their house in Colorado Springs and rented a house in Albuquerque. They’d decided to park in Albuquerque a while and get a feel for things, then decide if they wanted to buy a house in Albuquerque or Las Cruces.
But the congressman couldn’t sit still. He got involved in Democratic Party activities in Albuquerque, and soon was being talked about as a potential state leader for the party. Jeremiah was happiest when discussing politics—it was his life. He hadn’t been active in New Mexico politics for some time, but it was amazing how similar the issues were to Colorado. Being an ex-congressman gave him status and respect that pushed him up the ranks in the party pretty quick, and his wit and his bombastic ways opened a lot of doors.
The congressman’s family had been long-time residents of New Mexico and were considered one of the “noble” families in politics. The problem with that, though, was that every member of his famous family had been a Republican. Jeremiah had become the black sheep when he declared himself a Democrat. Might as well have declared himself the devil. And after all these years there were still certain family members who wouldn’t talk to him.
After he and Jane had lived several years in Albuquerque, occupying the same rental house they’d originally moved into, they were still not sure if they were going to stay or move to Las Cruces. But they had firmly established themselves as active political beings in all things New Mexican.
The years moved along. The Johnsons were happy, and very active for people in their middle sixties. Senator Tommy Graham had just run for governor of Colorado and won. Jeremiah had debated with himself about offering some of his nasty tidbits to the senator’s opponent, but had decided he didn’t need the grief. Life was at the stage where it was good to be satisfied with your existence, and he and Jane were—why stir up old pain and anger?
Then tragedy struck. Driving home from the grocery store, Jane was rammed broadside in a busy intersection by a speeding police car. The cruiser was pursuing a car thief and wasn’t using its siren. She died instantly.
Jeremiah withdrew from everything and became a recluse. He had his phone disconnected and would often not answer the door. There were days when he couldn’t get out of bed. The man of action, full of piss and vinegar, had been defeated. He dreamed of being dead.
“Hey anybody home? Mr. Johnson this is the police—we need to make sure you’re okay. Hello? If you can hear me, I need you to come to the door or we’re going to break it in.”
They banged on the door some more. The doorbell hadn’t worked in months. Jeremiah lay on the couch listening to them. He hated the police. He knew it wasn’t rational, but that didn’t change how he felt. They’d killed his wife and now they were going to break into his house. Something snapped. He blinked very quickly several times and his mind began racing. What the fuck!
He threw open the door.
“You better stop pounding on my door you moron. Do you know who the fuck I am, you little piece of shit? I tell you who I am—I am an ex-congressman, I am friends with the mayor, I am friends with the police chief, I know the asshole governor. And I am pissed. You need to get off of my property and file your goddamn report saying that the old fart who lives at this address is alive and well. Now fuck off!”
Slam. The police left. Their report said the man living at the house was up, and apparently not in any physical danger, but they suspected that he might be crazy.
After that, he began attending political meetings again. It was hard. He moved out of the house that he and Jane had shared—the memory of her was too strong there. He moved into a small apartment in downtown Albuquerque.
Sometimes he would go home to his apartment and cry—he’d never done anything like that before. After some time, he cried less.
The incumbent governor of New Mexico was a Republican. He was running for reelection unopposed by anyone in the Republican Party. He was a colorless man who talked a lot about money, mostly his, and about arts and culture. He was expected to win in a landslide.
The Democrats were having a difficult time finding a viable candidate who was willing to run—and most assuredly lose. In a why-the-hell-not moment, the party chair approached Jeremiah and asked if he would consider running.
“Lookin’ for someone to get stomped on by that elitist asshole of a governor.”
“I understand Jeremiah. More than likely the governor’s going to be re-elected. It’ll be his final term, though, which means that the next election will be an open election. All of our eager beavers want to wait and run in four years. We need someone who can run a good campaign and talk about Democratic values.”
“And be willing to lose.”
“Yeah, I guess that’s the deal. Will you do it?”
“Hell yes, I’ll do it. And I will beat that pompous ass!”
Jeremiah had been a politician his entire life. He knew every trick in the book. But there was something else. He wanted to do the right thing. Not that he’d ever not wanted to do what was best for the people, but there was just a new intensity to his drive to help people who were being stepped on by the assholes of the world—like the current governor.
He ran a populist campaign that came from the heart. He denounced the incumbent governor in words not often heard at public meetings, and the crowds began to grow. He was an overnight sensation. He held nothing back, saying whatever he wanted to say, and people loved it. The incumbent called him foul-mouthed, crazy, a communist, another Hitler—and people loved that, too.