by Don Bullis
―You know, Doc,‖ Herm said as the officers entered the crush of Los Angeles traffic on Interstate 10, ―if we was really gung-ho, we'd go by the jail house, pick up our prisoner and head straight for home.‖
―We gung-ho?‖
―I'm gung-ho enough to suggest that we hole-up for the night. Get a few beers. Look for some dollies. We can get Peters in the a. m. and head for home. What say, Doc? Spend the night in L. A.?‖
―I ain't got no orders to the contrary, Herm. You know any place in particular.‖
―Let's just find the ocean and take it from there.‖
They found a motel on Santa Monica Boulevard with a night club next door to it and Budwister declared it a perfect spot. Both officers ate too little and drank too much and they spent most of their pocket money on a couple of young ladies who didn't slip away from the motel room until the wee hours of the morning. Herman proclaimed his pipes cleaned and the evening a success.
―Ladies of easy virtue should be favored by God,‖ he said, ―for how they help poor ignorant southern boys visiting in strange and sinful cities.‖
With churning guts and aching heads, the officers took possession of Joe Peters before noon and headed for Albuquerque. They drove out of Los Angeles and headed for Barstow. A typical desert spring day: clear, hot, glaringly bright and the wind never stopped blowing.
Peters spoke up from the back seat. ―Hey, Budweiser man. You gonna keep me hog-tied all the way back?‖
―Let's get off on the right foot, Joe. I've got one hell of a headache and I'm in no mood for your dipadee jive. My name is Budwister. Use it correctly, with Mister in front of it. If you don't, and if you continue to try and dazzle me with your repartee, I‘ll ask Agent Spurlock here to pull off the road, at which time I will pound desert sand up your ass until you puke dirt. You understand me?‖
―Yeah, man. I understand. Mister Budwister. You gonna take these cuffs off me, or what? You know, it ain't cool bein' chained up like some kind of a damn black nigger slave, man.‖
―We'll see. You behave yourself and maybe we will.‖
They drove along in silence. At Barstow, Doc turned east on Interstate 40 and ran his speed up to ninety.
―You have to drive so damn fast man?‖ Peters asked. ―I ain‘t in no big hurry to get back to Albajerky, man.‖
―Damn, you worry a lot, Joe. Relax. It won't hurt much. You won't hardly know it even happened to you.‖
―What, man? What the hell you talking about, man?‖
―Killin' your ass, man. You know, man? You hip, man? Shooting you full of fucking holes, man.‖
―Hey, man, that ain't funny.‖
―I didn't think it was funny. Doc, did you think it was funny? What I said?‖
―Tell you what I think‘s funny, Herm. I didn't bring no extra ammunition. All I got is what's in my gun. We get done shootin' this ol‘ boy here and I'll only have one or two cartridges left. What if we run into an Indian attack or a stagecoach robbery between Flagstaff and Albuquerque? Be in a hell of a fix, wouldn't we?‖
―Don't worry about it, Doc. I got some extra. You can shoot Joe's poor skinny ass ‗til your heart is content.‖
―Ok. You guys can knock it off. I got rights. You can't treat me like this, threatening me and everything.‖ Peters and his voice quivered.
―You hear any threat, Doc?‖
―Nope. I heard you say we was gonna shoot him. That ain't a threat, is it?‖
―I don't think so. You hear him say somethin‘ about his rights?‖ ―Yeah, I did. What do you reckon he meant by that?‖
―I'll ask. Just what are your rights, Joe? Why don't you tell me and old Doc here what they are.‖
―You know what they are. You got ‗em memorized. And you can't just go out and shoot a person, either.‖
―Let me tell you about your rights, Joe, and you're right when you say you got ‗em. But that's only when anyone‘s watchin‘. See, over there in Albuquerque, in the Old Lib, you got rights because someone‘s always watchin‘: Cato, couple winos, bartender. I couldn't punch your lights out because those people protected your rights for you. And over in the jailhouse, too. I bust your ass, and there's always somebody around to protect your rights: other cops, jailers, lawyers, other maggots. Always somebody. But now you take this desert out here. We turn off on one of these little roads, go a couple miles around a curve and over a hill, it's a whole different set of rules. No one's watching. Me and Doc decide what your rights are, and how long you get to have them rights before we blow your damn head off.‖
―You couldn't get away with it. Even cops. I mean, those L. A. jail people know you picked me up. They know I'm with you!‖
―They know, but they ain't watching. We might have to struggle and strain our brains to come up with a story about what happened to you, but hell, we'll manage. We're cops. It won't matter to you anyway. Coyotes‘ll get to you first. They're partial to the lower torso and the genitals. They'll chew off your dick and eat out your asshole. Then vultures‘ll swoop down and take their time as they peck big chunks of rotting flesh off yer bones. Crows‘ll get your eyes. Flies, ants and centipedes‘ll go to work on what's left. After a few months, all them scavengers‘ll leave you alone because you won‘t be nothin‘ but bones in the sun. Clean, white bones and your skull will be half full of sand and snakes will be crawlin' in and out of your eye holes.‖
―This is bad shit, man, what you're talking, Mister Budwister.‖ Peters began to sweat. The armpits of his blue cotton work shirt darkened as perspiration soaked them in widening circles.
