The Bootlegger’s Legacy (6 page)

Las Cruces, New Mexico—April 1987

“Ray, this is Chuck—give me a call when you get this message. Think I have the name of the owner of that cabin up in T or C you asked me to check into a couple of months ago. Sorry it took so long, but looks like I have a lead now and I was wondering if you wanted me to pursue it. Talk to you later.”

Ray was not real sure what he thought of Chuck. The man was annoying, but also oddly likable. Chuck had gotten back to him real quick on an estimated value on his house—no doubt because there was a real chance of a fee on that deal. Ray still couldn’t make up his mind if he wanted to move or not. The old place sure held a lot of memories, but it was about five times the amount of space he needed. A small, simple cabin would be something he could take care of by himself for many years without having to deal with housekeepers or pay a bunch of people good money to keep the place in reasonable condition. It made sense to move into something smaller and to get away from all of the nosy gossip that went on in Dona Ana County.

“Chuck, this is Ray. What do you have for me?”

“Glad you called back, Ray. You’ve been giving some thought to listing your house—now’s a good time as we move into spring.”

God, you could not have a normal conversation with this guy. He was always in salesman mode. “Well, I’m still thinking about it. What did you learn about that cabin Max’s dad used to own?”

“Yeah, sure. But, remember, don’t wait until you’re ready to move to put your house on the market. More than likely it’ll take a few months to find a buyer. So as soon as you’re sure, we need to get a listing signed.”

In an ideal world Ray would just hang up on this annoying little pest and go take a nap. “You bet, Chuck. As soon as I decide, I’ll give you a call. How about the cabin?”

“Well, I was able to get the records by searching for Max’s dad’s name, so I found the details of the sale. You may not remember this, but Max’s dad was Bud Johnson—he was something of a mystery man.”

“What do you mean mystery man?”

“Well, this is old gossip, mostly from my grandfather. He thought Bud was a crook. He was long gone before you became Sheriff. I think he died in the sixties—not real sure, but I think that’s right. Anyway my granddad said all of Bud’s money was from illegal liquor. Mostly he was talking about the late 1920s and early 1930s, when there was prohibition. My granddad said that Bud was a big shot in this area and also had a bunch of holdings in El Paso. He said the rumor was that he was connected with some of the wealthiest Mexican families in Juarez. How much of this is true is kind of beyond me. Seems like there are a lot of unsavory stories about a lot of our best citizens. But who am I to gossip, right?”

The wiseass answer would have been
you’re the biggest gossip in town—that’s who you are
. But this was interesting stuff—why not let him continue? “Wow, that’s interesting Chuck. So when did Bud sell the cabin, and who did he sell it to?”

“The records indicate he sold it in 1953. That means this cabin could be nothing, just a pile of trash by now. Even if Bud or someone was taking care of it into the sixties, that’s still a long time to just sit up there abandoned. It’s kind of an intriguing story, but I really don’t think you want to retire and spend your last remaining years restoring an old broken-down cabin, do you?”

“You’re probably right, Chuck. Did you get an address? Maybe, just as a lark, I’ll run up there this weekend and see if anything still exists.”

“Sure, 405 North Deer Trail. This is actually a Hot Springs address, before they changed the name to Truth or Consequences. I have no idea if that street—or trail, or dirt road, or whatever—still exists. But let me know if you find anything.”

“Thanks, Chuck, will do.” Ray hung up and debated whether this meant anything to him or not. But the weekend was looking to be unusually warm, and this would be a good excuse to get out and spend some time doing something other than dealing with one bureaucratic screwup after another at the department. It occurred to Ray that Chuck hadn’t told him who Max’s father had sold the property to. He debated calling Chuck back, but the thought of listening to him drone on some more persuaded him to leave it until later. It might not matter—there was probably nothing left of the cabin to buy.

The Saturday morning was as promised: sunny skies and warm temperatures. Spring had arrived in the high desert. Ray had only lived in this part of the country for about twenty years, but he’d learned to love the desert and mountains as much as if he’d been raised here. The trip to T or C was an easy drive of about fifty minutes. It was early morning when Ray reached the town and he decided to stop at the Lone Post Café, which many locals considered one of the best breakfast places in New Mexico.

