“Tell your relief I’ll be out of pocket most of the day. I’ll be takin’ Billy Ray with me.”
Lester hit the off button and went to speed dial. The deputy answered after a half dozen rings just as Lester was about to give up on him.
“Ummm, hmmm.”
“B.R., you still in bed? You’re supposed to be at work in about 45 minutes.”
“So are you,” Billy Ray said, his voice raspy with sleep. “But you’re always late.”
“Like I’ve explained so many times and what you can’t seem to grasp,” Lester said, “I’m on duty the moment I set foot in the pickup, property of Cimarron County. That’s when my official day starts. Other times it starts when I’m on the phone, like now. So get your butt down to the office. I’ll meet you there. The Sanchez boy is awake and we’re driving to the City.”
Billy Ray let that sink in and said, “Okay. Okay, but please tell me Harley isn’t riding with us. I can’t deal with him in my lap for hundreds of miles. He needs a bath, Sheriff, bad.”
“Well, I don’t know if he wants to go yet,” Lester said. “But I’ll ask him. See you shortly.”
“Sheriff?”
“Yeah?”
“I don’t have a car, remember?”
“Excuses, always excuses. I’ll pick you up. Be ready now.”
Lester heated some milk and oatmeal, sprinkled some raisins on top, and sat down to breakfast, but not before dumping out a can of dog food in Harley’s dish. The dog finished it in seven seconds, his average time, and then went to sit by Lester and wait for any recognizable sounds such as go. Didn’t happen. Lester gave the lab a quick head rub and then realized Billy Ray had a point; the dog did have an odor about him. A five and a half hour drive, one way with a stinky dog, would not make for a happy deputy. Lester ate, put the dishes in the sink, gathered his gear and made his way to the pickup. Harley followed, tail wagging in eager anticipation.
“Sorry buddy, not this time.”
The dog’s head sank. He trotted after the pickup for a few yards in case there was any change in plans. All hope was lost as the truck made the turn on to the highway and grew small in the distance. Harley decided to check the perimeter for rabbits one more time before finding a warm place in the sun for a morning nap.
Billy Ray was waiting on the sidewalk with a thermos of coffee and bag of white Styrofoam cups. “Figured you’d be in your usual hurry so I made us some coffee to go. You don’t have to drink it you don’t want to. Be more for me.”
“Get in the truck and pour me a cup, B.R.”
As they passed the courthouse on the way out of town, Billy Ray said, “You do remember we have a perfectly good sedan sitting over there don’t you? Be a smoother ride to Okie City. AC works better too. Speakin’ of sedans, why do I not get the loan of that one while I’m afoot?”
There was no reply. The Sheriff was deep in concentration. Billy Ray tried to get comfortable with his head between the window and the back of the seat. It wasn’t working. At the city limits, Lester said, “I don’t feel right in that car. Don’t know what it is. I like sitting up like this, in a truck, where I can see over the traffic.”
“Traffic? In Cimarron County?”
It was the end of the conversation. There was no other mention of the sedan. Lester took 287 south and dropped down into Texas, hitting Stratford and Dumas and Pampa before picking up I-40 to the outskirts of Oklahoma City. They pulled off the interstate at a Love’s store, got gas, a couple pieces of chicken, and a fried apple pie for desert. At the cash register, Billy Ray said, “I wonder why they didn’t send the Sanchez boy to Amarillo instead of Okie City. Would have been a lot closer.”
Lester shrugged, “Don’t know. I’m guessing that Oklahoma City had better doctors for his kind of injury. Neurologists I think is what they call them.”
Cimarron County had not provided Lester’s truck with a GPS device. The logic being there weren’t that many roads to get lost on in the Oklahoma panhandle. As a result, the men were forced to stop at another convenience store and ask directions on how to find the hospital. As they made the turn north onto I-44, it seemed to Lester as if the entire population of the state’s capitol, all 580,000, were on the road and hell bent on running over him.
“Don’t like all these cars whizzing about Billy Ray. Makes me a tad nervous.”
“You need to pick up your speed Sheriff, blend in with the traffic. You should have let me drive.”
“Should have,” Lester admitted.
