Mojave Desert Sanctuary

by Gary J George

  So, maybe you’re related to Ocean Woman someway.’”

  “Joe must have talked himself out with that explanation,” said John, “because he hardly spoke for the next couple of evenings. Most evenings he does what he did tonight. Joins us out here for coffee and then walks off into the night.”

  “Doesn’t he go to the bunkhouse?”

  “Chaco and Phil tell me they never hear him come in. If they wake at first light, he’s just there, already dressed. If they wake up after first light, he’s already left. At least that’s what they think must have happened, but they’re not sure. They think maybe sometimes he hasn’t been in the bunkhouse at all.”

  “Where do you think he goes at night?”

  “I think he walks. I think Joe hears voices in the night. Remember when you told us about hearing voices out on the desert sometimes and not being able to understand what they’re saying? I think Joe not only hears them, I think he goes out there and talks with them.”

  “That’s spooky,” said Kiko.

  “Not to Joe. As he said the other day, ‘It just is.’”

  The three of us sat and visited for a while longer, but it wasn’t long before my eyelids began to droop in spite of the coffee.

  I got to my feet.

  “Thanks for the great dinner. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “Ready to go rock hunting?” Kiko asked.

  I tried not to sound too eager.

  “I’m ready.”

  I drove down the switchbacks and onto Cedar Canyon Road. As I rose up the steep hill out of Watson’s Wash, I caught a fleeting movement out of the corner of my eye. It might have been a deer, or a coyote, or a bobcat.

  Or Chemehuevi Joe.

  The next morning, Kiko and I set out to get rocks. I knew just the place, and it wasn’t too far. East of the intersection of Cedar Canyon Road and Lanfair Road were some north-facing, low hills covered with volcanic rock. Yucca, reddish-pink barrel cactus and blackbrush dotted the hillsides. What made the rocks so unusual was that so many of them were almost the same size.

  The terrain was very rough just beyond the road. I couldn’t get the truck very close to the hillside. We had to carry the rocks down the hill and over to the pickup. It was slow, hot work. When we had a layer of rocks that nearly covered the bed of the truck, we sat on the tailgate to take a break.

  As soon as we stopped moving, the silence settled in around us like a blanket. The sky was the deepest of blues and lacked even the wisp of a cloud. Two red tail hawks were riding the thermals high above the valley. A slight breeze whispered in from the north, and the distant New York Mountains shimmered in the heat. Then a raven croaked from one of the nearby Joshua trees.

  We sat quietly for a while. I don’t know what Kiko was thinking, but I was trying to think of a way to get her to open up about her past.

  “That day I brought the first load from Smoke Tree, something about the way you stood made me think you were a dancer. Are you? Were you?”

  Kiko didn’t answer for so long, I thought she wasn’t going to. Then, as if she’d made some kind of a hard decision, she spoke.

  “Yes. I minored in dance and theater.”

  “What was your major?”

  “Microbiology.”

  “That sounds hard.”

  “Not if you like it.”

  “Do you have a degree?”

  “Yes, a Bachelor’s and a Master’s.”

  “Ever try to do anything with the dance stuff?”

  “After graduation, my roommate and I went to New York to break into show business.”

  “That’s exciting. Did it work out?”

  “My roommate had some success. She’s very beautiful and very talented.”

  “I think you’re beautiful too, Kiko.”

  As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I could feel my face turning red.

  “Oh, look. He’s blushing again.”

  “It’s true. You are.”

  “It’s nice you think so, Aeden. But there’s one thing I’m definitely not.”

  “What’s that?”

  “White.”

  Under the hot sun in the middle of the huge, quiet desert, the word hung between us like a limp flag of regret.

  She spoke again.

  “So, my friend’s job was to sing and dance in the chorus line in a Broadway show. A job we had both dreamed about in our dorm room.

  But my job? My job was to be a waitress and go to audition after audition and be turned down – sometimes as soon as I walked onto the stage. Before I had a chance to sing a note or dance a step or read a line. Just a quick, ‘thank you very much,’ or sometimes not even that. Sometimes just ‘next’.”