Ray was in his civvies, so he didn’t expect anyone to bother him. He settled into one of the well-worn wooden booths and ordered coffee and a breakfast burrito with lots of green chili. The smell of the place alone was worth the visit. He had grabbed an El Paso paper from one of the boxes outside and settled in to wait for his breakfast.

“I’ll be damned, is that Ray Pacheco? How the hell are you, Ray? Kind of a long way to come for breakfast.”

What luck. Staring down a long cigar was none other than Hector Hermes, the county sheriff for Sierra County. Not one of Ray’s best buds, Hector complained to anybody who would listen that his county got the short end of state and federal money because they weren’t considered as important as Dona Ana.

“Hey, Hector. How’re things going?”

“As well as can be expected I guess. What’re you doing in my neck of the woods on such a beautiful Saturday morning?”

Ray understood that Hector’s friendly act was just that—the man wanted to know what the hell he was doing in his private domain. Ray decided the best approach with this guy was to be honest. What he was doing up here had nothing to do with their less-than-friendly competition. Plus, maybe this jerk didn’t know he was retiring—that ought to make him happy.

“Well, Hector I’ve decided to retire at the end of my term. So, been thinking maybe I would move into your county and become an old fogey livin’ in a remote cabin, just enjoying my remaining years.” Ray was starting to annoy himself.

“Retiring—no I hadn’t heard.”

“Well, it’s not a secret—not anymore. I just recently decided. Could be you’ll want to run for the opening.”

“Golly, I don’t know. Wow, this really is sudden.”

“By the way maybe you can help me with an address. I was looking for an old cabin that was owned by a Las Cruces resident a long time ago. His son mentioned it to me, and I thought I would check it out in case it fits my needs. The address is—let me see—four zero five North Deer Trail. Know where that is?”

“Hmmm... North Deer Trail. Sounds familiar, but I’m not sure. Let me run out to the car and radio the station and have them look it up for you. Just take a second.”

Before Ray could say anything Hector had gone out to his car and was on the radio. Ray hadn’t been sure how he was going to proceed once he got here, so running into Hector had turned out to be a good piece of luck, at least once the man had gotten past his initial suspiciousness.

While Hector was gone, the waitress brought Ray’s breakfast. The burritos were large enough to feed a family of four, but Ray was willing to give it his best shot. Spicy and delicious. He was about halfway through when Hector came back in.

“You going to need any help with that, Ray?”

“Just might, but I’m going to give it a good college try. What’d you learn?”

“Kind of strange, we don’t have a North Deer Trail anywhere in the county. You know a lot of those older names were in areas that no longer have any residents, usually due to fire or flooding. So the names just get dropped. Sorry for your wasted trip Ray. I’m sure you can contact a realtor up here or in Cruces—there are a lot of cabins for sale around the lake. Good to see you, though.”

Hector left. Something about their exchange struck Ray as odd. Hector had seemed nervous and eager to leave. Maybe it was just his imagination. But now how was he going to find the address if the county had no record of it?

Ray decided the best solution was the one he often used in Las Cruces, the public library. He was a frequent visitor to the library to research anything that had happened years before or to locate information about something that was going on in the area. He found the main library just a few blocks from the restaurant. He had visited the T or C library once before when he was assisting with a federal operation at Elephant Butte Lake.

“Hello, I was wondering if you could help me find an old address from back when the town was Hot Springs.”

“Sure no problem.” The woman behind the counter could have posed for a Norman Rockwell painting of a small town librarian. She guided Ray toward the back of the library and began pulling down books of maps. She quickly went through them and gave Ray instructions on how to use the map book to search for the address he needed. After she thought he had a good idea of what to do, she went back to her post at the front desk.

Ray spent considerable time going through the books, looking for the right year and then searching for the street name. Eventually he found the street on the map. He took the book up to the librarian and asked if he could get a copy of the map.

“Sure, I can do that right now. It’ll just take me a minute.” She was gone for just a few moments, then came back with a copy and gave it to Ray. She told him that she was fairly familiar with the area since she’d lived around the lake her entire life.