Lester missed his exit, took the next one, and eventually found the parking lot for the OU Medical Center. The woman at the admitting desk did a double take at the badges and asked, “Any problems, Gentlemen?”
“No Ma’am. I’m Lester P. Morrison of Cimarron County. Just need the room number for a Carlos Sanchez,” Lester said.
The woman had glasses that hung from a cord and she flipped them into place. She made a few pecks on a keyboard.
“Uh, I’m sorry but Mr. Sanchez is not receiving visitors at this time, Doctor’s orders.”
Lester looked at the ceiling for a moment and then said, “Lady, I’m not here to hold his hand or give him flowers. I need to talk with the boy about a kidnapping and possible murder.”
“Oh,” the woman said, her mouth changing to an oval. “Let me make a call.” She mumbled some words that Lester couldn’t hear and then said, “An R.N. or a Doctor will meet you at the room. Wait here and one of our volunteers will be along to show you the way.”
A few minutes passed when a man appeared who looked to be in his seventies. He was wearing a photo ID in clear plastic around his neck. “If you gentlemen will follow me.”
The volunteer led the lawmen through a maze of hallways, elevators, and swinging doors before pointing to room 312. Carlos had the bed cranked up and the TV on. An IV drip along with assorted monitors were taped to his body. Bandages covered most of his head and one eye. The other eye was swollen and multi-hued with blue, purple, and black. A man looking to be of East Indian descent stepped into the room. His name tag read Dr. Malik.
“I must ask you to keep your visit to a minimum please,” the doctor said. “The patient has made a remarkable recovery but we must watch him closely. If you ask questions that upset him, I will ask you to leave.”
“Fair enough,” Lester said. “I’ll keep that in mind.” Turning to Carlos, Lester said, “Hello, young man. Glad to see you awake. I hope you keep gettin’ better and back on your feet soon. Do you remember when we talked a few days ago, on the football field? I asked you about Melissa Parker.”
Carlos gave an almost imperceptible nod.
“She’s still missing, Carlos. I’m hoping you can help us find her. Do you think you can do that?”
The one visible eye closed for so long that Lester thought the boy had nodded off. Then he opened it and said, “I’ve been expecting you since I woke up.”
Lester said, “Did you see Melissa at the Pirate’s Den bar last Thursday night? It would have been the day before your accident. We have some witnesses that say she was drinking with two boys about her age. Boys that she probably knew. We’ve talked with the owner of the bar, Carlos. We’re pretty sure you were there.”
No sound came from the TV speaker snapped to the pillow, but Carlos watched the set hanging from the ceiling as if he were fascinated with the inane game show and its squealing contestants.
Billy Ray spoke, “Carlos, why didn’t you play football last Friday night? What’s going on?”
Sanchez hit the off button on the remote, watched the screen go to black, and said, “Yeah, I was there, me and Boomer. Boomer’s the quarterback on our team.” Lester nodded. “We were driving around in Boomer’s Mustang, drinking on a 12 pack of beer that he’d brought from home, just farting around. I got a call on my cell. It was Melissa. She said she’d had a big argument with her dad, got mad, and walked out of the house, all the way down the highway to the bar. Said she had planned to call her friend Becky and see if
you could spend the night. But Becky wasn’t home and there was some fat guy in there, drinking beer, and staring at her. Said she was afraid to start back home alone. Thought the guy might follow her. Would you hand me that water there?” Billy Ray held the container while Carlos sucked on the straw.
“She asked if we would drive out there and take her home. Boomer and I had nothing better to do and figured we could slick talk Earl into a few drinks. Wouldn’t have been the first time. When we got there, Boomer went in and talked to Earl and told him we’d keep the drinks outside and duck around back and hide if any law came around. Boomer came out to the patio where Melissa and I were sitting on that raggedy old couch that Earl has, and handed each of us a shot of Tequila. He told Melissa she should have a drink with us before we took her home. She was wearing a really short skirt and I think Boomer liked looking at her legs. Hell, I did too. Melissa is a cute little gal. She told us she was in no hurry to go back to the house and face her daddy again, but that she had never drank Tequila in her life, red wine being the strongest. I could tell she was nervous about the stuff. Boomer showed her how to do the lemon and the salt and we made a game out of it. She got it down, coughed, and told us how her tummy got warm all of a sudden. Of course, we had a few more. Wasn’t long before I was drunk on my ass. Melissa was laughing and having a good time. I could see the booze was getting to her, big time. She got up to go to the bathroom and nearly fell. We all thought that was hilarious. She was still staggering when she came out. Boomer bought another round. At some point, I guess I went to sleep on the couch, passed out really, when I felt Boomer shaking my shoulder and telling me to get up and that we had to go. Melissa was nowhere around.” Carlos stopped talking and took a deep breath.
