by Mark Bowden
Coda
This story was originally much longer, taking me down another strange trail on my desert beat and into one big empty scream. But this time I had a map, an escort, and a pit bull. “Go down V Avenue,” said the map. “Just before the pavement ends there is a small fenced in area with some gas lines in it. Take a right-hand turn. Then go 0.9 miles and take a left where a house used to be. Go 2.3 miles, take a right hand turn, then go 0.45 miles and turn left—you might notice some Christmas tinsel in the sage brush. In another 3.5 miles take a right at the intersection. At this point if you look into the mountains, you should be lined up with a road going towards them…”
It was as if I had dropped through some freeway sinkhole in Los Angeles and ended up in its sad and lonely heart—an hour from the Warner lot, just beyond the San Gabriel Mountains, where Donald Kueck had watched the stars, studied search-and-seizure law, and talked to animals. This was a berg called Llano, once home to a utopian community where Aldous Huxley lived. Like most utopian communities, Llano vanished. Today, packs of stray dogs are drawn to its crumbling stone ruins and hard-core desert eccentrics eke out a living in its shadows. Llano was part of Steve Sorensen’s turf and he knew it well. In fact, in the year prior to his murder, he had driven past Donald Kueck’s property at least twenty times, on his way to the squatter’s to try to evict him. Considering their violent confrontation nine years earlier, I have often wondered what each man was thinking as they came into each other’s orbit. Perhaps Sorensen thought he should finish the job. Or perhaps he was on a personal tactical alert, knowing he was within range of someone who had tried to get him fired. And what about Kueck, increasingly paranoid in his last months? He would have heard the big SUV rumbling across the desert dirt, might have even had the deputy in his rifle sight. Or perhaps it was nothing like that at all; perhaps Kueck was too baked to hear anything but the voices in his head and maybe, when Sorensen turned down Kueck’s driveway on that August day, he had no idea that he was about to confront a guy he had subdued at gunpoint a long time ago. When he saw the Dart and ran the plates and the dispatcher identified the owner of the car, did he then recognize the name? If he did, he wasn’t saying, and anyway, the dispatcher garbled “Kueck” (it’s pronounced “cook”). But the stage was set: two men who loved the desert, one with a future, and one with memories only, were about to finish their dance. Maybe that’s when it all came back—just before Kueck opened up with the assault rifle—“Oh Christ,” Sorensen might have thought as his knees buckled, “it’s that lawsuit nut!” Or maybe he said it out loud; his mic was keyed and the dispatcher heard the gunshots—although my sources tell me no words were broadcast.
Three years after it happened, there are some images I can’t forget. One is a photo sent to me by Don’s sister Lynne. It’s a breakfast table for jackrabbits, outside Don’s trailer. Long ago and a few miles away, jackrabbits were nearly clubbed to extinction, lest they raid settlers’ crops. In this picture, each is eating out of its own dish. I’ve seen other photos of Don with animals, and although he’s not in this one, I’m sure he’s smiling. The other image is something a childhood friend of Sorensen’s described to me. “I remember how happy he was the day he went off to the army,” she said. “He sat on the lawn and polished his boots.”
Some say that LASD should have waited Kueck out instead of going in for the kill. As it turned out, the tear gas was blown away by the high winds and what started the fire was road flares, dropped into the hideout as a last-ditch effort to flush Kueck. But it was his script, his ending, and he went up in flames. In an investigation, the D.A. called the tactic unusual, but LASD was cleared. If you kill a sheriff and throw his brains in a bucket, you can’t expect much more than that—and I’m sure Kueck didn’t. Ironically, the squatter who triggered this sad chain of events survived. Last I heard, he was living on a dry lake bed near Barstow.
PERMISSIONS
GRATEFUL ACKNOWLEDGMENT is made to the following for permission to reprint previously published material:
“Blood Feud,” by Mary Battiata (Washington Post Magazine, May 22, 2005). Copyright © 2005 by Mary Battiata. Reprinted by permission of the author.
“Hit Men in Blue?” by Howard Blum and John Connolly (Vanity Fair, August 2005). Copyright © 2005 by Vanity Fair. Reprinted by permission of the authors.
