Michael McGarrity - Tularosa

He knocked on the door and entered quickly when the captain responded. Captain Brannon stood with her back to Tapia, rummaging through a metal file cabinet. She was wearing cowboy boots, blue jeans, and a white, silky kind of blouse. Eddie had never seen the captain in civvies before. She had a very nice ass. He stood in front of the desk and waited for her to turn around. She glanced over her shoulder and looked him up and down before speaking.

"Sit down, Eddie," she said, as she came back to her desk and lowered herself into her chair.

"Thanks for coming so quickly."

"No problem, ma'am." Inwardly, Eddie sighed with relief. He wasn't in trouble after all. Bone-tired, he sat, folded his hands in his lap, and tried to look as alert as possible. Sara took time to arrange the paperwork on the desk, using the moment to consider Tapia. He would do, she decided. Dedicated to his work, Tapia was solid and dependable. Of Mexican and Indian heritage, he was bilingual, had a guileless face and streetwise smarts.

"I'm closing the Benton case." Surprised, Eddie became more attentive. He had been working the Benton case, checking every gym in El Paso and Las Cruces, trying to catch a break, until the Kerney assignment came up. Benton was a physical fitness nut and ladies' man who liked to hit on women at health spas. The case was going nowhere. Two months ago, for no apparent reason, Benton had resigned unexpectedly and left work that same day, never to be seen again. By the time the defense contractor reported him missing, Benton had moved out of his apartment and left no clues as to his whereabouts.

"Has he been picked up?" Eddie asked.

"Intelligence has him in custody," Sara replied. "That's all I know."

"I'd sure like to know where they found him," Eddie mused. "And how."

"So would I," Sara agreed. "I have another job for you. Are you familiar with the Alan Yardman case?"

"A little," Tapia responded.

"Yardman worked at the Naval Space Satellite Surveillance Station as a repair technician. He went A.W.O.L. after his commanding officer ordered him to submit to mandatory drug screening. If I remember correctly, he went home to South Dakota, cleaned out his mother's jewelry box, and vanished."

"That's right," Sara confirmed.

"I've been studying Yardman's personnel jacket. He had good efficiency ratings and a clean record until his transfer to the missile range. Within six months after his arrival, it's downhill all the way: poor job performance, uncooperative attitude, conduct bordering on insubordination.

"The assumption," Sara continued, "is that Yardman was an addict who went A.W.O.L., paid a visit to his mother, and ripped her off to buy drugs. Yet, all his drug-screening results from every duty station, including White Sands, were negative. We know he wasn't a womanizer, yet he spent a lot of time in Juarez. If he wasn't getting high or whoring around, what was he doing?"

The third most popular vice, Eddie thought. "Gambling?" he suggested.

"Exactly."

"Is there any evidence that he liked to gamble?"

"Circumstantial only." She handed a sheet of paper to Tapia. "I asked for Yardman's credit union account late last night. Take a look." Tapia studied the statement. Yardman had made frequent deposits, in different amounts, many of them near the end of the month when most people were short of cash. The withdrawals, some identical to the deposits, seemed to occur without any pattern. It didn't mean squat, Eddie thought, unless Yardman was a loan shark. But sharks don't collect until after pay days and they don't put their working capital in credit unions.

"Seems odd," Eddie said, trying to sound positive. Captain Brannon agreed with Tapia's skepticism.

"It tells us nothing until you compare Yardman's duty schedule to the transaction dates. Money out when he's leaving the post; money in when he returns. Not always, but consistently enough to suggest that he was banking his winnings for the next go-round. And when he won big, the next withdrawal matched the deposit exactly."

She passed him more papers. Yardman's days off were circled in red. He compared the two documents. The month before he split. Yardman had been taking cash out of his account and not replacing it, until all the money was gone.

"You think he hit a losing streak?" Sara nodded.

"That's the way I read it. Two days before he left, he applied for a personal loan at the credit union, but didn't stick around to find out if it got approved. I think he robbed his mother because he was either in debt to a loan shark or had simply lost control completely. What do you think?"

"It's a possibility. Captain," Eddie replied.

"If it's true, we've been looking for him in the wrong places."

"That's right. Gamblers are superstitious. What if Yardman returned to Juarez to try his luck again? Does that seem likely to you?"

"He could be anywhere," Eddie answered cautiously.

"True enough, except for one point. He was rock solid with his money at his previous duty stations. Didn't spend much and saved a regular amount each month. If Yardman is a compulsive gambler, it's a fairly recent development. I think he might go back to familiar surroundings."

"That makes sense." Sara stood up and gave the Yardman file to Tapia.

"I'm glad you think so. I want you in Juarez as soon as possible. There's two thousand dollars in that folder, along with a copy of my orders. Improvise, Eddie. This is an undercover assignment. You are to report only to me and tell no one about this." Eddie opened his mouth, swallowed hard, and clamped his jaw shut.

"What is it. Corporal?"

"I have to tell my wife something," Eddie responded.

"Has Isabel been home to show off your new baby to her parents yet?"

"No, she hasn't."

"Use some of the money in the envelope and send her for a visit."

"Can I do that?"

"This time you can. You have my written permission to spend the cash as you see fit, including dependent travel. It's spelled out in the orders." Eddie grinned. Isabel would love it. She'd been bugging him to go home since the day his son was born.

"Anything else, Captain?"

"Be careful."

"I grew up on the border, ma'am. It's my old stomping grounds."

"That's why you're going," Sara said.

"You know the drill on how to contact me. I'll expect reports at twenty-four-hour intervals. As of now, you're officially on leave. You're up for a promotion review next month. Clear this case and I'll make sure you get those new chevrons." Eddie's grin widened.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Enjoy your time off, Corporal." Corporal Eddie Tapia did an about-face and left Sara's office, feeling a hell of a lot better about himself, his job, and his prospects. He had a plum assignment, an unexpected surprise for Isabel, and a chance to climb another step up the ranks. He hurried out, anxious to get home and pack Isabel and the baby off to her parents. *** Major Thomas Curry, the post provost marshal, walked to his staff car in the parking lot humming the melody to "Blue Rondo a la Turk." Every morning before work, he spent thirty minutes at his piano. Today's session, an attempt at the driving chords and difficult time signature of the Dave Brubeck composition, was a technically demanding exercise, and it had gone very well. Curry's fine spirits weren't dampened by the prospect of his regularly scheduled monthly briefing with the deputy post commander, at which Curry presented updated crime statistics. Curry's report was tolerated solely because the commanding general had decided to fight crime on the base and had made his second-in-command, who disliked the assignment, responsible for the initiative. It made for an uncomfortable half hour. No matter-only a few months away from retirement, Curry would muster out as a lieutenant colonel. Not bad for a man who came up through the enlisted ranks. As a survivor of the reduction-in-force purge, he was gratified to have made it to full retirement.