―You lookin' for a road to turn on, Doc?‖
―I seen one back there that looked pretty good but then I got to thinkin‘. When we came across here yesterday I noticed a road sign to Death Valley and a place called the Devil‘s Playground. We can run up there and dump his ass. Hell, they‘s probably so many skeletons out there that nobody'll even notice one more.‖
―Good, Doc, good. You're always thinkin‘. Death Valley. Hell, that's almost poetic. Don't you agree, Joe? I'll bet you never thought you'd end up dead in Death Valley, did you? Or in the Devil's Playground, either.‖
―I never killed anyone, Mister Budwister.‖
Budwister turned his back on Peters and watched the barren scenery go by. A large billboard appeared on the near horizon. It proclaimed a desert oasis two miles further along.
―Pull in up there, Doc. I want to get a six pack.‖
―A six pack of what?‖
―Beer. What else?‖
―You know, Herm, this is a state car, and all, I ....‖
―Screw it, Doc. I got a parched throat and a hangover. I need a cold beer. Besides, I figure old Joe here might want to quiet his nerves before we get out to that Devil's Playground.‖
Doc pulled into the driveway of the Running Indian Oasis and Herm went inside and bought the beer. When he returned to the car, he took Peters out of the back seat, removed his handcuffs and stuffed him back in the car. Joe'd noticed that handles and window cranks were missing from each of the car's rear doors.
―Have a beer, Joe. You want one, Doc?‖
―Better not.‖
―Here's the drill, Joe,‖ Herman said, half turning in the seat. ―I got my duty .38 on the seat right beside me here. I got a drop gun handy, too. Doc's got a big old .357 in a shoulder holster and a sawed-off shotgun clipped to the front seat. You even wiggle like you're tryin‘ to escape from us and we'll scatter your various parts all over that back seat. We won't wait for the Devil's Playground.‖
Peters gulped his beer, greedily and nervously, like he might never have another.
―You get a chance to read the warrant we got for you, Joe?‖
―I read it. It don't say I killed them people.‖
―You're right. It doesn't. But the criminal complaint does, and I think you did it. I think you're the one that killed Bud Rice and Blanche Brown. I think Billy Ray White is just a figment of your imagination, and Sipe's and Cato'
s, too.‖
―No, man, no. He's real. Believe me.‖
―Tell you what, Joe. You just shut up and drink your beer. Me and Doc‘ll let you know what we decide about you. And your rights.‖
The officers stopped for the night in Flagstaff and deposited Peters in the Coconino County jail. They passed an uneventful evening and resumed their trip before ten o‘clock the next morning.
―You know what we forgot, Doc?‖ Herman asked as they passed the town of Two Guns.
