The Bootlegger’s Legacy

by Ted Clifton

  “Sure. It’s happening fast, that’s for sure.”

  Joe said they should drop in at the Sheriff’s office, which was just a few miles down the same street the bank was on. Mike wasn’t sure, but said “why not.”

  The drive to the Sheriff’s office was another quick trip. Las Cruces was a small town, so most everything was pretty close to everything else. They went in and asked to speak to Sheriff Pacheco. The deputy behind the counter said the Sheriff was out at that moment and asked to take a message. Mike began giving her his name.

  “Aren’t you the guy who was shot?”

  “Yeah, that’s one of the reasons we dropped by—the deputy we talked to yesterday said that someone would contact us today so we thought we would just come in.”

  “I know Sheriff Pacheco wanted to talk to you. Give me just a minute and let me get him on the radio—hang on.” She turned to the base radio and said some things that sounded like official police gibberish, with numbers and letters and the Sheriff’s name. Within a few minutes the Sheriff called in. She told him that the two guys involved in the shooting yesterday were in the office and asked if he wanted them to wait. They could hear the entire conversation. The Sheriff said he would be there in about ten minutes and to ask the gentlemen to wait.

  “I guess you heard all of that—not much privacy around here. Can you wait for a minute for the Sheriff to get here?”

  “Oh, sure—we can wait.” They thanked her for her help, went over to the small waiting area in the front, and had a seat. In about fifteen minutes the Sheriff walked up to them from the office area—clearly there was a back entrance.

  “Hello, my name is Sheriff Pacheco. I really appreciate you guys coming by today. Let’s go into the conference room so we can talk.” After entering the small conference room, Mike and Joe introduced themselves. They each shook hands with the Sheriff.

  “Well, I guess, you had quite a day yesterday—going up to see an old abandoned cabin and having someone shoot you. That’s not our normal welcome to New Mexico.”

  “Yeah, that was something all right. I was lucky, it was a very minor injury, but for a while there I’ll tell you we were pretty excited. Still can’t imagine why somebody would just start shooting—I don’t know if whoever it was even knew who we were.”

  The Sheriff chuckled a bit. “There are a few oddballs living up around that lake—hard to know at this point what it was all about. I know you told the Deputy yesterday that you didn’t report anything, just headed back to the Cruces hospital, so we contacted the Sheriff for that county and told him what we knew. He seemed to think it was probably a hunter shooting rabbits or something, who just didn’t notice you until it was too late—got scared and took off.”

  Mike looked doubtful. “I guess it could have happened that way, but we sure were not being quiet. We hadn’t anticipated anyone being up there, so we would have been pretty obvious I would think. I’m damn sure we don’t look like rabbits.”

  The Sheriff agreed with a smile. “I’ve got a few ideas of my own that I need to run to ground to see if they check out. One way or another we’ll figure out what was going on. I guess Chuck Owen has told you that I was thinking about making an offer on that cabin.”

  “Yes, he did. I’m working with Jeff Young at Bates and Young to get the legal issues resolved. He indicated that he thinks that can happen in a week or two. While it’s an intriguing place up there, my intention is to sell it, so having you interested fits really well with my plans. My father bought the cabin a long time ago, and it would seem that he never used it very much. Not to divulge too many family secrets, but my mother and I weren’t aware of the cabin until Mr. Owen tracked me down in Oklahoma City and asked if I would want to sell it. That prompted this visit, more out of curiosity than anything else, but I’ve never had any intention of keeping the cabin. So hopefully we’ll be able to make a deal.”

  They wrapped up their conversation and exchanged contact info, agreeing that they should stay in touch.

  Joe and Mike were back in the car. The only thing remaining on their “to do” list for the day was to contact Jim Emerson. Then, of course, they had the meeting at the bank. Mike said he wasn’t real excited about getting in touch with Emerson—said he had a bad feeling about it.

