by John R Cuneo
Tom was the man I had worked for when I started flying for an air freight company out of Phoenix Sky Harbor Airport. It was not anything fancy, just a twin-engine turboprop airplane flying packages to outlying cities in Arizona and Nevada. Then about five months ago, the larger airlines had gone into the freight business with jet airplanes and young pilots that worked for almost nothing, and that was the beginning of the end of my commercial flying. I still flew on occasion, and I had plenty of friends that would let me fly their airplanes for just the cost of fuel. I was grateful for that.
“So, how’s everything going in your last semester at school?” asked Carolyn.
“Well, Mom,” said Phil, “everything is moving over to these computers. All the teachers are talking about the need for the students to buy their own computers to be able to make it through the classes coming up.”
Carolyn chimed in, “I know what you mean, sweetheart. Just today at work, another new computer workstation was installed, and the older girls are just terrified of them. Something else to learn,” she said.
Philip continued, “It really is amazing what these machines can do, Mom, and in the future, they’ll be as common as telephones in your house. I imagine I will have to keep up with this technology for the rest of my life in order to stay employed,” said Phil.
Getting into the conversation, I mentioned that most of the airlines were talking about converting all the avionics and communications over to a computerized system.
“Wow, that would be a great cost to change everything over to a computer,” said Phil, and the three of us looked at each other as if we were watching the proverbial genie come out of the bottle.
“Hey, dad, wouldn’t it be great to own a place up north by Mr. Pazwaski?” Phil said.
“Yes, that would be pretty sweet,” I replied. “And while we’re at it, we could have our private airplane take us up and down the mountain whenever we wanted.”
Philip laughed, while Carolyn and I look at each other with more serious expressions.
“Son, I’m glad you brought up the banquet next week. I’ll have to give Tom a call and make sure I can still stay at his place.”
“I’m sure Tom is looking forward to your visit, Jack. The two of you have been friends for so long, you’re practically brothers.”
“Yes, you’re right, but you know sometimes brothers don’t get along.”
The three of us laughed again.
In Scottsdale, Agent Tygard and Detective Gore were sitting quietly in their booth, enjoying a hot cup of coffee and some conversation.
“I can’t wait for the weekend,” said Detective Gore. “This case is really kicking my ass. I will be traveling to Flagstaff and talking with Nicholas Salazar’s old teacher. He seemed pretty open to meeting with me when I spoke with him on the phone today, but you know, I somehow feel that when this is all over, we’ll still be one step behind this guy.”
Agent Tygard enjoyed his coffee and quietly shook his head. “Sometimes it can feel like that, but we have to continue looking for clues and putting the squeeze on these guys. If we let up now, they will have won, and we don’t want that, do we?”
Adam looked at him and nodded his head in agreement.
“It only takes one break,” said Lank, “and this time with these two bums out of the picture, there’s sure to be infighting and backstabbing going on within the ranks. We know that Mateo never really had a lieutenant or second-in-command at any time he oversaw the East Coast drug trade, but we do know Nicholas Salazar had, for the last year or so, a guy name José Vega as his lieutenant. I am hoping that José makes a move to take over the West Coast and, during that time, he messes up enough for us to come in and take down the operation.
“By the way, Adam, next week in all the rag magazines in the LA area, personal ads for Mondaca will be placed referring to his meeting with Salazar. If that does not shake things up, then nothing else will.”
Detective Gore suddenly had a smile on his face.
Agent Tygard said, “The intelligence I’ve seen indicates that this guy José Vega is as big a bum as they come. He has connections with prostitution, drug trafficking, money laundering, and murder—just the kind of guy Nicholas Salazar would trust in the second-in-command position. I can also tell you we have a special team watching Vega round the clock. This guy can’t scratch his balls without us knowing about it.”
The two men laughed, then got up from their booth and called it a day.
Chapter 6
Prepare and Survive
I was looking forward to my weekend away in the high country. It had been well over a year since I had seen my friend Tom Pazwaski.
I always enjoyed the drive into the high country. Going from the desert up into the pines was part of the magic of living in the Southwest. The farther I drove north, the higher in elevation I went, and as the elevation increased, so did the vegetation. Soon I was in the pines, driving my truck east on state route 260, working my way to Pinetop. I met Tom at the banquet. He looked the same: gray beard and a smile from ear to ear.
“There he is,” I said. “Good to see you, Tom.”
“Nice to see you too, Jack.”
“So, what have you been up to for the last year?” I asked.
Tom smiled. “You know, the same. Just working as little as possible and living the dream.”
With that, it was time for a drink. We spent the next half hour or so looking at all the items that were going to be auctioned off that night, and after we worked our way through the crowd, Tom tapped me on the shoulder.
“You need to meet someone,” he said, and introduced me to William Feather, also known as Old Bill.
He was a skinny little guy, not much more than five-foot-six, and I do not think he weighed more than 150 pounds. Old Bill’s family had been in the timber and cattle business and had started a homestead back when Arizona was a territory. The family was still involved in ranching and owned several of the small stores in the area. It all started when Old Bill’s great-grandfather worked for the army, helping to survey most of Arizona’s high country, and when he saw this area, he had fallen in love with it.
