by Ted Clifton
Ray was curious about Big Jack, but since he’d only known him a few days it didn’t seem polite to start asking nosy questions. Plus, all indications were that Big Jack would tell Ray to mind his own fuckin’ business. He knew from past experience that a lot of the people who chose to live around the lake had histories that they preferred to keep to themselves.
The second session with Tyee was much friendlier and the time passed quickly. He showed Ray all sorts of things about combinations of lures and baits. Ray practiced more casting and listened while Tyee told him about lake maps and instruments to measure depth. Some of this tangible information was becoming more and more linked to the magic Tyee had mentioned the first day. Ray couldn’t believe how many complications there were in the world of fishing.
Close to the end of their second day Ray asked Tyee how it was that he came to be at Elephant Butte. Well—wrong question.
“I’m fishing guide and damn good fishing guide. My past my business.”
Any warmth Ray had been sensing must have been just the sun—the guy was still a very unpleasant companion. Ray settled the fee just like he had the first day, but Tyee didn’t shake Ray’s hand. He had no idea why it was such a crime to ask a man about himself, but lesson learned. Ray had also noticed that several times the stereotypical movie-Indian patter had dropped away for a moment before returning. It was apparent that there was much more to learn about his new fishing guide.
They agreed that the next lesson would be from Big Jack’s dock on Tuesday. Tyee said he was going to have Ray try various tasks related to handling fish—unhooking them and such—and Big Jack always had some live fish on hand. For the first time, Ray realized he hadn’t really thought about what he would do if he actually caught a fish. He wasn’t squeamish by any means, but handling fish wasn’t something he would seek out as a hobby.
He headed back to Big Jack’s and found Happy more or less in the same spot he’d been in when Ray had left. Happy jumped up and made his day with a tremendous, joyful greeting. Ray thanked Big Jack for his help and Big Jack flashed what appeared to be a genuine smile, saying that Happy could visit him anytime he liked. Happy went over and gave Big Jack a lick—one brave dog.
Tuesday
Ray and Happy were at Big Jack’s bright and early the next morning, and to Ray’s surprise the place was doing a booming business. All this fishing stuff being new to Ray, he hadn’t realized that Big Jack did almost all of his daily business in the early morning hours. People came in to get their supplies for the day, to purchase gas at the dock, and to shoot the shit with Big Jack about where the best fishing would be that day—and of course Big Jack always had an opinion.
Ray and Happy stepped around people as they squeezed through the store’s tight aisles and headed out onto the dock. Ray saw Tyee working on some equipment out toward the end of the dock—he headed that way.
“You have dog now?”
The man just radiated warmth.
“Well, he’s maybe just visiting—not sure. His name is Happy.”
“Good name for dog.”
Tyee knelt down and gave Happy a scratch behind his ears. Happy responded and decided to stay close to Tyee in case the man decided to rub him again. Tyee smiled. Well—that might just be a first.
Tyee began showing Ray various items that should be in any tackle box. He pulled out a few things, explaining how they were used. This went on for some time. Happy had found a quiet corner of the dock and went to sleep—a primary dog function.
“Hey Ray. You’ve got a call from the sheriff’s office.” That was Big Jack yelling from the store’s back door.
“Be back in just a minute.” Tyee may have grunted something, but Ray wasn’t sure.
“Hello, this is Ray Pacheco.”
“Hello, sheriff, this is Cindy at the Sierra County sheriff’s office.”
“Well hello, Cindy. Did something happen about the dog?”
“Sort of—Deputy Martinez was wondering if you could come by the office as soon as possible. He’d like to talk to you.”
“Well sure. I’m kind of in the middle of something how about in a couple of hours—would that be okay?”
“I guess so, Sheriff Pacheco. I think the deputy was pretty anxious to see you, but I’ll tell him it will be a couple of hours.” She hung up. Some of her perkiness was missing today.
Ray walked back out to where Tyee was still working. He no doubt had a concerned look on his face as he tried to figure out what the call was about.
