Cantina Valley (A Ben Adler Mystery Book 1)

by Trevor Scott

  He didn’t have to look down to know that he was as hard as her nipples. Ben lifted his underwear over his erection and dropped them to the floor.

  She rushed him again, squeezing her breasts against his chest and pressing his hard on into her groin.

  The first time they fucked hard and fast. Upon recovery, they made slow, passionate love.

  •

  Maggi dozed in the bed while Ben got on his laptop and did an online search. After a short while, the doorbell rang. Ben swore to himself, knowing he needed to install better security, with motion detection and video uploaded directly to the cloud. Especially since getting the satellite and computer. But deep down he didn’t trust anything uploaded to a server that could be accessed by some snot-nosed hacker in his parents’ basement. Maybe he would simply install the sensors and link them to his laptop.

  He scrambled to get dressed and made sure his gun was clipped to his belt. Then he started for the front door.

  Maggi stopped him, “Do you think that might be Sonya?”

  “No. But you might want to get dressed.”

  He left her in his bedroom and went to the front door. Standing on his front stoop was Deputy Lester Dawson. Ben opened the door and said, “Holy crap, Lester. What brings you by on such a nasty day?”

  “Can I come in, Ben?” the deputy asked.

  “Do you have a warrant?”

  “I’m not here to search for anything. I just want to talk.”

  Ben smiled. “I’m just messing with ya. Come on in.”

  The deputy came through the door and glanced down at his feet. His service boots were wet and dirty.

  “You can take them off or we can talk here,” Ben said.

  “Here’s fine. This won’t take long.” The deputy took his Resistol hat off and wiped the rain around on the plastic cover.

  “How goes your murder investigation?”

  “I’m off that case,” the deputy said with a subdued disposition.

  “Oh. Did you I.D. the guy?”

  “Yeah. It was a former soldier named Marco Alvarez from the Junction City area.”

  Ben nodded his head. “I get it.”

  “Do you?”

  “Sure. The sheriff let’s you investigate until they find out the guy is a former soldier and not an illegal. Then they pull the plug on you.”

  “That about sums it up,” Lester said.

  Ben and Lester had talked a few times since Ben had retired from the Air Force. Lester had been interested in the work his old high school friend had done for his country. Ben got the impression that Lester had felt somewhat guilty for not serving his country in the military. But Ben had told him he served every day in his local community.

  “What can I do for you then, Lester?”

  “I do want to talk with you about the murder investigation, but first I need to question you about a couple of shootings. One at Marlon Telford’s place, and the other up in the Coast Range.”

  Amazing. Marlon had actually called in the shootings. “I’m guessing Marlon took my advice and called these in.”

  “Unofficially. He called the sheriff, who called me to handle this off the books. I’m supposed to be taking a few days off.”

  Ben explained everything that had happened first at Marlon’s house and then up in the mountains, from the men shooting over their vehicle to the report he had gotten from Tavis McGuffin.

  “And you think these people were simply trying to scare Marlon and his crew?” Lester asked.

  “Either that or they were the worst shot I’ve ever seen. When they drove by our vehicle out on that forest road, they were no more than six feet from us. They couldn’t have missed unless they tried to miss.”

  “Understood.”

  “You’re not taking notes,” Ben said.

  Deputy Lester Dawson shrugged. “There’s not much I can do. My boss wants nothing to go into a report. Besides, can you really believe there’s a truffle consortium out to get Marlon Telford?”

  “Stranger shit has happened,” Ben reminded the deputy.

  Lester nodded and looked down at the floor.

  “What the hell’s going on?” Ben asked.

  “I’m still stuck on this murder investigation, Ben. I’m struggling with motive.”

  “No drugs involved?”

  “None.”

  “Any other nefarious criminal activity by this former soldier?”

  “Not that I can find,” Lester said. “His Army record is spotless. Bronze star with valor, purple heart. Honorable discharge. A model soldier.”

  “But?”

  “But his father brought his family here after his service in the Salvadoran Army during their Civil War.”

  Ben gave a little whistle. “That was brutal. And their Army had death squads that wiped out entire villages as they searched for the FMLN guerrillas. Those guerrillas were worse, though. They were backed by every communist regime in the world.”

  “A proxy war by Cold War foes?” Lester asked.

  “You could say that. Our government was concerned about the Commies getting a foothold in our own back yard. But what does this have to do with your murder victim? This was decades ago.”

  “I don’t know,” Lester admitted. “I just found it interesting and disturbing. We were both a little young to hear much about it at the time.”

  “I learned about it in my Air Force training and through folks who were involved.” Ben’s former commander had worked with the CIA helping the Salvadoran government. Propping up dictators in the name of stopping the spread of Communism was not one of America’s finest moments, but Ben guessed it was a necessary endeavor. Things were always easier to complain about with the passage of time.

  “I don’t know if I can help you with the shooters,” Lester said. “Since nobody was hurt in the incidents, maybe we can just let it go.”

  Interesting. Either Marlon Telford had not mentioned the injury to one of his men, or the sheriff had not told his deputy.

  “Understood,” Ben said. “I told Marlon to hire some security.”

