The Bootlegger’s Legacy (23 page)

“How would we go about finding out if there’s still a lock box?” Joe asked.

“My advice is to just be straightforward. I know the V.P. of Finance for the bank, so why don’t I just call him, or we walk over there and see if he’ll look it up in their records? How’s that for straightforward?”

“Guess that is better than my plan B, which involved a late night break-in.” Mike was kidding—probably.

Jeff made the call and the bank officer agreed to meet in thirty minutes. Citizen’s Bank was only a short distance from the First National Bank building, so it was a quick walk. The building was impressive, very old and ornate with a legacy feel and, no doubt, many stories in its past. Its age made the experience all the more emotional, since this was clearly the same building that Mike’s father, Pat, had entered to conduct his business.

Once in the V.P.’s office, Jeff quickly brought his friend up to speed on what they were looking for. The manger, a man named Rick Lopez, looked on his computer and called up the lock box database. He said they did have a lock box in the name of Patrick Allen and Mike Allen, and it had been there since 1952. The manager added that while the length of time was impressive, they had several family lock boxes that had been in place since the 30s.

Mike was a little stunned. The lock box was in both of their names. That was the clearest signal yet that his father intended whatever was inside to go to Mike.

The V.P. spoke, “Not one hundred percent sure of the legalities here—it’s very unusual to have two names on a lock box. I think I can allow you to have access with adequate proof that you’re Mike Allen, but just to be safe maybe I’d better clear this with the President of the bank. And maybe have something indicating that you’re Patrick Allen’s heir.”

“That is not a problem.” Jeff jumped in. “We’re helping Mike work out another matter with some real estate and we’ve secured all of the legal paperwork related to his father’s death and the subsequent death of his mother. I can get all of it over to you this afternoon. How about, if we plan on meeting again around three this afternoon and, if everything is agreeable, you can allow Mike to have access to the lock box?”

“As long as you have the key, Mike, and we can be comfortable with the inheritance there should be no problem opening the box. Interesting, I was looking at the record and it shows that the annual lock box fee has been paid all of these years by a law firm in Dallas. Guess your father made some long-term plans for things even after his death.”

Mike felt a shiver. This was great news but also unsettling.

They thanked Lopez, agreeing to meet back at his office at three that afternoon. They walked back to the First National Bank building and said their goodbyes to Jeff, who assured them he would have all the documents to the bank within the hour. Joe and Mike headed toward their car.

“That’s pretty neat isn’t it? You’re going to maybe find out what’s in the lockbox today. Man, I had figured all along it was probably going to take some kind of legal action to get access to the contents, but here we are maybe only a few hours away from finding out what your dad left you. Are you pretty excited?”

“Shit. I don’t know what I am. I guess I’m excited but also a little apprehensive. Just not sure Joe. Guess I need to think about what’s happening a little bit more. Jeez, I hadn’t expected this to happen right now—you know what I mean?”

“Sure. It’s happening fast, that’s for sure.”

Joe said they should drop in at the Sheriff’s office, which was just a few miles down the same street the bank was on. Mike wasn’t sure, but said “why not.”

The drive to the Sheriff’s office was another quick trip. Las Cruces was a small town, so most everything was pretty close to everything else. They went in and asked to speak to Sheriff Pacheco. The deputy behind the counter said the Sheriff was out at that moment and asked to take a message. Mike began giving her his name.

“Aren’t you the guy who was shot?”

“Yeah, that’s one of the reasons we dropped by—the deputy we talked to yesterday said that someone would contact us today so we thought we would just come in.”

“I know Sheriff Pacheco wanted to talk to you. Give me just a minute and let me get him on the radio—hang on.” She turned to the base radio and said some things that sounded like official police gibberish, with numbers and letters and the Sheriff’s name. Within a few minutes the Sheriff called in. She told him that the two guys involved in the shooting yesterday were in the office and asked if he wanted them to wait. They could hear the entire conversation. The Sheriff said he would be there in about ten minutes and to ask the gentlemen to wait.

“I guess you heard all of that—not much privacy around here. Can you wait for a minute for the Sheriff to get here?”

