Shaunessy Goes West in Winter. by Edward Drobinski - HTML preview

Chapter 8

The phone rang and though Shaunessy didn’t feel like answering, some instinct made him do so. He glanced at the darkened window, picked up the receiver and said a bored,

“Hello?” dragging out the “o”.

“Hey, it’s Striker. I’ve got something set up for tomorrow.”

In a desultory tone, Shaunessy said; “Oh, great.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Which of the words do you not understand?”

Striker was silent a few seconds, then said; “More of that stupid New York sarcasm, I guess.”

Shaunessy realized that he was behaving poorly and said;

“I’m sorry. My sincere apologies. I’ve just been thinking about the case, fell asleep and was having a nice dream. Your call kind of jarred me back to reality. What have you got?”

Striker knew it was pragmatically best to accept the apology gracefully, though he had his reservations. He was initially excited, calling about a new plan and almost wound up in an argument. His exuberance now gone, he thought he may as well have been talking to his wife. He was compelled to put in one little jab and said; “Be a little careful, partner.

Remember who your friends are. You might need them someday.

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Look, I’m calling because I’ve set up a meeting with one of my informants, Teddy Geloso. He gets on the fringes of a lot of questionable things, acts like he knows everything that goes on and sometimes does.”

“Big talker?”

“Right. But, he doesn’t want to be seen talking to cops, so wear your civvies and bring your car. You can chauffer me for a change.”

“He knows I’m coming?”

Striker laughed; “No, but he’ll quickly like the increased attention.”

“That’s a sign that he doesn’t know anything.”

“He might not, but what else have we got?”

Shaunessy’s silence prompted Striker to add; “Pick me up at my house tomorrow at 8AM. We’re meeting him by the river in Albuquerque at nine.”

“I’ll be there and hey, sorry, man. I’ll become a New Mexican yet.”

“See’ya,” and Striker hung up.

Shaunessy said; “Margaret, remember how we used to meet on the Hudson? Now, I’m going to meet some Teddy Geloso at the Rio Grande. Why’d you leave me here?”

Imagined response inclusive of love, wistful mirth and an airtight alibi.

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“It wasn’t my fault, either, but I’m the one left in the garbage.”

Imagined chastising response.

Shaunessy sighed; “Selfish?” ...... “I guess.” ...... “I just miss you.” He slept.

At dawn Shaunessy got up, made coffee and drove his recent model maroon Volvo into Striker’s driveway, to find his partner waiting at the front door. Striker bolted to the passenger’s seat and said; “I couldn’t wait to get out of there.”

Shaunessy felt fatherly and gently replied; “You might be sorry someday.”

“I look forward to it.”

Shaunessy shrugged and said nothing. He hadn’t met Striker’s wife or kids, but had difficulty imagining them as badly as his partner made them sound; and at Christmas time, too! He thought; “Striker is still so young, at least relative to me. He still has a lot of time to learn. My mother used to tell me what a shame it was that humans are so stupid. We manage to learn everything after the knowledge is useless.”

He took directions from Striker, traversed the highway and passed through what once must have been the main thoroughfare prior to the interstate, noting what he considered to be a disparate arrangement of structures, ranging from stately gated

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homes, to elementary schools, to horse farms, to fast food outlets. He wondered if there was any kind of zoning in place, but rather than bring it up now decided to save the question for some future date. The morning’s promising, but weak display of sun had already given way to a mild breeze which brought back the dark clouds, maybe the same ones that congregated yesterday and the day before and the day before.....

Striker said; “Pull in here,” and Shaunessy made a quick right into the paved entranceway of something. The pavement quickly ended and the car rolled down an incline ten feet below road level, into a flat rectangular two acre dirt lot. It was obviously a parking area, evidenced by frozen tire tracks and one empty car. They exited and were immediately hit with a cold gust of wind. On one side of the lot was a ditch holding ice water and on the other was a gradually sloping terrain with bushes, weeds and trees, now devoid of any warm weather growth, the vegetation wearing their winter browns. Any pretense it may have once had to being a garden was now overwhelmed by its current most important function; stoically providing the river with separation from the busy and refuse strewn main road.

