State of Defense (State of Arizona Book 1)

by Doug Ball

  “Cheap.”

  They both laughed as the younger man turned to leave.

  “Don’t forget to check in from time to time.”

  The young man waved over his shoulder as he moved his in-shape self out the door. “Time to go to the park and relax on my cell phone, I’m thinking.”

  I-17 Northbound

  5:30 PM

  There was too much excitement during most shifts with the Sheriff’s Office in Coconino County. If it wasn’t drunks, it was drunks. To be fair, it just about evened out between drunk whites and drunk Native Americans, with the whites usually causing the most trouble. The worst places were the reservation border places along I-40 where the populations came together and the liquor stores flourished in abundance.

  Deputy Sheriff Les Brown, Tan to his friends, cruised along the interstate moving toward Flagstaff with his radio blasting and the windows rolled down. Returning from a trip to Phoenix for training made his day much better. He hated the big city environment. The heat and dust all rolled together with heavy traffic and weird drivers were something he always looked forward to leaving. The cool mountain air along I-17 after the Verdes made his day, even at 75 MPH.

  A slick pickup truck went whizzing past him and took the Stoneman Lake turnoff at over what he estimated to be 90 MPH. He flipped on his dash mounted radar and got a reading of 88 just before he passed the turnoff himself. Hitting the lights he looked for a turnaround. Seeing none, he cut through the median twice and followed the truck only to find it upside down over a hundred feet off the roadway.

  “2Adam19, I have a rollover accident at the north bound Stoneman Lake turnoff.”

  “North bound Stoneman Lake turnoff, any bodies in sight? Rolling EMS to your location.”

  “No bodies, yet, dispatch. Leaving unit now. Hang on. I have one moving body in the weeds. There looked to be three heads in the vehicle when it passed me.”

  He grabbed his unit’s first aid box and moved toward the crawling body on his way to the truck. The reek of booze hit him before he got within ten feet. “Lay still until I check out the truck and the others.”

  He moved on the truck. One white guy crawled out of the passenger window and someone was kicking and screaming inside the truck.

  “You stupid ass, I told you that you were going too fast. Now look at us. Wrecked truck, blood on my dress, Rex is out cold, this ain’t no fun. You promised me fun. Instead you creep me out in this truck. Get out of my way, white boy.” She screamed as she pushed past the white guy.

  “2Adam19, I have at least four here, roll a second ambulance. Requesting back up. Vics all appear to be drunk. Probably gonna need the wagon to haul them off to jail if they don’t need an ambulance.”

  He moved in and assisted the woman in getting out and asked her to lie down on the grass until the ambulance got there. The smell of gas blew through the scene causing him to change the arrangements. “Let’s move you over here a ways, lady.”

  “I ain’t no lady. Take your damn clammy white hands off me, cop.”

  He then assisted the white guy in moving to a position near, but not with, the woman. He didn’t want them talking to each other. Looking at the woman, she was quiet. Too, quiet. Tan looked inside the truck. A third man was hanging from his seat belt on the driver’s side of the vehicle. Running to the other side of the cab, he pulled his knife and, reaching through the window, cut the seat belt – the smell of smoke being a big motivator, he lifted the driver from the truck and dragged him upwind fifty feet or so.

  With a loud whoosh the entire truck was engulfed in flame. “Wow!” commented the first man Tan had checked, who was now sitting up rubbing his head. “My head hurts. What happened?”

  “You deserve to have your head hurt riding with this nut. How much you had to drink, anyhow?”

  “No where’s near enough. Can you give me a lift back to McGuiresville so I can get a six pack?” He fell into the grass.

  "2Adam19. Four victims. One in bad shape and unconscious. One or two passed out or knocked out. Last one is moaning and trying to get up. Worst one appears to be the driver.”

  As Tan talked he was walking between the four doing a visual triage. Two of them appeared to be sleeping, breathing slow and easy, no flowing blood. The one he had cut out was bleeding from the head and left side. The fourth was drunk and feeling no pain, trying to walk and falling down a lot, cuffs solved his wandering problem. He grabbed up his first aid kit and went to work on the driver as he heard a siren in the distance.