“The End of the Mob,” by Jimmy Breslin, originally appeared in Playboy magazine, August 2005. Copyright © 2005 by Jimmy Breslin. Reprinted by permission of the David Black Literary Agency.
“Operation Stealing Saddam’s Money,” by Devin Friedman (GQ, March 2005). Copyright © 2005 by Devin Friedman. Reprinted by permission of the author.
“Sex Thief,” by Denise Grollmus (Cleveland Scene, September 14, 2005). Copyright © 2005 by the Cleveland Scene. Reprinted by permission of the Cleveland Scene.
“Dr. Evil,” by S.C. Gwynne (Texas Monthly, September 2005). Copyright © 2005 by Texas Monthly. Reprinted by permission of Texas Monthly.
“The Choirboy,” by John Heilemann. First published in (New York magazine May 30, 2005). © 2005 by John Heilemann. Reprinted by permission of the Wylie Agency.
“The Last Ride of Cowboy Bob,” by Skip Hollandsworth (Texas Monthly, November 2005). Copyright © 2005 by Texas Monthly. Reprinted by permission of Texas Monthly.
“Blue on Blue,” by Chuck Hustmyre (New Orleans magazine, January 2005). Copyright © 2005 by Chuck Hustmyre. Reprinted by permission of the author.
“The $2,000-an-Hour Woman,” by Mark Jacobson (New York magazine, July 18, 2005). Copyright © 2005 by Mark Jacobson. Reprinted by permission of New York magazine.
“Altar Ego,” by Robert Nelson (Phoenix New Times, July 7, 2005). Copyright © 2005 by the Phoenix New Times. Reprinted by permission of the Phoenix New Times.
“The Ghosts of Emmett Till,” by Richard Rubin (New York Times Magazine, July 31, 2005). Copyright © 2005 by Richard Rubin. Reprinted by permission of International Creative Management, Inc.
“The Great Mojave Manhunt,” by Deanne Stillman (Rolling Stone magazine, September 22, 2005). Copyright © 2005 by Deanne Stillman. Reprinted by permission of the author.
“Killer Instincts,” by Jeffrey Toobin (The New Yorker, January 17, 2005). Copyright © 2005 by Jeffrey Toobin. Reprinted by permission of The New Yorker.
“How to Lose $100,000,000,” by Paige Williams (GQ, January 2005). Copyright © 2005 by Paige Williams. Reprinted by permission of the author.
ABOUT THE EDITORS
MARK BOWDEN is the author of the international bestsellers Killing Pablo: The Hunt for the World’s Greatest Outlaw and Black Hawk Down: A Story of Modern War, a finalist for the National Book Award. Bowden worked on the screenplay for the film adaptation of Black Hawk Down, directed by Ridley Scott. Killing Pablo is being adapted for film with Bowden again working on the screenplay. Bowden teaches creative writing and journalism at Loyola College, Maryland, and he is a frequent contributor to many major American magazines. His most recent book is Guests of the Ayatollah: The First Battle in America’s War with Militant Islam. He lives in Pennsylvania.
OTTO PENZLER is the proprietor of the Mysterious Bookshop in New York City, the founder of the Mysterious Press, and creator of the publishing firm Otto Penzler Books. He is the editor of many books and anthologies, and has been the recipient of the Edgar Award, the Ellery Queen Award, and the Raven Award from Mystery Writers of America for his many contributions to the mystery genre. He lives with his wife, Lisa Atkinson, in New York City and in Kent, Connecticut.
THOMAS H. COOK is the author of nineteen books, including two works of true crime. His novels have been nominated for the Edgar Award, the Macavity Award, and the Dashiell Hammett Prize. He lives in New York City.
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The Best American CRIME WRITING
Editors
2002: NICHOLAS PILEGGI
2003: JOHN BERENDT
2004: J
OSEPH WAMBAUGH
2005: JAMES ELLROY
CREDITS
Cover design by High Design, NYC
Cover photograph by Ralph del Pozzo
COPYRIGHT
THE BEST AMERICAN CRIME WRITING 2006. Copyright © 2006 by Otto Penzler and Thomas H. Cook. Introduction copyright © 2006 by Mark Bowden. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
EPub Edition © SEPTEMBER 2006 ISBN: 9780061844751
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request.
ISBN-10: 0-06-081552-3
ISBN-13: 978-0-06-081552-3
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