Striker led him down a small embankment and Shaunessy got a view of the high running river, which ignored the miserable conditions and was diligently doing what rivers are supposed to do; flowing. They stood silently at the edge by a still inlet

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used by fishermen, which was still covered by a bubbling sheet of ice and waited. The wind off the water prompted Shaunessy to say; “Damn. I’m going to have to learn to dress better, at least get a wool hat.” His predominantly gray hair was standing up and shifting at the whim of the changing breeze as he admired the drab, dark blue piece of fortification tightly covering Striker’s scalp and ears. Striker had taken the woolen cap from his jacket pocket when he exited the car. He said; “It could be worse. At your age you could have a bald head and then you’d really feel it.”

Shaunessy bit his tongue, as one of his pet peeves was the way people often say; “It could be worse,” as if you really didn’t have anything to complain about. No matter the situation, there was always some way in which it could be worse.

Therefore nobody had any right to complain as one more adversity could always be added. If there were anyone capable of making such judgments, there was only one person in the world who that could not be said to; the one with the most problems, but no one knew who that was; many thought it was themselves. In some sense, however, even if we knew who the most disadvantaged person on earth truly was, somebody could always give him one more problem. Isn’t that the area of expertise practiced and preached by the Republican Party? The gigantic toothed group could do the job without straining. Experience and tradition

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count. But, maybe that’s the point of the popular reaction; No one gets any help with their problems and to return the favor, nobody gives a shit about your complaints and nobody wants to even hear them. Too bad; New Yorkers complain all the time.

It’s almost a way of life for the petulant seekers of perfection.

He said; “If this wind keeps up it’ll probably blow the rest of my hair away. Where is this ass....” Shaunessy caught himself on the verge of saying “asshole,” and finished the sentence with; “informant anyway?”

Striker grinned approvingly, looked at his wristwatch and said; “It’s 8:50 and we may be here a while.”

Shaunessy couldn’t help himself and said; “Shit.”

Striker laughed out loud as he watched Shaunessy’s pale Irish skin grow blotches of pink. He said; “A few years ago a girl froze to death near here. I thought it sounded suspicious, but it’s not my jurisdiction.”

“I’m not suspicious. Sounds like an easy thing to do in this weather.”

“The circumstances were strange. Supposedly this girl was living with some guy. They had an argument and in this kind of weather, she is said to have charged out of his house at night wearing only a shirt and jeans. She was seen at some other people’s house. When questioned, they said she came to the door

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asking for help. They didn’t want to let her in, fearing some kind of scam. So, they told her to wait outside and that they would bring her a cell phone. They say they went inside to get her one and when they came back, she was gone. She was found dead in a dry ditch the next morning by a dog walker fifty feet from another house. Sometimes it seems like people here watch every damn thing, but when their watching might have proved helpful, they miss that one.” He paused, looked at the hard, frozen ground, shook his head and added; “Young girl ....

Nineteen.”

Shaunessy said; “Sounds strange to me, too. Wouldn’t her boyfriend be out looking for her? Wouldn’t the people whose door she knocked at be doing the same? Wouldn’t the people in the house near the ditch have heard or seen something? Not finding any help, wouldn’t she have gone back to the boyfriends’

house, at least to get warmer clothing?”

Striker said; “Yes, yes, yes and yes. But they say no, no, no and no. Some kind of garbage happened and some crime was committed. I’d like to have handled that case.”

“Me, too..... Hey, is this him?”

Both cops looked in the direction of the footsteps, unmistakable in the leaf covered ground. A huge portly figure stood at the top of the drop off. He was dressed for the

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occasion in a black woolen ski mask, heavy gray quilted jacket and tan, lined hunter’s pants. His hands were in his pockets.

Striker said, “Is that you, Teddy?”

The newcomer said; “I don't know yet. Who’s your friend?”

Striker said; “Shaunessy, my new partner.”

Teddy backed up a step and said; “I didn’t say it was okay to bring anybody.”

Shaunessy said to Striker, “I understand. I can go sit in the car with the heat on.” He moved in that direction, not minding in the least.

Striker said; “No, stay.” Shaunessy grimaced and went back to his dutiful space. Striker then to Teddy; “He’s all right.

It’s just like talking to me. He already knows who you are anyway.”