“This was an area that had a massive wildfire and most of the high-dollar cabins up there burned to the ground, although a few survived. After the fire there was a huge rainstorm and it washed out almost all the roads in the area. Once that happened it was mostly just abandoned.” She was pretty sure that the county didn’t maintain any roads up there since there was nobody living in the area. “If you go up there, you need to be careful—it can be a dangerous area.”

Ray wasn’t real sure he wanted to venture off into an unknown area. The wise thing to do would be to just forget it and go back home. Although after that mega-calorie breakfast a little walking might be just the thing he needed. And it was still a beautiful early spring morning.

“Well, thanks for your help and the map. I was looking for an old cabin that probably isn’t there anyway—but still it’s a beautiful day for a hike—so I guess I’ll go have a look. Thanks again.”

It took Ray almost an hour to find the spot the librarian had pointed out on the map. While the area wasn’t deep wilderness, the roads turned out to be horrible. This alone caused him concern about moving into the area. Maybe Sierra County wasn’t getting its share of state money after all, or if it was it sure wasn’t being spent on road maintenance. He rocked along in his old four-wheel drive Jeep for a very uncomfortable mile or two, then decided to stop, get out, and explore a little.

The area felt much more remote than the distance from town could justify. It was for sure there wasn’t much up here. Ray hadn’t seen any houses or cabins for at least a half hour. There were no other cars on the in-need-of-repair road. And while there was a comfort in being away from people, there was also an unease in being away from people. He would have been embarrassed if someone had seen his jumpiness, but it didn’t matter—there was no one around. He reached into his glove box, removed his service revolver, and stuck it in his belt. Alone or not, it made him feel better.

Off to one side, about fifty feet from where Ray had parked, there was a gate with some kind of sign. He hiked over in that direction. There was no path, and the gate looked out of place as a result. When he got closer he could see that on the other side of the gate was a very primitive road. The sign on the gate wasn’t much help:
Keep Out
. The whole area seemed to be fenced off. The fence wasn’t high and it wasn’t very strong—obviously just a boundary, not a serious attempt to keep anyone out.

Ray wasn’t sure of his legal ground, but given what the librarian had said there was every indication that it had been abandoned—he could at least make an argument that he was allowed to enter. Besides, he’d mentioned it to the local Sheriff. Hector hadn’t dissuaded him, and openly talking to the sheriff like that was evidence that Ray wasn’t being surreptitious. All in all, that was enough of a rationalization for Ray.

Quickly hopping over the fence, he began walking up the makeshift road. The terrain was rough, and there was ample evidence of water damage over the years. If Ray was serious about buying something up here that he would actually live in there would have to be some fairly major improvements to allow him reasonable access. Once again it crossed his mind that this was something of a wild goose chase and probably a waste of time. But as soon as the thought occurred to him, he realized that that was pretty much all he had to do today: waste time. He relaxed and started to enjoy the hike and the day.

About a quarter of a mile from the gate, Ray could see some kind of structure off the road a hundred yards or so. There didn’t seem to be a driveway or any kind of path toward the structure, although there might be something on the other side of the cabin or whatever it was. The more Ray looked, the more it seemed like some kind of outbuilding, maybe used for storage. He decided to stay on the road, which curved, and see if maybe it went around to the other side of the building. Anyway, he felt better staying on the road than blazing his own trail through the trees.

Ray remained on the road. It did slowly curl around to the other side of the outbuilding, and once he got clear of that he could see a pretty good-sized cabin further along. Sticking with the road, he soon came upon a small road or driveway that looked like it led to the cabin. There was no gate and no indication of the address or who might own the cabin. He started up the driveway.

After a walk that probably seemed longer than it really was, Ray reached the cabin. While it was obviously very old and in need of some repairs, it was, at least from the outside, in surprisingly good shape. It was a large structure made of logs. The rustic nature of the original construction had allowed the building to maintain its condition, even though it looked like it had been many years since anyone had been here. He climbed the few steps up to the large wraparound porch. On his right, he saw numbers on the cabin: 405. The five was dangling, and looked like it would fall any minute, but there it was, proof that this was the old cabin once owned by Max’s dad. He felt like he’d just discovered a lost land or something.