  “What are you, suddenly psychic? I think we ought to drop by his office—if he’s in we see him, if not we leave a message. I don’t know what the plan is either, but Bates seemed to think it was important that we make a connection with this Emerson guy, so we should do that.”

  “Joe, sometimes you’re just a pain in the butt.”

  Joe had pulled into a What-a-Burger as they were talking, “How about a big juicy hamburger for lunch?”

  “You know Joe, you still eat like a teenager. You’re supposed to be the smart one, but you seem to have no sense at all when it comes to food and drink.” Mike was right of course—but Joe didn’t give a shit at the moment—he was going to have a green chili cheeseburger and fries.

  After lunch the smart thing to do would have been go back to the hotel and have a nap, but that would have made them lazy losers, so instead they headed toward downtown Las Cruces. Emerson’s office was in the same small area of downtown where First National Bank and Citizen’s Bank were located, a freestanding building across the street from Citizen’s Bank. They parked in front and went in.

  “Hi, my name is Mike Allen and I was wondering if Mr. Emerson was available?” The woman sitting at the front desk reacted with surprise—almost shock—when Joe and Mike entered the office. Her primary function was clear by the clutter on her desk: she was a bookkeeper. And by her reaction Mr. Emerson did not get many visitors.

  “Yes. I mean no. No, what I mean is I will go check—please be seated.” She left the front area and went down a long hallway toward the back of the building. She was gone for what seemed a long time considering her task. When she returned she seemed even more upset.

  “Mr. Emerson is on the phone. He asked if you could wait a moment and he would see you.”

  “Thank you, we’ll wait.”

  The wait had already stretched to more than fifteen minutes when Emerson finally emerged from the back office. It was hard to make out his age except he was obviously elderly. He walked with a slight stoop, which detracted from what was once probably a six-foot-plus frame. He appeared to be alert and totally in charge, and it was apparent that Mr. Emerson was used to being in charge.

  “Mike Allen—it’s a pleasure to meet you.” They shook hands and Mike introduced Joe, who also shook hands with Emerson.

  They followed Emerson, as directed, back into his office—which was the size of a small house. The appearance of the front office was dull and cheap, but Emerson’s own space was large and expensive. He steered them to a large conference table that took up one corner. Plush leather chairs were abundant around the table. Emerson sat at the head of the table and Mike and Joe sat along one side.

  “I don’t know what you know about your father and my business dealings, but I’m not one to beat around the bush, so I’ll just lay things out for you. I worked for your father for many years. I knew he was in the bootlegging business in Oklahoma, but all of my dealings with him were completely legal and mostly involved real estate. You father sold a bunch of his holdings in the 50s and he and I still communicated on occasion after that, but mostly I went my own way and so did he. I understand he and your mother passed away some years ago, so please accept my condolences.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Emerson. Yes, my mother and father have both died. I wasn’t aware you and he had any business dealings. There was a small cabin that was apparently a part of my mother’s estate that got lost in the confusion over the years. It came to my attention only a short while ago. I came to town with my friend Joe to resolve the legal issues regarding the property so I could sell it. I hired Jeff Young to assist with that and yesterday I had the opportunity to meet Mr. Bates and he suggested that it might be good if I dropped by and intr
oduced myself to you. He was not real clear why I should do that, but maybe it was because he knew you knew my father.”

  “Mr. Bates has a big fuckin’ mouth.” This was said in a sinister tone. Joe wasn’t sure Emerson was aware he’d said it out loud.

  “Well, it is true, I knew your father. He was a frequent visitor to Las Cruces and El Paso and I was responsible for assisting him with some of his dealings with firms in Juarez. But, like I said, his bootlegging activities were something he kept separate from our dealings. I’m sorry I can’t tell you more. Now, I don’t want to rush you, but I wasn’t expecting you to drop by today and I have another meeting I need to go to. Please leave your contact information with the lady out front and be sure and let me know the next time you are in Las Cruces.” And now, get the hell out of my office.

  Mike stopped at the front, gave the spooked lady his card, and said they were staying at the Holiday Inn, in case anything came up and Mr. Emerson wanted to see him.