Teddy looked around for any other surprise guests, secretly anxious to play to a larger audience and said; “Fine, you gotta do what you gotta do.”

Shaunessy said; “I know that accent. You’re from New York, right?”

Teddy answered; “Yeah, but it’s been a long time. I don’t sound like a South westerner yet?” He pulled up his ski mask and revealed a round red face, a nose bump that looked the result of a fight and small, squinting alert eyes.

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Striker said; “You don’t look like one, either. Listen, we’ve got a corpse that was buried three years ago and we’re looking for some direction.”

Teddy said; “What’s in it for me?”

Striker said; “What do you need?” as he and Shaunessy climbed the embankment and stood next to Teddy. Shaunessy, on his first visit to this location, scanned the expanded view allowed by his elevated status; beautiful, gigantic, rocky mountains; the Sangre De Cristos in the distance. He could see them from his house, but that was a close-up of only a small portion. Now, he saw three times more of the picture and was amazed at the size, both horizontally and vertically. He now knew the true meaning of “purple mountain’s majesty,” as the vigilant sun made a brief and tiny appearance, it’s rays enough to provide color. Shaunessy was still in awe of the giant rocks, after weeks of daily observations, as he favorably compared them to the meager hills he remembered inhabiting the outskirts of New York. He wondered if his expanded view would provide him with a viewpoint sufficiently wide to detect a path from bottom to top of the seemingly un-climbable giant. His eyes followed a dark, curving line and before he could follow it all the way up, he felt Striker’s arm on his shoulder and heard him say; “Are you all right?”

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Shaunessy’s gaze re-focused on his partner and Teddy and saw them looking at him with curious expressions. In an agitated manner he said; “Yeah, yeah. Christ. Am I supposed to be staring at your two ugly mugs? Damn. Well, let’s get to it.” Directing his speech at Teddy, he said; “If you want favors, we better get something good.”

Teddy just silently raised his eyebrows at Shaunessy, as if to say; “This ain’t your ballpark,” looked to Striker and said;

“I got a buddy in Albuquerque up on charges for pot sales.”

Striker said; “First offense?”

Teddy said; “Hell, no. But it’s bullshit because he’s a legal grower; got the card and everything. He sold some to a guy who showed him a medical card that must have been fake.

Then this guy gets arrested for possession of a stolen car and he turns in my friend.”

Striker said; “Sounds do-able. Depends on what you’ve got for me.” He looked at Shaunessy after he demonstrated his elementary “savvy,” as if to sarcastically say; “Okay, chief?”

From past experience Teddy knew that Striker would keep his end of the deal, so he said; “I really don't know anything about the corpse, but I got some ideas who might have had an interest in making him one.”

Shaunessy said; “Give it a shot.”

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Teddy said; “Three years ago construction was through the roof and illegals were doing most of the work.”

Striker said; “Teddy, tell me something I don’t know.”

Teddy said; “Getting there, this is for Shaunessy, too.”

Shaunessy affected a bored sound and disparagingly said;

“Even I know that.”

Teddy grimaced and said; “Tough audience. Okay, here’s the shit. Illegals get paid $7 per hour and the guy who brings them in usually charges the builder $25. Things were so hot it was up to forty and a lot of independents got in the business. The result was that the rate dropped back to $25.” He looked at the two cops whose facial expressions mutely said; “So?”

Teddy went on; “Okay, this is what you probably don’t know.

Little Manny put out a warning that this was his exclusive franchise and that he would snuff any competition. The competition made themselves scarce quick. Maybe one of the slow and deaf ones found out that Little Manny doesn’t talk shit.”

He laughed solo at his own choice of words. He shrugged, grimaced and added; “You know, like the slow and deaf one became very slow and very deaf.” When he saw that he was still the focus of stony stares, he slowly shook his head side to side, settled on a water view and informed the river that; “Fuckin’

cops got no sense of humor.”

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Shaunessy flatly said; “That was real funny. You can’t see the laugh because my face is frozen. Great show, man. No shit.

Now, really entertain me and tell me who were these independents?”

Teddy grimaced and said in a high pitched voice; “Aw, you know, man. They use names like Big Tex, Crazy Carson, Shotgun Renaldo and bullshit like that.”

