The Bootlegger’s Legacy (20 page)

Oklahoma City, Oklahoma / El Paso, Texas / Las Cruces, New Mexico—July 1987

Joe was to meet Mike at the check-in counter for Continental Airlines. A little excited and somewhat apprehensive about their planned trip to Las Cruces, Joe was uncertain of what they would find, and therefore not entirely comfortable. Joe wasn’t the adventuresome sort, and liked to know in advance where things were headed. Mike, on the other hand, seemed more carefree and was willing to step into a situation without a clue as to what would happen.

They had a direct flight to El Paso, where they would rent a car and drive to Las Cruces. Joe had looked up information about El Paso and Las Cruces and was intrigued by the history of the area, and the connection to Mike’s dad only made it more fascinating.

Joe had said goodbye to Liz that morning after one of her lengthy diatribes about his faults and overall lack of character. Either she was becoming increasingly harsh or he was becoming more thin-skinned. He knew she didn’t love him, but he was beginning to realize that she didn’t like him much either. The look in her eyes when she was berating him was one of disgust. She wanted a husband who would provide for her and the kids, but she also wanted a husband who would participate in her social activities. Most of these centered on her church, the Church of Christ. Joe was a reasonable provider, but he just couldn’t participate in her social life, and was definitely not interested in church functions, which had made him an outsider in his own family.

Joe hated the unknown, so it had been easier to just put up with Liz than to move out and venture into a new life with no assurances as to what it might be like. It was becoming clear to Joe that he didn’t like himself much either.

Mike came into the waiting area as the plane was boarding. Joe was punctual to a fault—Mike was perpetually late to everything.

“Sorry, I’m so late. Sam’s the world’s worst driver. She drives five miles per hour, pissing off everybody on the road, and claims she’s the safest driver in the state. I thought we’d never get here. We’ll probably be in El Paso before she gets back home.” Mike smiled through most of his outburst. For reasons that maybe only Mike could understand, ever since the phone call about the cabin in New Mexico he’d been upbeat. An old cabin in T or C couldn’t be worth enough to solve his financial problems, but it was a connection with his father, and that seemed to cheer him up.

“She’s probably trying to compensate for the way you drive.” Joe had been with Mike many times when it seemed like they’d soon be dead on the highway. The man knew only one speed: faster. Not always paying attention, and always going full tilt.

They boarded the plane and took an aisle and window seat, hoping no one would take the middle one. It wasn’t a problem—the plane was only about half full. Continental had been having some financial problems lately, and that probably compounded the problem of attracting customers. But they were the only airline that had a direct flight to El Paso and they were cheap—all of which were good things as long as they didn’t crash.

They pushed back from the gate and were airborne within minutes. Financial problems or not, the flight was excellent. The service couldn’t have been better—having a half-empty plane helped with that—and the flight was smooth all the way. As they approached El Paso the air became choppy, and the pilot came on to ask the passengers to buckle up. He said it was always bumpy coming into El Paso.

The contrast was striking. Oklahoma had lots of green trees and beautiful blue lakes. El Paso was brown. Everything seemed dead. Even the mountains looked stark. The land gave off a message of hardness—not a place for the weak.

Peering out the window, Joe said, “This is one of the ugliest places I’ve ever seen.”

“Maybe it looks better close up?” Mike’s earlier enthusiasm wavered a little.

As they descended, they could see that they were in the middle of a desert. Of course they had known that this part of the country was desert-like, but it was still a surprise to see the vastness of this barren landscape. The landing was smooth, and there was brief applause for the pilot.

Being in the El Paso terminal felt like being in another country. The contrast with the Oklahoma City terminal was striking, and Joe felt like he had landed in Mexico. As he looked around, he was aware of the way that bright colors had been used to make the terminal feel vibrant and alive. The people were different, too, browner, and there were also more smiles—everyone seemed happier. He thought it must be his imagination. Why would you be happier living in this barren land? Maybe they were leaving.

They had no hassles at the car rental booth and were quickly settled into their vehicle. Always frugal, Joe had rented a compact car that would likely be comfortable for the first ten minutes or so on their hour-plus trip to Las Cruces. He’d also rented it in his own name, without adding Mike—he didn’t want to die on the highway in a foreign land. Of course, he knew it wasn’t really a foreign land, but it sounded more dramatic that way when he explained it to Mike.

Everything was hot. They didn’t know what the temperature was, but there was no question that it was hot, and the compact’s air conditioning was clearly not adequate. Mike gave Joe some dirty looks. “Next time, at least try to get something that has decent AC.”

Probably wouldn’t be a next time, although Joe had to agree that the heat was uncomfortable. It took about fifteen minutes for the car to finally begin to cool, at which point they began to relax.

The scenery was still dominated by brown. But at ground level there was more contrast and color than they’d been able to see from the plane. The area had many mountains, which were rocky, with a minimum of vegetation, but that were also very interesting to look at, with dramatic angles. Their drive took them north toward Las Cruces, and they began to pass large agricultural areas—huge areas of green in what seemed a tree farm, as well as large dairy farms lining the highway. Obviously water was coming from somewhere, either wells or reservoirs. While still very different from Oklahoma, the land was more interesting and varied on the ground than it had appeared from the air.

