Chapter 31

Table of Contents

The dusty, rag tag, but steely eyed patriots of the Freedom Frontiersmen had set up an unofficial roadblock just outside Tombstone. It was in a place where the 80 and 82 merged to bring people together from one obscenely hot remote corner of the state into another obscenely hot remote corner of the state, but Catalina Eddy didn't seem to mind the heat at all.  While his sun-sensitive associates of the Freedom Frontiersmen hunkered in whatever miserable shade they could get in the lee of their dust caked transports, Eddy smiled and waved at the passing motorists he flagged down, to whom he distributed flyers.  The flyer featured a surprisingly accurate composite drawing of Little Fucker, who was of course not identified there as such, alongside a caption that read Help me to get home.  Beneath this was the logo of the Freedom Frontiersmen (A community service organization), and Eddy's personal cell phone number.

"I don't know what good this is going to do, boss," Costello grumbled from the side of his jeep. 

"Just keep quiet and lay low.  I don't want your ugly mugs out here scaring people away.  Keep your repugnant pusses where nobody can see them.  I'm the photogenic face of this shabby band of mongrels.  But write down their license plates, just in case."

"Honestly, boss, what do you think the odds are someone has seen that kid?  Most of these people are from out of town.  A lot of them are from some freezing arctic circle country where 50 above is a heat wave.  They think frying in the upper hundreds is some kind of eco-adventure.  Being in the capital of Arizona gunslingers here just increases the thrill.  If they have seen this kid, he looks like just one more non-descript blonde Swede that blends into thousands more they have seen in their sub-zero lives."

"I don't approve of your cynicism," said Eddy.  "I would appreciate it if you would let me make the speeches.  Now here comes a car.  Lower your ballcap.  Jeez that thing is filthy.  Don't you ever wash it?"

As predicted, a minivan full of Scandinavian eco-tourists pulled up, full of pink sunburned faces that had previously never known color.  Back in Stockholm, happy sunburned selfies from this group were going viral. 

"Howdy Folks!" Eddy said with a cheery smile.  "Welcome to Arizona, the land of eternal sunshine.  Carolina might claim to be the sunshine state, but their sun is swallowed by thunderclouds 90 percent of the time.  Our sun, however, is shamelessly, magnificently naked most of the time."

"Florida is the sunshine state, boss," Costello mumbled from behind the jeep.  ¨Carolina is two or three states North of it, just so you'll know."

"These people don't know that," Eddy whispered through his teeth.

"Chances are they do.  The geography literacy level in Northern European countries is extraordinarily high. Much higher than here.¨

"Don't embarrass me.¨

"You are real American Cowboy, Ja?" the driver said.  Everyone in the van lifted their cell phones to take pictures of this curiosity.

"Well, sir, the days of real cowboys and gunslingers are long gone, but I've lassoed a few doggies in my day."  He basked in the attention.  "Now folks, I hate to put a bummer on your happy sojourn, but we're looking for a lost little kid."  He handed them a flyer.  The five or six occupants of the van scrutinized it, chattered with incomprehension in their strange Nordic tongue, then took photos of the flyer too. They did this mechanically and without enthusiasm, as if compelled by some unwritten tourist code.

"Looks like my little cousin Günter," said the driver, handing the flyer back.

"Please keep that with our compliments," Eddy said.  "And call us at this number here if you happen to see anything."

"Told you," Costello said as the van drove away.

Eddy could not be dissuaded.  He remained standing at the junction, a curiosity in his tall cowboy hat and khaki shorts.  Dozens drove by, but nobody could recall having seen the little boy.  Eddy was about to admit defeat and go elsewhere, when a small rental car drove up. The back seat of the compact contraption was stuffed to the breaking point with books, telescopes, and a set of golf clubs.

"Good morning," said Eddy, leaning down to the car window to make one more try.  A tall, angular, thin man with a pronounced lack of chin sat there. Alongside him was a prim, taciturn, rather doughy looking lady in a big floral hat.  "Where you folks coming from?"