―No. What?‖
―We forgot to stop and shoot this son-of-a-bitch. He's still here with us.‖
―Come on, man,‖ Peters said. ―Don't do that shit again, man. It ain't cool at all, man.‖
―Tell you what, Joe, you just answer me a couple questions, and I won't mention another word about it. What say?‖
―What questions?‖
―You kill them people at Budville, Joe? That man and old woman? You shoot them full of holes?‖
―I did not do it. I didn't kill nobody, man. That's the truth, too.‖
―Who did kill ‗em, Joe? Tell me that.‖
―I don't know. Maybe Billy Ray Stirling, or whatever he calls himself. He could have, but I don't know it.‖
―What do you mean you don't know? You were in on the deal from day one.‖
―He paid me two yards to get a car. I did that. I left it where he told me and I picked it up next morning. Had to hot-wire it. He must of kept the key. I never saw who drove it, and I never seen him again after I dropped off the car.‖
―So what‘re you sayin‘?‖
―Cato or Sipe. Either one of them could of done the score, too. Or even both of them. I don't know. I'm just saying maybe they could of. Know what I mean?‖
―Yeah, Joe, I know what you mean. You mean to say you didn't do it.‖
―No sir, Mister Budwister. I did not do it.‖
Doc stopped in Holbrook and bought hamburgers and fries for everyone and then stopped at the edge of town so Herman could buy a six-pack of beer before they continued east toward Albuquerque.
―You want to stop and see your old lady in Gallup?‖ Herman asked Doc when they got back on the road after fueling up in Saunders. ―I'll keep an eye on numb-nuts here if you want a quickie.‖
―I reckon not. I already got a headache.‖
―Suit yourself. At least stop for another six-pack.‖ Herman made himself comfortable and dozed off to sleep.
They pulled into Albuquerque just after six o'clock on Thursday evening. Wilcoxson and Chief Paul Shaver were waiting in the jail's interrogation room. Shaver was the last person in the world Herman wanted to see just then. He took the cuffs off Peters and sat him down in a chair at the end of a long table. He walked over and stood near the door. Chief Shaver joined him.
―You look a little bleary-eyed, Herman. You ok?‖
―Fine, Chief. Just fine. Little tired. Long trip.‖
The chief stood quietly for a few minutes, his hands folded in front of him, while Wilcoxson sat down at the table and began talking to Peters as Doc stood close by. Quietly, Shaver said, ―Step into the hall, Herman.‖
Doc saw them leave and he felt the uneasy twinge in his stomach he often got when he knew something was wrong. He took Herm's place near the door.
Wilcoxson began. ―Well, well, Joe, it's been a while since the power of law has been brought to bear on your sinful ass, hasn't it?‖
―Yeah well, screw you, Wilcoxson. You guys fucked up this whole deal real good.‖
―How so?‖
―Hell, I was comin‘ back on my own. I didn't do nothing. You'd waited another day, I'd a walked into yer office just pretty as you please and you wouldn't have to send them two bozos to get me.‖
Wilcoxson leaned toward Peters and sniffed like a hound dog. ―You been drinking, Joe?‖
―Hell yes. Me and old Budweiser been drinking beer ever since the middle of Death Valley. 'Course.‖
Wilcoxson stood up. ―What about you, officer?‖ he spat at Doc. You been drinking too?‖
―No sir. I have not!‖
―Find Budwister and get his ass back in here!‖
Doc opened the door. The two Albuquerque officers had not gone far, and they both came back into the room.
―What the hell is going on, Herman?‖ Wilcoxson shouted at the detective. ―Joe here says the two of you been boozing all the way back here from California. Is that a fact?‖
―Well, see, ah. Yes sir.‖
―What is that, some new kind of interrogation method that I haven't heard about yet. The cops and the crooks get drunk together and bullshit each other ‗til the bad guy incriminates himself. That it?‖
―No, Don, I….‖
―Paul,‖ Wilcoxson ordered the chief, ―get a uniformed officer up here to take Peters down to booking. We won't have any more use of him this evening. Damnation!‖
―What the hell is this all about?‖ Wilcoxson demanded after Peters was escorted out.
―Nothin', Don. Hell. It was hot. We picked up a couple of cold beers along the way. No big deal.‖
―No big deal to you, maybe. What about you, Doc?‖
―He didn't drink a drop,‖ Herman said. ―Not a damn drop, and he drove every mile of the way. Don't be layin' nothing on Doc.‖
―Fortunately,‖ Wilcoxson said, ―I don't think any laws were broken, but I do think you opened a door for him to claim he was improperly interrogated. You read him his Miranda rights?‖
―Hell no. We weren‘t questioning him. Just talking is all.‖
―Just talking, huh? And I suppose the subject of the Rice/Brown murders never came up.‖
―We talked about it. Don't you worry, Don,‖ Herman said. ―Joe‘ll cooperate. Take my word. Tomorrow he'll tell you everything you want to know.‖
Shaver shook his head sadly. ―Be in my office in the morning, Herman. Nine o'clock sharp. Bring your keys.‖ He walked out the door. Wilcoxson followed him.
