Poverty Hill
Copyright© 2026 by Asa Strong
Chapter 18
I found a seat at the kitchen table and propped my wounded leg on another chair. The pain was less if’n I kept it elevated, but still the throbbing was a definite distraction.
I no sooner got myself situated when the judge and Mark came in.
Mark took a seat across the table from me, and then said, “What’s up, Amos? The judge said you wanted to talk to me.”
The judge grabbed a chair to my left and sat down, looked at me, and then said, “It’s your show Amos.”
“Mark,” I said, looking directly at him, “you and me go back a long ways. But I gotta ask you, where’d you go last night after you left Lucy’s?”
Mark got a surprised look on his face. “Amos, you think I was in on this!”
“Mark, just answer the question.”
“I went back to the sub-station, and stayed there, maybe ten minutes. Then I got a call from dispatch, in Steamboat, saying there was a fight down at the bar in Clark. I went down there, and that was where I was at when I got another call from dispatch telling me you’d been shot.”
I’d known Mark since we were kids. There weren’t no way he could lie to my face without it showin’. I believed him.
I then asked him, “OK, I believe you. Now, just how chummy have you been with Marshall?”
He looked puzzled, “What you mean?”
I shook my head, and then said, “Mark, there were only a few people that knew Lisa and I were at Lucy’s. That’d be Lucy, Miguel, Marshall and you. When we left Lucy’s place Miguel and Lucy were still there.”
I took a deep breath, and then continued, “So if’n you ain’t in with the shooters, that only leaves Marshall. Now answer my question! Just how good a friends are you with Marshall?”
Mark’s face went white. I could see he was a thinkin’. After a few seconds he got control of hisself and said, “Amos, I guess me and Marshall been pretty close the past six months or so.”
I thought for a moment, then asked, “By any chance, did you mention to him that Lisa and I were a goin’ out in the woods, and were gonna be lookin’ at the sight of the first shootin’?”
Mark thought for a moment, and then said, “Yea, I think we were at his place, and I mentioned that you and Lisa were going to be going out the next day to look over the scene of the crime. This was the day before I went to Denver for training.”
It were startin’ to make some sense to me now. I looked at the Judge, and then said, “Well, looks like maybe we outta take a little trip over to Marshall’s place and have a talk with him.”
The Judge nodded his head, and then asked me, “You coming along?”
“Ayup, I wouldn’t miss it for the world. But, we don’t need to be takin’ an army along with us. I’d just as soon keep the FBI outta this til I have a chance to talk with Marshall—private like.”
We talked a few more minutes and decided that the Judge, Mark, Lisa and I would go. Mark went to get Lisa and a car while the judge said he’d take care of lettin’ Steve know we were a leavin’.
The ride over to Marshall’s place was made in silence. There weren’t much to talk about anyway.
We found Marshall in his office. When I hobbled in, he were sittin’ behind his desk. The rest of our party foller’d in behind me.
Marshall must a known the jig was up, as his face turned white as a ghost. I turned around and said, “Why don’t y’all let me have a private discussion with Marshall here.”
Mark didn’t look like he was in favor of my idea, but the Judge grabbed him by the elbow and led him outta of the room.
Lisa looked at me, and then said, “Be careful Amos.” And, she also walked out and closed the door.
I took a seat on the other side of the desk were Marshall were a sittin’, and then said, “Well now, you gonna spit it out or am I gonna have to get nasty.”
Marshall sputtered, “Just what the hell you talking about?”
I sighed and then pulled out my foldin’ buck knife. I opened the knife and started a cleanin’ my fingernails, looked up and said, “Marshall, I don’t like people shootin’ at me. I particularly don’t like it when they succeed. Now, I got a hole in my leg and ain’t in much of a mood for talkin’ all that much. Now you can spill your guts or I can start carvin’. Your choice.”
“You can’t do that! They’d put you in jail!”
I laughed, and then said in a quiet voice, “You really don’t know me that well, do you. If’n you think me goin’ to jail would stop me from removin’ a few choice parts from your body, you’d be makin’ a big mistake.”
I kept workin’ the blade underneath my fingernails, all the time keepin’ my eyes glued to him. He started sweatin’ and fidgitin’, then said, “OK, but you got to get me some protection. They’ll kill me if I talk.”
I answered, “I would guess it’d be in the best interest of the FBI to keep you alive. So start talkin’.”
He nodded his head, and I hollered out for everyone else to come in. I needed witnesses to what he would say.
After everyone got themselves situated, Mark read him the Miranda statement, and then Marshall started a talkin’. According to him, a guy named Roberto Ascentia was the big boss and kept his headquarters in Mexico.
We also learned that Marshall kept a hidey-hole for his associates on the back part of his property. He also admitted that he’d tipped off the two shooters after he left Lucy’s. The guy Lisa had hit was in the hidey-hole, and was not in very good shape.
It also came out that Marshall had been given the money to set up the dude ranch by the Ascentia cartel.
Marshall, once he got started, was a virtual gold mine of information. He also had kept a detailed record of all the drug transactions that went through him. He named names and locations. The vastness of the enterprise was amazin’. It seems that Denver wasn’t the only city that was bein’ supplied via this route, there were several others as well.
When Marshall finally started windin’ down, Mark placed him under arrest. The judge had Lisa call Steve so we could let the FBI in on the game. There were no way we’d be able to protect Marshall locally. There really was no other option. Besides, the Feds had one hell of a lot more resources than we had.
An hour later, Steve, Mark, and several other federal agents retrieved the guy from Marshall’s hidey-hole. He was in bad shape. Lisa had hit him twice: once in the abdomen and another shot had hit him in the shoulder.