Neon Nights: Daymond Runyon meets James Ellroy in the Nevada Desert

by John Hudson

  "I've already sent a report to Carson City about that. There's no need to write another one."

  "Yes there is, Turner specifically asked me to write a report for him, and unless he tells me not to, I'm going to write it."

  "I don't care what Turner wants!" Dick grabbed me by the shoulder and said, "You're leaving now! Either you go quietly or I'll throw you out!"

  Every fiber in me wanted to mop the floor up with Dick, but that wouldn't be smart. Instead, I stared at his hand until he lifted it off my shoulder. Then I said as calmly as I could, "Before you let your mouth get you into some real trouble old man, remember the regulations clearly state that an officer has to make his own report and another officer cannot make it for him. In case you've forgotten it's regulation number one-four-zero-five, and about throwing me out, the best day you ever lived you couldn’t take me—old man."

  Dick knew the regulation very well. He’d told me a couple months ago, he'd made the mistake of letting another officer to write up his report. The report was challenged in court and a child killer walked. Dick almost lost his job. It was a sensitive area and his face turned red and he sputtered, "Screw you and your regulations." He stomped off muttering to himself.

  Dick wouldn't bother me again. He didn't have the stones to take on rule book to make a point and he also didn’t have to stones to take me on. Now, I could take all the time I wanted to do the report.

  It took almost two hours to write the first draft. I wrote it in long hand and I even looked up the words I couldn't spell in the dictionary. It was after eleven by the time I finished. I'd had a nagging feeling for several days I was missing something and I thought I knew what it was. I’d remembered writing something I thought was important in a note book the day Johnny died but I couldn't remember what I'd written. I didn't have the notebook at home so it must be here. I started digging around in my desk looking for the notebook when Jimmy Johnson laid a doughnut in front of me. He said, "It looks like you could use a break."

  "Aren't you afraid to be seen with me?"

  "You know Kelly you I still have some friends here."

  "You sure couldn't tell it by the way they've lined up to support me."

  "Aw, don't blame them. Most figure this is between you and Kemper, and they don't want to get caught in the middle."

  I could understand that, but it still hurt not to have anyone even call and ask how I was doing.

  Jimmy took a drink of coffee and said, "It's too bad it didn't work out on that Del Rio case with that goon from California."

  "Yeah, it's a shame that didn't work out, but I might have something on "Two Ton" Tony's murder. Have a couple of deputies check out if Tony's wife bought a saw at Lawson’s Hardware the day before he died, and have them check if any large crates were shipped out that day. If any were, have them find out where they were going."

  "Are you on to something?"

  "Maybe, let me know what happens."

  Jimmy finished his coffee and went back to the front desk and I started typing my report. Unfortunately, I finished much earlier than I expected. I wish Al Bernstein had given me a more specific time. I could have planned my day better. As it was, I'd have to look busy for a least a couple more hours and it's hard to look busy when you're not.

  I was rummaging around in the files when I happened across Mike Rogers' phone number. I hadn't called him for awhile and I wondered if Jack Ryan ever showed up. I dialed Mike's number and he said, "I was just about to call you and say the Salt Lake City office found Ryan's car. A used car dealer bought it from some one using a phony title. He reported it to the local police and they contacted us."

  "Any idea who sold the car?"

  "No all the car dealer could remember was it was a man and women."

  "Maybe the woman was Ryan's wife."

  "We thought the same thing but we found out she was in jail, in San Diego on a prostitution beef. I had one of our agents to talk to her, but she claims she and Ryan spilt‑up before he left. She said she hasn't heard from him recently and doesn't want to either."

  "Did the agent ask her about the stolen airplane parts?"

  "Yeah, but she claims she doesn't know anything about any of Ryan's business deals. To hear her tell it, she was a virtual prisoner in her house. She did say that Ryan went at least twice a month up to Las Vegas. She said he must have been real lucky because every time he returned he had a bunch of money."

  "Did she ever accompany him?"

