Michael McGarrity - The big gamble

Finding Staggs wasn't going to be easy, but Hewitt had added that task to Clayton's already full plate anyway. With instructions from the sheriff to dig deeper into Luis Rojas and his girlfriend, Clayton was headed back to El Paso. But first, he needed to make a couple of detours.

He stopped first at Warren Tredwell's office in Ruidoso. The lawyer sat behind an old library table that served as his desk. With a foot propped on his knee, brushing his bushy mustache with a finger, he didn't bother with a greeting or make an attempt to be civil. Clayton's aversion to the man rose up like a tight knot in his stomach.

"I honestly don't know where my client is," Tredwell replied in answer to Clayton's question.

"He's wanted for questioning as a material witness," Clayton said.

"I know that," Tredwell said tersely, leaning back in his chair. "I spoke to the DA earlier today about the matter. But I can't inform my client until he contacts me."

"Has he left town permanently?"

"You could assume that," Tredwell replied.

"And why should I assume that?"

"Good question," Tredwell said sarcastically.

"Answer it," Clayton said. He hated the snippy little word games so many Anglos liked to play. His sharpness with Tredwell earned him a serious look.

"He put his property up for sale and gave me a power of attorney to handle the transaction," Tredwell said.

"How do you contact him?"

"I don't," Tredwell answered. "He said he would call once he got settled."

"And you haven't heard from him?"

"If I had, I would have told the district attorney."

"Where did he go?"

"He didn't say."

"Not even a hint?"

"South," Tredwell replied. "He said he would be traveling south."

There was a casino outside of El Paso and a racetrack nearby, just inside the New Mexico state line. It made sense that Staggs would want to relocate close to the action, where he could set up shop and draw business.

"Did he mention any plans to visit El Paso?" Clayton asked.

"No, he did not."

"How did Staggs pay your fee?" Clayton asked.

"That's none of your business," Tredwell replied.

Clayton smiled. "If he paid in cash, I'm sure you won't forget to report it to the IRS."

"We're done here," Tredwell said, unwinding himself from the chair.

Clayton nodded in agreement, left, and paused to see Grace at work to tell her he would be gone overnight. Her classroom was filled with happy, noisy children who were finger painting on large sheets of newsprint spread out on low tables. From the doorway Clayton caught Grace's eye and motioned for her to approach. The room fell silent as the children watched as Grace came close and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. Several children giggled. He told her what was up.

"You promised Wendell and Hannah a phone call to Kerney tonight," Grace said.

"It can wait for a day or two."

"That's not fair," Grace replied. "It may not be a big deal to you, but it is to them."

"You can call Kerney. It doesn't have to be me."

"I'd prefer if you did it," Grace said.

"Not tonight," Clayton said with a shake of his head.

"You can't keep running away from the fact that Kerney is your father," Grace said.

"I'm not. Tell him I wanted to call but couldn't."

"Do you mean that?" Grace asked.

"Half and half," Clayton replied with a weak smile. "He's not an easy man to talk to."

"Neither are you," Grace said, squeezing his hand. "I'll call him."

Clayton kissed his wife and left to the sounds of tittering children. He fired up the engine of his unit, thinking his best move, given what he'd learned at Rojas's mountain retreat and from Tredwell, would be to get a handle on the girlfriend and then start looking for Staggs in El Paso.

Ramona Pino got the lowdown on The Players Green Club amp; Restaurant from Jeff Vialpando. It wasn't an ordinary sports bar. High-class and expensive, it had opened less than a year ago in a new building in the Northeast Heights, and catered to young, affluent singles who lived in the town homes and condominiums close by.

The grand opening had been attended by the mayor, several city councillors, a couple of state legislators, and some important local business leaders.

Within several months narcotics agents were hearing street talk about drug dealing at the club, and vice cops were getting rumors of illegal Las Vegas-style betting on televised athletic events. Weeks of outside surveillance had identified only two known drug dealers who frequented the club on a regular basis. Undercover cops posing as customers saw no evidence of dealing or illegal wagering. About the only incidents of note involved a duo of college-type hookers, just barely of legal age, who worked the bar on the weekends.

Everything pretty much looked on the up-and-up, but rumors and talk persisted, mostly passed on by two reliable white-collar snitches, who'd fingered an ecstasy drug ring of graduate students at the university.

Surreptitious attempts to get an officer hired as an employee failed. Staff turnover was minimal, and the owner, a man named Adam Tully, always seemed able to bring a new waitress on board quickly without advertising or interviewing applicants.

Tails were placed on staff members, and background checks were run as identities were ascertained. All had clean sheets, but interestingly, all were recent arrivals from out of state, particularly Colorado and West Texas.

Tully, a New Mexico native recently returned from Colorado, was listed as the sole owner of Five Players, Incorporated, doing business as The Players Green Club amp; Restaurant. If he had partners, they were silent.

Tully had no criminal record, and owned another club in Denver operated under the same name, which had been given a clean bill of health by the Denver PD. All his business licenses, corporate reports, and state and local tax filings were current and in order.

Vialpando had described the club's layout. The bar and dining area were separate from a large room where big-screen televisions were set up in six different viewing areas consisting of comfortable couches, overstuffed chairs, and coffee tables. Only the bar menu and drinks were available to customers in the screening room. Six adjacent rooms with televisions were available for fans who wanted to dine and watch a specific televised event. Those rooms were already booked months in advance. On the weekends, a jazz trio played dance music in the main dining room.

As she drove to the club, Ramona pushed pleasant thoughts about Jeff Vialpando out of her mind and ran over the cover story she'd laid on Cassie Bedlow. Whatever she told Adam Tully had to match what Cassie Bedlow "knew" about her.

Good undercover cops always built fictional personas based on reality. Ramona's previous assignments had taught her the importance of character development. Blending fact with fiction made the role more natural and authentic, easier to pull off. But there couldn't be any gaps or lapses that might give you away.

In fact, Ramona had been both a waitress and a sales clerk in Durango during the year she'd attended college there as a transfer student. She'd returned to the city several times since then, so dredging up recollections and recalling places and streets wasn't much of a stretch. She did it anyway, because you never knew what could trip you up.

She stepped inside the club and let her eyes adjust to the dim lights. The man standing at the end of the bar talking to the hostess matched Vialpando's description of Adam Tully. Five eight, narrow shoulders, a thin frame, with an arched, slightly turned-up nose. Tully smiled as she approached, and Ramona smiled back.

Adam Tully liked what he saw. She was all that Cassie had told him in her phone call and more: great Hispanic features with dark, liquid eyes, a tight, shapely body with a tiny waist, and creamy skin with a golden hue.