―Did he mean what I think about the keys?‖ Doc asked.
―Yeah. He's gonna either fire me or suspend me. I'm goin' to the Wine Cellar for a beer. Care to join me?‖
―Nope. I'm goin' to the Crossroads Motel and get some sleep. I been drivin' all day. You'd do well to get some sleep, too.‖
―Screw it. What's done is done, and whatever I do tonight ain't gonna change what Shaver does to me in the morning. Take it easy, Doc. Thanks for the ride.‖
CHAPTER XIII
―It's just not going to work out, ‖ Karen McBride said to Mat Torrez. ―I'm leaving town for a while.‖
Karen‘s comment took Mat like a hammer blow to the head. He'd called Karen to ask if he could help with grandma McBride's move from Budville to Albuquerque. Karen didn't even give him a chance to ask. ―But, I don't understand....‖
―My captain, my captain, I do adore you, but right now is not the time for us. I'm not good at playing catch as catch can. You've got work to do, lots of it I gather, and you've got Nita. She should be your first concern for now.‖
―Damn it, Karen, it all just takes time. It has only been a few months. We can solve these little problems.‖
―Time is right, but I'm the one who started our little trysts, and I'm the one who can stop them. Grandma will be comfortably ensconced in Albuquerque by the first of the week. That's when I'm leaving for Europe. It's a present from her to me for doing my time in Budville. She thinks I need an infusion of old world culture after six months in the remote reaches of desert New Mexico surrounded by murder and violence. She wants me to stay a year, but I don't know if I can take that much enlightenment.‖
―I am not one to beg, Karen.‖
―I didn't think you were, Mateo Torrez, and it's not my intention that you do so, either. I'll write and I'll call you when I get back.‖
―Adiós, Karen. Bien viaje.‖
―Good-bye, my captain. Be careful and take care of yourself. And do tell Nita that I really did only want to be her friend.‖
> ―I'll tell her.‖ Mat put the phone back in its cradle.
The other shoe fell the following week. Nita announced that she‘d found a roommate and would be moving into an apartment near the campus while she attended graduate school at the University of New Mexico. The roommate was her boyfriend: an Anglo, long-haired and unwashed, a malcontent and dope-smoker for whom Mat had no regard whatsoever. He watched helplessly, a sharp pain in the corner of his heart, as she cleaned out her room and drove away with her friend.
Mat drove to Santa Fe on Sunday morning, March 24, for an emergency meeting with Acting Chief Scarberry—who'd ordered the gathering—and Deputy Chief Vigil. Mat knew what was coming. He'd read the front-page story in the Albuquerque Journal the day before. Herman Budwister had been assessed a penalty of five days suspension from duty without pay. Chief Paul Shaver, according to the story, had commented that he saw no reason for the State Police to take any action against Agent Spurlock since the entire matter seemed to have been the fault of Officer Budwister. Mat knew such a comment would make Scarberry mad as hell. Spurlock was already under suspension and Torrez feared for his subordinate‘s future.
The captain was right. A red-faced, raving, Scarberry opened the meeting with a brief harangue. ―Just who in the hell is Paul Shaver to say one goddamn thing about what the State Police should or should not do with one of our officers.‖
―Well for one thing, Chief,‖ Mat Torrez said, ―Doc didn‘t do any drinking. Budwister and Wilcoxson both said so.‖
―I don't give a damn,‖ Scarberry said quickly, slamming his fist down on the table. ―He allowed it and condoned it! He allowed it and condoned it! Clear violation of policy and procedure. He was a party to it!‖ Scarberry pounded the table with his fist again and leveled a squinted eye at Torrez. ―How in the hell do you know what Budwister and Wilcoxson said?‖
―I called them yesterday and asked what they could tell me about the situation.‖
―And you didn't call me?!‖
―I followed the chain of command, Chief. I called Chief Vigil.‖ Scarberry shifted his angry attention to Martín Vigil as Sergeant
