Perdido County- Fentanyl Read online

  PERDIDO COUNTY

  Episode 4: Fentanyl

  A MODERN-DAY AMERICAN WEST CRIME FICTION SERIAL NOVEL

  by

  LARRY DARTER

  First published by Fedora Press 2019

  Copyright © 2019 by Larry Darter

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this work, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

  This work is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

  Larry Darter asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

  Designations used by companies to distinguish their products are often claimed as trademarks. All brand names and product names, if any, used in this publication and on its cover are trade names, service marks, trademarks and registered trademarks of their respective owners. The publishers and the work are not associated with any product or vendor mentioned in this book. None of the companies referenced within this publication have endorsed the publication.

  First edition, v.1

  Foreword

  You have purchased Perdido County: Fentanyl, the fourth episode in a modern-day American West crime fiction serial novel. Before reading this episode, if you haven't already, you may wish to first read the previous three episodes first for the best reading experience.

  Episode 1: Perdido County: Dark Road

  Episode 2: Perdido County: Someone's Daughter

  Episode 3: Peridido County: Illusions

  Episodes of this serial novel are published bi-weekly. There are ten episodes in all. Perdido County is not a traditional lengthy novel chopped into parts. It is designed to be read in serial episodes. Think of it like a streaming television series you read instead of watch.

  Thank you for reading Perdido County. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing it for you.

  Best regards,

  Larry Darter

  Learn more about Perdido County by visiting https://www.larrydarter.com/perdido-county/

  Contents

  Foreword

  4.1

  4.2

  4.3

  4.4

  4.5

  About the Author

  Other Books by Larry Darter

  4.1

  Wendell Dobbs loped the big sorrel gelding past the herd of black baldies grazing on the south range of the Bar 7 ranch. He was on windmill duty. The scarcity of surface water meant the ranch relied on six deep water wells to water the livestock. Windmills drove the pumps that siphoned the water from the Ogallala Aquifer. As the most recent hire and low man on the totem pole, once a week the ranch foreman dispatched Wendell to check all six wells to make sure the windmills and associated equipment was in good working order, keeping the galvanized stock tanks filled for the cattle.

  A mile after he had passed the herd, Wendell turned the horse due south and dropped into the caldera. He could already see the sunlight glinting off the turning wheel atop the windmill tower. But, he still had to ride the rest of the way to check the pump and water level in the stock tank. A few minutes later, Wendell pulled the sorrel up next to the tower. He dismounted, and ground-tied the horse.

  He walked to the tank and looked inside. There Wendell found a problem. Floating sand sagebrush covered the surface of the water in the tank. Wendell pulled off his Stetson and scratched his head as he surveyed the unusual sight. From time to time, the near ever present West Texas wind deposited a dry sagebrush or two inside one of the stock tanks. But, he had never seen a tank filled with sagebrush before.

  Wendell reached over the lip of the tank. He grabbed two handfuls of the soggy vegetation and pitched it onto the ground. He took a good ten minutes to clear it all from the tank. The water was dark and murky. It didn’t look appetizing to Wendell, but he had no idea how the cows would feel about drinking it. As he stared down at the cloudy water he debated whether to empty the tank and refill it with fresh water. That’s when he noticed something just below the surface of the murky water.

  Thinking it was more water-logged sagebrush, Wendell swore under his breath. He unbuttoned his shirt sleeve and rolled it up past his bicep. Then he plunged his hand into the water. It surprised him when his hand contacted something that felt like fabric. Then his fingers touched what he realized was a rope. Wendell grabbed hold of the rope and gave it a tug. The face of a Hispanic man, eyes open, broke the surface of the water and stared at him.

  Wendell sputtered, ”Aah... What the…”

  He let go of the rope and stumbled backwards away from the tank. He got his feet tangled up and sat down hard on his butt. Getting shakily to his feet, Wendell took a few cautious steps back toward the tank until he could see inside it. The face had disappeared beneath the surface of the dark water. Wendell Dobb’s mother had raised no ignorant children. He wasn’t about to have no truck with a dead body. Retreating a comfortable distance from the stock tank, he wiped his wet hand off on his Wranglers. Then he pulled out his mobile phone and called the county sheriff.

