Nothing but Trouble (4 page)

“I don’t know what this is all about,” Johnny said, scanning the note, knowing that he’d been busted.

Madeline scoffed. “From what Brenda wrote, she appears to be smitten with you, Johnny. Those earrings you gave her made quite an impression.”

“I can explain everything,” Johnny said.

Madeline stepped to his desk and dropped a business card on the table in front of him. “No, you can’t. The movers will be here in the morning to pack up all your personal possessions and get you out of my house. Here’s their card. After you check into a hotel for the night, I suggest you start apartment hunting.”

“Can’t we talk this out?”

“We just have,” Madeline said, her hand outstretched. “Give me your house key.”

Johnny smiled sadly, looked crestfallen, spread his arms wide in a gesture of supplication. “Look, sweetie pie, I’m sorry. I screwed up. It won’t happen again.”

“You’re damn right it won’t. Pack an overnight bag, leave my house, and don’t speak to me again.”

He dropped the key in Madeline’s hand and watched as she turned on her heel and left. He checked his wallet for cash, pulled out his last bank statements of his personal accounts, and studied his balances. He could rent a place and get by for a month or two before he would be forced to use his credit cards to cover his business and living expenses.

The thought struck him that maybe Brenda would put him up. She had an extra bedroom he could use as an office. That way he could cut his overhead in half and save a chunk of money. He worked on a story to tell her as he dialed the phone.

“Hey, sweetie pie,” he said when she picked up, “I got your note.”

The following morning the script Johnny had promised arrived, and Kerney spent his lunch break at his desk reading it. The story was a good one, with some interesting plot twists. The climax to the film occurred during a working cowboy rodeo held at the end of the cattle drive, which turned into a free-for-all after the cops showed up to arrest the rancher and his friends for trespassing on government property. Although set in present time, it had the feel of a classic Hollywood Western.

He put the screenplay away. Tonight, Sara, his career-army wife, would be flying in with their son, Patrick, for a long weekend break from her current Pentagon assignment, which was scheduled to end in the fall. For the past two months they’d been debating how to spend the thirty days of leave Sara would take before her next posting. Mostly she’d talked about just wanting to settle in at their Santa Fe ranch to nest and relax. Would she consider giving up a large portion of her vacation time so that Kerney could work on a movie?

Last night he’d called Dale Jennings to get his take on Johnny’s offer. Dale told him that Barbara and the girls were excited about it, the money was too good to pass up, and it would be fun to see firsthand how movies got made.

Dale’s enthusiasm had made Kerney think more positively about signing on. But in the end it would be Sara’s decision to make.

A worried-looking patrol commander who knocked on his open office door made Kerney postpone any further thoughts about the movie. He smiled, wrapped up his half-eaten sandwich, dropped it in the waste basket, and invited the officer to enter.

Usually a good traveler, Patrick was restless on the flight to Albuquerque. Sara tried, without success, to distract him with a picture book and the toys she’d brought along, a set of small plastic barnyard animals that ordinarily kept him occupied for hours. Today the book and toys held no attraction. He squirmed in his seat, kicked his feet, twirled his favorite toy animal in his hand, and repeatedly asked when he would see his daddy.

Patrick’s question made Sara’s heart sink. Her son had reached the age where he needed a full-time father in his life, and her long-distance marriage to Kerney made that impossible.

At the terminal Patrick spotted Kerney waiting near the escalators behind the passenger screening area and ran full tilt to him, his face breaking into a big smile. Kerney scooped him up and hugged Sara with his free arm. On the drive to Santa Fe, Patrick’s fidgetiness vanished. He sat calmly in his toddler car seat and soon fell asleep.

They talked quietly about their workweeks. By design Sara avoided two issues that were troubling her: Patrick’s need for a full-time father and her next duty assignment. She’d just been told that she would be posted as a deputy military attache to the U.S. embassy in Turkey. The assignment came with the promise of a fast-track promotion. If she turned it down, her climb up the ladder would stall and she’d never get to wear the eagles of a full bird colonel.

“Did you know that the first movie made in New Mexico was filmed in 1898?” Kerney asked.