  “But at least you tried. I bet a lot of people aren’t brave enough to do that.”

  “Cold comfort, Aeden. Cold comfort.”

  It was obvious Kiko thought many of her problems were because of her skin color. Her exile to the internment camp, her family’s lost property, the ugly scene with her date’s mother and father, her failure to penetrate the elite world of Broadway musicals: all caused by the fact she was Japanese. And I realized there was no way I could ever understand what it felt like not to be white.

  “What was it like living in New York?”

  The look on her face changed from bitterness to despair. Something far more painful than her failure to get work as a dancer had just crossed her mind. She pulled a bandana from her pocket and wiped her face. When she pulled the bandana away, the sorrowful look was gone, replaced by a look I couldn’t read.

  She stood up abruptly.

  “Let’s finish this load and get back to the ranch. See if the mysterious Joe approves of our rocks.”

  Not a word passed between us as we finished carrying rocks and stacking them in the back of the truck. By the time we had as many as I thought we could get up the steep switchbacks at the ranch, the sun was directly overhead and brutally hot. I eased the truck along the hint of a trail that had allowed us to get a little closer to the hillsides. I was just about to pull onto Lanfair Road when I realized there was a truck coming from the north. Lanfair Valley traffic jam.

  The driver slowed to look at us. I could see “OX Cattle Ranch” on the door. As he turned his head, Kiko pulled her LA Dodgers cap lower and looked like she was trying to sink into the floorboards.

  She spoke without lifting her head.

  “Who is that?”

  “Cowboys from the OX.”

  “Why are they slowing down?”

  Her voice was tight.

  “People are friendly out here. Curious, too.”

  “What’s happening now?”

  “They’re pulling off the road.”

  “Let’s get out of here!”

  “Take it easy, Kiko. They’re just stopping at the phone booth.”

  She lifted her head a bit and leaned forward far enough to peek past me out the side window.

  “There’s a phone booth over there?”

  “Yes. Only phone out this way.”

  One of the cowboys got out and walked to the booth.

  Kiko seemed to relax. I eased the truck over the graded berm and onto the dirt road.

  When we got back to the Box S, Joe walked over.

  “Good. Two more loads, enough for the fireplace and chimney. Can get cinder rock over on Cima Dome. Firebox, back wall.”

  “I’ll get something together for lunch,” said Kiko as she walked toward the house.

  Joe watched her go.

  “She okay?”

  “I don’t know. We saw a couple of OX cowboys drive by. Spooked her real bad.”

  “Woman’s watching for something. Always watching. See her looking down Cedar Canyon Road.”

  “What do you think she’s watching for?”

  “Nothing good.”

  After lunch, Kiko and I drove back to the hillside. There was very little conversation as we worked. A number of times she stopped working and stared up Lanfair Road.
/>   When we got back in the pickup, I was just about to start the engine when she put her hand on my arm. It was the first time she had touched me since we shook hands on the day we met.

  “Ade, I’m sorry I got upset this morning.”

  “It’s all right.”

  “No, it isn’t. It doesn’t have anything to do with you or John or Joe. I’m just jumpy.”

  “Maybe sometime you could talk about yourself. Your life in Salinas. And college and your time in New York.”

  “Maybe. Not today.”

  “Okay.”

  “And maybe you could tell me something about yourself.”

  “Not much to tell. Just a kid from a hick town in the middle of nowhere.”

  Kiko smiled.

  “I’m not so sure about that.”

  “You will be after you hear about my boring life.”

  Back at the Box S, Kiko looked almost happy as she helped Joe and me unload the rocks. She made jokes, trying unsuccessfully to get Joe to smile. When everything was off the truck, she headed for the house.

  Joe pulled a piece of paper out of his shirt pocket. He had written down all the measurements for the pipes he wanted me to cut and thread and the information about the piece of steel he wanted for the flue.

  “I’ll bring this when I come next week.

  While I’m gone, maybe Kiko will tell you what she’s watching for.”

  “Doubt it.”

