Chapter 11

We had to wait for Charlie to unload a large wheeled suitcase from her SUV and load it in the back of the SHIT. She needed Steve to help her load what ever she had. I raised my eyebrows in question, and she just shrugged her shoulders.

The ride to Las Vegas was surreal. The Sheriff High Integration Truck (I dare say that calling it the SHIT now would be a little disingenuous. Maybe I could change the name to something high class like the Defecation... ) was a technological marvel. By the time Charlie had finished explaining the capabilities that she had restored and reinstalled to the unit, my mind was spinning and we were only a little less than half the way to Vegas.

Billie was in the back, or third seat, and as happy as a pig in mud. The ultra secure Wi-Fi connection had the convenience of a cell phone, the power and seemingly unlimited bandwidth of a high speed trunk line, and no dead spots. She was typing away on her computer and humming some Barbra Streisand song. She was oblivious to everything else.

Sal was amazed at the tools onboard. Hidden and intelligent video cameras that automatically turned on and off as needed took over the function of the older style dashboard camcorders that were currently all the rave in police cruisers. Not only were they automatic, they provided a 360 degree view around the wheeled platform.

Real time access to SCI's law enforcement database and their links around the world was provided by a removable two way touch-screen operator interface. While access to the local, lower security data bases was nothing new in police cruisers, this hardware setup allowed the interface pad to be taken out of the unit if needed which was a far step up from the current Police MDT (Mobile Data Terminals) equipment.

The GPS unit used a screen similar to the interface screen to display maps and gave location accurate to within a few inches. It was portable and could be taken out of he SHIT to mark item locations at a crime scene or used as a portable GPS locator when an officer had to work on foot.

Proximity sensors, when activated, gave warning to the vehicle occupants of any approach to the vehicle. A new European optical recognition system currently being developed for intelligent motion sensors was adapted so that people the system recognized as safe would not initiate an alarm. We already knew about the active organic armor that covered the entire outside of the unit. What we had not known about was the bio war filtration system that would automatically kick in and seal the unit when hazardous chemical or biological contaminates were detected. The vehicle could become a sealed cocoon with its own heppa based super duper filtration system and its own backup oxygen supply and CO2 scrubbers if it became necessary to become totally isolated.

Hell, even Pinkie was impressed. Every once in a while I would hear a 'gawl darn' or other expletive as Charlie conducted her little training class.

Steve laughed at us as we sat there open mouthed. Charlie looked at her boyfriend and chided, "Steven, behave yourself. They're newbies. You were just as impressed last year at your orientation. Wait until they get back to the unit after court and they meet Maryland. Our little gift from Seattle will blow even your tainted mind."

Steve scoffed, "I'll believe it when I see it. Even SCI's not that far advanced. We're at least thirty years from that technology. Talking..."

"Quiet, Dear. You don't want to ruin the surprise for everyone else." She gave him a chilling glance and asked, "Do you?"

Billie interrupted, "We may have a problem here. The FBI just informed my contacts at the DEA that Anthony Teasdale hasn't been heard from in almost a week. The bank where he works reported him missing a few days ago, but it was pushed down in priority by an Amber Alert for a ten year old girl. They found the girl at her father's house. There was a mix up as to who had custody that week. The girl and her father were in the mountains fishing. There's an APB out for Teasdale now."

Charlie asked, "Who is Anthony Teasdale?"

I answered, "He is one of Pop's old banking students. He handled Pop's bid for the Pinkston Ranch. I never met the guy, but Pop said that he was one of the best students he ever worked with. From the looks of what we got when we bought the ranch, I have my doubts"

"Oh, I heard the story from Steve, but I never caught his name."

Billie continued, "After the two FBI agents who are helping us out called the bank to verify he was still missing they went to his apartment. Apparently, the agents were surprised that a vice president of a bank lived in the slums of Carson City. The place is a miniature Watts with their own gangs and everything. When they got there, the apartment door was wide open and the place was trashed. Now this really surprises me, considering the high quality of scumbag in that neighborhood, but no one saw or heard anything."

I was surprised. "I didn't know Carson City was a big enough city to have any gangs?"

"Oh yeah, they do," Billie replied. "I was talking to my friend in the DEA last week. They have a major problem with Los Angles based gangs, like the Cripps and Bloods, expanding their operations to other metropolitan areas. It is scary. Hell even little towns are having problems. Scotland Neck, North Carolina, for example has had a raft of gang related violence in the last year from home grown gangs. They think it's drug related, and it's significant. The population there is only a little less than 2,200 people.

Sal asked, "What are they doing now about our boy, Tony?"

"That's what DEA is trying to find out as we speak."

I asked, "How is that going to affect the hearing?"