  "No. She asked but he wouldn't take her."

  "The money must have been payment for the stolen airplane parts."

  "Either that, or like she said, he was real lucky."

  "No one's that lucky in this town. I'll bet the money came from Johnny Del Rio and a weasel named Jake Bozak. I'll mention Ryan's name the next time I see Jake. His reaction might be interesting.” I told Mike goodbye and returned to my report.

  I'd gone over my report four times and was starting on the fifth when the day shift finally ended. I could kill a little more time by straightening up my desk, but it was time to leave. No one would believe it took longer than a shift to type a report no matter how slow the typist.

  I'd managed to take care of the day but what about the night? Al Bernstein didn't say whether it was day or night he was talking about and stupidly I hadn't asked. I saw Jimmy Johnson walking out the door. I caught up with him and offered to buy him a beer. He suggested a little place down the street called the "Hogan".

  The owners had tried to live up to the Indian name with rustic peeled bark furniture and a couple of moth bitten Navaho rugs tacked to the walls. The rest of the place, with white painted cinder block walls and a green linoleum floor didn't quite fit the image.

  We were greeted with a loud blast of honk-tonk music as we walked in. It suited the clientele which appeared to be a group of hard-working, god-fearing, family men who came here for cold beer and a few good times before heading home.

  Jimmy must come here a lot. As soon as we walked in, people started calling out his name. He smiled and waved at them. A tall, lanky, semi-blonde waitress greeted Jimmy with a slightly off-color joke. He laughed and told her to bring us a couple of beers.

  He grinned at me and asked, "What do ya think of this place?"

  I told him it reminded me of bars in my hometown. We talked for a few minutes about memorable bars, then Jimmy leaned over and half-whispered, "Why don't ya tell me what's going on. Maybe I can hep ya."

  As attractive as that sounded, I couldn't take the chance. I shook my head and said, "What are you talking about?"

  "Hell, you know exactly what I mean. You've been going out of your way to hang around all day. You act like you're trying to come up with an alibi."

  "Nah, I've just been doing my job. That's all."

  Jimmy got an amused look on his face and held up his hand. "Hey, it ain't no skin off my nose one way or the other. I was just wondering if I could hep."

  "Thanks for the offer, but I don't need any help."

  "Well if you ever do, let me know--okay?" Jimmy took a drink of beer and rolled the glass between his hands. "Not many know this, but years ago, I was accused of taking some money when I was a Deputy Sheriff up in Utah. I didn't do it but I couldn't prove it. It got me kicked off the force. I never would have gotten another chance except someone heped me, and if you'll give me half-a-chance, maybe I can hep you."

  I didn't know what to make of Jimmy. He could be telling the truth, but he could be trying to get me talking so I'd incriminate myself. Either way I couldn't confide in him. "Thanks for the offer but I'm okay."

  Jimmy laughed and took another drink of beer. "Okay, have it your way, but here's something ya might want to know. Some of the time Kemper's having you tailed. They know about you going to that cat house out in the desert. He's been trying to find out why you're going out there, and he doesn't think it's to get laid. It's your business what you're doing, but I'd be careful if I were you."

  Jimmy ordered another round of bee
r and I switched the subject to the Del Rio murder. When I mentioned Johnny's connection with Jake Bozak and the stolen airplane parts, Jimmy added something I hadn't heard before. "This isn't the first time Jake was accused of stealing government property. During the war he was suspected of stealing medical supplies and selling them back East. The Federals investigated him, but the war ended and they must have lost interest." Jimmy's glass was empty and I started to order another round, but he stopped me. "No more for me...my wife raises hell if I have more than two." For some reason Jimmy being married surprised me. He never talked about his wife and he didn't look like the type who'd be married. The existence of a wife changed my image of him. He wasn't the lonely old cop I'd pictured. He leaned over and said, "You take it easy and if you need an alibi for tomorrow, just drop on by." He slapped me on the shoulder and sauntered out the door. Maybe he'd seen through my ruse, but neither he nor anyone else could prove that I was doing anything other than writing a report.