“You always have such interesting bits of trivia to share,” Sara replied, grateful that Kerney was making small talk. “Tell me more.”

“It was made by the Edison Company and ran less than a minute,” Kerney said. “In 1912 D. W. Griffith filmed A Pueblo Legend with Mary Pickford at the Isleta Pueblo south of Albuquerque, and later Tom Mix, the early cowboy movie star, made twenty-five movies up in Las Vegas.”

“Where did you learn all this?” Sara asked.

“In a book I’m reading on New Mexico filmmaking.”

“Why the sudden interest in movies?”

Kerney slowed to let a semitruck pass. “I’ve been asked to serve as a technical advisor on a movie to be shot here starting in September.”

“Is it a shoot-’em-up or a cop caper?” Sara asked.

“A bit of both.”

“How did this happen to land in your lap?”

“By way of an old boyhood acquaintance,” Kerney replied.

He gave Sara the lowdown on Johnny Jordan and the movie. He told her that Dale Jennings had signed on to be a wrangler and planned to bring Barbara and the girls with him. The more he talked about the idea the more animated he became, particularly when he described the cattle drive and the rodeo that would be filmed in the Bootheel. He was grinning from ear to ear when he finished.

“You sound like you want to do it.”

“Not without you and Patrick,” Kerney said as he signaled his turn off the highway onto the ranch road.

“Let’s talk about it some more.”

Soon the ranch house came into view. Tucked into a saddleback ridge, it looked out on the Galisteo Basin, with the Ortiz and Sandia Mountains in the distance. Sara sighed as the car climbed the long hill. It was paradise, and the thought of spending a month at the ranch before heading off to Turkey was more than appealing to her. But the movie idea did sound like it could be a fun adventure, and Kerney was clearly drawn to it.

“There’s one more thing,” Kerney said as he pulled to a stop outside the house.

Sara gazed at the pasture and the horse barn across the field from the house. Four geldings were in the paddock, their heads up, ears forward, alerted by the sound of the car. To the west the sun was low, behind a thin bank of clouds, spreading a pink glow over the Jemez Mountains.

“What’s that?” she asked as she got out of the car and slipped on her jacket to cut the chill of the April wind.

“The mayor told me privately that he doesn’t plan to run for reelection next March. That means I’ll probably be out of a job in less than a year.”

Sara held back a smile as she unstrapped Patrick from the toddler seat and woke him up. Was it possible that both of her major concerns could be resolved within a matter of months? Would he be willing to resign his position before the municipal election and go with her on her next duty assignment? They could arrange for a caretaker to look after the ranch in their absence.

Kerney was a rich man by way of an unexpected inheritance several years back from an old family friend. He served as police chief not for the money, but because it had been the job he’d always wanted. Now that it would be ending, they could finally start living as a family, see a bit of the world together. Nothing would make Sara happier.

Kerney popped open the trunk and took out the luggage. “Did you hear what I said?”

Sara nodded, took Patrick out of his seat, put him on the ground, and bundled him into his warm coat. “Are you ready to retire?”

“It’s about that time,” Kerney said, looking stoical.

Patrick scooted away in the direction of the geldings in the paddock. “Can I go riding now?” he called. “With Daddy?”

Sara caught up to him and took him by the hand. “In the morning, young man.”

“Can I give the horses some biscuits?” Patrick pleaded, trying to tug Sara along.

“Yes, you can.” She turned back toward Kerney as Patrick led her away. “Watching how a film gets made and getting to play cowboy might be fun.”

Kerney smiled. “That’s what I think.”

“You come see the horses, too, Daddy,” Patrick called over his shoulder.

Kerney dropped the luggage and joined his family. Together, the threesome walked hand-in-hand toward the horses at the fence awaiting their arrival, heads bobbing in anticipation.