  Chapter 13

  Las Vegas, Nevada

  Fourth Week of June, 1961

  Eddie Mazzetti sat with Thomaso “Tommy Bones” Cortese in the Shores of Tahiti Polynesian restaurant on a busy Friday evening. Thomaso was drunk and getting drunker. Eddie didn’t like being seen in public with Thomaso, drunk or sober, but when Tommy Bones said, “Come to dinner with me,” you went to dinner with him, no matter the consequences.

  Thomaso had been drinking steadily ever since they sat down, and the drinks had certainly loosened his tongue. Eddie had never heard him talk so much. He was also talking loudly and beginning to slur his words.

  “Some show them hula broads put on! Talk about shakin’ it! Bet they could give you a real ride in bed.”

  “The marks like it. Place has been a money maker ever since we opened the door.”

  “Gotta give you credit, Eddie. You get these losers drive across the desert this heat just to go home broke in a couple days. You’ve figured somethin’ out.”

  “Know what really made the place take off? We got them naked girls in the Moulin Rouge Revue walkin’ around out there with stupid stuff on their heads and their boobs hangin’ out. They don’t sing, they don’t dance! Just walk around. But we fill that show up every night with horny old men get to stare at them ‘cause they brought their dumpy wives along. Makes it all right to ogle somethin’ they get slapped for lookin’ at anywhere else.”

  “Well, whatever it is, you sure as hell pack ’em in.

  Hey, have that girl bring me another one a them scorpions. I can’t seem to get enough to drink out here in this heat.”

  “How about some iced tea?”

  Thomaso’s eyes went to half mast and he stared at Eddie until Eddie felt like squirming.

  “I wanna iced tea or a ginger ale or a pink lemonade or some other goddamned sissy drink, I’ll let you know, Eddie. Now, get me another one of these scorpions.”

  Eddie didn’t appreciate being ordered around in his own place, but he knew better than to complain about it. He signaled the waitress. She was at the table in an instant.

  “Another scorpion for our guest.”

  “Yes sir, Mr. Mazzetti. Coming right up.”

  As she turned to go, Thomaso grabbed her arm

  “And tell the bartender no umbrella this time. Last one almost poked me inna eye.”

  He let go of the waitress and laughed. It was not a pleasant sound. He had already had five of the powerful drinks in less than half an hour. He had also waved aside Eddie’s attempts to get him to order some food. All he seemed to want to do was drink and be obnoxious.

  Eddie didn’t mind Thomaso eating and drinking and partying on the arm at the hotel. That was the prerogative of anyone from the leadership of The Outfit who was in town. What he didn’t like was Thomaso’s habit of walking into the counting room anytime he felt like it and pocketing thousands of dollars.

  Eddie plastered a smile on his face to hide his anger.

  “So Thomaso, how much longer you and Sal gonna be with us?”

  “As long as we want. You got a problem with that?”

  Eddie held up his hands, palms out. “No, no. Always glad to have you visit.”

  “Just yankin’ your chain, Eddie! Another week or so is about all I can take. I tried playin’ golf, but I can’t even get in a whole early round before that goddamned sun burns me off the course. By ten o’clock, too hot even lay out by the pool.

  But Sal and I are gonna stick it out just a little longer.”

  “Thomaso, you know I got no problem with you. Never have, never will. It’s that Salvatore makes me nervous. I hear the Feds is lookin’ at him, and I don’t like to bring that kind of attention to our operation here. This is a sweet deal for everyone, and I want it to stay that way.”

  “What Feds you talkin’ about?”

  “F.B.I.”

  Thomaso laughed again.

  “Relax, Eddie. Don’t sweat those guys. We got Hoover in our pocket.”

  Eddie looked around the room to see if anyone was listening, then leaned forward.

  “You tellin’ me we’re bribin’ the head of the F.B.I.?”

  “Even better. We got proof Hoover’s a finocchio.”

  “I’ve heard stories about that. Never knew if they were true.”

  “They’re true. Our guy on the West Coast, Roselli? He got the gen on a time Hoover and a boyfriend was picked up down in New Orleans in the twenties for bein’ sissies. The cops knew who Hoover was and called the local Don, Sam ‘Silver Dollar’ Carolla, try and score some points. Carolla sprung Hoover, made the charges disappear, but kept a copy of the arrest record.”