Lester and Billy Ray exchanged looks. Dr. Malik said, “A couple more minutes guys, and I’m calling it.”
“Did you ask Boomer what happened to Melissa,” Lester said.
“Sure. Boomer said he took her home, dropped her off just up the road from her house. Everybody knows Melissa’s dad is a jerk, loud and mouthy. No telling what he might do, bringing his daughter home drunk.”
“Did Boomer see her get to the house?” Billy Ray asked. “Or did he just drive away and leave her in the middle of the road, drunk?”
“I don’t know. I don’t remember him saying.”
“That’s enough, gentlemen. Mr. Sanchez needs to rest,” the doctor said. “I think his mother is in a waiting room down the hall. Perhaps you could talk with her.”
Lester and Billy Ray thanked Carlos and walked in the direction the doctor had pointed.
Billy Ray said, “I believe we have us a prime suspect.”
“We do” Lester agreed.
The waiting room was small with three chairs and a couch, a table in the corner was covered with out of date magazines. Mrs. Sanchez sat in one of the chairs and a man looking to be of Mexican descent in another. Lester tipped his hat.
“Mrs. Sanchez?” The woman nodded. “We were happy to hear your boy came out of the coma. We talked with him for a few minutes just now. Looks like he’ll be fine.”
“Gracias,” the woman said. “I appreciate your concern.” If Lester was surprised that Mrs. Sanchez could speak English, he didn’t show it.
“Ma’am, I’d like to ask you just one question if I could. Why was Carlos out on the highway last Friday night and not playing football?”
The woman glanced at the dark skinned man beside her. “I am going to tell you the truth. It will come out anyway I think. This man is my brother. He is in this country illegally. He wants to become a citizen very badly. He is working on it, but it takes time. Carlos came to me that night and said he might be in trouble, that a lawman had talked to him at school. I guess that was you?”
“Yes, Ma’am, please go on.”
“Carlos was afraid his problem would attract the police and the immigration people to our house and send his uncle back to Mexico. He told me he thought it best if he left for a while and went to visit his cousin in Texas. And then…the wreck. I prayed for him so hard, my brother too. Our prayers were answered last night.”
“Did Carlos say what kind of trouble he was in?” Lester asked.
“No, he wouldn’t tell me. He just said that it had something to do with a girl.”
Lester removed his hat and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He studied the floor for a moment and then asked, “You got any questions for Mrs. Sanchez, Deputy?”
Billy Ray asked, “Did Carlos and Melissa have dates?”
“Si.”
“Did they see each other often?”
Mrs. Sanchez shrugged. “Only now and then I think.”
“Do you think Carlos might be jealous if Melissa was seeing anyone else?”
“Umm, I don’t think so. I think there were mostly good friends, not like amor, in love.”
No one said anything else and Lester put his hat back on. “Thank you for your time Ma’am. Tell your brother good luck on becoming a citizen.”
In the parking lot, Lester said, “Let’s go pay us a visit to young Mr. Kingston, Billy Ray. You drive.”
Billy Ray smiled.
*****
Earlier that Monday morning, Boomer Kingston was still in bed and watching the minutes count by on the digital clock. He’d thought about feigning a splitting headache which would miraculous disappear before noon. But on the other hand, if he didn’t show up for class, certain people might see it as suspicious.
That goddamn Carlos, little spick bastard, getting me involved with his big-tittied girl friend. If she hadn’t gotten so freakin’ drunk, none of this would have happened. How the hell was I to know she couldn’t handle her liquor? What did she have, three maybe four shots? Shit, that’s nothin’. Then Carlos passing out like he did. Dumping all his problems on me. Should have left both of ‘em there. Woulda’ served ‘em right.