June brought hot, dry days, high winds, a rash of snatch-and-grab thefts from local art galleries, and, at the end of the month, Johnny Jordan’s return to Santa Fe. Kerney agreed to meet him for morning coffee at a downtown cafe, and not surprisingly Johnny was late again. He came into the crowded restaurant and spotted Kerney in one of the small booths along the back wall next to the kitchen. Smile flashing, he approached holding the local newspaper and pointed to the front-page headline:

RASH OF ART THEFTS STYMIES POLICE

“Seems you’ve got a crime wave on your hands,” he said.

“Apparently,” Kerney replied as he gestured to the waitress, who approached, filled Johnny’s coffee cup, and offered Kerney a refill of his hot tea, which he refused. Johnny dumped cream and sugar into his cup and stirred it vigorously.

“So are you stymied?” Johnny asked.

“We’re investigating all creditable leads.”

Johnny laughed, put the newspaper aside, and laid a manila envelope on the table. “That means you’ve got nothing. Here’s your technical-advisor contract for the movie.”

Kerney didn’t touch it. Two days ago, Johnny had called from Denver to say he was coming to town to hand-deliver the contract and talk to him about some unspecified business.

Interested in what that business might be, Kerney had contacted the municipal court. Johnny was scheduled to appear before a judge on his DWI bust later in the morning. He wondered if Johnny would ask him once again to get him off the hook.

“You don’t have to sign it now,” Johnny said between sips of coffee. “Look it over, show it to your lawyer, and mail it back to me.”

Kerney said nothing and put the envelope aside. Through the cafe window tourists milled around the sidewalk, waiting to be called for the next available table. Across the street, a middle-aged man in baggy shorts and an oversized T-shirt videoed his wife and two bored-looking children as they walked along the Plaza.

Johnny put the cup down and gave Kerney a sideways look. “You’re not bailing out of the deal, are you?”

“No, but I’d like to meet the principal parties involved before I make a commitment.”

Johnny made a thumbs-up gesture. “Hey, great minds think alike. We want you to come to the Bootheel for a couple of days in September before we start production.”

Kerney was surprised: he’d expected Johnny to ask him to help get his DWI arrest dropped. “That might be possible,” he said. “What would I be doing there?”

“We’ll take a tour of all the locations before the actual filming begins. It’s called a tech scout. The producer, director, cinematographer, and key members of the technical crew visit each site and do advance planning on what they’ll need to shoot a scene.”

“I thought you were the producer,” Kerney said.

Johnny tapped his chest with a finger. “I’m an executive producer. That means, aside from coming up with the story idea, writing some stuff for the rodeo scenes, scouting out the Bootheel locations, getting my clients cast in the movie, and arranging for some product placement, I don’t have much to do with the actual filming.”

“And this tech scout thing would be done in two days?”

“Your part of it would.”

“You do know that the town of Playas is now an antiterrorism facility,” Kerney said.

“Yeah, but the governor arranged for us to use it.”

“What days would you need me?”

“It can be on a weekend.” Johnny pointed to the manila envelope next to Kerney’s elbow. “I’ve added the tech-scout trip to your contract, along with a nice bump in your fee.”

Kerney shook his head in amusement. “Even as a kid you always assumed that you’d get whatever you wanted.”

“That’s because I practice the power of positive thinking, Kerney. What are you doing later this morning?”

“Why do you ask?”

Johnny smiled and shrugged his shoulders. “I’ve got this DWI thing nipping at my heels and I could sure use a character witness.”

Many ordinary citizens weren’t shy about asking for special treatment from cops when they got in trouble with the law. But in this case Kerney wondered if Johnny had added money to the consulting contract as a way to buy a favor. Although it smacked of attempted bribery, it fell legally short of the mark.

“That’s not possible,” he said flatly.

Johnny’s lips tightened in annoyance. He hid it by dabbing his mouth with a napkin. “I just thought I’d ask.”

“Let your lawyer handle it,” Kerney said.

Johnny gave Kerney an easy, casual grin that didn’t quite mask his irritation. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. But I can’t afford to be hobbled by legal stuff right now. There’s too much I’ve got to do. We’re less than three months away from filming. I need to be able to move fast, stay mobile.”

“If it’s your first DWI conviction, you’ll have your license back in ninety days.”

“That’s what I’m talking about. This is no time for me to be without wheels.”