  “Carolla was that tight with the cops?”

  Thomaso smiled.

  “Remember the story about him and Capone when Al was just startin’ to get big?”

  “Not really.”

  “Well, Carolla was runnin’ South Louisiana. Took over from Matranga, Matranga retired in ’22.

  This is where Capone comes in. Matranga had been doin’ some small time bootleggin’ but Carolla kicked it way up. Flat out went to war with rivals for the business. After a lotta guys wised up or disappeared, Sam bought the cops. From them on, he controlled the product comin’ in off the Gulf.

  So, in ’29, Al took the train down to New Orleans to tell Sam he had to sell his bootleg hooch to The Outfit instead of Joe Aiello if he wanted to do business in Chicago. But see, Aiello was Siciliano. So was Carolla. Had no intention doin’ business with anybody but Aiello in Chicago.

  Anyway, Sam met Capone at the depot. Brought a buncha cops he had in his pocket. Cops told Al’s bodyguards give up their guns. They didn’t. Cops took their guns, threw them in jail for a few days.”

  “What did Al do?”

  “What the hell could he do? Got on the train, went back to Chicago.”

  “Okay, so Sam got a piece of paper ‘cause he had some cops on a pad. But even if he did, the story doesn’t sound like enough leverage to hold off Hoover.”

  “Yeah? Try this. New Year’s Eve, 1936, Stork Club in New York, Frank Costello seen J. Edgar holdin' hands with his faggot squeeze, this Clyde Tolson guy. Had a photographer at the club take a picture.

  “Yeah, yeah, but does anybody have real evidence besides a story from New Orleans and a picture in a night club with a bunch of other drunk people?”

  Thomaso leaned closer and dropped his voice to a whisper. His breath smelled like rum, pineapple and death.

  “Meyer Lansky’s got pictures of Hoover naked with this other guy. And they w
asn’t playin’ leap frog, if you know what I mean. Don’t know how he got ’em, but Hoover knows he has ‘em locked up somewhere. Hoover don’t know where. He’s scared shitless of Lansky.

  And that’s why Hoover don’t bother us. Hell, he even said we don’t exist! Told Congress ain’t no such thing as the Mafia.”

  “But what about this new Attorney General, this Bobby Kennedy? He’s J.F.K.s brother, for Chrissake. He’s makin’ a lotta noise about organized crime.”

  Thomaso leaned back. There was a worried look on his face for the first time that evening.

  “Yeah, that could be a problem. That Kennedy prick don’t know how to repay a favor. You know The Outfit give Kennedy Chicago, right? Wouldna won without it. Now he acts like he don’t know us. Already dropped the ball with that bastard Castro. Cost us millions in Havana. And now this little pazzo Bobby’s after Carlos Marcello and Jimmy Hoffa. Don’t look good.”

  Thomaso shook his head.

  “That’s why I’m worried, Thomaso. What if Kennedy orders Hoover to come after us? He’s Hoover’s boss, right?”

  “Not worried about that. Goddamned Hoover’s been tellin’ presidents where to stick it for years. Bastard’s got the goods on everybody in Washington, and we’ve got the goods on Hoover.

  No, the people we got to worry about are those Treasury guys.”

  “Yeah, I remember how they took Capone down.”

  “We got no leverage with them.”

  “No?”

  “No. Look over my right shoulder. See the guy in the blue suit with the glasses? Looks like an accountant?”

  “Yeah.”

  “T-man. Spotted him yesterday. That’s why I’m not stayin’ much longer. But I don’t want to leave just yet. I’ve got a feelin’ somethin’s gonna break loose about that little mignotta, and when it does, I’m gonna make sure she gets her buckwheats.”

  Eddie shivered. And it wasn’t because he cared that Kiko Yoshida was to be tortured before she was killed. It was because of the T-man Tommy Bones had drawn to his casino. If Treasury ever found out about the skim, his good life in Las Vegas was over.