Course the girl was a tasty lookin’ thing. What was her name, Melinda, Melanie, Melissa? Yeah, Melissa, that’s it. I wonder if she’ll tell Carlos what happened when I took her home? That didn’t exactly go according to plan did it, Boomer my boy? Her getting all bent out of shape just cause I’m wantin’ a little. That got ugly in a hurry. All that hollerin’ and carryin’ on, acting like she was some kind of princess and not the white trash that she is. Had to put her in her place. Hell, what girl wouldn’t want to put out to the Boomer?
God, I hate that name. What the hell is a Boomer anyway? Only thing I know with a name like that is a Mountain Boomer, a little faggot lizard, all duded up with those green and orange colors. But that wasn’t where your name came from was it? No, it was Boomer Sooners of course, the team my wannabe-pro daddy played for and never lets anyone forget. Hell, OU had scouts at the last game and what does a-hole Sanchez do? He does a disappearing act and we damn near lose the game. My passes were good, right on target, just like always. Should have had a lot more completions if those jerks would have ran the right route. Jeez. No telling what the scouts thought. Maybe they talked to Coach. Surprised Daddy hasn’t been on the phone with Coach Stoops. Probably tried. Bet Stoops has more important things to do than listen to some fat ex-lineman brag about his kid playing eight man football in Bum Fuck, Oklahoma. Oh, and thanks for that Daddy. Thanks for dragging me out here to this armpit of the country where the hoot owls fuck the chickens. But you had to have that dealership didn’t you? You had to plant your ugly mug on billboards all over town and up and down every highway for a hundred miles around. You had to live your dream. Well, what about my dream, Daddy dearest? I was playing QB for the best team in Tulsa. My name was in the paper every Saturday morning. Pictures too. I got interviews on TV with every sportscaster in town.
Babes? You want to talk about babes? I had to beat ‘em away with a stick. They never said no either, to anything I wanted. But where am I now? A QB for the Boise City Bobcats that’s where. Big freakin’ deal. Can’t even find the team a bitch for a good gang bang around here.
Then that Melissa someb
ody doesn’t show up for class on Friday. Hung over no doubt. But why was that Sheriff talking to Carlos? And why didn’t Carlos clue me in? Then he disappears after practice and avoids me in school the next day. Doesn’t show up for the game, and damned if he doesn’t pile his car up on some stupid ass deer. What the hell was he thinking? Wouldn’t have known about the wreck ‘cept for Coach calling up. Damn. Better get my ass out of bed and go to school before dear ol’ Daddy gets involved. That’s the last thing I need, him crawlin’ in the middle of my shit like he always does.
*****
The deputy opted for a change in scenery for the return trip and took I-35 north and turned west on 412. Just outside of Enid, Lester asked, “B.R., what were those questions about, the ones you asked Mrs. Sanchez about Carlos and Melissa?”
“Just trying to get an idea about their relationship. Was thinking maybe Carlos was the jealous type and with Boomer eyeballing his girlfriend, might be setting Boomer up for whatever happened. I know he said they were partying together that night, probably good friends, but there is that possibility. And how do we know his story isn’t bullshit?
“Sanchez instead of Kingston? Hmm. Something to think about.”
“Sheriff, don’t you think we should call the Boise City police, have them pick up the Kingston boy and hold him for questioning or something? He might run on us.”
“I’d say if he hasn’t run by now, he’s not going to. Besides, they can’t hold him on suspicion. I know, it’s looking now like he was the last person to have contact with Melissa, but we don’t know that for a fact. Granted, the boy is a definite person of interest, and that’s why we should approach him on our terms. I want to be the first to talk to him. If the police were to bring him to the station, my guess is he’d be lawyered up before we even reach the city limits. His daddy has money you know, owns a lot of ranchland so I hear, there’s the Ford dealership of course, Kingston Ford, and I think he holds the franchise for the Dairy Queen.”
Fraidy Hole: A Sheriff Lester P. Morrison Novel Page 25