"Most likely it will make no difference. You have to remember. The burden of proof that the bids were irregular is almost impossibly high with the quality control the DEA exercises in these transactions. What has everyone concerned in this case is the lack of transparency in the notification process for this court challenge.

"Normally the system takes great pains to assure all parties are notified of these actions and they have a fair amount of time to prepare. We found out about the filing on a fluke and on the day of the hearing. That shouldn't be, but it's not surprising in this case. Hell, there were only five bids for the ranch at the opening. Normally, there would be dozens. Something is just not right. No, something about this stinks."

Billie went back to her messages and preparations. This time she was humming an Elton John song. Her intense focus on the upcoming hearing locked the rest of us out of her mind for the rest of the trip.

About 11:30 Steve dropped us off at a little Italian restaurant not far from the Federal Court House. When I asked him why he and Charlie were going to miss a free lunch, he replied that he and Charlie had an important SCI job to do.

The three of us walked into the Little Rome Italian Eatery and paused at the hostess stand. An older refined gentleman approached us, and asked us in a pompous, accented voice, "Do you have a reservation?"

This guy seemed too full of himself for my taste. I couldn't help myself. "Yeah, but we'll eat here anyway."

My companions gave me a look that said, "Rednecks should be seen and not heard." Billie grabbed one arm and Sal grabbed the other. They pulled me back so hard I almost flew out the door.

Billie valiantly tried to undo my bad manners and smiled at the stuffed shirt who smiled back at the cleavage formed by the top of her stuffed shirt. "We are expecting to meet two others here. I believe the reservation is held under the name, Virginia Valdese."

The man gave me a disgusted look, and replied to Billie's tits, "Oh yes, Ms Valdese and Ms Ortega are already in the private dining room. I believe Mr. Shorts is here also. Please come this way."

We followed Mr. Stiff-neck, roving eyes, stuffed shirt to a back room that looked like the banquet room of a fancy villa from the days of the Roman Empire. It could have been copied from my old high school Latin Language book. It didn't, however, have the dining couches or near naked slave girls. Damnation, I was bummed out. This was Vegas, right? There should be near naked girls hanging out of the rafters. This place could give the city a bad rep. No slave girls my ass...

As we entered the room a man and two women stood. The man said, "Billie, you get lovelier every time I see you. The last time I saw you wear that outfit in a courtroom the judge got all tongue tied and made three impeachable errors. Do you have a permit to wear that suit? You are dangerous."

"Larry you can't keep going around saying that. One of these days someone is going to believe it." She smiled at him and added, "As I remember, I did win that case." After she said that she continued, "You know Sal, but I don't believe you know my client, Jefferson Davis Barton, Junior. JD, this is Larry Shorts, the man who may have saved the day."

I took Larry's hand. His firm grip gave me a feeling of confidence in his competence and trust. He gave me a knowing look and nodded. No words were necessary. When two men's mutual respect clicks into place, there is never a need for words.

Billie reached her hand to one of the women. "This is my old schoolmate Virginia Valdese. She now wastes her time trying to keep the drug cartels under control for our government. Ginny this is my client, JD, and my very good friend Sal Jackson."

The DEA lawyer glanced at me and nodded. From me her eyes shifted to Sal and for some reason a pensive look came over her face. After a moment's hesitation, Ginny smiled and took over the introductions. "This is Helen Ortega. She was the Agent that supervised the disputed bid opening. She is also a lawyer. In fact she went to school at UNLV with Larry."

I briefly wondered what the look at Sal was all about but let it go as being my overactive imagination. After we all got through with the hand shaking and business card thing, Billie got down to business. "What's good to eat here?" (Well, that's business to me.)

After we entered our orders, Billie got down to court business. "Have you heard any more about Teasdale?"

"I emailed the last information I received to you about an hour ago. The SAC said he'd call me before the hearing starts, but he's not confident that they'll be able to get any more information to us with such a short time frame."

At Pinkie's suggestion, I asked, "Have we found out what prompted Robert Pinkston to start this thing?"

"No, and, according to our people, he's got a gaggle of lawyers around him. We didn't push yet, because we want some more time to find out what they're trying to pull.

"As far as I can tell, no one knows we're going to be in court. The plan is to sneak in as soon as the doors open after lunch and stay quiet in the back of the room until the docket is called. I have written directives from Drug Enforcement Administration Chief Counsel Goggin in Washington for me to take charge of our defense in case there are any questions or challenges.

"This is all confidential because we don't think this is an error. We strongly suspect it has to be dirty. I want to see who is involved before we show our hand. Larry has a PI secretly recording the entry to the courtroom to see who comes in or out. We didn't have time for a warrant to do it ourselves. We're so paranoid about this thing that the AG's office doesn't even know that we're here today."

About that time our food arrived, and I was allowed to pay homage to my appetite. I sure couldn't complain about the food. After a great lunch, Ginny looked at me and continued.

