by Ted Clifton
Anna called the gallery in Santa Fe, but no one answered—not surprising, considering the time difference. She left a message. “Clive. Change of plans. Taking an early flight to New York this afternoon. Will meet with Trent in the morning and then I’m headed back to Santa Fe. Won’t arrive until very late tomorrow night. Want to meet with you the next morning, early. I want to know every detail of the De Vries exhibit—and I want details, Clive, not your usual bullshit. I know we’re getting a lot of blowback because of the lawsuit, but you have to pull every trick you know to get people to this show. It has to be a success, or you can kiss your cushy-ass job goodbye.”
She hung up. Clive Walton was the artistic director for her galleries. She’d hired him after the forgeries. He had a well-deserved reputation for recognizing new talent, and even more importantly, a huge following of art patrons. She was overpaying him, but having him on board was essential to calm the hubbub after the forgery nightmare. Still, he was probably the prissiest and most annoying man she had ever met, and if he didn’t have all the details she needed and everything teed up properly when she got to Santa Fe, she just might fire the little twit.
Anna spent much of the day thinking about what she really wanted. She hated the pressure of running a business her father had built to suit himself. He’d loved to travel, so having several galleries in different locations around the country was ideal for him, but not for her. She hated travel, and just wanted to stay at home. And while Anna loved artists, they changed once they had some financial success—every one of them seemed to turn into a whore, in it only for the money.
When Anna had first gotten her feet wet in the industry, she’d worked with up-and-coming artists and put on small, intimate shows that targeted patrons of the arts, not financial investors who frequented the more famous artists’ larger exhibits. She knew that money drove the industry, and recognized the hypocrisy in criticizing the influence money had while she lived a lavish lifestyle, but none of that changed the bottom line; the money detracted from the art. The art became secondary, as if it was nothing more than one more valuable commodity mined out of the earth, rather than the creative output of brilliant human beings. She wanted to get back to the part of the art world that loved the work more than the money.
But, she wondered, was there any point in thinking about the future? Was it already too late? The terrible weight of dealing with the diagnosis that she hated even to think about, plus the enormous need for money was crushing her. She knew she could not go on much longer, especially alone. Still, even with that immense burden, she was not ready to give up. She was going to fight to her last breath.
Of course, she could only do that with money—lots of money. She promised herself this would be the last big show. She would sell or close all the galleries except the one in Santa Fe. She would rebrand it under a different name, and focus on emerging artists—maybe even sell the million-dollar house and live a simpler life. She didn’t want to be anything close to poor, but she was tired of worrying every minute of every day about money.
Already beginning to feel better about herself, she had made a profound decision that would change her life. She was determined to carry it out. All she needed to make it happen was one more big success. The De Vries exclusive exhibit at the Howard Marks Galleries had to be a huge hit. Nothing else mattered, and she would do whatever she had to do to make it happen—and if that little brat Ilse wouldn’t cooperate, Anna would strangle her. She smiled, but it had something of an ugly sneer in it.
Santa Fe, New Mexico
On some days, Vincent had duties at the Inn that required him to get up early and get with it. On most days it didn’t matter too much when he got going. But, being a proud man and totally denying his age and need for more sleep, he would always try to be the first one up. No one seemed to notice—but he did, and that’s what mattered. Today was not one of those days. Today he felt older than he wanted to admit. He woke up sore and achy, with a slight congestion, and rolled over for an additional thirty minutes of sleep before he got up to head for the kitchen. He hoped everyone else overslept, too. Pushing open the kitchen door, he confronted the entire household of Jerry and Cindy along with Hector and Mary. They were sitting around the large kitchen table, with looks of doom on their faces. It was obvious Mary had been crying.
Just because I’m a little late? That’s not the end of the world. “What’s going on? Something wrong?”
“Vincent, can I talk to you a minute?” Jerry was getting ready to steer Vincent out of the kitchen.