  “He said he offered the job to you.”

  “True. Not sure I want it, though. Have you talked with some of the men from the Compound who had been shot at also?”

  Lester shook his head. “The boss told me to stay away from that place. Besides, you and Marlon told us what happened at their camp. The less people who know we know, the better. At least in the eyes of the sheriff.”

  Ben wasn’t sure why they wanted to keep the shooting off the books, but he guessed both Marlon and the sheriff had their reasons.

  The deputy turned to go, but he stopped and said, “Is that your BMW out front?”

  Ben laughed. “You know I drive my dad’s old pickup.”

  “Right. And your mom’s old muscle car.”

  After a short hesitation, Ben finally said, “A friend of mine from Portland is visiting.” He shifted his head to the bedroom and smiled.

  “Roger that. Carry on.”

  Ben let the deputy out and watched as the old high school friend got into his sheriff’s rig and drove off.

  Once the deputy left, Maggi came out fully clothed.

  “Was that the deputy investigating the murder of the man found down the road?” she asked.

  “Yeah. But he’s been taken off that murder case and is looking into the shootings.” Ben paused and then added, “Kind of. They’re looking into it off the books.”

  She looked confused. “Why?”

  That was a damn good question. He wished he could come up with a good answer. “I don’t know. But I don’t think it matters. He still seems a bit obsessed with the murder.”

  “Can you blame him? Were you ever taken off a murder case?”

  “No,” he admitted. “But Lester was only given the case for one reason and taken off it for another.” He explained to her his theory, along with the tangent Lester had vectored toward with the victim’s father.

  “I don’t know what to do with t
hat,” she said.

  That made two of them.

  23

  Ben made breakfast for dinner and then they sat again in the living room with a fire keeping them warm, drinking an Oregon microbrew.

  “This is good,” she said. “What is it?”

  “It’s an IPA my neighbor Jim Erickson makes. I helped him with a burnt heifer and he rewarded me with a twelve pack of this. More than a fair trade.”

  “Wait. A burnt heifer?”

  “Yeah, he’s had a problem recently with cattle spontaneously blowing up in flames. At least that’s what he thinks is happening. I told him it could simply be some asshole with a can of gas and a match.”

  “That’s terrible.”

  “It’s not ideal. Those cattle are not cheap, either.”

  She stared at him for a bit too long.

  “What?” he asked.

  “We aren’t talking about the elephant in the room.”

  “You mean our sexual encounter?”

  “No. Well, maybe that too. But I was thinking about Marlon Telford and the truffle mafia.”

  “Cartel.”

  “Right. Same thing. Do you really believe the truffle trade has gone rogue?”

  “While you took a little nap after our. . .experience, I did a quick internet search.”

  “It’s nice being in contact with the outside world.”

  “Yeah, bite me. Anyway, I searched and found a number of incidents of violence around the truffle fields. Including here in Oregon. The violence is probably even more prevalent in France and Italy. Who knew people could get that fired up about fungi?”

  “Didn’t you say someone looked into Marlon Telford’s business practices?” she asked.

  “Yes. He makes a good chunk of money from the truffle and mushroom business, but it’s nothing compared to his simple interest and dividend income from the money he made selling his business. I don’t think he’s in it for the money. Marlon is a true believer in his search for the elusive Sasquatch.”

  “Seriously?”

  “I am. It’s hard to deny all the reports from this country alone. But then you see that the ancient civilizations had similar sightings worldwide throughout the history of man. How do you account for that?”

  She shrugged and sipped more beer. Then she said, “Maybe it’s just oral history. Like the boogie man.”

  “Now that dude is real.” Ben held back a smile.

  “What was that about Bigfoot aliens? Were you just messing with Marlon?”

  “I wanted him to come to the conclusion that they were shape shifters,” Ben said. “If you can take the leap and consider Bigfoot as a real entity, then you can also believe in that creature being able to change its appearance. I mean, I’m not a biologist, but I know enough about animals we’ve studied on Earth to realize that these animals have been able to adapt over time.”

  “Okay, I’ll give you that.” She stopped just long enough to finish off her beer. “Now, tell me about your work with pilots who saw UFOs.”

  Ben was hoping she had forgotten about that information. “How can I say this without sounding like a total tool? What if I stick with the standard answer? If I told you, I’d have to kill you.”

  “You’ve already told me,” she said.

  “Good point. What would you like? Open or closed casket?”

  “You’re a funny guy. Aren’t you?”

  He got up and went to the refrigerator for two more beers. His delay gave him time to consider her question, which led him to the right path. He brought the beers back to the living room and then continued to his bedroom.

  “Haven’t you had enough?” she yelled to him.

  Ben returned with his laptop and handed it to her. “Look up Air Force pilots who have encountered UFOs.”

  “Yes, sir.” She typed in the search and started opening files.

  “If you find it with normal internet searching, then that info isn’t classified.”

  “Ah, I see.” She pulled up an interesting article and read through it quickly. “They’ve held congressional hearings on this? Why haven’t I heard about this?”

