Dog Gone Lies (Pacheco & Chino Mysteries Book 1) (17 page)

Tyee shook his head. “Wow, Ray, you’ve got two fucked up partners.” Big Jack looked like he might laugh at Tyee’s comment, but didn’t.

“Do we still call you Big Jack or Philip?”

“I never liked the name Philip—you could shorten my new name to just Jack if you like.” Why that was funny Ray didn’t know, but suddenly he was laughing, and soon all of them were laughing.

“Jack, I don’t know this for a fact but I have a feeling you were a pretty good lawyer. What would you do right now if you were your own client?”

“Interesting question.”

“Fuck white man before white man can fuck you.” Tyee’s wisdom
sounded
right on target, but nobody actually understood what he was saying.

“What in the hell does that mean, Tyee?”

“You’ve got to give them what they want and in return they give you what you want. Tell the FBI—that Washington guy—your story, and say you’ll provide confidential information about what you know concerning the Mexican Mafia but won’t testify in court. In return they give you a new identity and clear you to work with Pacheco and Chino.”

“I suppose that could work—probably depends on what they think I know. Plus, it’s been a few years and the whole landscape of the L.A. scene has changed several times, I’m sure. Might be they don’t give a shit about what I know because all those thugs are dead and have been replaced by new thugs.”

“Jack, let me act as go-between. I can call the Washington agent and tell him your story without mentioning your real name and see if he’s interested in discussing this or not.”

“Why not, Ray.”

They agreed to talk later. Ray headed out to the first campaign event. It was being held at a small campsite just off of the lake. They were expecting fifty or so people, but when Ray got there it looked to be twice that amount. Ray greeted people, some of whom he had met before. He gave his usual stump speech and then answered some questions.

“Ray, are you going to help Clayton if he’s elected?”

“Well, I will if Deputy Clayton feels he needs help, but he has a lot of years of experience in the department and I don’t believe he’ll need any assistance from me. The area he may find the most difficult is the political side of things—but I have great confidence in Deputy Clayton. He knows law enforcement and he knows people—he’ll do just fine.”

“We have all kinds of problems around the lake that the sheriff has completely ignored for years. How is the new sheriff going help us?”

“Mr. Ramos, right? Well, he’s said he’s going to try and keep one patrol car in the lake area on most days to cut down on response time. Also, he wants to organize a monthly meeting where he can answer questions about what the department’s doing to support the lake community. Let’s be candid: Deputy Clayton’s relying on your support to elect him—when he wins, he isn’t going to forget that.”

“I talked to the Mayor and he says that he can cut the department’s budget. If Clayton wins that’s exactly what he’ll do.”

“The Mayor and his son have said some things that are very self-serving. So what’s the Mayor saying? Vote for my son or you won’t have any services around the lake. Well, he can say that but the Mayor’s one vote on the commission, and he’s losing support because of these kinds of threats. Deputy Clayton wants to provide the best policing services for the entire county—not just T or C. I think the Mayor’s comments and attitude are the best reasons to vote for Deputy Clayton. Thanks everybody for coming today. Make sure that you and your neighbors are registered and remember to vote. Thanks.”

Ray stayed around for a little while, shaking hands and answering a few more questions, and then he left. The next event was only about a mile away, so he headed that way.

The second event only had about twenty-five people. But, all in all, Ray was impressed that people were showing up and seemed very interested.

Ray gave the same speech. Some of the questions were more or less the same, except one.

“You just moved up here a couple of months ago and now you think you can run Sierra County like you ran Dona Ana. I, for one, think it’s a bunch of crap to have you interfere in this race. You don’t know anything about this county. You and your crazy Indian and that old fat fart who owns the store, are not part of the community. The Mayor and his son have lived here their entire lives and it’s wrong for you to try and take their jobs away.”

There was a smattering of boos. Ray raised his hand for quiet.

“Don’t know you, sir—but I’m not trying to run any county. I’m supporting Deputy Clayton because I think he’s the best professional law enforcement officer in this county. Nobody’s taking anyone’s job—this is an election where the residents decide who best can serve their needs. If you think that’s Sheriff Martinez, then by all means you should vote for him. The Mayor isn’t up for election yet. And I take offense to your characterization of my friends. So why don’t you watch your mouth?”

This got a brief round of applause. The loudmouth left in a huff, mumbling things under his breath, while Ray shook hands. As far as he could see, the moron’s comments had done more than anything he could have said to firm up the support for Clayton.

Some Days in the Past—Monica’s Story

Monica loved driving her little Subaru—especially with Bruce asleep in the back. It felt cozy and safe. She’d had so much on her mind lately that she could never seem to fully relax—her mind was so preoccupied with her many worries that it was impossible to just think about nothing. It was one of the reasons she’d looked forward to this weekend in El Paso.

While she loved her car, it didn’t go far on a tank of gas. She had mapped out her trip and knew she was going to stop in T or C to get gas. And it was also a good place to eat. She’d been there before and seemed to remember a local café that would meet her needs. Monica hated the fast food places that made every town look—and taste—the same. When she’d been young each town had had its own character. They were unique, the stores were unique, the restaurants were unique. One of the joys of traveling was stopping at different restaurants that looked nothing like the restaurants in your town. Now every exit had a McDonalds and a Subway—the same in California as in Texas as in Florida—and she hated it.

Bruce was the Icelandic Sheepdog she was showing at the El Paso dog show. He was a champion, and if it hadn’t been for dishonest judges he would’ve been named overall champ. Monica could get real pissed when she thought about the show judges and how they made sure their friends’ dogs won.