Shaunessy said; “You don't know anything else about these people?”

Teddy said; “Don't know where they came from and don't know where they went to.” He paused, grinned and said; “Well, maybe, now I know where one of them went to, but so do you.” He eyeballed Shaunessy and Striker who were blankly staring at him and said; “Yeah, I know, frozen faces. Damn.” Affecting an upbeat voice, he added; “Hey, maybe some of the builders know more.”

Shaunessy and Striker managed to move their faces somewhat, resulting in tiny smirks, finally thinking that they had heard something mildly amusing. So Teddy continued; “I’m not giving you any garbage. Some of these builders might talk because Little Manny threatened them, too, saying he’d cut off the illegal supply. At the time they didn’t give a shit because they were making money like crazy. They’re small operators and probably figured they’d cash in and split if necessary. If

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they’re still building they probably got some shit on the illegal deals and maybe they suffered some way for defying Little Manny back then.”

Striker said; “Do you know any of the builders?”

Teddy smirked and said; “I don’t think I know anybody semi-legal.”

Striker said; “What are you up to these days?”

Teddy said; “Nothin’ really; peddling information, helping out pals.” He shrugged his shoulders.

Striker said; “Thanks. If this leads anywhere, your friend is home free. If not, maybe. Depends. Maybe your memory will get better after we leave. You’ve got my number.”

Shaunessy said; “Thanks,” and shook Teddy’s hand.

Teddy rolled the ski mask back down and said; “Give me a few minutes to get out of here first. I don’t need to be seen with any undesirables.” He walked quickly into the parking area and the duo watched a recent cream Lexus pull out.

Striker said; “Sounds like he knows what he’s talking about this time.”

Shaunessy said; “Sure, he’s a New Yorker.”

Striker punched him in the upper arm, laughed and said;

“Let’s get the hell out of here before numbness sets in.”

Shaunessy took one last long look at the red, brown and yellow leaves being blown into the river by small dust devils,

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where the never-ending current carried the still floating, involuntary passengers to their final resting place, wherever that was; cold, wet and brittle, struggling not to be submerged.

Back in the car heading back to Vista de la Feria, Shaunessy initiated the conversation with; “Do you know the builders?”

Striker paused, looking for a concise answer and came up with; “There were hundreds back then, some not around anymore.

I knew a few.”

“Hundreds? Not that many houses went up.”

“Some only put up two or three.”

“Weird.”

“Not really. If they do it right they make enough money to own their own home, mortgage free and maybe even have something left over.”

“They don’t want more?”

“Some want more time to do what they like. They don’t measure everything in dollars like people from a certain un-named part of the country.”

Shaunessy heard the joke-criticism loud and clear. This time he fully agreed with Striker, as it was one of his qualms about his place of birth. He made a short, snorting laugh and said; “I never met anyone above the numbers in New York. That’s

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a unique sub-species. How do the ones above it all spend their days?”

“Beats me. I’m stuck in the numbers. I guess some drink, some drug, some fool around with motorcycles, some play chess, some read, some argue with their girlfriends, some look for trouble, some have hobbies and some do all of the above.

Whatever interests them.”

Shaunessy paused a few seconds and replied; “Sounds like it could potentially be an improvement over ‘chase your tail’ New York, but not necessarily. Personally, I always thought people would be happier if they did more of what they liked.”

“No doubt. But the funny thing is that when they get the freedom to do it, at the same time they need to get some discipline.”

“I know one huge un-disciplined story like that back east.

These four brothers won what was, at the time, the largest Lotto payoff. They bought a gigantic farm and then didn’t know what to do with themselves, started drinking, then heavily and now they spend their lives with health problems, in and out of rehab.”

“I know of similar smaller scale stories here. A lot of people have to be taught how to handle complete freedom, or it winds up a curse. I’d sure like to give it a try, though.”

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“I could retire on my pension. I put in thirty-two years, but without Margaret, I wouldn’t know what to do all day. So I got this job. I guess I like figuring out puzzles. What would you do if you had all the money you would ever need?”