  ◆◆◆

  When deputies Olivia Alvarez and Barney Riggs arrived at the scene, Perdido County Sheriff Owen Wolfe was straining to pull what looked like a body out of the galvanized stock tank. Alvarez stopped and parked the white Tahoe. She and Riggs jumped out and hurried to the tank.

  “Hold on, Owen, you’ll strain your back,” Alvarez said. With Alvarez on one side of Wolfe and Riggs on the other, they all grabbed onto the rope surrounding what turned out to be two bodies and tugged. They got the bodies up onto the lip of the tank. With a final heave the bodies tumbled over the side onto the ground.

  “Two bodies?” Alvarez said shaking her fatigued arms, and gasping for breath. “And, someone trussed them up together like a Christmas turkey.”

  They looked at the bodies on the ground. Someone had bound them together chest to chest with a length of nylon rope. Wolfe took out a pocket knife and cut the rope. Both bodies flopped limply onto their backs. It was clear someone had shot both victims in the chest.

  “A ranch hand from the Bar 7 called it in,” Wolfe said. “It shook him up so bad, I sent him back to the ranch house.”

  “Why would someone dump them in the tank, Sheriff?” Riggs said.

  “My guess is they wanted to delay the discovery of the bodies,” Wolfe said. “It’s less than a mile to the border. The border patrol drones pass over this area regularly. I suspect the killer didn’t have the means or maybe the inclination to bury them. Leaving the bodies on the ground in plain sight would have meant a drone camera would have spotted them pretty quick.”

  “Think they were illegals?” Alvarez said.

  “That or maybe drug runners,” Wolfe said. “Maybe they met someone here to do business and the third party didn’t like the deal they offered.”

  Wolfe looked over as a white with green stripe customs and border protection Ford Explorer pulled up. A tall, lanky CBP agent wearing the familiar green uniform got out. After adjusting his cap, he strode over.

  “Morning Perdido County,” the agent drawled. “Find yourselves a couple of migrants?”

  “Whatever they were the only thing they are now is dead,” Alvarez smirked.

  “Shit happens,” Martin said with a laugh.

  Wolfe read the name tape sewn on the agent’s uniform. It read “Martin.”

  “What brings you here Agent Martin?” he said.

  “T
hey picked you up on a drone camera back at headquarters,” Martin said. “My supervisor sent me over to see if you needed any help.”

  “You mean he sent you over here to check on what we were up to?” Wolfe said. “Not that we don’t appreciate help from our federal law enforcement partners, but I think we’ve got it covered. You can get on back to your business, and we’ll take care of ours.”

  Martin smiled, touched his cap, and headed back to his vehicle. He got in and drove away in a cloud of dust.

  “You don’t like the CBP boys much do you, Owen?” Alvarez said.

  “I like them fine,” Wolfe said. “They have a job that needs doing. But, I prefer them to stick to that instead of sticking their noses into county business.”

  Riggs had finished going through the pockets of the clothing worn by the dead men.

  “No identification on either of them, Sheriff,” he said. “All I found was this.” Riggs held up a white plastic card with a black magnetic stripe on the back.

  “Looks like a motel or hotel key card,” Wolfe said taking the card from Riggs. He examined it.

  “Have a name on it?” Alvarez said.

  “Nope, that would be too easy, Deputy Alvarez,” Wolfe said.

  “Want me to call for an ambulance to transport them, Sheriff?” Riggs said.

  “No, it’s too far off-road,” Wolfe said. “They would probably only get stuck in the sand out here. Go get my truck and back it up over here. We’ll load them in the back. I’ll haul them to the morgue.”