“Oh, sure—we can wait.” They thanked her for her help, went over to the small waiting area in the front, and had a seat. In about fifteen minutes the Sheriff walked up to them from the office area—clearly there was a back entrance.

“Hello, my name is Sheriff Pacheco. I really appreciate you guys coming by today. Let’s go into the conference room so we can talk.” After entering the small conference room, Mike and Joe introduced themselves. They each shook hands with the Sheriff.

“Well, I guess, you had quite a day yesterday—going up to see an old abandoned cabin and having someone shoot you. That’s not our normal welcome to New Mexico.”

“Yeah, that was something all right. I was lucky, it was a very minor injury, but for a while there I’ll tell you we were pretty excited. Still can’t imagine why somebody would just start shooting—I don’t know if whoever it was even knew who we were.”

The Sheriff chuckled a bit. “There are a few oddballs living up around that lake—hard to know at this point what it was all about. I know you told the Deputy yesterday that you didn’t report anything, just headed back to the Cruces hospital, so we contacted the Sheriff for that county and told him what we knew. He seemed to think it was probably a hunter shooting rabbits or something, who just didn’t notice you until it was too late—got scared and took off.”

Mike looked doubtful. “I guess it could have happened that way, but we sure were not being quiet. We hadn’t anticipated anyone being up there, so we would have been pretty obvious I would think. I’m damn sure we don’t look like rabbits.”

The Sheriff agreed with a smile. “I’ve got a few ideas of my own that I need to run to ground to see if they check out. One way or another we’ll figure out what was going on. I guess Chuck Owen has told you that I was thinking about making an offer on that cabin.”

“Yes, he did. I’m working with Jeff Young at Bates and Young to get the legal issues resolved. He indicated that he thinks that can happen in a week or two. While it’s an intriguing place up there, my intention is to sell it, so having you interested fits really well with my plans. My father bought the cabin a long time ago, and it would seem that he never used it very much. Not to divulge too many family secrets, but my mother and I weren’t aware of the cabin until Mr. Owen tracked me down in Oklahoma City and asked if I would want to sell it. That prompted this visit, more out of curiosity than anything else, but I’ve never had any intention of keeping the cabin. So hopefully we’ll be able to make a deal.”

They wrapped up their conversation and exchanged contact info, agreeing that they should stay in touch.

Joe and Mike were back in the car. The only thing remaining on their “to do” list for the day was to contact Jim Emerson. Then, of course, they had the meeting at the bank. Mike said he wasn’t real excited about getting in touch with Emerson—said he had a bad feeling about it.

“What are you, suddenly psychic? I think we ought to drop by his office—if he’s in we see him, if not we leave a message. I don’t know what the plan is either, but Bates seemed to think it was important that we make a connection with this Emerson guy, so we should do that.”

“Joe, sometimes you’re just a pain in the butt.”

Joe had pulled into a What-a-Burger as they were talking, “How about a big juicy hamburger for lunch?”

“You know Joe, you still eat like a teenager. You’re supposed to be the smart one, but you seem to have no sense at all when it comes to food and drink.” Mike was right of course—but Joe didn’t give a shit at the moment—he was going to have a green chili cheeseburger and fries.

After lunch the smart thing to do would have been go back to the hotel and have a nap, but that would have made them lazy losers, so instead they headed toward downtown Las Cruces. Emerson’s office was in the same small area of downtown where First National Bank and Citizen’s Bank were located, a freestanding building across the street from Citizen’s Bank. They parked in front and went in.

“Hi, my name is Mike Allen and I was wondering if Mr. Emerson was available?” The woman sitting at the front desk reacted with surprise—almost shock—when Joe and Mike entered the office. Her primary function was clear by the clutter on her desk: she was a bookkeeper. And by her reaction Mr. Emerson did not get many visitors.

“Yes. I mean no. No, what I mean is I will go check—please be seated.” She left the front area and went down a long hallway toward the back of the building. She was gone for what seemed a long time considering her task. When she returned she seemed even more upset.

“Mr. Emerson is on the phone. He asked if you could wait a moment and he would see you.”