  The driver died just as the Highway Patrol unit pulled up. “Who’s next?” called the DPS Officer running up, first aid kit in hand.

  “Check out the others. This one just gave up on me.” He started CPR.

  When the ambulance arrived on the scene, the deputy was still doing CPR, the DPS officer was fighting off the woman, and one of the men was sitting up mesmerized by the burning truck.

  “Let go of me, ma’am. Just sit still until the medics check you over.”

  “White man, the time will come soon when you will die for touching a Native American Princess. My man will see to it.”

  “Which one is your man, ma’am?”

  “The driver, Rex.” She looked around, “The one over there. What’s that cop doing kissing him? Stop that, cop. He ain’t queer. I can vouch for that, that man is not gay. He likes girls, loves them. Stop that.”

  “Ma’am, he is performing CPR. Rex is not breathing on his own.” He attempted to ease the woman down in the grass as the ambulance crew brought a gurney, a back board, and straps, lots of straps. She fought him until the back board was in place and the first few straps were on.

  The DPS officer looked around, seeing teams on each of the victims, he went over to the truck. The remains of paper license plates in the rear window declared the newness of the truck. Unable to read the numbers in the ash, he checked the VIN in the windshield. It was readable, but the wreck was still burning and hot.

  The fire truck pulled in as if on cue.

  As the firefighters moved in with their hoses, the DPS officer guided them with, “Try not to bust it all up. We need to examine this one.”

  “Problem?”

  “Yeah, four drunks, one of them probably dead.” Looking over at the deputy he saw the paramedic shaking his head as the deputy rose to his feet, knees green with grass and his face covered with blood. “Make that just plain one dead.”

  “You got it, don’t bust it apart much.”

  The hoses were aimed at the surrounding grass and shrubs only as the truck continued to burn.

  Finally the truck was cool enough to get near. The VIN was read and called in. The identifications of the victims were called in. Moments later Dispatch called, “2Adam19. Owner of the truck is the driver. Wants and warrants check comes up positive on two of the victims. Rex Yazzie, the driver, wanted in Apache County for failure to appear on a DUI.

  “The woman is wanted in Flagstaff for felony assault.

  “The third man has no wants or warrants, just a list of minors over the years.”

  “2Adam19. First ambulance leaving the scene now. Recommend a unit meet them at the hospital. Woman is very belligerent.”

  “Will do, 19. Let me know when the second unit leaves. Has the medical examiner arrived on scene?”

  “That’s a negative, dispatch. No ME.”

  The DPS officer walked up to Deputy Brown, “This looks funny to me,” handing a small packet to Tan.

  “What is it?”

  “It’s a medicine pouch. Only this one is different from all the others I have ever seen. Everything in it relates to war. Usually they have pollen, a fetish or two, and at least one item that means something to them personally, but this one is made up completely different. It is bigger. It doesn’t have a lanyard to go around the neck. Looks like an old fashioned wallet with a flap top.”

  “What are you saying? These folks are planning a war?”

  “No, you said that. I just said it was diffe
rent. I’m outta here. I’ll get a copy of my report to you in the morning.” He got in his unit and drove off.

  “What the heck is going on here?” Scratching his head, Tan went back to his unit and got his camera.

  After taking pictures and writing descriptions of everything from the skid marks on the exit ramp to the moldering truck, he laid the pouch on the hood of his unit and began taking pictures as he opened it and pulled out every object in the pouch. The ME pulled in as he was finishing the inventory of the pouch’s contents in his notebook.

  “Sorry I’m so long getting here. There was a fatality accident up near Tuba City that got me first. What do we have here?”

  “Dead man. Truck wreck. Rollover. Three survivors, one dead driver. Usually the driver survives and the passengers die. He’s over here.”

  After walking the fifty feet it took to get to the man, the deputy pointed to the wounds he had worked on and told of the CPR. “You better wash your face, deputy. You have blood all over it. There’s a jug of water behind the seat in my van. Feel free.” He waved his arm in the direction of the van.

