Santa Fe Rules

by Stuart Woods

  “Have you got paper and a pen?” Wolf asked. “I want to write this down.”

  Carreras opened a drawer in the table and took out a legal pad, then produced a ballpoint pen.

  Wolf stared at the pad for a moment, then began to write, in firm, assured strokes. When he had finished, he signed and dated what he had written, then pushed the pad across the table to Carreras. “Would you read this aloud for the tape recorder?” he asked quietly.

  Carreras nodded. “Sure, Wolf.” He arranged the microphone and held up the pad. “To whom it may concern,” he read, enunciating distinctly, “I write this, being of sound mind, and I would like to state, unequivocally and of my own volition, that I think that Captain Joe Carreras of the Santa Fe Police Department and Major Sam Warren of the New Mexico State Police can, as far as I am concerned, go and find a quiet place and fuck themselves”—the officer’s voice began to trail off—“or each other, whichever they prefer.” Carreras reached over and turned off the tape recorder.

  “And that, gentlemen,” Wolf said, “in addition to being my fervent wish, is my full and complete statement. If you have any more questions you can put them to my lawyer. This interview is over.”

  Warren’s jaw was working. “Lock him up, Joe,” he spat.

  CHAPTER

  27

  The door slammed behind Wolf, and the noise echoed down the hallway. He had never known jail cells were so small.

  He looked around the room. Three walls, a folding sink in the corner that emptied into a toilet—no seat—and two steel bunks attached to the wall. The cell was no more than six feet by eight and was lit only by the light of the waning moon through a steel-slatted window. He looked out the window: a view of a row of barred windows across a yard.

  The top bunk had a sheet, an army blanket, and a pillow resting on it. There was movement in the lower bunk, and a pair of high boots swung over the edge and landed on the concrete floor with a slap. “Welcome to purgatory,” a hoarse voice said.

  “Thanks,” Wolf replied.

  The man stood up and stretched. Wolf made him to be at least six-four and two hundred and fifty pounds. He was dressed in his boots, greasy black jeans, and a studded leather vest. No shirt.

  Biker, Wolf thought. Oh, shit.

  “Who are you,” the man said. It wasn’t a question.

  “My name’s Wolf.”

  The biker burst out laughing. “I like it, I like it!” He stuck out a hand. “I’m Spider.”

  Wolf shook the hand and found it softer and gentler than he’d feared.

  “I like it! The Spider and the Wolf!” He indicated the lower bunk. “Take a pew, Wolf. Let’s talk; it’s been three days since I talked to anybody but a screw.”

  Wolf was tired, but he didn’t like the thought of sitting next to Spider on a bunk. He walked to the window and turned, leaned on the wall. “Thanks, but I’ve been sitting for the last hour. I need to stretch.”

  “Sounds like they been talking to you.”

  “Right.”

  “What you in for, Wolf?”

  Wolf hesitated, then realized this might be his best card. “Triple murder,” he said.

  “No shit!” Spider said, awed. “Did you do it?”

  “The two guys I just talked to think so.”

  “They offer you a deal?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Did you take it?”

  “No.”

  “Smart, like a wolf.” Spider laughed. “Never take a deal; that’s my policy. Tough it out.”

  “What’re you in for, Spider?”

  “Aw, they say I hit a guy upside the head with a bike chain a few times. It’s a bullshit rap. If I’d hit the guy upside the head with a bike chain, he wouldn’t have a head no more.”

  “They offer you a deal?”

  “Sure, sure, second degree assault, down from assault with a deadly weapon. One to three, they said.”

  “What’ll you get if you’re convicted?”

  “Two to five, since I’ve got no priors. Oh, I been busted, but I never done no time. Don’t worry, I won’t do none this time, neither.”

  “How come?” Wolf was interested. He’d never met anybody who was experienced with the system in this way, let alone a biker.

  “Because when they talk to the guy, he’s not going to point the finger at me.”

  “They haven’t talked to him yet? I thought you said you’d been in here three days.”

  “Oh, yeah, but last I heard, the guy hadn’t come around yet.”

  “Come around?” Wolf was baffled.