“You look worried Ray. Problem?”
“Well not sure, could be or could be nothing. When Happy showed up at my cabin I could see he wasn’t an ordinary stray and the next day, yesterday, I went to the sheriff’s office and filed a report in case someone was looking for him. That was Cindy at the sheriff’s office saying Deputy Martinez wants to see me ASAP. It could be about the dog, but she didn’t say. So maybe I should postpone our session today. Of course I’ll pay you for the hours we were planning today.”
“No need to pay out for nothing. I will go with you. See what they want.”
Ray wasn’t sure what to think about that—being nosy was one thing he never would have guessed about Tyee Chino.
“Sure come along.”
They picked up all of the equipment and stored it back in Tyee’s boat. Tyee didn’t have a car, according to Big Jack, but could get most places with his boat and a little walking. They got into Ray’s Jeep with Happy in the back and headed towards T or C.
“You know Deputy Martinez is an asshole?”
An actual conversation with Tyee? Ray wasn’t sure how to respond. “Actually Tyee, I’ve only met Deputy Martinez once and that was some time ago. I don’t really remember much about him. He was kind of Hector’s assistant wasn’t he?”
“Martinez was more like a lackey. Sheriff Hector Hermes was a drug dealing useless human being and Martinez was his trainee. Every bad thing the old sheriff was back then, Martinez is now, plus some new ones. Starting with him being the mayor’s son. The only reason he was ever hired was that his dad, no doubt, had something on Sheriff Hermes. These backward people run this little town like it’s their own little fiefdom.”
What in the world was this? Tyee speaking in full sentences with nouns, verbs, and everything. What happened to the fishing guide speak?
“Tyee, what happened to your old way of speaking?”
“Most of that’s an act. Some of it’s just me being lazy. Before life kicked me in the gut I graduated from UNM with a degree in computer science and a second major in English Lit. Then things started going bad for me—bad marriage to a good person—and suddenly I was a drunk. I’m still a drunk. But now I’m a fishing guide competing for tourist business and the man-of-few-words Indian act is a good front. Everybody knows Indians know everything about fishing, hunting, tracking—you know, all that Indian stuff. And a drunk Indian speaking in a monosyllabic way—it just fit right into everyone’s narrow perception of what an Indian fishing guide should be. I mostly just use it on tourists and the occasional asshole. And I don’t mean you’re an asshole, Ray. I thought you were a tourist since Big Jack sent you. ”
Ray looked over at Tyee and it was like he was seeing a different person. He laughed. “Well, that’s something. I’m not sure I like this turn of events. I’d grown real fond of your Hollywood Indian ways.”
“Don’t worry, Ray. It’s still there when it’s needed—it’s become part of who I am. But I have to be careful—if some of my relatives from the rez saw my act they just might shoot me.”
“Well I guess that means Big Jack knows all about this charade?”
“Listen, the whole Big Jack persona is complete bullshit. Big Jack used to be a lawyer in L.A. Had his own drinking demons, along with women problems, and he was disbarred or something. Pulled up stakes and headed east. Stopped here for god knows what reason and stumbled into Big Jack’s place. Apparently he left L.A. with a pile of money—he offered the real Big Jack more m
oney than the place was worth and presto he was suddenly Big Jack—never to be found by ex-wives or the IRS.”
“Fucking amazing. That’s hard to believe. He’s the perfect Big Jack and it’s all made up. I’ll be damned, I seem to be the only person who really is who they say they are.” This caused Ray to start a deep, genuine laugh—then Tyee joined in, and then Happy wagged his tail even harder.
“So who is Big Jack really?”
“No can tell, swore secrecy.”
This generated another round of laughter. Ray felt like he was part of a conspiracy—or maybe it was a family.
They pulled into the parking lot at the sheriff’s office.
“Hey Cindy. I got away a little early. Is Deputy Martinez available?”
“Oh hello, sheriff. Let me see.” Cindy seemed uneasy. She picked up the phone and pushed a button, then said something into the phone that Ray couldn’t hear.