“It’s okay. Everyone can stay.” Hector sighed and looked down at his shoes. “He will know soon, anyway. Our son was arrested in Durango. He called this morning and said he needs help. We don’t know what to do.”
Vincent frowned. “Arrested for what?”
“He said it was some kind of theft, and something to do with conspiracy. I really did not understand all of what he was saying. But I could tell he’s scared. Is there something you can do?” Hector was a proud man, and asking for help did not come easily to him.
“I can sure try.” Vincent gave Hector and Mary a reassuring smile. “I thought your son was in Denver. Was he just visiting Durango?”
“We thought he was still in Denver, too. He told me on the phone that he’d taken a new job in Durango, and he had not said anything to us because he was not sure it was going to work out. He said he was arrested when he arrived in Durango, and that he thinks there is something wrong with the new people he was going to work for.” Hector usually never talked this much. He looked worn out from the effort.
“It’s probably a little early to get much done, but I’ll make some calls and see what I can find out. I’m going to call Peter Tucker and see if he has any connections in Colorado. If not, I know some people in Denver who can make an appearance in Durango quickly. Or they will know a Durango attorney. Okay?”
“Mister Vincent, we don’t have a lot of money. We can’t afford a big-time attorney like Mister Tucker.”
“Sure, I understand. Tucker doesn’t need any more money, so if he can help, it won’t cost anything. Anyone else I talk to, I’ll make sure it’s very reasonable. This would be just to get something done today—find out what the status is, and how we can get your son out of jail. We just need someone local to get us information. It won’t cost much, and don’t worry about it.” Vincent wasn’t sure whether he should say not to worry—he sure didn’t have a bank account full of money. But worrying now was not going to help. Plus, he had a lot of dirt on attorneys in Denver if they didn’t play nice.
“Hello, good morning. Should I just come in?” Someone had entered the front door.
Cindy jumped up. “Must be our new employee.” She headed toward the front hall. “Good morning, you must be Mariana.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Mariana was obviously a little shy. She also was beautiful. She gave Cindy a nervous little smile.
“We’re so glad you’re going to help us. We’re a new business, just getting started. That means we really don’t know what we’re doing, yet,” Cindy chuckled. “Let’s go into the conference room and we can go over employment forms, your pay and your schedule. Will that be okay?” Mariana nodded slightly, and seemed to relax a little.
“Hey, you must be the gorgeous new employee hired to replace me. My name is Vincent. Nice to meet you.” Vincent extended his hand and, after Mariana’s slight hesitation, shook hands with her. If she’d been a turtle, she would have withdrawn into her shell after quickly taking her hand back. She gave Vincent a wary look.
“Vincent, please, try to be on your best behavior. Sorry, Mariana. Vincent is our resident comedian and sometimes van driver. You are not replacing him, although maybe we should consider it.”
Mariana seemed to pick up on the good vibes. She smiled warmly at Cindy and just a little at Vincent.
“Sorry,” Vincent apologized. “Mariana, you are going to love it here, even if Cindy is a tyrant to work for. See ya later, and welcom
e aboard.” He headed to his room to make calls.
“Everyone else here is much nicer than Vincent.” Cindy winked at Mariana who rewarded her with a small giggle. Cindy liked her already.
“Give me a call back if you can find out anything.” Vincent disconnected. He had given Peter Tucker the information he had, along with the Flores’ son’s name. Tucker said he knew a firm in Telluride, and thought they also had an office in Durango, and they owed him, “big-time.” He would call and see what he could find out, and call back. Tucker was in his early seventies, and had more or less gone into the woodwork after a long career as a gun-for-hire defense attorney with a long list of clients associated with organized crime.
