Bloodville (20 page)

Flossie‘s experience in life didn't prepare her for an arrangement where a white man worked for a black man, but, as she told Nettie, she knew the times were changing; President Johnson already said he planned to give everything away to the niggers anyhow. Smitten with Max from the first time she saw him, Flossie couldn‘t keep her eyes off Mumfee‘s hired hand. She liked his quick and easy smile and his slow and southern way of talking. She wondered about his association with Clarence but she didn't ask. Not then, anyway.

Clarence and Max moved into the little house previously occupied by Blanche Brown and they went to work on the cars the next morning. Clarence would hook his truck's winch cable onto one of the derelicts, hoist it up and drag it out and away from the others and the dismantling would begin. Bent and broken parts, excised with an acetylene torch, went into the trailer as scrap. Usable body parts, carefully removed with wrench and ratchet, were set apart and chalkmarked with the make and model of the vehicle from which they came. Motors, accessory parts, and driveline components were also set aside unless they appeared worn, or rusted, beyond further use in which case they went into the trailer, too. Max removed seats, floor mats, dashboards, headliners, tires and anything else combustible. He stacked and burned it all every day, blanketing Budville with the sharp stink of burning rubber and sending up a spire of black smoke visible from the Brushy Mountain Fire Tower half way to Pie Town.

Bud's junkyard dogs put up a great howl when work on the cars began but they strained at their chains, snapped and slavered even more when Max got near them. Flossie determined to get rid of them on the first day and by the next morning, the pit bulls had disappeared. No one in or around Budville ever knew or asked what became of the dogs. But then no one cared or missed them either.

Once every week Clarence towed the junk laden trailer into Albuquerque where, based on weight, he sold the scrap to Frenchy LeCroix‘s Auto Parts and Salvage Yard. Clarence split the proceeds with Flossie, fifty-fifty, and used his share of the profits to pay Max's wages and to meet his own living expenses. His real profit would come later when he sold the motors and reusable parts.

A condition of Max's parole provided that he consume no alcoholic beverages but Clarence didn't consider himself the white boy‘s keeper. ―Hell,‖ he said, ―a man works out in the sun the day long, amongst the scorpions and the spiders and the centipedes, in dust and smoke and dirt, why, he's entitled to a cold drink from time to time, and I sure ain't the one to keep him from it.‖

On the trips to Albuquerque, the two of them would often stop for cold beers, usually at the Liberty Bar on Central Avenue. A vacant lot close by, between First Street and the Santa Fe Railroad tracks, provided a handy place to park the pickup truck and trailer. Clarence didn't know anyone who drank in the Old Liberty Bar but Max seemed to be passing acquainted with a couple of regular patrons. Clarence noticed that after a couple of beers in the Old Lib, Max called him
nigger
more than at other times, and acted as though he was boss. Clarence never made an issue of it.

The weather warmed more and more as true spring arrived in March and Flossie sometimes found herself watching Max work. He often stripped down to his waist and the multi-colored tattoos all over his arms, chest, and back fascinated her. Two years of weightlifting while serving time in the pen at Florence left the young man's upper body well muscled. Max even pumped iron as he worked, doing curls with car axles and overhead presses with drive shafts. His muscles rippled and glistened with sweat in the bright sunlight. Before long, Flossie determined it necessary to more closely supervise the dismantling operation. She'd visit the salvage yard daily to count fenders, trunk lids, bumpers and motor blocks and then she'd match car titles with vehicle identification numbers. Forms had to be completed, notarized and sent off to the Motor Vehicle Department in Santa Fe for each vehicle wrecked-out and sold as salvage. Bud had taught her how to do it. When she finished the paperwork, she'd just stand around and watch Max work, hardly aware that Clarence was there. Then she began delivering lunch to the salvage yard at noon and iced tea or lemonade three or four times during the day. Max didn't say much beyond thanking Flossie, and smiling, until one day in midMarch.

―You know, Miz Rice, much as I'm favorable to ice tea and lemonade, a nice cold bottle of Coors Beer would go a lot farther toward slakin' my thirst.‖

Max soon began taking his meals with Flossie and soon after that he found his way into her bed. He displayed considerable sexual stamina and at Flossie‘s insistence, he moved, bag and baggage, into the living quarters of the Budville Trading Post. Max became, he freely admitted, a kept man, and he loved it. Flossie had come into money and she had a willingness to spend a lot of it on her lover. She bought him new clothing, from boots to skivvies, and a gun, a .357 Colt revolver, because he said he needed one. Who knew, after all, when the man who killed Bud would come back and kill Flossie.