“Sheriff said he’ll be with you in just a minute.”
“Thanks, Cindy.”
“In just a minute” turned out to be more like twenty minutes. Ray was annoyed because this felt like one-upmanship on Martinez’s part. He hated these kinds of games. He knew it went on in almost every human encounter, but it was still a waste of time and energy.
Martinez entered the room like he was running for political office and was there to greet voters: big smile, big handshake, big phony.
“Good morning sheriff. Glad you could come down and visit.” They shook hands, and Ray introduced Tyee. Martinez didn’t shake Tyee’s hand.
“The Indian can wait out here.”
“Tyee is with me. If you don’t want to meet with us, we’ll leave.” This was said in a voice that would make it clear to anyone, even a jerk like Martinez, that there was no room for discussion.
Martinez looked at Ray, then at Tyee. There was a dull look in his eyes, as if he didn’t really understand what was going on.
“Yeah, well come on back to my office.” He showed Ray and Tyee, along with Happy, into his small, cluttered office.
“So this must be the dog you found.”
“Probably more accurate to say he found me. Showed up in the evening three days ago. Let’s see—that would have been Saturday evening.”
Martinez continued, “We believe the dog belongs to a woman who was staying at the Hot Springs Inn Friday night. She apparently went missing on Saturday. The Inn called in a missing person report Saturday morning, but for some reason nothing was done until her ex-husband and the El Paso police called on Monday looking for information about her. Any chance you happen to know this woman, Monica Jackson?”
“Nope. Never heard of her. Was her car still at the Inn?”
“I’ll ask the questions, Mr. Pacheco.”
Okay, ask away asshole. Ray knew this guy was a jerk and probably didn’t have a clue about how to investigate a missing person, but he just shut up anyway and waited.
“Look Sheriff Pacheco, I didn’t mean to be rude. Her car was at the Firestone store getting some new tires. That’s why she was staying at the Inn—they had to have the tires brought up from El Paso. No doubt for some reason her dog was let out in your area on Saturday, the day she disappeared. We probably should have been on top of this earlier but one of my deputies, and Cindy out front, dropped the ball. At this point we have no evidence as to what happened with her, so we’re just asking questions to see if anything turns up.”
“Well, Deputy, I don’t know anything except what I’ve told you. Are you going to take the dog until this is resolved?”
“Actually, if you’re willing, it might be best if you could keep him until we either find the owner or have someone show up wanting to take possession—is that agreeable to you?”
“Sure, I suppose that’s okay with me.” Ray stood to leave. Martinez didn’t seem to be done.
“Since you’re living up here now, maybe you know we’re having a special election for sheriff—just wanted to make sure you knew I was running. It would be great to have your vote and support.” This was accompanied by what appeared to be a practiced smile that by all appearances was painful for Martinez to use.
“I’d heard about the special election but I’m not real familiar with the candidates. I’ll look into it and see who should get my support. Thanks for your time, Deputy.”
Ray had previously had no interest in who became sheriff of Sierra County, but he did now—pretty much anyone but this guy. As they left, he could tell that Cindy had been crying—no doubt after a good reprimand by Martinez. Ray guessed it was because she’d failed to create a report about Ray reporting the dog he had found. While he felt sorry for Cindy, having to deal with such a pompous ass, it was one of the basics of law enforcement to make sure information was reported and shared.
As they neared the Jeep another Deputy approached Ray.
“Hi, I’m Deputy Clayton. I know you’ve been in talking to Deputy Martinez about the Jackson woman and I just wanted to let you know that I met the woman and there was a threat made against her on Friday.”
“Deputy Clayton, nice to meet you. Actually, weren’t you part of a joint task force between Sierra and Dona Ana counties a few years ago?”
“Yeah, I was Sheriff Pacheco. I really learned a lot on that task force.”
“I’d ask you what’s going on but I have a feeling Deputy Martinez wouldn’t like you talking to me.”