  It was only six and I wanted to be seen at least for a couple more hours. Some of the bar's patrons ordered supper which looked and smelt good. I told the waitress to bring me a steak and fries. She returned with a huge plate covered with a sizzling sirloin and mounds of french fries. I hadn't eaten all day and, as my grandmother would say, it was larruping good.

  The waitress picked up my plate and asked if I wanted another beer. I told her to bring it over to the pinball machine. During the war I got fairly good at playing pin ball. A skinny kid with big ears and greased black hair was playing the machine and I challenged him to a game. After several more beers and endless games of pinball, it was ten o'clock and time to go home. The kid gave me a ride back to the station in a souped-up Model A. He handed me a hand lettered card and told me if I needed any work done on my car, to give him a try. I jumped out of his jalopy and he peeled off into the night. There was one more thing to do before I went home.

  The desk sergeant barely looked up when I walked past him. I went to my desk and opened a drawer. Jimmy had interrupted me earlier this morning when I was looking for my missing note book. In the bottom of a drawer I found the notebook I was looking for. I thumbed through it but I didn't see anything I hadn't seen before. I almost put it back in the drawer when I saw something I'd penciled in the margin.

  "That's it."

  A deputy walked by and said, "Are you talking to me?"

  "No. I'm just thinking out loud." I flipped the note book closed and went home. Tomorrow would be a busy day.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Just Desserts in the Desert

  The next morning I drove out to where Johnny Del Rio was killed. What I'd written in the margin was. “Did Johnny drive the killer out here or did they meet here?”

  Either way, this place would be so deserted at night there was little chance that many people were driving around out here. Maybe someone saw some headlights that night and if they did, at least I'd know if there were one or two cars. Knowing that could narrow down the list suspects especially if only one car was involved. The only way to find out was to stop at all the houses between where we found Johnny and the main highway.

  At the first house, right off the highway, a grizzled old rancher looked at me like I was crazy when I asked if the saw anything. He spit a wad of tobacco and said, "Son, I ain't been up that late since I got out of the Navy, and I don't ever expect to be up that late again. And I sleep powerful sound!" The next house was about a half mile away but they didn’t see or hear anything but at the third house, the closest to where Johnny was killed, I hit pay dirt.

  A young rancher rode up on a horse and I asked him if he'd seen anything that night. He furrowed his brow, and asked, "What day did you say that was?"

  "Wednesday--the fourteenth."

  He dismounted and said, "You wait here a minute. I'll be right back." He walked to the house and returned, holding a calendar. "I thought I was up that night. One of my cows was having a calf and she was in trouble. I stayed up with her waiting for the vet to arrive." He pointed at the calendar and said, "See here, I marked the calf right here on my calendar."

  "Did you see any cars on the road that night?"

  "Well yes...there was a car that went by about one in the morning. At first I thought it might be the vet, but it wasn't him. It kept on going down the road."

  "Which direction was it going?"

  He pointed toward the west and said, "That a way and it was going fast too."

  "Did you see what kind of car it was?"

  "No. All I could see were taillights going by."

  “Was it just one car?”

  “Yes. It was all by itself.”

  "Did any other cars come down the road that night?"

  "The only other car I saw belonged to the vet."

  "When did he arrive?"

  "Oh, I guess it was about half an hour to forty-five minutes after I saw the first car."

  "Did anything else happen that night you can remember?"

  "Well...about five or ten minutes before vet arrived my dog started barking. I looked outside but I couldn't see anything. The dog must have heard a coyote or something."

  "Anything else?"

  He shook his head slowly. "No, that was it, except my cow had a fine bull calf."

  "Could a car go by here with its lights off and you not know it?"

  "No. I'd have heard it soon as it crested the hill. You know, sound carries a fair way out here."