  Riggs went to get Wolfe’s Tahoe. Wolfe turned to Alvarez. “We need to get them identified,” he said. “After we load them up, drop Barney back by the office then take this card around to all the motels and hotels in town. See if you can find out where it came from.” Wolfe handed the key card to her.

  “What about fingerprints?” Alvarez said.

  “I’ll get them printed when I drop them off at the morgue,” Wolfe said. “But, if they were staying in town, you might find out their names quicker if you can find out where the card came from.”

  Riggs backed the Tahoe into position. Wolfe opened the cargo door. The three of them loaded the two bodies in the back of the truck. Wolfe covered the bodies with blankets he kept in the back of the Tahoe for the purpose.

  Alvarez and Riggs got in her Tahoe and headed back to the sheriff’s department in Kimble. Wolfe pulled out his mobile and called the county justice of the peace. After Wolfe had filled him in on the situation, the J.P. gave him permission to transport the bodies to the morgue and said he’d meet Wolfe there.

  ◆◆◆

  Alvarez went door-to-door down the line of motel rooms trailed by the Sunset Motel manager. She stuck the card in the slot of each door lock as she went.

  “I think you need a search warrant to do that,” the manager said.

  “What are you, a lawyer moonlighting as a motel manager?” Alvarez scoffed. “Everyone is a legal expert. Jeez, this is the fifth place I’ve been to and every one of the other managers said the same thing. What ever happened to cooperating with the police? Where’s your civic spirit?”

  She stuck the card into another slot. The light didn’t blink and the lock didn’t open. She walked to the next door and tried again. This time after she had inserted the card in the slot, the little green light blinked twice and the electric lock whirred and clicked. The manager reached around her and grabbed the door handle before Alvarez got her hand on it.

  “Now I know you need a warrant,” the manager said. “Our guests expect us to respect their privacy.”

  “Okay, okay,” Alvarez said taking a step back from the door. She took out her mobile and called Wolfe.

  ◆◆◆

  “It sure enough appears to be a double homicide,” the justice of the peace said, examining the two bodies laid out on the stainless steel tables inside the county hospital morgue. “Cause of death in these cases is no mystery. Looks like these boys died of natural causes.”

  “Natural to their business, anyway,” Wolfe said.

  The J.P. nodded. “Instead of hauling them all the way over to El Paso, I’ll have Dr. Peterson do limited autopsies on them here to recover the bullets.”

  “Appreciate it,” Wolfe said. “That will speed things along some.”

  Wolfe’s mobile rang. He pulled it out of his shirt pocket and answered it. He listened for a moment then said, “Okay.” He disconnected the call and put the phone away.

  “Deputy Alvarez found where the key card came from,” he said to the justice. “I’ve got to go over to the courthouse to get a search warrant signed by the district judge.”

  The J.P. nodded and Wolfe went out.

  ◆◆◆

  When Wolfe arrived at the Sunset Motel, Alvarez got up from where she had been sitting on the sidewalk with her back against the wall outside the motel room door.

  “That was quicker than I expected,” she said.

  “We got lucky,” Wolfe said. “The judge was coming out of a pre-trial conference when I walked in.”

  Wolfe handed a folded paper to the motel manager. “There’s your warrant,” he said. “You can head back to the office now.”

  The manager took the paper and left. Wolfe and Alvarez drew their sidearms. Wolfe cocked the hammer on his single action government model Colt. Standing to the side of the door, Alvarez slipped the card key into the lock. When the lock clicked open, she turned the door handle. Wolfe hit the door with his shoulder and dashed into the room looking over the top of the semi-automatic. There was no one in the main part of the room.

  “Clear,” Wolfe said as he duck-walked toward the bathroom. Alvarez came into the motel room behind him. She stopped and opened the blinds to let the sunlight in. A moment later she again heard Wolfe say, “Clear.”