  Back in the car. Definitely should have rented a bigger car. “That guy was sure eager to get rid of us.”

  “No question. He didn’t want to have anything to do with us. What do you think that was all about, leaving us sitting out there waiting on him?”

  “Beats the hell out of me. I sure hope he’s not a violent guy—I had the feeling he might like to kill Mr. Bates.”

  “Yeah. You know I don’t think everybody is being real straight with us.”

  “Oh really, you think not?”

  They were a little early for the bank meeting and didn’t have enough time to go back to the hotel, so they moved the car to the bank parking lot and just sat for a few minutes, not saying anything.

  As they got out of the car to head to the bank, they were joined by Jeff. “Hey, good timing. Were you able to see the Sheriff?”

  “We did. Seems like a nice man. He said the Sheriff in the other county thought the shot was probably someone shooting rabbits—not sure anybody really believes that. He also said he had some ideas of his own he would explore. And he definitely seems interested in buying the cabin, although I think we may be still negotiating price.”

  “Well, that’s good he is working on finding out about the shooting, but it could have been nothing. I understand the lake area attracts some pretty unique people, no doubt including some who don’t like strangers. Could be they were just trying to scare you off and hit you by accident. And you’re right, I think Sheriff Pacheco is a good man. He’ll do his best to find out what it was about. How about Emerson, did you see him?”

  “Yes, we did. He didn’t seemed pleased to see us, though. Ignored us for about half hour and then gave us the bum’s rush and sent us on our way. Got a very uneasy feeling with him.”

  “Well, I’ll pass that along to Bill. I’m fairly new to this area and don’t have all of the history. I know Bill Bates and Jim Emerson are not buds. Anyway, sounds like you had a busy day. Now, let’s go see what is in that lock box.”

  They entered the bank and waited to see Rick Lopez. He walked out to where they were sitting. “I’ve got some bad news for you. I’ve been told that our legal counsel can’t approve you opening the lock box today. I have to admit I’m a little surprised because when I talked to him earlier this afternoon there didn’t appear to be an issue. But I just got off the phone and he said no. I’m really sorry you had to come back and go to all of this trouble, but I guess you’ll have to contact the bank’s lawyer.”

  Jeff was not happy. “What the fuck are you talking about? This man has the legal right to access his possessions—your lawyer has made one serious fuck up. I’ll be in court tomorrow and we’ll have access to that lock box.” He was clearly pissed, probably because he’d been embarrassed in front of his clients.

  Rick Lopez seemed a little stunned by Jeff’s outburst. He apologized, and once again said he didn’t know what had happen but, without the bank lawyer saying it was okay, he didn’t have the authority to do anything. He said that we should contact the lawyer and see if we could get things cleared up.

  Jeff made it clear he didn’t need Rick’s advice.

  Joe, Mike, and Jeff headed outside. “I can’t believe this shit. I’m going back to the office right now. I will get hold of this asshole bank attorney and find out what the hell is going on.”

  Joe and Mike said they appreciated Jeff seeing what he could do. They were going back to the hotel to try to figure out what they should do next. They said their goodbyes.

  Joe stated what they were both thinking. “No coincidence there. Jim Emerson owns the bank. He had something to do with what just happened with that lock box.”

  “Yeah, we may be trapped in small town hell.”

  When in doubt drink.

  Back at the hotel, Mike went off to call Samantha. Joe went to his room to lie down for a while, then decided to call Liz—why the hell not. Of course she wasn’t home. He didn’t leave a message, just headed to the bar.

  Mike showed up a little later. “Talked to Jeff. He said he talked to Bates. Bates called the bank’s attorney, but couldn’t get him to move off his position. He said they would file a civil complaint with the local court tomorrow to hear the matter as soon as possible. Jeff still sounded pretty pissed. But, bottom line, he said this could take a few weeks to get resolved.”

  “Sounding like we should head home tomorrow.”