  The car the rancher heard was probably Johnny coming from town. If he met someone, then the killer would had to drive in from the west otherwise the rancher would have seen or heard it go by and the car had to leave by the same direction. But going to the west would be driving deeper into the desert, and why would someone do that? Still, the killer had to go someplace.

  I turned to the west and drove past the crime scene. I stopped at every house west of the crime scene, but no one saw or heard anything that night. Several people assured me, even if they were asleep, if a car had gone by they'd have heard it. If they were right, then there could only be one explanation how the killer left after the murder.

  I drove back to the ranch where Johnny's car had been seen. The rancher looked at me quizzically and asked, "Is there something else you want?"

  “I got a couple more questions. Did any cars go down the road after the vet arrived?”

  “No and I was up almost to sun rise and I’d have seen or heard a car if it went by.”

  "My other question is--what is the name of your vet."

  The vet lived north of town on a dirt path. In front of a yellow clap board house, wired to the fence, was a hand lettered sign--Robert Brown DVM. Brown's wife said he was behind the house feeding the chickens. I called out his name and a big red face guy wearing a flannel hat stuck his head out of the barn and yelled, "What do you need?"

  "I was wondering if you could help me."

  He yelled back, "If it's about a dog or cat I don't work on them. There's a guy in town who does. Ask my wife for directions."

  I yelled back, "This doesn't have anything to do with animals. I'm a policeman and I'm working on a homicide and I think maybe you can help me."

  That got his attention. He walked over to me and said, "How do you figure I can help you?"

  "A couple of weeks ago did you help deliver a calf about ten miles north of here late at night?"

  "Out at Ben Willard's place I did."

  "What time was that?"

  "Well, now let me think. I had to go up to the Clement place in Overton that night. They had a horse that got cut up on some wire. My wife called me up there and said Ben's cow was having problems. It took longer than I expected to get the horse stitched up. I suspect it was oh, maybe one-thirty or maybe even two by the time I got to Ben's place."

  “Did you any cars pass you on the road to his house?”

  “No sir, there wasn’t any cars on that road.”

  "Then did you see anyone walking on the road that night?"

  "It's str
ange you'd mention that but I did. I almost didn't see them because they jumped off the road when they saw me."

  "Them?"

  "Well, it was actually just one person I saw."

  "What did he look like?"

  "Oh, it wasn't a he; it was a she. I thought about stopping to see if she was in trouble, but I was afraid the calf might go bad on me."

  I flopped on my bed and stretched out. I had been a long but productive day. What I learned today might break the Del Rio case wide open. Then again, just because a woman was wandering around on foot in the middle of the night wasn't exactly concrete evidence either, but it was more than I had yesterday.

  My eyelids were getting heavy and I switched off the light. It seemed like I'd just shut my eyes when the phone rang. It was Mike Rogers and he greeted me with, "Hey, Kelly, what's new?"

  "Not much. How's the weather down in Phoenix?"

  "I couldn't say. I'm here in Vegas to serve a federal warrant on that guy you mentioned--Jake Bozak."

  "What did you get him on?"

  "He’s charged with theft of government property, specifically the theft and sale of stolen government airplane parts."

  "Sounds like you found Jack Ryan and got him to talk."

  "No, he's still missing. Jake Bozak came to my attention because of an inquiry I put out asking if anyone in the Bureau was working on a case concerning stolen airplane parts. The Trenton office contacted me and said they'd been investigating some of the local Mafia who reportedly had been buying and selling stolen airplane parts. The ringleader is a wise guy named Jimmy Ramano. They caught Jimmy with a truckload of stolen furs and they convinced him to help them with their investigations. He mentioned Jake Bozak's name and a judge issued a warrant. Want to go with me when I slap it in his hand?"

  I was going to Jake's place anyway and I'd like to go with Mike, but it could be an awkward situation. He'd probably pick up some local help for the raid and if they included Ted Kemper or Dick Pearson, it could get ugly fast. I didn't want to but I'd have to tell him there could be a problem if I came along. "Maybe I'd better tell you something..."