"Good day, my good fellow," replied the Earl of Easely.  "Between you and the Border Patrol a chap has to endure a lot of roadblocks around here.  We've been exploring the Dragoons and the St. David monastery today.  Lovely place, with all the peafowl running about.  Am I required to show some form of identification?"

"No sir," said Eddy.  "We're helping to search for a missing child.  Maybe you and your lovely missus have seen the little fellow."

The Earl took the flyer and immediately spoke up.  People are suckers for an official looking flyer.  A stalking serial killer who posts a slick looking Have You Seen Me flyer will get hundreds of tips within minutes to help him track down his victims.  "Egad!" exclaimed the Earl.  "This looks exactly like the little chap we saw back at the motel."

Eddy was jolted by this revelation, and had to struggle to suppress the excitement. "I beg your pardon, Sir?"

"Yes, I believe I have seen him."

"Just where, exactly?"  Eddy couldn't believe it.

"Back in Cornudo, at the motel."

Eddy threw his head back so hard he could have filed a whiplash claim.  "Cornudo, Arizona?"

"My dear fellow," said the Earl a bit testily, anxious to move on.  He had a report of a Black Rail near Yuma and was desperate to investigate.  "Just how many Cornudos are there, exactly, on this planet?  Driving across this fair land, one comes across a Madison or a Jackson at every turn of the highway.  On the other side of the Mississippi the name of that bloody anti-royalist Bolivar is splattered everywhere.  But I assure you, there is no other Cornudo but here."

"Wh...who did you see this child with, in Cornudo?"

"He was with the lady friend of the motel owner.  Mike, I believe his name is.  They were in a room on the southwest side.  But that was a while ago now."

That would be the critter room, Eddy realized.  They were hiding the kid in the critter room.  That made perfect sense, because no one sane wanted to go in there.

"This boy is missing you say? He looked pretty happy and at home to me. Shouldn't we contact the appropriate authorities?" He had his bony nose raised in Earlish displeasure at Eddy´s distasteful wardrobe.

"We certainly should sir," agreed Eddy.  "And that is exactly what I intend to do, right now.  I have the sheriff on speed dial.  He has sort of, you know, deputized us to help out."

The Earl had been surreptitiously watching shadows slinking around the parked jeeps, where from time to time the wretched, ruddy face of an unsavory, unwashed human specimen would peek out from amongst them.  Not from among, but amongst, as the British say and think, which is totally ridiculous and basically why we had to fight for independence.  Anyhow, the Earl was beginning to question the legitimacy of these concerned citizens, who looked more like brigands and cutthroats.

"I do say my good man," he said to Eddy.  "I must protest any sort of vigilantism that might be going on here.  I find that sort of thing reprehensible in a country that prides itself on law and order."

"No vigilantism, I assure you sir.  The sheriff will be notified to investigate your report.  Where are you folks headed next?"

The Earl was normally a pillar of truth, prevarication having been purged from his genes by several generations of careful inbreeding, but something about these ruffians didn't sit right.  "We're going to catch a plane in Phoenix," he said.  "We've had a jolly good time out here in the colonies, but duty calls, you know."

"Oh, don't I know," Eddy said with a broad grin that reached to the underside of his cowboy hat.  "You folks have a safe trip, and come back and see us sometime.  Thanks for the tip."

The Earl turned onto the highway 80 in a northwest direction.  "Oh dear I fear I put my foot in it," he addressed the Lady Easely.  "I don't like the smell of those chaps at all.  Perhaps I have gotten our friend Mike into some sort of trouble...Yes I know he's been such a good sport, he handled that embarrassing situation with the rejected credit card with such aplomb.  Fancy that - an Easely a pauper!  How was I to know that nose picking brute of a cashier in the petrol station in Safford, that, that cock eyed, six-toed mutant named Earl Easely, would hijack my identify?  How did that larcenous wretch ever chance upon such an honorable name? Nasty piece of business!  But Mike was a true gentleman about it.  I am of a mind to see he gets knighted, when we get home...What?  Can I do that?  Of course I can do that.  I'm an Easely!  But first things first.  We've got to call the young fellow and give him a warning.  Drive faster dear, there's no reception here."