On a Friday in April, as Clarence Mumfee packed up to go home to St. Johns for the weekend, Max quit his job. ―I got a lot better things to do with myself than gandy-dance a bunch of goddamn junk,‖ Max said to Clarence.

―I reckon,‖ Clarence said. ―You ain‘t done a lick around here lately anyhow, and shaggin Flossie‘s got to be more pleasurable than beddin‘ down with me. What‘chu gonna do about that parole paper says you got to work for me ‗til yer parole is up?‖

―I ain‘t gonna do nothin‘ about it because you ain‘t gonna tell nobody I don‘t work for you no more.‖ Max took his new pistol out of his hip pocked and spun it around on his index finger. ―You understand me, Clarence?‖

―You know I ain‘t got no love for The Man, Max. I ain‘t sayin‘ nothin‘ to nobody.‖
―Good. Flossie and me decided you can stay on here and finish up with them cars. You need help, hire an Indian.‖
Clarence stayed on in Budville, and he didn‘t hire anyone to help him. He‘d only kept Max around as a favor to his daughter.
Nettie stayed away from Max whenever she could. He scared the housekeeper nearly to death when he threatened to hide her insulin because she didn‘t serve his supper as quickly as he would have liked.

Dave Sipe changed his mind about talking to the police. It came as a surprise to him that the long-term section of the Bernalillo County jail smelled bad—like vomit, piss, flatulence and unwashed bodies. Around him he saw a steel-hard place, cold, dreary, gray and monotonous; nothing like the short term cells where prisoners came and went in a few hours, or a few days at most. He tried sleeping as an escape from confinement but soon learned he couldn‘t sleep all the time no matter how much he masturbated.

The court appointed an attorney to represent Sipe; an attractive young woman named Sharon Baca. She told him she‘d do everything necessary to defend him if he was innocent of complicity in the crime. She also told him that if he had any part in the offense, any knowledge of it, he'd do well to take the deal the District Attorney offered. Don Wilcoxson, she said, was quite capable of prosecuting him right into the state penitentiary for a long time at the least, and into the gas chamber at the most. Sipe said he'd talk to the cops.

―OK,‖ Herman said to Doc as they waited for a jail guard to deliver Sipe and his lawyer to an interrogation room, ―here's the drill. Wilcoxson agreed to give this turkey immunity from prosecution if we think what he knows is important enough to hang White and Peters. So let's take it slow and easy with him and get everything we can.‖