In his past, Tucker was referred to by New York tabloids as the “mob fixer.” His whole career was driven by money, and only money. After some bad press associated with his ability to get the worst people on the planet released from legal jeopardy by using every dirty trick in the book, he was smeared as being complicit in deaths caused by the bad guys he helped spring loose. He was wealthy beyond belief by that point, and feeling some remorse for a life based on no values other than accumulated wealth. He bought a mansion in Tulsa, Oklahoma, and hid from his notoriety until his nephew was accused of murder in Santa Fe. He swooped in to try to make amends for his past ways. That was how he became acquainted with Vincent, and they became kindred spirits of a sort. He had since moved to Albuquerque and was taking on a few cases to keep from withering into dust before his time was up.
Vincent’s phone vibrated. “Yeah.”
“Got hold of the desk sergeant. Not much help there. But Rick Flores is still being held with a charge of grand theft and conspiracy. He did tell me there was an arraignment hearing later this morning. Called my contact in Telluride. He said they’d have someone at the hearing, and call me afterward. So, for now, probably best to just wait. Even if I could get over there, which I can’t that quickly, not much I can do until we know what is going on.”
“I agree. We wait. Thanks.”
Cindy introduced Mariana to Mary, and talked about how they should go over what Mariana would be doing. They seemed to bond immediately. No doubt Mary was glad to have some activity to take her mind off her problems, and she made Mariana feel very comfortable. They went off together to go over the Inn’s layout and the various responsibilities Mariana would have.
“Well, that could not have gone better. Mariana is a lovely young woman who is very polite, and she and Mary hit it off immediately. I think we may have a winner here—need to thank Nancy for recommending her.” Cindy was feeling better about the day, even though she still was concerned about Rick Flores’ problems.
“That’s great,” Jerry agreed. “Maybe Mary will start talking to me again. What do you think about that stuff with their son?”
“Don’t know. We haven’t met him, but if he’s anything like his parents, I just can’t imagine him doing anything illegal.”
“Yeah, I know. Hector told me his job in Denver was working for a grow facility where they harvested marijuana. Hard to realize that’s legal in Colorado, but illegal in New Mexico or Arizona. Seems odd. You can go to jail in Santa Fe for doing something that is a smart career path in Denver.”
“I know. It just seems crazy.” Cindy was not against things changing as society changed. It was just the strangeness of having one set of laws for one state while the neighboring state had another.
“Malone.”
“Vincent, it’s Tucker. Got some information. Bond hasn’t been set yet. The grand theft probably is not that unusual of a charge, but the conspiracy to commit fraud is. And apparently that charge is based on a sworn statement by the guy who hired Rick. That’s caused the judge to want a hearing on the bond amount. The guy who hired Rick—his name is Simpson—stated that Rick must have known he was going to do this from the beginning, and set him up. What has been stolen, or is missing, is a semi-trailer loaded with marijuana plants and a bunch of very expensive equipment to build out a grow operation in Durango. Simpson said it was worth over $250,000. He does not think Rick actually stole the truck. He thinks he was paid by someone for the information. And tying that all together was an envelope Rick had on him with $10,000 in it when he was arrested, which he said was left at the hotel front desk for him, and came from Simpson. Simpson told the cops he didn’t leave any money for Rick. Bottom line is, not much we can do until the bond hearing, which will be in two days. I’ve hired the Telluride firm to co-counsel with me, so I plan on being there for the bond hearing. Tell Hector and Mary not to worry about money. I’m sure Hector would be upset if he thought it was charity—just tell him there’s no cost at this point. Do you want to be there?”
“I do. I looked earlier, couldn’t find any direct flights. The cheapest and best connection is from Albuquerque through Phoenix. Driving, it’s about four hours from Santa Fe, so I think that’s what I’ll do. Want to ride along?”
“Nah. I also looked at flight schedules, and while it will take a little bit longer with the layover in Phoenix, I think I’d rather fly than be stuck in the car with you for four hours. Once I get a ticket, I’ll call and let you know when I’ll be there, and you can pick me up. How’s that?”
“I’m sure my feelings are hurt in some way, but I’ll get over it.” Vincent was grinning.
“I’m working off an assumption that the incredibly nice Hector and Mary Flores would not have a son who would actually commit these crimes, right?”