  Wolfe went to the closet while Alvarez checked the drawers in the bureau. Wolfe found only hanging clothes and an empty suitcase in the closet. Alvarez found nothing inside any of the drawers. They both looked beneath the bed. Alvarez drug out a heavy leather document case from beneath the bed. Wolfe found a plastic case beneath the bed on his side. He tossed it onto the bed and stood up. Alvarez unfastened the brass latch on the case and flipped the folding flap up.

  “Jesus Christ,” Alvarez said. “Look at this.”

  She stood up and set the case on the bed. It was level full with packets of hundred dollar banknotes. The bank tapes that secured the packets read “$10,000.”

  Wolfe opened the plastic case that had “HK” and “Heckler & Koch” pressed into the plastic. He opened it. Inside the pistol-shaped depression was empty. There was nothing in the box except one loaded fifteen round magazine, a cleaning rod, and brush.

  “Looks like we have a missing HK nine millimeter,” Wolfe said. “Guns and money.”

  “And dope, it looks like,” Alvarez said holding up a small plastic bag containing a white powder. “Looks like a sample bag. I found it in the case with the money.”

  Wolfe took the bag from her and looked at it.

  “Cocaine?” Alvarez said. “It doesn’t look like meth.”

  “Not cocaine either, too granular,” Wolfe said. “All the cocaine I ever saw besides crack looked like powdered sugar. We’ll send it over to the lab in El Paso for analysis.”

  “Guns, dope, and money,” Alvarez said. “Guess we know what our boys did for a living. Now we only need to find out their names.”

  “And, who killed them,” Wolfe said. “Can’t forget that part.”

  After closing the room door, Wolfe went to the motel office while Alvarez loaded the evidence into her Tahoe. Wolfe came back a few minutes later with a paper in his hand.

  “One Octavio Lopez rented the room,” Wolfe said. “The manager says Mr. Lopez was traveling alone. I showed him the photos on my mobile I took at the morgue. He pointed out Lopez, but said the other guy wasn’t staying here, and said he never saw him before. Also, Mr. Lopez had been driving a black Jeep Grand Cherokee with a rental car barcode sticker on the
rear glass. The manager had the California tag number. I called Judy with it. According to the registration, Alamo owns the Jeep. Lopez rented it at the airport in Phoenix.”

  “Wonder where it is?” Alvarez said.

  “Maybe somewhere back at the Bar 7,” Wolfe said.

  “We could call the CBP and ask them to have a look for it with their drones,” Alvarez said. “Oh wait. No, we can’t. You keep pissing off the CBP agents. They wouldn’t help us.”

  Wolfe smiled. “Guess we must find it the old-fashioned way then,” he said. “Where is Chase?”

  “It’s his day off,” Alvarez said.

  “Not anymore,” Wolfe said.

  “What’s the paper in your hand?” Alvarez said.

  “Copy of Lopez’s State of Baja California driver’s license,” Wolfe said. “He was a citizen of Mexico from Ensenada.”

  “Shocking,” Alavarez said with a grin.

  4.2

  Wolfe was tacking the photos he had taken of the murder victims on a bulletin board in the deputies’ office when the door opened and Deputy Chase Carpenter walked in. Wolfe looked at Carpenter over his shoulder.

  “There really was a double homicide,” Carpenter said. “Thought you were just trying to ruin my day.”

  “Glad you could make it in, Chase,” Wolfe said. “Sorry you had to cut your day off short.”

  “Ah, it’s fine,” Carpenter said. “I was only sitting around at home, anyway. You don’t have time to go anywhere out here with only one day off.”

  “Yeah, even if you try to go to El Paso to see a concert or something, the on-duty deputy calls you up and ruins it,” Alvarez smirked.

  Carpenter chuckled. “Where did you get all the money?” he said looking at the stacks of bundled cash on Alvarez’s desk.

  “Found it in a motel room rented by one of the victims,” Wolfe said.

  “Yeah, it’s two hundred grand in fifties and hundreds,” Alvarez said. “We also found a bag of narcotics and a storage box for an HK nine millimeter.”