  After washing his face, he returned. “What’s the verdict?”

  “He’s dead.”

  “Kinda figured that. Anything else.”

  “Yeah, you got a murder here. Stab wound to the right side. Probably cut liver and maybe a kidney. I’ll know better after the autopsy. Did you find a knife?”

  “Nope. Now that I know I am looking for something, I’ll go look for it. Easier to find when you know what you’re looking for.” He was so tired he wasn’t thinking straight.

  It took him all of five minutes to find the knife tucked under the far side of the truck. “How would the knife get there?”

  When he showed it to the ME holding it by the tip of the blade and told him where he found it, the ME said, “Murder weapons end up in the strangest places. Set it on my hood.”

  “Could he have been driving 85 and taking this exit with a wound like that, Doc?”

  “I wouldn’t think so,” responded the ME. “Seems to me the wound was inflicted after the wreck came to rest.”

  “What makes you think so?”

  “All the blood is in the headliner of the cab which was under the driver after he came to rest upside down. If he had been stabbed before the wreck, the seat would have been saturated and everybody else would be wearing it. Who had the most blood on them?”

  “The gal.”

  “She’s probably the doer of the deed. Doesn’t have to be, but most likely. Four people in that cab, any one of them could have reached him after the whole shebang came to a halt.”

  The deputy was still thinking on this and writing it all down when the ME said, “You want to tag this and enter it into the evidence chain?” He pointed to the knife.

  “You got it.” He tagged and bagged the knife before putting it in the box inside the back of his Expedition. He ran the whole thing through his mind from beginning to end just like it was a rerun of a movie picturing the truck passing him, the radar reading, the rollover, the survivors locations and getting out of the truck, and cutting the driver’s seat belt. The key was in their getting out of the truck, he was sure of that.

  He called for a hold on the white guy, as well as the others.

  Arriving at the hospital to talk to the survivors, he was told that the white guy was gone. Tan talked to the ER Supervisor. “Where are they? I ordered a hold on those three.” He showed the paperwork to the Supervisor.

  “Sorry, Sir, we were very busy around that time. I am one doctor and two nurses short this shift with all this flu going around. Somehow that information on holding those three for you never got to me. The note is not even in their files. All I can say is I’m sorry.” She turned and walked away.

  “2Adam19. Put out an all units call on accident survivor Randall Johnston, 5’9”, 135 lbs, anglo, brown and brown. May be limping and have a lump on his forehead. Wanted as a person of interest in a murder.”

  “2Adam19. 10-4. I’ll send a unit to the address on his driver’s license.”

  “Good idea.” Tan went home to bed. No sense trying to write a report in his condition. Just as he arrived home he heard, “Dispatch, unit 19 – Address on Randall Johnston is non-existent.”

  “2Adam19, 10-8, I am going to bed, goodnight.”

  #

  Shadows danced from tree to tree as shapes bobbed and weaved, merging and separating, as fire stabbed into the dark sky with long tongues of orange and yellow. Chanting, in a language as guttural as human voices can utter, cut through the flickering darkness and reached toward the gods they were to awaken. Jumping through the flames to purify themselves from the evil of the white man each man put his life on the line due to the breadth of the fire and the reach of the flames. The smell of smoke burned every nostril to the point tears and mucus flowed.

  Sixteen men, clothed as they were born except for breechcloths, burned on one side and bitter cold on the other, danced with excitement and purpose around the fire calling on their separate gods. Each man was dancing in a style similar but very different from the others. Each man reaching out to the gods of the sixteen peoples they represented. Their cry evoking their gods with the idea that the time had come for the native tribes of Arizona to do something to change the status imposed upon them by the other peoples that had entered unwelcome into their lands and stolen their identities. The whites and the browns were castigated constantly with their words. The most horrible curses of each language were screamed to the star speckled sky.

