by Mark Reps
“I ain’t never setting foot inside of no damn jail ever again,” cried Ángel.
“That’s right, hombre. Prison is a place for suckers and losers. We did our time. Now it’s time we got some real money…big money.”
“Tell me again how much, Jimmie Joe?”
“A million dollars, maybe even two million. More if we’re lucky. And I’m feelin’ mighty lucky. How about you, my little Ángel? Do you feel lucky?”
Ángel took a deep swig of tequila and grinned with happiness. Luck was running through his veins.
2
“Sheriff Hanks!”
Helen Nazelrod’s crisp hushed voice sounded unnaturally urgent. The wheels of Sheriff Zeb Hanks’ chair sent a piercing squeak through the air as he scooted across the worn hardwood floor. Through his half-open office door he peered over the top of his reading glasses toward his secretary’s desk.
“What?” Sheriff Hanks silently mouthed the question. His eyebrows rose inquisitively.
The veins on the back of Helen’s hand bulged bright blue as she squeezed the phone. Covering the mouthpiece, she kept the receiver tight against her ear. Her whispered utterance was a desperate response.
“Bomb threat. The high school. Line one. What should I do?”
Gesturing, the sheriff calmly issued unspoken orders that said, “Keep him talking. I’ll get on my extension.” Sheriff Hanks moved quickly to the phone, and picked it up with extreme caution.
“I place bomb in gym--under bleachers--on other team side.”
The accent was Hispanic with an underlying hint of Mescalero Apache, or perhaps mixed Spanish and Apache. Zeb suspected the voice to be at least part that of the Mescalero, the nomads of the Apache family. He had some contact with the few Mescalero in the area. Their voices were distinct enough, but it was hard to be certain. Maybe Helen could confirm this from her church work on the reservation. The slurred speech suggested fear or anxiety. It was apparent he had been in the gym before.
“Could you tell us exactly where you placed the bomb?” asked Helen. “We don’t want any of the children to get hurt.”
Helen was cool, logical under fire.
“No one ges hurt if you ges everyone out of building.”
“What sort of bomb is it?”
The man on the other end of the line paused. His hesitancy sent a bullet of anxiety zinging through the sheriff’s heart. Helen kept cool.
“The bomb. Please tell me about the bomb.”
“It jes a bomb. Thas all I know. Nothing else I know. Now go get bomb before someone ges hurt. It’s go off at nine o’clock on button. Now jes’ go get it. That’s all I say. Apúrate! Hurry!”
“Please tell me what the bomb looks like. That way we can find it faster,” said Helen.
“It jes look like bomb.”
“But I’ve never seen one.”
“Is red,” said the caller.
“Like dynamite?”
“Sí, sí, like dynamite. Now, please, go get it.”
The man’s pleading voice sounded near tears.
“Okay. But could you…”
The receiver on the other end rattled clumsily. A blast of static shot down the line and the phone signal died.
“Did you recognize the voice?” asked the sheriff.
Helen’s response was terse. “No, I did not.”
“Call the principal’s office. Have them start evacuating immediately. Move everyone away from the school. Far away from the gym. Call Delbert on the two-way. Have him meet Kate and me at the school. Get the fire department and the EMT’s up there ASAP. Call Josh Diamond. Tell him to bring his dogs. He’ll be at his gun shop.”
“Anything else?”
“Pray the bomb threat is just a bad prank. Pray real hard.”
Helen was already dialing the school’s number as the sheriff barked out the orders.
“What’s going on? Did I hear bomb threat?” asked Deputy Kate Steele.
“You heard right, Deputy. Let’s move it. The target is the high school. The device is allegedly under the bleachers on the visitor’s side of the gym. It’s set to go off at nine.”
With sirens blaring and lights flashing the usual three minute trip to the school took less than half that. Sheriff Hanks was surprised to see what appeared to be most of the student body milling about on the football field, away from the gym just as he had ordered.