“Get a new wife.” Striker smirked at his own statement and quickly added; “That was half a joke. HALF. I love my kids though. Maybe I’d bug them to the point where they wanted me to go away. I really don't know. I guess it’s something I don’t expect to happen, so I don’t think about it.”

After a lull Striker’s very practical side showed up and he said; “What I am thinking about is what to say to these builders, if we can find them.” He affected a tongue-tied manner of speech when he self-mockingly added; “Do you know any dead illegal alien transporters?” He laughed at his own lack of ideas.

Shaunessy smiled, glanced at Striker making a contorted face and said; “Maybe that is the best approach. Shock ’em right up front. Maybe they’ll accidentally blurt out something they otherwise wouldn’t have said.”

Striker furrowed his brow and just looked at his partner.

Shaunessy continued; “Hell, I have no idea what to ask them either, but they are where the trail is leading us.” He paused and then added; “Ah, you’re probably right. What if we ask them if they know any dead illegal alien smugglers and they merely

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look at us and just resolutely say ‘No’? What’s the follow up?

‘Thanks for your time’? and leave?” They both shook their heads, but with an amused demeanor.

Striker said; “Let’s ask the Chief. He gets paid a lot more than us, presumably because he knows more and is able to do something useful. Let’s seek his expertise.”

Shaunessy said; “I like it. We’ll keep him informed and I’ve learned that every once in a while I can use a good bailout.” Both cops were amused and thought they knew how they would spend the rest of the day; listening to the Chief.

In the warmth of the car the cops savored their own thoughts, silently viewing the parade of metal warehouses and national fast food franchises adjacent to the highway, as they attempted to withstand the blowing onslaught of cardboard boxes and shopping bags coming their way, with nothing to stop the trash on the flat, brown, defoliated, terrain. Shaunessy reflected on his hasty choice to come to New Mexico and Striker pondered his lack of choice in being born there and his predilection for staying put, fearful of being totally out of place elsewhere.

Once again back at the station house, hot black coffee jolted them back to the chirpy effervescence necessary to perform their next task, in the pleasant fashion required. They nodded at each other and approached the Chief. They took the

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two chairs opposite him and the Chief thought; “Uh-oh, trouble.”

He broke away from his expense reports, looked up at them and said; “What can I do for you boys?”

Attempting amusing chit-chat, Shaunessy smiled and answered; “I appreciate that. I don’t think anyone has called me a boy in more than thirty years.”

After the duo updated him on the results, or lack thereof, of their investigation, Striker said; “The route is now to the builders. How should we approach them? And do you have any favorite ones or methods?”

The Chief shrugged his shoulders and sighed. He shook his head slowly and said; “I don’t know. Even if they have something useful, at this point they’re not going to admit having knowledge of a murder.”

Shaunessy said; “Maybe we don’t have to ask them that.

Maybe we can just try to get the names of the illegal runners who are missing.”

The Chief dryly said; “They’re all missing.”

Striker said; “Maybe there are more bodies nobody has unearthed yet.”

The Chief said; “That’s all we need. But until someone finds the others, we’ll have to work with the facts we have. It really doesn’t make much sense, either. At this point the most likely suspect is Little Manny and I know he gets involved in a

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pot load of different kinds of garbage, but, at least up until now, he’s always kept it out of Vista de la Feria.”

Striker said; “Some meth business goes on here.”

The Chief replied; “Some meth business goes on everywhere.

Little Manny takes a cut for controlling it and he doesn’t let things get out of hand.”

The trio was momentarily talked out and after a few seconds of silence, staring thoughtfully at their shoes or Rhonda chatting on the phone, the Chief again spoke; “Tell you what.

Make an unannounced trip to see this Gentile character again.

Maybe you can catch him without his lawyer. Tell him it’s in his interest to help us, because the site he wants to build on will be kept off limits as a crime scene by me until this is solved. There’s nothing to stop me from doing it. Every square inch will have to be combed for possible evidence. After that, hit the missing persons reports again, or maybe someone will get a better idea by then.”

Striker and particularly Shaunessy were very impressed with the Chief. He was brief, clear, useful and didn’t feel a need to consult the contradictory procedures manuals. Shaunessy thought; “If Kerry would replace Fitzpatrick, it would be a distinct improvement for New York.”

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