“Pleasure to meet you, Old Bill,” I said.
The man looked me up and down. “Pleasure to finally meet you. Tom has told me a lot about you.”
“Don’t believe anything he told you, Old Bill. I’m not that bad a guy.”
“Well, let’s grab a seat,” said Old Bill. “I’m hungry and don’t want to miss dinner.”
Dinner was great; the food was perfect as always. Tom, Old Bill, and I enjoyed each other’s company, waiting for the live auction to start.
“How many tickets did you buy tonight, Tom?” I asked.
“The usual: more than I should have, with most of the tickets in the bucket raffle. How about you, Jack?” asked Old Bill.
“I bought some tickets to the gun safe and that grand prize.” Two new side-by-side ATVs and a trailer would be sweet.
What the hell, I had thought. I got all this cash with me. I might as well spend some of it for good cause.
Now, there was a lesson in here somewhere. With all the tickets I had purchased, it did not necessarily mean I was going to win prizes, and during the course of the evening, my only winning ticket was for a set of steak knives. I also purchased a lifetime membership to the Wildlife Club and was awarded with a new rifle.
But at the end of the evening, which everyone looked forward to, the grand prize drawing was won by yours truly! Everyone at the table, including myself, jumped up and went crazy when they read my name off the winning ticket.
I looked over at Tom. “It looks like you have yourself a new ATV.”
Tom shook his head. “What do you mean?”
“Well, I have to keep them somewhere, so if I can keep them at your house, you can have one of them.”
“Damn, that’s the best deal I’ve heard all night!”
All the excitement and the long day had taken its toll on me. After I completed the paperwork for the vehicles, Tom, Old Bill, and I left the banquet hall. It was our custom to meet for breakfast the next morning at the Mountain Top Café, a favorite spot and a popular gathering place for the local townspeople.
“Old Bill, I hope you’re going to meet us for breakfast,” I said.
“I’ll be there, say about eight o’clock.”
Then we went our separate ways.
The next morning came with the usual yell from Tom. “Get out of bed!”
Shaking off the sleep, I walked to the kitchen for some hot coffee and looked out the windows toward the back of his property.
“What do you see?” Tom asked.
Before I could reply, he said, “That path is the way to the Feather homestead. About five hundred yards through the forest, and you come across the original cabin. It could be an historic landmark if Old Bill were to petition the state, but that doesn’t sound like something he would ever do.”
Tom went on. “When Bill’s wife of fifty-three years passed away, he just seemed to give up. All he did was sit on the front porch of that cabin. Old Bill and his wife never had any children, and now that his health is failing, he is living with his nephew’s family in Show Low.”
“If we have time, I want to walk back there and see the old place.”
“No need to walk,” said Tom. “There’s a well-maintained access road that still runs right up to the front porch.” “That sounds great. I wonder if Old Bill would like to go back and see his old cabin,” I said. “Damn, it’s late, and we need to go,” said Tom.
Tom and I drove over to the restaurant, which was already full of patrons waiting for flapjacks and bacon and eggs. We put our name on the waiting list. The young lady told us it was going to be about thirty minutes before we could sit down, so Tom and I took a stroll down Main Street, past the old antique store. We found ourselves in front of an army-surplus company.
Tom spoke up. “This little place is really something. From soup to nuts, they’ve got it all if you’re looking for army surplus. One time they even had an old army half-track sitting out here with a For Sale sign on it. Everybody in the area came by to take a look at it.”
“I can imagine,” I said. “I would’ve liked to see that myself.”
Just beside the front doors to the store was a magazine rack. In it were free copies of something called Prepare and Survive.
This caught my eye, so I walked over and picked one up, thinking that I would look at it later. We worked our way back to the restaurant. Old Bill stood at the front door, wearing his pressed jeans, plaid shirt, and shined cowboy boots.
“Good morning, Old Bill,” we said.
He tipped his hat and said, “Morning to you all.”
The inside of the restaurant was just as I remembered it. The walls were covered in knotty pine and frilly white window coverings, things you would see in grandma’s house. All the tables had white tablecloths, and the smells of freshly brewed coffee and cinnamon buns permeated the air. The three of us sat down at a cozy corner table, sipping our coffee and reliving last night’s highlights from the sportsman’s banquet.
Old Bill spoke up. “I have to tell you, boys, last night was the most fun I’ve had in a long time. Jack, I am sure glad you came up here to visit Tom. It’s been a real pleasure, and I hope I can call you a friend from now on.”
Old Bill reached across the table to shake my hand, and I in turn reached for his, feeling the coarse roughness the years had bestowed on his tired body. His handshake was firm and strong, and indeed I would from now on call Old Bill a friend.