―Wilcoxson not goin' to offer immunity to Cato?‖ Doc asked. ―Nope,‖ Herman said. ―Three reasons, he says. The first is that Joe‘s such a damn liar that we'd be bettin‘ a lot of chips on a hundred to one long shot. The second is we got him off the hook on a separate felony crime committed in a different jurisdiction. Juries tend to take a dim view of arrangements like that, and you‘re gonna love the third reason. I neglected to tell Mr. Cato his constitutional rights as provided by the Miranda decision of 1966 before we talked to him. Anything he told us is inadmissible.‖
―Hell,‖ Doc said, ―he asked to talk to us!‖
―Doesn‘t matter according to Wilcoxson. Only good thing is that Cato don‘t know we violated his rights so we'll just keep him danglin‘. He's good for raw information once in a while, not to mention a few laughs.‖
A guard ushered Sipe and Sharon Baca into the jail's interrogation room. Her copper/black hair in a bun, she wore a severe, dark blue, conservatively cut suit. She knew Budwister and didn't bother to identify herself to Spurlock.
―What are the ground rules here, Officer Budwister?‖
―The District Attorney's office agreed to immunity,‖ Herman said, ―if your client speaks to us truthfully about the crimes committed at Budville, New Mexico, on November 18, 1967; that is if we believe the information he gives us has investigative value. Mr. Sipe must also agree to testify in court, truthfully, in support of what he tells us.‖
―And the alternative?‖
―We'll go to the wall. We're talking about two murders here, Miss Baca. Don Wilcoxson, as you probably know, won't tip-toe through the magnolias with anyone associated with this crime.‖
―The offer is complete immunity from prosecution on any and all charges currently pending against David Lawrence Sipe. Correct?‖
―That's what I understand from what Wilcoxson told me.‖
―And complete immunity from prosecution for my client on any charges associated with the Budville robbery and murders?‖
―That's my understanding. As long as he's truthful and forthright with us.‖
―I'll accept your word, officer Budwister, and Don Wilcoxson's. I‘ve advised my client to make himself useful to you. I told Mr. Sipe to be completely candid since nothing he says can be used against him. I also instructed him that if he is not truthful, all charges can be reinstated at any time. Unfortunately, I have another matter to attend to, so I won't be able to stay. Ta ta, David,‖ she said with a sneer in her voice. ―Don't call me again.‖ The young woman closed the door quietly behind her.
―I see you've made another convert to your warm affectionate nature and charm, there Dave. What'd you do? Offer to screw her brains out in your cell?‖
―What I offered her is eight solid inches of what every woman dreams of. Shame she‘s a cold bitch.‖
―And you as generous as you are, too.‖
―I bet I get laid more than you do, pig. What do you guys want from me?‖
―Up to you,‖ Herman said. ―You gonna cooperate with us, or do I put your ass back in a cell?‖
―I'll cooperate. You guys got me by the old scrote. But I don't have to like doin' it.‖
―Let me tell you about that,‖ Doc said, standing and rolling up his shirtsleeves. ―It cost me twenty bucks to get my hat blocked back into shape, and it still ain't like it used to be. Never will be. Now, I'm gonna be real nice to you as long as you're tellin' us what we need to know. Just as soon as that changes, I'm gonna take that twenty dollar bill out of your hide, and enough besides that to buy me a new hat.‖
Some of the cockiness went out of Sipe's tone of voice. ―Ok. What do you guys want from me?‖
―Just jump in, Davy boy. Tell us what you know about the murders of Bud Rice and Blanche Brown. Start at the beginning.‖
―I don't know too much. Can I get somethin‘ to drink? A Coke or somethin‘? I wasn't there, you know? I wasn‘t nowhere near the place. Never have been there in my whole life. Budville.‖
Doc nodded to a uniformed officer standing near the door.
―It was, like, two, maybe three days before the job went down. Over at Stirling's apartment. Joe Peters was there for a while, and so was Joe Cato. Peters left and I don't know where Cato went and I talked to Stirling. He said he paid Joe two yards for the Budville score. He said the job was good for ten large and he asked if I wanted to help him with it. I told him I didn't want nothing to do with it.‖
―Which Joe‘d he pay the two hundred to?‖ Herman asked.
―Oh. Joe Peters. He was supposed to furnish Stirling with a car, too, but I never did see any car. Later the same night Stirling drove out to Budville. I saw him the next day and he told me he couldn't find the place. He said he was goin' back. I left his apartment and went up to my mother's house for the night.‖
―You still live with your mama, full time, Davy?‖ Doc asked.
―Yeah. So what?‖
―Nothin‘. Just makes for a hell of a cover, don't it?‖
―Yeah, well, it's none of your goddamn....‖
―Let's get the days straight here,‖ Herman interrupted. ―You're sayin‘ Stirling went out to Budville on Friday and couldn't find the place. Then he went back on Saturday, the eighteenth, and did the robbery and the killings. Right?‖
―Yeah. Right. Friday and Saturday. Sunday morning I went to pick up Cato so we could go down to the Old Lib and get a beer. We heard the news on the car radio about the Budville deal. Joe wanted to go over to the apartment on Chama. I was a little bit leery about it because I didn't know what he might think after he'd approached me to help him on the job and I didn't go.‖