Principal Newlin, obviously panic stricken, raced toward the sheriff’s car shouting. “We’ve just about got everyone evacuated. What do you need me to do?”
Zeb eyed the newly hired administrator. She didn’t look a day over twenty-five. But these days everyone seemed younger. Everyone except him. Her accent, pale complexion and blonde hair spoke of an outsider from the Midwest--Iowa, perhaps Minnesota. He thought of how everyone, everything was changing.
“Should I call the school bus company? Have them take everyone home?”
“Just sit tight,” assured Sheriff Hanks. “Keep everyone on the far end of the football field. We will go in and check this thing out. Make sure no one goes near the school buildings. Try to keep everyone calm.”
“Sheriff, are you sure everything is going to be okay?”
It was a ridiculously absurd question, but she was young and youth wore ignorance like a tightly fitting glove. He could offer no such assurances.
“Keep your fingers crossed. Whisper a little prayer for us.”
“I already am, Sheriff. Please save the school.”
He was thinking buildings can be replaced.
“Are the bleachers up or down?”
“They are down all the way. We had an assembly scheduled for nine this morning.”
Deputy Steele and Sheriff Hanks exchanged a glance. The same horrible thought collectively passed through their minds. Maybe the idea was to kill and injure a whole lot of children.
“Miss Newlin, a man with two dogs will be arriving any minute. Direct him to the gym through the front door. Tell him to double time it. Advise him that three of us are already in the building.”
Principal Newlin’s ashen face inferred a woman on the verge of shock. Sheriff Hanks grabbed her by the shoulders.
“Do you understand me?”
“Yes. Yes, I know what to do.”
Deputy Delbert Funke stood by the front door. The lumbering man directed the last of the school kids out of the building as Sheriff Hanks and Deputy Steele raced around the corner.
“Why would somebody want to blow up the gym, Sheriff?”
“How did you know the bomb was in the gym?”
“Some teachers said everybody was ordered to get out of the gym first, the rest of the rooms after that. I just figured…”
“We got a threat around eight thirty-five saying a bomb was set to go off at exactly nine. The caller said it was under the bleachers in the visitor’s section.”
“Jiminy cripes,” said Delbert pointing to a large clock in the hallway. “We only got about thirteen minutes.”
“The bleachers are down. Hopefully the lights in the auditorium are on.”
“If they’re not, I know how to turn ‘em on,” said Delbert. “I used to help the janitor sweep the floor during the summers.”
“Use your flashlights to check in the corners. Deputy Steele, you enter at the west end doorway, under the time clock. Stay toward the front of the bleachers. Deputy Funke, you go under the bleachers in the middle by the scorer’s table and go along the back wall. I’ll enter by the east end and go down the middle of the bleachers. We’ll do two quick sweeps, one up and one back. Make certain nothing is taped up underneath the seats. Give the bottom bleacher a real close look-see. Check every corner closely. Got that?”
“Yes, sir,” replied the junior officers.
“If we find nothing on two sweeps, check the time. If we have time, we will sweep the home side of the gym in exactly the same fashion. If we find nothing, exit the building at two minutes of nine. Two minutes before nine. Got it?”
Once again in unison the law officers replied in the affirmative.
The bright lights, turned on for the assembly, gave clear visibility throughout the gym. Sheriff Hanks’ heart pounded with anxiety as he led his team under the bleachers. Two trips under the opposing team’s bleacher section took six minutes. The results were negative.
“Clean as a whistle,” said Delbert. “Not even a dust bunny.”
“Nothing harmful visualized,” reported Kate.
“Let’s check the other side and hope we have the same luck. Keep your fingers crossed this is just somebody’s idea of a bad joke.”
Josh Diamond’s silhouette in the doorway cast a sinewy shadow. At his side a pair of highly trained bloodhounds attentively awaited his signal.
“Sheriff Hanks,” said Josh. “What sort of device are we looking for?”