“No, he wouldn’t. But I don’t give a shit what he likes. I’m running against him for the sheriff’s job. In a month or so I’m either the sheriff—not very likely—or I’m fired, which is way more likely. He can’t fire me now because it’s against county ordinances as long as I’m his opponent. But I’m gone as soon as he’s elected. So I’m more than pleased to talk to you about this matter with Ms. Jackson.”
“You sound a little defeatist about the election—is Martinez that popular?”
“Not with anyone who works with him—he’s one-hundred percent asshole, maybe even a little more. Has been since he became a deputy. Sheriff Hermes ignored all of the complaints about Martinez because his father’s the mayor. That’s also why I have no hope of being elected sheriff—his father has all of the political pull and influence to convince people to elect his son—and those people don’t want to make an enemy of the mayor.”
“Should go after people vote. Let assholes vote for asshole.” This was Tyee in his most Indian-wisdom-conquers-all manner.
“Deputy, this is my friend Tyee Chino.” There was a slight smile when Ray described Tyee as his friend.
The Deputy nodded towards Tyee. “What do you mean people vote?”
“Lots of people live around the lake and not in T or C who are eligible to vote for county sheriff and don’t care about small town politics—my guess is that they outnumber townspeople about three to one—if me, I would seek that vote.”
The deputy was obviously open to suggestions. They stood around and talked some more about the election. Ray was wondering how he could help this young deputy defeat Martinez.
“Deputy, would you be available to meet this evening at Big Jack’s to talk about strategy for your election?”
“My god, sheriff, does that mean you’d help me?”
“That’s exactly what it means.”
They agreed to meet at eight at Big Jack’s. Now Ray just had to tell Big Jack about the meeting—the one that would be at his place.
“Deputy, you mentioned earlier that the Jackson woman had been threatened—what was that about?” Ray asked.
Clayton told Ray everything he knew, including the contents of the threatening note. He said the woman hadn’t seemed all that worried and had assumed it was some kind of mistake. Clayton’s impression was the exact opposite: he thought the note and the tire slashing were definitely directed at Ms. Jackson. The deputy also thought that whoever left the note and slashed her tires was behind her disappearance, but he said that Martinez had basically instructed everyone to just drop it unless something new ha
ppened.
Clayton told Ray that Jackson’s car was still at the Firestone store and that her belongings had been left in her room at the Inn. No one at the Inn had seen anything suspicious Friday or Saturday. She was supposed to get her car that morning and the Inn staff was going to drive her to the Firestone store. Around nine they had called her room and there was no answer. They waited until about 9:30 to try again—then got worried when she didn’t answer. They opened her room and discovered she was gone.
The Inn called the sheriff’s office and Clayton had gone there to investigate. He’d found nothing—no evidence of a forced entry or a struggle—she was just gone.
“Thanks, Deputy. Sounds like there are a lot of loose ends on this case. Guess your sheriff isn’t going to do much of anything except blame other people for screwing up. If you can do it without getting in trouble, keep me informed.”
Ray and Tyee headed back to the car.
“Do you think we can help Clayton become sheriff?” Ray asked Tyee.
“I do, Ray. Obviously you have all of the experience of running for sheriff, you know what he should talk about in meetings and things like that. What I can do is get a list of all of the eligible voters in the county. Then we can figure out how to meet with as many of them as possible and ask for their vote.”
“How can you get a list of voters?”
“Couple of ways. One, public information is available as to who’s registered—so we can request that. I think the big thing is that we need to get people to register who haven’t before. That information we’ll have to resource ourselves. I’ve got some computers and modems that are still functional-- if I can hook them up, maybe in a back room at Big Jack’s with access to his phone line—I think you might be amazed at what I can uncover.”
“I seem to remember that the turn-out for Sierra County elections was incredibly small. I bet the election’s decided by fewer than a couple hundred votes. If we could get some of the non-town county citizens to become active Clayton might win in a landslide.” Ray was getting excited.