She pulled off at the T or C exit, found Main Street, and parked in front of the Lone Post Café. The food was delicious and the quantity was generous, enough for both her and Bruce. The experience was wonderful until she returned to her car. She was confronted with a threatening note and two slashed tires.

Monica only had one real enemy that she knew of, an eighty-something-year-old woman named Mrs. Richards who thought that Monica had cheated her on a dog Mrs. Richards had bought from her. The woman was relentless. Monica would have given her the money back just to have it done with, but that didn’t seem to be what she wanted—she wanted Monica to be punished for hurting her and her husband.

When this had first come up, Monica had talked to her about the fact that the dog seemed to be a bit flawed, although all of his papers were in order. Mrs. Richards insisted that Monica had to pay triple damages to make up for her suffering. The one time Monica had talked to Mr. Richards on the phone, he’d been more reasonable. He’d explained that his wife was having some mental issues, and he hoped to have her in a controlled environment in a few weeks—a nursing home. He had told Monica that trying to take care of her had just about worn him out. Monica thought the best thing she could do was just wait until everything quieted down and then try and give the refund to the husband. Unfortunately, it didn’t go that way. The husband had a heart attack and died—and everything got worse.

Mrs. Richards started calling Monica every day. She insisted that Monica pay for all of the things that had happened to her and for killing her husband. Monica reported her threatening phone calls to the police, who told her that they’d spoken with Richards’s son, who said he was trying to get his mother into an Alzheimer’s facility in Albuquerque. They advised Monica to ignore the threats and said time would take care of the problem.

After reading this terrible note, Monica knew it had to be from Mrs. Richards. But slashing the tires—that seem pretty far-fetched for an eighty year old woman. Then again, who knew? She sure was angry, and Monica had decided she was also crazy.

Monica talked to the deputy about the note and the tires. He seemed concerned, but she couldn’t bring herself to mention Mrs. Richards. She didn’t want to cause her any trouble—and maybe she was wrong, maybe it was just some random vandalism and had nothing to do with Monica’s only known enemy.

After she checked into the Hot Springs Inn, Monica tried to relax and enjoy the break. She was still very energetic for her age, but the last few months had been trying. She knew her ex-husband’s health was declining rapidly. She still cared for him and didn’t want to think about him dying. They had three grown children— two of them more or less leading normal lives. The third, the oldest, was still a problem child, even at almost forty. He seemed to bring a new heartache into their lives every day.

Monica called the hotel in El Paso and canceled her reservation for that night, but confirmed she would be there the next night. She called back to the hotel and asked for Betty’s room. Once again getting voice mail, she left a message that she would not be at the hotel tonight, explaining her problem with the car. She left her hotel’s number and her extension. Then she called Mike, her ex-husband.

“Hello.”

“Hello, Mike. It’s me. How’re you doing?”

“I’m okay. Where are you now?”

“Well, I had some car trouble, flat tires. I’m going to be spending the night in T or C. They didn’t have the right size tire, so they’ve ordered the right ones from El Paso. They’ll be here in the morning. Anyway, big pain in the butt. I’m safe, though, and maybe a good night’s sleep will help everything.”

“Sorry you’ve had trouble, but glad you’re safe.”

Monica gave Mike the hotel number and her room extension.

“Mike, something kind of strange happened. Someone left me a threatening note on my car while I was in the restaurant here. Maybe it had nothing to do with me and was some local prankster, but I’m concerned that it might be Mrs. Richards. She’s the only person who hates me, which is what the note said. Could you find Ed and have him give me a call. I’m very worried that the papers he gave me for that dog weren’t real and I really did cheat her, even if I didn’t know it.”

“Look, Monica, you’ve tried to refund the money. What’re you going to do, give her three times the money? You and I have discussed this, she’s nuts—there’s no way to deal with her. Maybe Ed did cheat you, and you cheated her, but you didn’t intend to. Plus, that was a good dog. She wasn’t going to show him anyway, she just has a screw loose.”

“Well thanks for the support Mike. That makes me feel a little better. I still want to talk to Ed, though. I’m so worried about him. I can’t imagine how desperate he must be if he thought he needed to cheat me out of money with this dog nonsense. Could you find him and give him my number here at the hotel?”

Mike agreed that he would try. He gave Monica a new phone number he’d just gotten for Ed so she could call him the next day if Mike couldn’t reach him. He told her he’d tried to call him just a little while before, but he hadn’t been home. He thought Ed was doing some kind of show at the convention center, so he’d try to contact him later. He reminded her to be careful and hung up.

As soon as Monica hung up, the phone rang.

“Hello.”

“Monica, it’s Betty. What’s going on with your car?”

Monica related the whole story to Betty, who knew all about Mrs. Richards from talking to Monica about it several times.

“I just can’t believe that she would slash my tires—can you see that old lady slashing tires?”

“Well hell, Monica. Who knows what she’s capable of? I think you need to take the advice of the deputy sheriff and give him all of the information you have about Mrs. Richards. If she’s following you, I think the sheriff’s office should get involved.”

“Yeah. Maybe. I’m reluctant to push this any further. Her son says that within a week or so she’s going into an assistant living facility where she’ll be locked in. I sure don’t want to punish her because she’s lost her mind.”

“Okay. Maybe you’re right. What time do you think you’ll be here tomorrow?”

“Most likely before noon. The car is supposed to be ready by nine in the morning but you know that won’t work out. So I’m going to miss the first round of the dog show. I think I won’t even enter, I’ll just hang out with you and watch the others. Maybe I can boo Nate as he wins the championship.”

“Sounds like someone’s in a bad mood.” They shared a little laughter. Betty always made Monica feel better. They agreed they would see each other the next day and hung up.