Back at the junction, Eddy was busy rubbing their noses in it, pointing out to everyone this was why he was the boss, because he was the only one who could think up great ideas that seemed stupid to everyone else.  Once he had finished high-fiving himself, however, it was time for the FF to plot its next move.

"Danny said the motel was off limits," one of the non-descript goons reminded Eric.  "How are we going to grab the kid without him seeing us across the parking lot?"

"Easy," said Eddy.  "Roy at the filling station in Tacna has his wife's Camry parked in the back. It ain´t Sunday, so that woman ain´t driving. You couldn't ask for something more non-descript touristy than a silver Camry, and Roy owes me a lot of favors.  I'll take that car and go in pretending to be a tourist.  I'll put on some big sunglasses, a Hawaiian shirt and an under armor ballcap.  Nothing looks more California than that.  Then I´ll grab the kid and come right out. Nobody will recognize me without this big, stupid hat.  Only problem is, how do we get into that room once we are there?  I'm betting that Gasden boy changed the locks on us."

"He might not have changed this one," said Costello, holding up a single brass key that gleamed like the Holy Grail in the southern Arizona sunlight.

"What is that and where did you get it?"

Costello let out an exasperated sigh.  "While you boys were getting amorous with Tony up against the side of his car, I had the foresight to remove it from his keychain."

"You Sir, just got a promotion," said Eddy as he swiped the key from Costello´s unwashed hand.

"Promotion to what?" asked Costello, unimpressed.

"Chief knucklehead."

"Uh huh.  Seems like I've already been filling that job slot for years.  Tell me something.  Once we get this boy, what are we planning on doing with him?"

Eddy´s brow furrowed momentarily beneath his big cowboy hat.  Which begs the question, if your brow furrows and nobody sees it, did it really furrow?  And because the furrow was burrowed beneath the big hat, nobody could tell if it was a thinking furrow, or a crisis of conscience furrow, contemplating momentous moral or ethical issues.

"Well, as said Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz, Fiddle-dee-dee I'll think about that tomorrow."

"I hate to break the news, but that was Scarlet O'hara in Gone With The Wind, boss," Costello noted.

Westward, beyond the Huachuca Mountains, Sheriff Dustin Diesel was rolling along a winding highway with his prisoner, Tony Vargas, handcuffed in the back.

"Where the hell are you taking me?" complained Tony, looking out the window to avoid the sight of Sheriff Diesel's fat head, which were basically his only two choices for scenery.  "Is this going to be one of those police brutality things, because you're taking a roundabout ass way to Nogales.  Is this the part where you bury a beaner in the woods after beating him to death?  I want a lawyer."

"The Sheriff respectfully requests that the prisoner keep his mouth shut," Dustin said from up front.

"You're not supposed to say that," Tony answered.  "You're supposed to read me my Miranda rights, named after another beaner you guys tried to railroad.  After you read my rights, then you get me to jabber so I incriminate myself.  See, you don't know shit about the law."

Despite Tony's best efforts, Dustin remained quiet as they turned off the highway and onto a reasonably well-maintained dirt road.  "Here we go," said Tony as they bumped along through oaken scrubland, mixed with pinyon trees.  "Don't I at least get a priest to give me the last rites?"

A sign by the road said Canelo Ranger Station.  They passed by a corral and a few irregularly placed buildings. A jaded horse munching a mouthful of hay peered at them indifferently.  Then Dustin moved down a small lane to a creek, where he parked by a squat adobe structure with a pitched roof.

"Hey, this is the ranger station," said Tony.  "Where the hell is Lindell?  I want to lodge a complaint that my civil rights have been violated."

"Just keep your mouth shut and I'll explain everything once we're inside."

"You gonna waterboard me in there?"

"Don't be stupid.  You know I don't waterboard people.  Just shut your yap for one minute, if you can manage."

Dustin led Tony by the cuffs into the building.  The cramped structure contained a small holding cell infrequently used by the rangers, more often by Dustin when he was going to hand over a prisoner across jurisdictions.  Dustin put Tony in the cell and removed his bindings.