Enjoying and commenting on the new things they were seeing made the time pass quickly. They got off the highway at the exit they needed and were almost immediately at the Holiday Inn. The hotel had been described as one of the nicest Holiday Inns in the country—although Mike suspected that Joe had made reservations here just because it was cheap—they were pleasantly surprised to find that it had a unique hacienda feel. As they entered the colorful lobby, they could see an enticing combination bar and restaurant, as well as an outdoor pool. The overall effect was nothing like you would expect from a Holiday Inn.

They checked in, found their rooms, then made plans to meet in thirty minutes and have a drink or two before dinner.

Joe was the first to hit the bar. No doubt Mike had called Sam and they were busy discussing whatever it was that happily married couples talked about. Joe hadn’t called Liz.

Debating his choices, Joe decided to go local and ordered a margarita on the rocks. The bartender asked if he wanted an El Grande and Joe said “why not?” The result of that decision turned out to be the largest glass Joe had ever seen. While he thought he could probably lift it, he elected to take a few sips through the straw first to lighten it a little. A huge glass and very, very tasty drink—what a perfect combination.

Joe was about halfway through his El Grande when Mike showed up. Being halfway through an El Grande probably represented more tequila than Joe had ever consumed—he was already feeling no pain.

“I love this place, Mike. Sit down and let me get you an El Grande.” His words were not slurred, but they seemed to come out at odd speeds.

“My god, Joe. I think that drink is for more than one person.”

“Maybe so—but I’m not sharing.”

Mike ordered his own El Grande and any chance of serious discussion was over for the night. They settled in. Joe and Mike laughed and sang and made a nuisance of themselves. They had tacos for dinner and claimed to all who would listen that they were the best damn tacos in the whole damn world. After dinner, when they were contemplating another round of something, the bartender very diplomatically suggested it might be best if they found their rooms. Considering the size of the bartender and the glares from other guests, they made the wise decision to call it a night.

The next morning was a little gloomy. Not only did Mike and Joe both have hangovers—intensified by embarrassment over some of their behavior—but it was raining in sunny Las Cruces. They met at the same place as the night before. Fortunately, it had been converted over to a breakfast buffet and the hostess and waitress had not been there the night before, so Joe and Mike weren’t publicly chastised for their previous behavior.

The breakfast, with lots of coffee, was definitely what they needed. Their plan for the day was to start at Chuck Owen’s office to discuss the cabin and maybe pick up some keys. Next they would see a local attorney about matters related to Mike’s mother’s will. Neither meeting sounded like something you wanted to deal with while suffering a hangover, but it would have been more helpful to think about that the night before, rather than the morning after.

After breakfast they both felt more like meeting people. They dashed to the car amid a rain shower. At least the showers cooled things down some. They could no longer see the mountains due to the clouds, and the whole area seemed different in the rain. They’d retrieved a map of the city from the front desk, so they had a good idea of where they were headed. As it turned out, it was only a short drive to the center of town.

It took only a little time to find the Owen Real Estate offices. Joe parked next to the building and they entered the office to find Owen enjoying a donut and coffee. After introductions they took seats in front of his desk.

“Well, how was the trip from Oklahoma City?”

“So far everything’s been very pleasant. Although we may have had a little more margarita than we should have last night.” Joe offered this candid assessment with a wry smile.

“Must be the curse of the El Grande?”

“I see. This is a famous tourist trap set up by the Holiday Inn.”

“I wish it only trapped tourists—I’m probably a few inches shorter than I should be because of the El Grande.” Everyone had a good laugh—Chuck wasn’t a tall guy.

“Mike, let’s get down to business. I guess once you get all of the legal aspects straightened out, that the cabin in T or C will be yours—and I have a buyer who is interested in purchasing. What do you have in mind?”

“Not completely sure right now. When you called it was a total surprise to me that my mother had a cabin in New Mexico. I’ll be meeting Mr. Young of Bates and Young here in town later today, so maybe then I’ll have a better idea how long it’ll take to clean up the legal aspects. But I imagine, Chuck, that I’ll want to sell the cabin. How much do you think it’s worth?”

“The value of anything is based on what a buyer is willing to pay. But first you’ll need to understand the problems with the cabin. It’s been vacant for a long time. Also, there’s no easy access. The primary road into that area was washed out some years ago and never repaired. And the county has no current plans to make those repairs. Obviously, that will have a negative effect on value. The cabin can be accessed either on foot, or using an existing trail with an ATV. The person interested in purchasing the cabin is our current County Sheriff who’s retiring. He’s aware of all of the issues and has told me he would offer $17,000. That may not seem like much to you, but you’ll have to see the place to fully understand. I can tell you that I think, under the circumstances, that might be the best offer you’re going to get.”

Mike had no idea what the property was worth but $17,000 would help him a lot more than owning an old abandoned cabin in New Mexico. “I guess the first thing I need to do is find out how complicated it’s going to be for me to clear up the ownership issue. Once I have that done, as I said before, I’m sure I’ll want to sell it. I’d like to make sure that the Sheriff’s offer is a fair value—maybe get an appraisal or something.”