  “Yep, I agree. I called the airlines and there’s a flight out of El Paso tomorrow at 4:30 getting into OKC about 8:15—I went ahead and booked two seats.”

  “I think what I’m going to do in the morning is call Chuck and tell him I want to list the cabin. Even though it’s not settled yet, I’ll ask him to put the paper work together. We can go by tomorrow morning and I’ll sign it. Maybe if he goes ahead and lists it, someone else might be interested. The Sheriff’s deal is probably the best I’ll get, but since there’s going to be a delay anyway I should advertise it and see what happens.”

  “Sure, why not. Of course, one point is that if the Sheriff buys it you could cut Chuck out of a fee.”

  “Jeez, all of this stuff is giving me a headache. I think I’ll just go ahead and sign the listing with Chuck and let him handle it once Jeff gets the legal okay.”

  “Okay by me.” Joe was losing his enthusiasm. He was not real sure why he was even here.

  “Joe, I know this trip hasn’t been a lot of fun. Listening to all this crap about my father, having someone shoot at us—not exactly the most fun we ever had. But I want you to know something—if there’s something out there from my dad, I want you to participate in the prize.”

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  “Actually, I don’t know exactly. But let’s say there are millions, like he said—you can have half of it.”

  “That’s just fucking stupid. First, there is no way there are millions. Your dad had some money and some of it may be in the lock box, but not millions—maybe hundreds or a few thousand. Second, no way I am taking your money left to you by your dad. My god, Mike, you really are fucking stupid.”

  “Okay, I’m fucking stupid, and you’re a fucking genius. If there’s nothing but the cabin and a few thousand in the lock box I’ll keep it and pay my accounting bill—okay, asshole? But let’s say there really are millions. You’ve helped me my whole life, and if it was just me by myself I don’t think I’d be have gotten this far in finding whatever there is to find—and I don’t want millions unless we can share.”

  “I’m not going to argue with you. Just drop it. If this is something other than bullshit, it’s your money, your cabin, your mother, your father—not mine—so forget it.”

  “Wow, what a fucking grouch.”

  They ordered drinks and let the conversation drift off into the distance. Neither was going to change his mind. And neither believed there was anything real here anyway, except their friendship.

  Several drinks later they had forgotten most of the day’s events and were passionately discussing the likelihood that the
OU Sooners would be national champs in football the next season. When things start to get personal, turn to sports.

  Las Cruces, New Mexico / Oklahoma City, Oklahoma

  The next day they quickly set up an appointment with Chuck and checked out of the hotel. After dropping by and listening to various reasons why Mike should go ahead and sign the listing agreement, which was why he’d come in the first place, he allowed Chuck to convince him and signed it. Chuck said he would do his own quick appraisal of the cabin’s value and let Mike know in a day or two what he thought it was worth. Then they could decide on the listing price.

  What should have taken minutes had taken hours—but it was done, and they headed back to the El Paso airport with plenty of time. They agreed that they would check their bags and enjoy a late lunch at the airport before they boarded. Going home was the right decision, but there was a lingering feeling that they hadn’t accomplished as much as they should have.

  Joe reminded Mike that their biggest accomplishment was meeting the people who were going to be handling things for him in Las Cruces. Now it’d be easier to deal with them over the phone. Mike agreed. They had a light lunch and a couple of fortifying drinks, then boarded the plane.

  The flight was uneventful, though with a little more turbulence than the flight out. As they made their final approach to Oklahoma City, Joe realized that he hadn’t told Liz he was returning. Probably didn’t matter, but it felt rude. Something had to give in their relationship—it couldn’t go on like this. He would have to talk to her. It was approaching nine o’clock—maybe he would run by Triples. No, that was just plain stupid. He would go home and face the music.

  The landing was a little rough, but it was good to be home. They said their goodbyes and agreed to make contact in a day or two to discuss the trip and what was left hanging. Joe and Mike went to find their cars in the long-term lot, both of them feeling apprehensive.