  “The news media only spoon feeds you the information they find interesting. You see, if UFOs are real, then their lives just got less significant. The same with congress. They think they’re in charge. They need to be in control of every aspect of your life. If you no longer need congress, then why even have one?”

  “Good point.”

  “There will come a time when our society might just be controlled by robots. You see, properly programmed robots, or more specifically androids, would not use emotion to make decisions. The Constitution should not be up for any elasticity of thought, especially the Second Amendment. The Supreme Court has become too political on both sides. We should be able to simply punch in a question to the Supreme Computer and ask if something complies with the Constitution. If it doesn’t, then we shouldn’t do it.”

  “Back to UFOs, Ben. You actually debriefed pilots?”

  Now he needed to be careful. “Let’s just say that those stories you’re reading now detail accounts from many years ago. Usually those pilots are closing in on the end of their lives and have nothing to lose. So they come forward.”

  “I understand. Wow, you’ve led an interesting life.”

  She only knew a small portion of it. Most of his knowledge would die with him.

  Changing the subject, Ben said, “Well, counselor, do you have any recommendation for me with regards to Marlon Telford and his truffle cartel?”

  “I’m biased,” she said. “I want my brother to be safe, and as long as we have people shooting up the Oregon forest, Tavis is not safe.”

  Good point. “And the local sheriff does not seem to believe Marlon. Otherwise the sheriff would have put his investigation on the books. What about your friends at the FBI? After all, Marlon thinks these shooters are from France or Italy.”

  “My guess is the FBI is concentrating mostly on potential terrorist threats, and the investigation of militia groups in eastern Oregon.”

  “Do you know this as a fact?” he asked.

  “We’ve discussed it in broad strokes,” Maggi said. “Kind of like you and I discuss UFOs.”

  He considered his options carefully, knowing that he had promised to get Marlon Telford an answer by morning.

  “All right,” Ben said. “Marlon is a little out there, but he has a legitimate problem and I think I’m capable of helping.”

  She put her hand on his and said, “More than capable.”

  “I’ll head over there in the morning.”

  He sat back and took in the bitter, creamy taste of Jim Erickson’s IPA as he wondered how much he could really do for Marlon and his band of truffle hunters. Now that those in the truffle camps had been attacked, he was sure that they could provide security themselves. But he would have to eventually stick with Marlon Telford.

  24

  Tavis McGuffin woke at zero five hundred, a conditioned response from his years in the Army. Then he went out for a run, making a five mile loop before coming back into his quarters for a shower.

  Here’s where he deviated from his normal military routine. At least on this morning. He decided to take a long, hot shower. Tavis guessed that the relative drought in Oregon had been over for months. The ground was saturated to the point of being spongy.

  He was into his hot shower about fifteen minutes when he heard the first shots. A soldier does not contemplate a shot and justify it as a car backfire or fireworks. No, he determines the caliber of the shot and the direction—incoming or outgoing. This was incoming, he knew instinctively.

  He rinsed off the remaining soap on his body as he heard more shots. These were outgoing 5.56 mm. Now he toweled off in a hurry and rushed out into his bedroom.

  Tavis stopped dead in his tracks when he encountered two men in tactical gear yelling ‘Federal Agents’ and pointing their automatic weapons at him.

  Naked and unsure what to do, Tavis rai
sed his hands. “What the hell is this?”

  “Shut up and get on your knees,” one of the FBI agents yelled. “Hands on the back of your head.”

  “Can I get dressed first?” Tavis asked. Looking closer, he could see that the second FBI agent was actually a woman.

  “On your knees,” the male agent said.

  Tavis reluctantly complied. The female agent came up behind him and pushed him to the ground before putting thick white zip ties on his wrists. Then she whispered into his ear. “I’ll call your sister.”

  He tried to twist his head for a better view of this woman, but by now she had gone back behind her male partner. Luckily the shooting had stopped outside, and Tavis hoped that none of his friends had been shot.

  •

  Having sex with a man is one thing, but sleeping with him was an entirely different prospect. Sleeping required much more intimacy, Maggi thought. Yet, in the case of her encounter with Ben, she felt a comfort she had not experienced in her past.

  After Ben hurried through his early morning chores, showing Maggi his daily ritual, he made a quick breakfast for them. Then, as the sun tried desperately to penetrate the thick cloud cover, they piled into his old truck and drove to Marlon’s place down the road.

  Marlon was excited to let them through the gate, knowing that Ben’s answer had to be yes. The former professor met them again outside his front door, his long gray beard flowing in the breeze. The Bigfoot guru was wearing his safari outfit again, looking like he might be ready for the Serengeti.

  “Welcome, Earthlings,” Marlon said, his most recent phrase of greeting. “I’ve just made a wonderful French roast. Come in. Come in.”

  Ben and Maggi followed the professor into his house. Looking back at the window that had been shot, Maggi noticed that Marlon had used thick, clear tape to cover the holes.

  “I’ve got some window guys coming from Eugene in the afternoon,” Marlon said.

  They settled around a wide kitchen island with quartz counters. Marlon poured them each a tall cup of java.

  “I take it you’ve made up your mind,” Marlon said, more than a little anxious.