After breakfast, we returned to Tom’s home. The three of us sat on the porch; it seemed Old Bill wanted to continue our conversation. As I had learned earlier, Old Bill’s family had been in the state since before it was a territory. The subdivision Tom lived in was the last remnant of Old Bill’s family ranch. The cabin Bill owned was on thirty or so acres of land.
Old Bill began by telling me I was a good friend to Tom for giving him one of the ATVs and agreeing to pay the tax as well. He went on to say that Tom had helped him a few times over the years and that good friends were hard to find. That was when I knew something was about to smack me right in the head, and boy, did it ever.
Old Bill looked straight into my eyes and without hesitation said, “Jack, if you’ve a mind to it, I’d like to sell you my cabin and land.”
I knew it; I had just been smacked in the face and didn’t know what to say in return to Old Bill. I had to stand and think about it for a moment.
“Old Bill, I’ve never even seen your place, and I really don’t know if I can afford it. Things appear pretty pricey up here.”
“You know, you’re right,” said Old Bill. “Why don’t the three of us go over to the homestead, and I’ll show you around.”
Old Bill took off first, getting into his pickup truck, with me and Tom following.
“What’s going on here?” I asked Tom.
“It sure sounds like Old Bill has taken a real liking to you. While I think Old Bill is a nice person, buying his family homestead… I’m still blown away by this.”
Tom and I laughed, shaking our heads.
“Let’s see how this plays out,” said Tom.
It did not take long for us to get to the cabin. There was a well-maintained gravel road that led right up to the property. And just like in the old Western movies, we had to drive through a main gate made with ponderosa pine logs supporting a giant log cross member. On top of the cross piece was a carved sign that said, “The Feather Homestead.”
“Well, I like the main gate,” I told Tom, and as we continued in, I saw the cabin.
But it was not just a cabin; it was a large two-story structure built with hand-hewn logs from over one hundred years ago. On the south side of the house was a large, covered porch that extended the full width of the house, and on the front of the house was another porch completely enclosed with screened windows.
The house itself sat on a small saddle that came down the back of the mountain, and just below it was a pond, which I found out later had a surface area of half an acre. The pond never froze because of the natural spring feeding it year-round.
There was also a corral and a barn with a tack room built into it. Then there were stalls in the barn that could hold six horses, and on the other side of the corral was a twenty-by-forty-foot pole barn. It was a more modern structure. Both ends of the pole barn had sliding doors that were big enough to accommodate a truck and large trailer.
The last building, we looked at was an old blacksmith shop. The forge was up to date with a natural gas heat source. Old Bill told us that the forge was still in good operating condition and that he had recently used it to repair horseshoes for his nephew’s horse.
Old Bill guided us into the house and showed us around. The inside was old, but it was a very well-built structure. A large stone fireplace stood at one end of the great room. Overhead, more ponderosa pine logs supported it. On the main floor, there was a modern guest bathroom, kitchen, and large master suite with plenty of closet space, which also had its own full bathroom. Upstairs had been left open and used as a loft. Right now, boxes and old furniture were stored there.
Old Bill took us into the master bedroom, and pointing to a rug next to the bed, said, “I got to show you boys this. It’s really something.”
He rolled back the rug, and I saw a circular metal ring embedded into the floor. Old Bill reached down, gave the metal ring a tug, and opened a trapdoor that led into the stone root cellar.
“I guess that’s where you keep all the homebrew, hey, Bill?” said Tom.
Bill laughed. “No, there’s no white lightning hidden down here,” he said. “They built this for food storage an
d as a place the women and children could go to in the event of an Indian attack,” Old Bill continued. Tom and I went down into the root cellar. It was cold but also dry. No water leaked into it.
“The old-timers sure had their heads screwed on straight way back then,” said Old Bill.
“Yes, they did,” I replied. “They surely did.”
The three of us made our way outside and went over to the corral. It seemed natural to lean against the fencing, like it was just the right place for people to talk.
Once again Old Bill started in first. “Well, Jack, what do you think of the place? You got the house, the corral, the barn, a second pole barn, a natural spring, and about thirty acres of God’s backyard just sitting here waiting for you.”
I looked around and told Old Bill that I was grateful he would offer his family’s homestead to me, considering we just met yesterday. “I guess my question to you, Old Bill, is what are you asking for the place?”
Old Bill took his hat off and put a hand in his pocket. Then, looking at me, he said, “You know, son, my wife is gone. We never had children, and I’m living with a relative in town. He’s a good guy with a good family, and they love me, so I would take $200,000 for the whole thing—lock, stock, and barrel.”
I looked at Old Bill. “I think that is a very fair offer for everything that we’ve seen. The house, the buildings, thirty acres of property with a natural spring-fed pond—Carolyn would absolutely love it up here during the summer.” I paused. “Old Bill, would you take cash?” Then the three of us laughed.
“Is that how much you carry with you?” asked Old Bill.
“No,” I said. “I don’t carry much cash with me, but I’m serious. Would you take, let’s say, $50,000 by the end of next week and then $50,000 each month after until it’s paid for?”
“What have you been doing, Jack? Robbing banks down there in the valley?” asked Tom.