“We’re looking for a bomb with a timing device. We don’t know the size or type. It might be dynamite. It’s allegedly set to go off at nine.” He used a single finger to outline the already searched area. “We’ve completed a visual inspection of the visitor’s side.”
Sheriff Hanks’ words echoed eerily off the tall ceiling of the empty gymnasium as somewhere off in a distant part of the building a phone began to ring.
“Take your dogs and search the area where we’ve just been. You’ve got three minutes. If you get nothing, you have another two minutes on this side. We are all out of here at eight fifty-eight.”
Josh’s hand signals set the bloodhounds into action. With great precision the precisely trained animals went into search mode. As the clock above the scoreboard ticked away five fast minutes, nothing resembling a bomb was evident.
“Everyone out. Move it. Now!” shouted Sheriff Zeb Hanks.
Safely away from the building the quartet formed a semi-circle facing the school. The dogs, with their noses in the air, sat by their master’s side. Josh pulled a pack of gum from his pocket offering a piece to the others. Delbert took one. The others declined.
“Ten to one it was a crank call. Some pissed off kid getting his jollies,” said Josh.
“I bet you’re right. I bet it was a prank. When I was in high school, we’d pull the fire alarm just to get a little time off. Kids these days got a weird idea of humor, that’s for sure,” said Delbert.
“What’s the plan, Sheriff?” asked Kate.
“We wait. If there is a timer on the bomb, most likely its next click through will be at quarter after the hour. Right, Josh?”
“If there is a bomb, that would be the most likely scenario. If there was one, Mutt and Jeff would have found it. There is no bomb in the gym.”
“They are true professionals,” he said, giving each dog a treat. “Nothing escapes their sense of smell.”
“I’m inclined to agree with you. Let’s give it fifteen minutes. Then we will give the building an additional once over,” added the sheriff. “Deputy Steele, would you go inform the principal that we are going to do a building search? With the dogs, it shouldn’t take more than an hour. Have her hold tight. No sense sending the kids home for nothing.”
“How’d ya’ come up with names like Mutt and Jeff for your dogs?” asked Delbert.
Josh Diamond chuckled, patting the dogs on their heads and tickling their ears.
“When they were pups they were exploring around at my store, like young dogs do and they came across a case of Bazooka Joe Bubblegum.”
“Mutt and Jeff. You mean those cartoon guys inside the gum wrapper?”
“That’s right. The little fellas, at least they were little fellers back then, started in on that gum. The next thing you know they were chewing away. Funniest damn thing I’ve ever seen a dog do.”
Delbert slapped his knee. His body spasmed with uncontrollable laughter.
“Dang, I’da paid a whole week’s worth of wages to see that one. They were okay, weren’t they? I mean they didn’t get sick from it, did they?”
“They were none the worse. I would like to think they were a little smarter for the experience.”
“Don’t that beat all? Dogs chewing gum. Well, I betcha you couldn’t hardly teach a dog to do that if you tried, now could ya?”
Sheriff Hanks stared at the low hanging, sparse clouds over the northwestern horizon of the morning sky. Behind the clouds the peaks of Mount Graham were beginning to reveal the stable unchanging nature of a mountain. The scene calmed him. Something told him they would find nothing--there would be no explosion. Everything about the call pointed in a single direction. Somebody, a disgruntled student, a sick practical joker, had wasted his time, his deputies’ time and that of hundreds of children and their teachers. God, as they say, was probably the only one who knew why. Sheriff Hanks glanced at his watch. Nine-sixteen.
“Let’s go back in and have another look around. Let’s be thorough but make quick work of it. Josh, I imagine you have a plan already?”
“Yes, sir, I do. I’ll take the dogs and one of the deputies. We will do the first floor. You and the other deputy do the second floor. Then we will double back and check each other’s work. We will finish up with the locker rooms.”
“Deputy Funke, come with me,” ordered the sheriff. “Deputy Steele, you go with Josh.”