“Thank you, we’ll wait.”

The wait had already stretched to more than fifteen minutes when Emerson finally emerged from the back office. It was hard to make out his age except he was obviously elderly. He walked with a slight stoop, which detracted from what was once probably a six-foot-plus frame. He appeared to be alert and totally in charge, and it was apparent that Mr. Emerson was used to being in charge.

“Mike Allen—it’s a pleasure to meet you.” They shook hands and Mike introduced Joe, who also shook hands with Emerson.

They followed Emerson, as directed, back into his office—which was the size of a small house. The appearance of the front office was dull and cheap, but Emerson’s own space was large and expensive. He steered them to a large conference table that took up one corner. Plush leather chairs were abundant around the table. Emerson sat at the head of the table and Mike and Joe sat along one side.

“I don’t know what you know about your father and my business dealings, but I’m not one to beat around the bush, so I’ll just lay things out for you. I worked for your father for many years. I knew he was in the bootlegging business in Oklahoma, but all of my dealings with him were completely legal and mostly involved real estate. You father sold a bunch of his holdings in the 50s and he and I still communicated on occasion after that, but mostly I went my own way and so did he. I understand he and your mother passed away some years ago, so please accept my condolences.”

“Thank you, Mr. Emerson. Yes, my mother and father have both died. I wasn’t aware you and he had any business dealings. There was a small cabin that was apparently a part of my mother’s estate that got lost in the confusion over the years. It came to my attention only a short while ago. I came to town with my friend Joe to resolve the legal issues regarding the property so I could sell it. I hired Jeff Young to assist with that and yesterday I had the opportunity to meet Mr. Bates and he suggested that it might be good if I dropped by and introduced myself to you. He was not real clear why I should do that, but maybe it was because he knew you knew my father.”

“Mr. Bates has a big fuckin’ mouth.” This was said in a sinister tone. Joe wasn’t sure Emerson was aware he’d said it out loud.

“Well, it is true, I knew your father. He was a frequent visitor to Las Cruces and El Paso and I was responsible for assisting him with some of his dealings with firms in Juarez. But, like I said, his bootlegging activities were something he kept separate from our dealings. I’m sorry I can’t tell you more. Now, I don’t want to rush you, but I wasn’t expecting you to drop by today and I have another meeting I need to go to. Please leave your contact information with the lady out front and be sure and let me know the next time you are in Las Cruces.” And now, get the hell out of my office.

Mike stopped at the front, gave the spooked lady his card, and said they were staying at the Holiday Inn, in case anything came up and Mr. Emerson wanted to see him.

Back in the car. Definitely should have rented a bigger car. “That guy was sure eager to get rid of us.”

“No question. He didn’t want to have anything to do with us. What do you think that was all about, leaving us sitting out there waiting on him?”

“Beats the hell out of me. I sure hope he’s not a violent guy—I had the feeling he might like to kill Mr. Bates.”

“Yeah. You know I don’t think everybody is being real straight with us.”

“Oh really, you think not?”

They were a little early for the bank meeting and didn’t have enough time to go back to the hotel, so they moved the car to the bank parking lot and just sat for a few minutes, not saying anything.

As they got out of the car to head to the bank, they were joined by Jeff. “Hey, good timing. Were you able to see the Sheriff?”

“We did. Seems like a nice man. He said the Sheriff in the other county thought the shot was probably someone shooting rabbits—not sure anybody really believes that. He also said he had some ideas of his own he would explore. And he definitely seems interested in buying the cabin, although I think we may be still negotiating price.”

“Well, that’s good he is working on finding out about the shooting, but it could have been nothing. I understand the lake area attracts some pretty unique people, no doubt including some who don’t like strangers. Could be they were just trying to scare you off and hit you by accident. And you’re right, I think Sheriff Pacheco is a good man. He’ll do his best to find out what it was about. How about Emerson, did you see him?”

“Yes, we did. He didn’t seemed pleased to see us, though. Ignored us for about half hour and then gave us the bum’s rush and sent us on our way. Got a very uneasy feeling with him.”