  Every man, except one, was a sincere believer of the supremacy of the old gods over the new gods of the interlopers. The other gods of the world had let them down as each of their people fell further into the mixing pot of the society around them rather than rising to the heart of their tribe or clan. Each was there to challenge the others to live their lives to the cause of freedom and independence. The time had come for action.

  One of them wasn’t all he was advertised to be. That one was not even Native American. That one was not even American, but that one had provided the drinks and food for this dance party.

  5

  Governor’s Office

  Phoenix

  8:00 AM

  The Governor walked into the reception part of her office, with her new aide a step behind reading the schedule for the day aloud. “Look, I told you, no appointments until 11 AM. What’s so hard to remember about that?”

  “Madam Governor, you know that will not work, too many people want to see you.”

  “Do not call me, Madam or ma’am. I am Governor, not the director of a house of ill repute.”

  “Yes, Governor.” She smiled with a hint of fear.

  “Send them to the department heads that cover their question. I don’t want any more whiners or kibitzers around my office. They have driven us into this problem by selling some governor or influential legislator on the need for new ways to spend money. What was that last one you read?” She stopped in her tracks and turned to face the aid.

  “A Mr. Walshime, concerning the need for more services for students in the preteen years in our schools.”

  “We don’t need more services, we need students that are held responsible and teachers that teach, along with the old fashioned sharing of the swings we used to have before every kid was plugged in all day. We don’t need any more of that phony baloney self-esteem garbage of letting everyone win. Doesn’t fly in sports, war, or the lottery, it shouldn’t in anything. The best should win and the strong come in second trying hard to win.

  “Make a note. No cell phones or MP3 type machines on the school grounds, personal or institutional.”

  “Yes, Ma’am. What do I do about Mr. Walshime?”

  “Tell him to go fly his kite at the Education Department, or on the West Lawn of a Phoenix high school.”

  “Yes, Ma’am.”

  “Scratch the cell phones note.”

  The governor walked into her private bathroom and checked
her makeup and hair, working a bit on one curl that wanted to go the wrong way. Her desk was her next stop. Pulling all the papers from her IN basket, she started through them.

  “Josie, how many times do we have to go through this stuff? This letter has four department stamps on it already. If none of them want to act upon it, neither do I. I am going to go over my methods with you one more time and if you cannot get it this time, I’ll find you another job. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, Ma’am.”

  “First of all, again, don’t call me Ma’am. I do not run a cat house. That’s twice, don’t let it happen again.”

  “Second . . .

  A half hour later, “Any questions?”

  “No, Governor.”

  “Very good. Now, what do we have that is important?”

  “Give me five minutes to go through the calendar, get my assistant on the phone calls, and I’ll let you know.” She reached down and took the stack from the IN basket off the Governor’s desk and left the room. Josie was mad and scared as she planned her next moves carefully, she needed this job. She wanted this job.

  The Governor picked up the phone and said, “Get me the Hawk, please.” She pulled out her papers on Judicial reform for Arizona and began reading, making notes in the margins.

  Coconino County Sheriff’s Office

  East Sawmill Road, Flagstaff, AZ

  8:15 AM

  Deputy Sheriff Les Brown walked into the Sheriff’s Office and headed for the nook that patrol officers got to use to do their paperwork. Someday he might have one of the offices that lined the hallway, but for now he got the privilege of using the room with four desks, all of which were somebody’s discards from years past. Finding two desks unoccupied, he took the one with the phone. He would be making calls.

  “Hey, Tan, how’s things goin’ this morning? Heard you had a nasty one last night.”

  Bubba Jackson was an old hand at being a Deputy, 14 years on the force and just made Corporal. He was always belly aching about the paperwork, and now that he was Corporal it was even worse. Bubba was the antithesis of buff. He looked sloppy fat. Six feet two inches tall and a 46 waist. The last time anyone had commented on his blubber, as he called it, he had challenged them to a takedown match and a race around Sawmill Road. The commenting deputy took him up on it. Bubba slammed him four out of four times and left him behind in the race. No one has ever taken Bubba to task on his weight since.