―This was Sunday morning, the nineteenth of November. Correct? And you are talking about Joe Cato, not Joe Peters.‖
―Cato. Yeah. We got to the apartment and I noticed some clothes that had blood on them soaking in the bathtub. There was also a big jar with a bunch of loose coins in it and blood on it. We asked Stirling what happened. He said he had to wipe out a couple people.‖
―Let's be clear on this, Dave," Budwister said. ―On the morning of November nineteenth, Billy Ray Stirling, AKA Billy Ray White, said to you that he wiped out a couple people, and it‘s your understanding that he did so during an armed robbery at Budville, New Mexico, the night before? That right?‖
―Yeah. Later on, Billy took the clothes out of the tub and cut them up with razor blades and put them in the garbage can out back. Then that afternoon, me and Cato and Stirling was riding around in broad daylight. I drove down in the South Valley and up to a pile of dirt along an irrigation ditch. Stirling and Joe got down and walked off with the gun. When they came back, they didn't have it. Then I dropped off Cato at his place and we went back to Stirling's place.‖
―So,‖ Doc said, well aware that Cato‘d already led officers to the gun, ―you can take us to where the gun was throwed into the river.‖
―I think so. I know the area. It's an irrigation ditch. Off Fourth Street. Not the river. I don't want you guys bitchin' and claiming I told you the wrong place.‖
―Ok. Then what happened?‖
―Billy said he wanted to go to Oklahoma. To Oklahoma City. So I took him. On the way over, he bought me a couple tanks of gas.‖
―You went to Oklahoma City in that damn old piece of junk pickup you got?‖ Doc asked.
―Hell no. I got me a car, too. A 1959 Ford Fairlane 500. Real nice car. I drove it. I just drive my pickup around here.‖
―Ok, go ahead.‖
―We went to a place called the Silk Hat Bar, I think it was. Later, I spent the night with some whore and then I drove back over here the next day, alone. I ain‘t seen Billy Stirling since.‖
―Did Billy seem to know anyone in particular at this bar? What'd you call it? The Top Hat?‖ Doc asked.
―The Silk Hat. Yeah, well there was one guy in a booth that Billy seemed to know. He sat down with him and they was talking real... you know, like whispering, like something was real secret. I didn't pay too much attention because the place was lousy with whores. There must of been a dozen of them. All colors and sizes, man. There was this one nigger bitch that had chichis on her like basketballs. I was a lot more interested in gettin‘ my rope yanked than payin‘ any attention to what Billy was doin‘.‖
―You're all class, Davy-boy,‖ Budwister said.
―Where was Joe Peters all this time?‖ Doc asked.
―I don't know. Billy said something about him picking up the car and not reporting it, but I never saw him that day. I guess he stayed away because he set the deal up, you know, and it went bad and all. He probably didn't want to see Billy, and besides, there wasn't any ten percent to be made on the deal.‖
―What ten percent?‖ Doc asked. ―What's that all about?‖
―Peters was gonna get ten percent of whatever Billy got. It was part of the deal. Over and above the two yards he paid for the score.‖
―You know, Davy,‖ Budwister said, ―you‘re a real sweetheart of a human bein‘. You knew about the robbery deal from the beginning. You had the same information Billy Stirling had. How do we know you're not the one that did the crimes? How do we know you didn't dream all this up to point the finger at Stirling?‖
―You're a jerk, Budweiser. If you had any evidence that I shot anybody, you wouldn't be doin‘ this soft shoe routine.‖
―When you're right, Davy-boy, you're right, but you are none-theless a maggot. A lousy, two-bit, heist turns into two murders, one of them of an old, old, lady, and what do you do? You help the killer get rid of the gun, harbor him, and then help him get away. It don't matter. You're as guilty as the son-of-a-bitch that pulled the trigger.‖
―Yeah? So what? We got a deal. I told you the story. You cut me loose.‖
―I'm a man of my word, Davy-boy, and I'll cut you loose, but you best remember that deal. You have to be available to corroborate the information you gave us. Besides that, you agreed to testify, and that means preliminary hearing and grand jury as well as district court. If, at any time, we can't find you, for any reason at all, we'll assume that you are no longer a cooperating witness and no longer willing to live up to your end of the bargain. In that case, we'll just get a warrant and reinstate the previous charges, and the next time there won't be a deal. I doubt Sharon Baca will have much interest in helpin‘ you out.‖
―Are you sayin'...?‖
―What I'm sayin', Davy-boy, is that if you try and screw with me, I'll turn the whole thing over to old Doc here. You haven't had your ass kicked until you've had it done by a state cop. They're professionals at it. They even teach it in their academy. Then I‘ll throw your sorry ass back in jail. For a long time.‖
―OK, Budweiser. Don't worry. I'll be around.‖
―My name is Budwister. The next time you make a mistake with it, I‘ll personally put some big lumps on your head. Then I'll turn you over to Doc.‖