  “Regained consciousness,” Spider explained.

  “Is he going to come around?”

  “Oh, sure. I didn’t hit him that hard.”

  “Why did you…ah, why did this guy get hit?”

  “He was messing with my old lady, you know?”

  Wolf didn’t know. What kind of idiot would mess with this guy’s girlfriend? “Oh.”

  “Can’t let a guy get away with that, can you?”

  “Let me give you some advice, Spider. Never tell anybody in jail what you’ve done.”

  Spider looked hard at Wolf. “You some kind of fink?”

  “If I was, I wouldn’t be giving you that kind of advice, would I?”

  Spider nodded. “That makes sense, I guess. You’d be amazed how guys talk to each other in the slammer.”

  “You mean they confess to each other?”

  “All the time, man. I guess they just need somebody to talk to. I’m glad you’re here; I haven’t had nobody to talk to for three days.”

  “You live in Santa Fe?” Wolf asked.

  “At the moment. I’m a free man, you know? I go where the bike takes me.”

  “What kind of bike?”

  “You kidding? A Hog—a Harley, you know?—that’s all there is.”

  “Somebody taking care of the bike for you?”

  “The old lady. She can’t pick it up if it falls over, and she can’t kick-start it, but she can ride the motherfucker!”

  Wolf laughed at the thought. “She sounds like she’s okay.”

  “Fuckin’ A, man.” Spider paused. “Tell me something, man, what’d those dudes say they got on you? I’d like to know.”

  “Oh, they said they’ve got a witness who saw me having lunch with somebody I never heard of; they said they’ve got another guy who saw me in the room where three people were killed.”

  “That sounds familiar,” Spider mused.

  “What?”

  “That second witness. There’s a guy in here told me he saw something like that. Said it was going to get him on the street.”

  “In jail? Here?”

  “Yeah. I was out in the yard this morning; there’s this guy, oh, one of them spic names, you know? Makes out to be some kind of cat burglar. I bet he’d stumble over his own feet. Anyway, he was telling me this shit, says he’s going to beat a burglary rap with what he saw.”

  “That’s very interesting. I think my lawyer would like to know about that.”

  “Who you got for a mouthpiece?”

  “A guy named Ed Eagle.”

  “That Indian dude? I hear he’s hot shit. How’d you get him?”

  “Friend of a friend.”

  “Well, Wolf, you got some kind of friends out there. What line are you in?”

  “I make movies.”

  “No shit! Anything I might have seen?”

  Wolf rattled off half a dozen titles.

  Spider looked puzzled. “I don’t know any of them ones. You made any movies with Arnold Schwarzenegger?”

  “Nope.”

  “I like that dude! He knows how to kick ass!”

  “Yeah, I guess he does, at that. He kicks some ass at the studios, too.”

  “Yeah, I heard he’s got ’em by the balls out there in Hollywood. They have to pay him whatever he wants.”

  “That just about sums it up,” Wolf agreed.

  “Do you know any movie stars?”

 
“A few, I guess,” Wolf replied. “Nobody as big as Schwarzenegger, though.”

  “You know Madonna?”

  “I met her once at a party after an opening—didn’t really talk to her, just shook her hand.”

  “No shit? You know Madonna?”

  “Not really, Spider. I just shook her hand.”

  “I’ll be fucked; my cellmate shook Madonna’s hand. Christ, I’d like to stick it in her!”

  “A lot of guys would, I guess.”

  Spider laughed. “Crystal would cut my pecker off, though, if I did that. She wouldn’t care if it was Madonna or not.”

  “Your old lady sounds like a tough cookie.”

  “You better believe it! She don’t take no shit from nobody, not even me! You know, when I hit that guy, I was sort of protecting him; Crystal would have cut his fucking heart out, if I’d let her at him. Oh, forget I said that.”

  “It’s forgotten.”

  “Well, I’m going to get some shut-eye, I guess,” Spider said, swinging his boots back onto the bunk.

  “Good idea. I think I’ll try it, too.”

  “You need any help gettin up top, Wolf?”

  “I can manage, Spider. Thanks anyway.”

  “Sure.”