“Nice parents don’t always mean nice kids. But it would be shocking to me if those two could raise someone who would even be rude, much less involved in conspiracy to commit fraud.” Vincent paused a minute. “This is really strange. I’ve been having an odd feeling that this whole mess has happened before. Can’t put my finger on it, but something feels really familiar.”
“It’s the Santa Fe air. That deja vu feeling happens to everybody. Doesn’t mean shit.”
“Yeah, maybe.” Vincent was thinking. “That name seems familiar.” There was a moment of silence. “I got it! Ken Simpson, right?”
“Ken Simpson, right. Didn’t I tell you his name?”
“You just said his last name. I know that sonofabitch. This is not good. I need to get up to Durango, fast.”
“How ’bout a road trip?” Vincent’s nature was to be direct, even over the phone—an approach often ill-advised while dealing with women, including Nancy.
“Where to?” she asked.
“Durango.”
“When?”
“Oh, ’bout an hour.”
“Vincent, you’re just a bad child. You can’t ask a woman to go on a trip to another state—with all the implications that carries—and say you’re leaving in an hour.” Nancy’s tone sounded annoyed, but he knew her a little by now, and was confident it was a put-on.
At least, he hoped so. “Yeah, guess that’s not enough time.” He told her what was going on, saying he thought he’d better go to Durango right away, because he’d had dealings with one of the people involved, and it hadn’t been even close to a good experience.
“Give me fair warning and ask in a conciliatory, polite manner, and I might, just might, go on a road trip with you at some point in the future,” she said. “But even if I decided to ignore your manners, I couldn’t go today. Got a health department hearing. It’s some stupid violation I’ve already fixed, but I have to show up and show them the proper respect if I want to avoid a penalty. Call me when you find out anything. And be careful, Vincent. I know you’re a tough guy, but you don’t have to keep proving it.”
Vincent would have dropped to the floor in shock if Nancy had said yes on such short notice. But inviting her was a way to establish something without actually establishing something. He smiled, thinking he’d been clever this time—usually, he wasn’t. He’d already loaded his Mustang and gone over his plans with Jerry. He hoped to be back the day after next. Jerry asked him to call right away if he learned anything. With a sly wink, he also
gave Vincent a very nice advance on his salary. “Don’t worry about your expenses. The Inn will take care of everything. Don’t tell Hector or Mary, though. This is just between us.”
“That’s good of you Jerry.” Vincent shook his hand. “By the way, the Taj Mahal was booked, so I’m staying at the same place Rick was—Traveler’s Inn. And it’s cheap.” Vincent grinned and felt a real comfort with his new friend.
If it’d been a straight shot from Santa Fe to Durango, the trip would probably have taken about half the time, but there were mountains to deal with. Although it was going to take longer, the scenery was magnificent. He headed out on Highway 84 through Espanola to Abiquiu, where Georgia O’Keeffe use to live and work, to Chama and then into Colorado. From Pagosa Springs it was a more or less direct line west into Durango. Vincent, being primarily a city creature, had never seen so many trees in his life. He definitely wanted to do this same trip again at a more leisurely pace, with Nancy.
Entering Durango wasn’t quite like venturing onto an old West movie set, but it wasn’t far off, either. Much of the downtown area was obviously devoted to the tourist trade, and had been designed to evoke a past age. He found the Traveler’s without any trouble at the south end of downtown. He’d made a reservation, so checking in was quick and easy. Next stop was the attorney’s office.
Tucker had made arrangements with the Maxwell Franks Law Firm to co-counsel with him on the matter, but never said why they owed him “big-time.” Their main office was in Telluride, another resort town, but they had a satellite office in Durango with a local attorney, Chet Morgan. That was where Vincent was headed. Tucker’s a big-time gunslinger, Vincent thought. Why would he have dealings with a small resort-town firm? He shrugged it off. There was a lot about Tucker he still didn’t know, and Tucker didn’t always share details about his past.