A search of twenty-four rooms, six lavatories, two locker rooms, miscellaneous nooks, crannies and janitor’s closets took the team exactly fifty-seven minutes. Relieved that nothing was found, Sheriff Hanks gave brief consideration to kidding the young principal about making her students stay late to make up for the classroom time they had missed. The stressed look on her face made his decision for him. Something about the way she carried herself told him she would not find his remark humorous--especially under these circumstances.
“The school is clear, Principal Newlin. You can let the students go back in now.”
“You’re absolutely certain there isn’t a bomb in there somewhere?”
“Yes, ma’am. We have searched the school thoroughly.”
“What am I going to tell the parents? The school board? The superintendent?”
“Ma’am?” asked the sheriff.
“How do I explain a bomb threat? Do you know how many reports I’m going to have to file?”
“Yes, ma’am. I believe I do. Deputy Steele will be talking with you. If you need anything, do not hesitate to call us. She can help you with the specific details from our end of things on any reports you may have to file.”
Sheriff Hanks knew all too well about report filing rules and regulations. He would have to file multiple reports. Delbert and Kate would have to do theirs. Under new state regulations someone from his office would have to interview the principal, vice-principal, superintendent, and possibly the teachers, janitors and some students. Plus, he would need to get an official statement from Josh Diamond. His head felt light. His stomach rolled with queasiness. It was a bad day to have skipped breakfast. He searched his pockets for an antacid but came up empty handed.
“Delbert, give me your report in a one page summary.”
“Can I double space it?” asked Delbert.
“Sure,” replied the sheriff. “Just get it done today before you forget anything.”
“Right on, big boss man.”
“Kate, I want you to interview Principal Newlin. See if she knows of anyone who has made any threats against any of the teachers. Get a list of recently expelled students. If anything looks the least bit fishy, check it out. Josh, I want you to know we appreciate you volunteering your time on this one. Can you give me a paragraph or two for the record? Something simple, give Mutt and Jeff a little mention too.”
“No problem. Federal regs I suppose?”
“State, Fed, County, local. Hell, in the old days it was just good enough to do your job. These days it’s all paperwork. And when we nab the s.o.b., he’ll probably only get a slap on the wrist, if that. This kind of crap, interference with the peaceful conduct of an educational institution, is a class six felony. But even more than that, it’s
a waste of county time and money. Deputy Funke, Deputy Steele, I want your reports before you go home tonight. Josh, get your statement to me when you can. I’m headed back to the office.”
3
Zeb felt the acid in his stomach backwash against the bottom of his throat. Gastric reflux? Is that what Doc Yackley had called it? A sharp stabbing pain in his grumbling gut led to a foul smelling belch. The belch contained enough bile to leave a harsh bitter taste in his mouth. Mental note, he thought, always have some food before you drink an entire pot of black coffee.
“Sheriff, is everything okay? You’re looking a little green around the gills.”
“Yes, Helen. Everything is fine. It was a false alarm.”
Helen Nazelrod, long time sheriff’s secretary, eyed her boss up and down. He was looking like a horse that had been “rode hard and put out wet”, as the local saying went.
“Why would somebody do such a thing, Sheriff? It’s just not right. I mean scaring everyone like that. What’s wrong with people today?”
“That’s a loaded question. Maybe you should write a book and go on one of those daytime talk shows and make a million bucks. I bet people are just begging to know what’s wrong with everybody else.”
“Oh, Sheriff. You’re kidding, aren’t you? Me…on the TV…with Oprah?”
Helen primped her hair for an imaginary camera. She was the perfect secretary, calm, tough, sassy and naive all rolled into one. Most of all, she was relieved.
“Before you head off to Hollywood, you got any other bad news for me this morning?”
The attempted humor of the sheriff’s remark was short-lived.
“As a matter of fact, since you asked, I do. And, not just a little bit of it either. I’ve got the freshly compiled, county-wide monthly report right here.”
Zeb placed his forehead in his hands, squeezing his outstretched fingers against his temples, pressing against the rising intensity of a sudden headache.