  Wolf spread the sheet and blanket, then hoisted himself up on the bunk. He didn’t bother undressing; he was exhausted. Wolf wondered where the hell Ed Eagle was, and what he was going to do about this. But right now he didn’t care; he just wanted to sleep. He was almost out when Spider spoke up again.

  “Hey, Wolf?”

  “Yeah, Spider?”

  “You’re an okay guy, for an educated dude, and all that.”

  “Thanks, Spider.”

  “You know that spic? The cat burglar?”

  “Hmmm, yeah.” Wolf was nearly gone.

  “I think I’ll have a word with him in the yard tomorrow morning.”

  Wolf didn’t reply. He was out.

  CHAPTER

  28

  Wolf came awake with something heavy on his chest. He opened his eyes and saw his cellmate staring at him; Spider’s huge hand was shaking him.

  “Breakfast, Wolf,” Spider said. “I would have woke you up earlier, but you looked like you needed the sleep.”

  There was an amazing amount of noise in the jail: People were yelling at each other in English and Spanish, somebody was singing, there were half a dozen radios tuned to different stations. He was surprised he’d slept through it all.

  The cell door slid noisily open.

  “Let’s go, buddy,” Spider said. “They don’t let you sleep through breakfast here.”

  Wolf followed Spider out of the cell, and they joined a long line of prisoners shuffling down the hallway. They emerged into a large room that wasn’t very different from the school cafeteria at Wolf’s high school; he wasn’t sure exactly on which facility that was a comment. He picked up a steel tray and followed Spider through the line, watching, appalled, as white-suited servers covered his tray with dollops of polenta, beans, a slice of half-cooked, streaky bacon, and a serving of green Jell-O. At the end of the line he was handed a paper cup of coffee and a packet of cream and two sugar cubes.

  Spider picked a table, and a couple of men got up to give him room. Indicating that Wolf should sit beside him, Spider sat down and immediately began to stare fixedly toward the food line.

  Wolf followed his gaze to a stocky Latino who was just picking up a tray when he realized Spider was looking at him. The man stood frozen for a moment, like a deer caught in headlights, then dropped his tray and left the room.

  “What was that all about?” Wolf whispered.

  “That’s the dude going to testify against you at your arraignment this morning,” Spider replied. “I just give ’im the look.”

  “Arraignment?”

  “Yeah, sure; that’s what they do when they charge you with murder. You gotta be arraigned.”

  Wolf’s practice of law had not included arraignments, but he realized that Spider was right.

  “You didn’t know that?” Spider asked.

  “I should have, but I didn’t,” Wolf admitted.

  “You’ll be okay with that Indian dude. Just keep your mouth shut and let him do the talking.”

  “Right. What was that about a ’look’?”

  “That’s the look. You gotta have a look to keep these spics in line, you know?”

  “Oh.” Wolf looked around the dining hall and realized that eighty or ninety percent of those present were Hispanics.

  “Otherwise, a white guy has got no chance in a place like this. You gotta give ’em the look, and you better be able to back it up, too. ’Course, with me, the look is just about always enough. Cons are scared shitless of bikers; they know we don’t give a shit. I don’t have to do much fighting.”

  “I’m not surprised,” Wolf said. He was thinking about the arraignment now, and what the hell he would do if Ed Eagle didn’t show.

  “Spider, my lawyer may not know I’m in here. What should I do if he isn’t at the arraignment?”

  “Well, you got three choices,” Spider said, slurping up his beans. “You can ask for a postponement of the arraignment, but then they put you back in here. You can ask for a P.D.—that’s a public defender—but you’ll either get some kid still wet behind the ears, or some old rummy can’t make a living anyways else. Or you can represent yourself.”

  “What do you do in those circumstances?”

  “Oh, I always take the P.D. See, I know what’s going on in there, and if he drops the ball, I pick it up.”

  Wolf picked at his food and tried to remember what went on at an arraignment. He hadn’t thought about that since the second year of law school, and he was embarrassed to ask Spider.

  “Ain’t you hungry?” Spider asked, eyeing Wolf’s tray.

  “No, I’m not,” Wolf said. “Do I have to eat it?”