"I'm putting you in this cell for your own protection, Tony," he said.  "I didn't call this in because I know you didn't kill that lady.  You're not guilty of any crimes other than first degree pain in the ass."

"Better your ass than mine," said Tony, stretching out on the small bunk.  "I almost had my booty popped today.  How about you, Sheriff?  Is your starfish still clinging to the reef or have they pried it loose already?"

"Let me finish, because this is serious business.  AZ DPS is turning over every rock between here and the New Mexico border looking for you.  You know the Colonel hates you since you were screwed his wife a few years ago."

"Hey, she threw herself at me.  I couldn't help it.  I was a victim of sexual assault. Just like I almost was today, except the Colonel´s wife was a lot more tolerable."

"Yeah right.  Anyhow, if Public Safety gets its hands on you they're going to arrange for you to resist arrest or assault an officer, and then your wise cracking days are over.  So we got to keep you here off the radar until we find some evidence to counteract the evidence they have on you."

"Evidence?  What evidence?" said Tony, putting his hands under his head for a pillow.  "They got nothing on me."

"They have your fingerprints and DNA on a tarp that was used to cover her body.  That's pretty damning evidence."

Tony sat straight up.  "Holy shit.  Wait a minute."  He squeezed his forehead as if that could concentrate his thoughts.  "The tarp was stolen out of the kid's truck. The kid told me later he saw it rolled up in the back of one of those Frontiersman's trucks.  Holy shit the body must have been in it!  They stopped for breakfast at the cafe carrying a corpse."

"Okay, that explains the fingerprints.  What about the DNA?"

"Well, that's a little complicated," Tony laughed, slightly embarrassed.  "The kid and I took the tarp to cover the groceries when we went to Costco in Tucson.  Afterwards, we went to Striggys.  Remember that cute little half-Asian, half-Mexican, half God knows what else waitress there?  Monica, Veronica, I forget.  I invited her out to the truck on her lunch break, we used the tarp to cover ourselves and..."

"I think I get it," said Dustin.  "Thanks for the clarification.  What I have to do then, is to get the investigators to check for prints for any of the Frontiersmen.  In the meantime I'll unload some food and water, and you stay here and reflect on your sins a while."

"I did that already.  There are way to many to reflect upon, so I gave up in like five seconds." 

As Dustin stood over him like father-confessor, Tony's mustache twisted in deep thought.  "Hey, what about that kid they were looking for?  The one that Hal was all obsessed about?  The one the Feds were pulling out all the stops to find?"

Dustin tensed up, because this subject was definitely a sore spot. "The Feds weren't involved in finding that boy.  That search had nothing to do with the kid.  Hal is wrong about that, he´s just chasing shadows, hoping for a promotion. Hey, what's with that cat swallowed the canary look?  What do you know?"

Tony smiled.  "I think I know what the search is for."

Dustin faced Tony dead on. "How the hell could you know? Me and my men have been combing the desert for months and they won't even tell us what we're looking for. You expect me to believe you have access to information so secret that the people assigned to protect it don't know what it is?"

Tony was sitting up on the bunk again. "Yes, I have special insights. That's the difference between me and you. You're so used to taking orders from some asswipe you don't know how to think for yourself anymore."

Dustin chewed on his own walrus-like mustache for a minute and decided Tony might have a point. "Let's hear it. What's this great revelation of yours?"

"Not so fast. We need to make a deal. As a matter of fact, since I'm a sweet, generous guy and you're an old friend, I'll trade you two secrets, and all you have to do is let me go."

"Let you go? You're crazy. That's not good for either one of us."

"Not exactly let me go, just let me out of here. I'll still be in your protective custody and I'll be a model prisoner, I promise. I won't even think about escaping. You just need to go where I tell you to."

Dustin stroked the bristly hair beneath his lip suspiciously. "Clue me in. Deliver the goods first."

"I'll clue you in on the way," said Tony. "We gotta get moving. Things are heating up now, I can sense it.¨ He got the feeling the kid is in some deep shit.

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Canelo ranger station image by Alison T. Otis, USDA Forest Service, courtesy of Wikimedia Commons.