  “I’ll do it for you,” Spider said, stacking Wolf’s tray on top of his empty one.

  “Thanks.”

  “Don’t mention it,” Spider replied, tucking into the polenta.

  After breakfast, they were taken back to their cell.

  “Hop up on your bunk a minute, will you, Wolf?” Spider asked.

  Wolf got out of his cellmate’s way.

  Spider spread his blanket on the floor and started doing push-ups, counting aloud.

  Wolf watched, fascinated, as Spider did fifty push-ups, then as many sit-ups. He did a hundred deep knee-bends, then ran in place for ten minutes. When he finished, he was drenched in sweat.

  “It’s shower day for me,” Spider said, “so it’s okay to break a sweat.”

  The cell door suddenly opened, and a guard appeared. “Willett, you’re up for arraignment. Let’s go.”

  Spider offered him a hand down and a firm handshake. “Good luck, Wolf. You ever need any help, just phone me up at a bar called the Gun Club and leave a message. I’ll get back to you.”

  “Thanks, Spider.” He thought of giving the biker his own number, but shuddered at the thought of Spider coming to call. He began to regret that one of his phone numbers was in the Santa Fe directory.

  “Let’s go, Willett,” the guard said, dangling a pair of handcuffs.

  Wolf got into his coat and allowed himself to be cuffed with his hands behind him, then followed the guard. In a vestibule before the last barred door, he was handcuffed in tandem with seven other men, and they were marched outside and into a van. The cold air bit hard, and since both his hands were handcuffed to others, Wolf was unable to button his coat. The van pulled out onto Airport Road, then turned left on Cerrillos and headed into town. All the men were quiet. Nobody met anybody else’s eye. The only view out of the van was to the rear, through a heavy steel screen. Santa Fe was going to work.

  Twenty minutes later the van halted, and a police officer opened the rear doors. The eight men were hustled out and into a rear door of the Santa Fe County Courthouse. They entered a room furnished with b
enches, and one by one their handcuffs were unlocked, then refastened with their hands in front of them. Wolf remembered that he hadn’t used the toilet that morning.

  Wolf sat in the room for nearly two hours. He was taken to a men’s room and allowed to urinate once, but not to linger for other business. He was hungry now.

  A guard came into the room, looked at a clipboard, and shouted, “Willett!”

  Wolf stood up, and his handcuffs were removed. Massaging his wrists, he followed the guard to the door and found himself in a large courtroom. He looked around for Ed Eagle, who was nowhere to be seen.

  “People versus Willett, arraignment,” the bailiff called. Wolf looked around and saw District Attorney Bob Martinez at a table in the well of the court.

  “Is the defendant represented?” the judge asked.

  “His attorney of record is not present,” Martinez replied.

  “Bring up Willett,” the judge called.

  A guard led Wolf into the well of the court, before the bench.

  “Mr. Willett, you are represented by…” the judge consulted a paper on his desk, “ah, Ed Eagle,” he said. “Where is Mr. Eagle?”

  “Your honor, I was arrested last night without warning, and I have been unable to reach Mr. Eagle,” Wolf said.

  “Well, Mr. Martinez, you and I both know what kind of hell Ed Eagle will raise if we arraign his client in his absence. Do you have a suggestion?”

  “I suggest we return Willett to the city jail, Your Honor,” Martinez replied. “I tried to reach Mr. Eagle last evening and failed.”

  “I see,” the judge said. “Well, Mr. Willett, it looks like you’re going to have to be the guest of the county until Mr. Eagle turns up. Unless you’d like a public defender?”

  Wolf wanted desperately not to return to that cell, but he hung on. “I’d like to wait for Mr. Eagle, Your Honor,” he said.

  “Very well—”

  “Your honor, Mr. Willett’s counsel is present!” The voice came from the rear of the courtroom.

  Wolf turned to see Ed Eagle striding down the aisle and into the well of the court.

  He came and stood next to Wolf. “Your Honor, I apologize for my tardiness, but I was in Los Angeles when I received both Mr. Martinez’s and Mr. Willett’s messages late last night. I have only just returned. May I have a moment to consult with my client?”