"I suggest that you make yourself known as soon as the docket is called. I'd like to see what happens when they find out you are there."

Just then Ginny's phone interrupted us. "Valdese." She listened for a few seconds and sighed. "You're sure about the cause of death?" She shook her head. "Get the autopsy report before you close this one down. There's a lot riding on this one. Let's make sure we dot every "i" and cross every "t''.

"Rats-in-frats, The FBI just found Anthony Teasdale. It looks like he killed himself. That shouldn't mean anything to this case, but it's damn strange."

Helen looked at me suspiciously. "Mr. Barton, how long have you known Mr. Teasdale?"

Interesting, I was no longer JD. Someone had put on her Special Agent hat. I shrugged my shoulders. "I never met him. He was one of my father's students from Yale. I didn't even know who had set up the deal until Pop told me about it at my graduation."

Helen frowned. "Really?"

The tone of the question caught Billie's ear, and she interrupted the DEA agent's train of thought. "And this is of interest to you why?"

"It's just strange. Dark, good looking, mysterious buyer comes from nowhere, bids on a multi-million dollar ranch, and wins the bid by a measly thousand dollars. After that, the point man for the buyer offs himself when the process is called to question. Tell me that a story like that wouldn't make you curious if you were me."

"It wouldn't make me curious if I were you, because, if I were you, I would have been in charge of the bid opening, and I would know that everything was copacetic. This witch hunt by Robert Pinkston is what should be curious. The apparent suicide of Mr. Teasdale has nothing to do with the issue at hand. Let's keep on point here, and quit chasing plot lines from some cheap romance novel. We don't have a lot of time to sort this out,"

"Billie's more than right, Helen," said Ginny. "Not only do we need to focus, but we need to get moving if we're going to get there in time to sneak into the back of the room." As we were leaving, Ginny mouthed to the owner of the restaurant, "My bill."

There was an almost visible chill between Helen and Billie as we walked to the courthouse. Teams don't work well if there are wounds exposed when they go into battle. I put my hand on Billie's arm to slow her down so the rest of the group was ahead of us.

"Billie, based on what she knows Helen's right to suspect me of being involved in some sort of backroom shenanigans. Hell, I'd suspect me, and I know better. Pop bought the ranch and I've never even met Teasdale, so there will be time to sort all that out later. Try to cool it with Helen for now. We need teamwork."

"You're right. I sometimes have trouble controlling my emotions when I'm close to my client. I'll work on it."

Larry must have had a similar conversation with Helen, because she dropped back to us and said, "I'm sorry to go off on a tangent at the restaurant back there. You were correct, Billie, to call me on focus. I'd still like to talk to you and your client after this is settled."

Billie turned to the agent. "Genie's coming out to visit Sander and I this weekend. Why don't you come with her? We'd be happy to have you, and JD and I will set aside some time to talk. Won't we, JD?"

I just did my JD bubble head doll thing, moved my head up and down, and kept my mouth shut.

By the time we got to the Federal Building, we were again a lean, mean, coherent, fighting machine. Bring on the bad guys.

After passing through a very comprehensive security procedure, we proceeded to the courtroom's waiting area outside the door in the wide hallway. Larry nodded to the retired police detective with whom he worked in Nevada. The PI smiled and nodded back. It was like two acquaintances acknowledging each other, but in reality it meant much more.

We had just finished migrating to the door when the Bailiff opened the public doors. Suddenly a large well built man in an Armani business suit pushed through our group and into the courtroom. "Get the fuck out of my way," he growled as his contact forced Ginny to lose her balance.

My hand on her arm was the only thing that prevented Ginny from taking a nasty fall. She nodded her thanks to me and calmly commented, "Welcome to the small minded world of mankind's most self centered man, Barrington Hutton, CEO of Resources, Inc."

"Lola Hutton would agree with you on that," seconded Sal. "She also holds no grudge against you. You got out as soon as you found out he was married."

Billie brought things back into focus. "What in the hell is he doing here?"

Billie's new good buddy, Helen replied, "Don't know, but it should prove interesting."

With no further drama, we split our forces along the back of the gallery. The dark paneling of the room and dark covered furniture swallowed most of the light from the old fashion incandescent chandeliers and gave the place the somber atmosphere of a funeral home. In the center of the far wall was a raised Judge's bench. On one side of that was a witness box and on the other was he Bailiff's desk. This setup was like something you would see in a 'Perry Mason' rerun. The "movie set" even had two people (the court reporter and the Bailiff) in their assigned places. In the front of the judge's bench was an open space. In that area were two tables, one on the left and one on the right separated by about ten feet or so of open floor. Each table had with four comfortable desk chairs set facing the judge's bench. Behind the chairs was a waist high fence (that I later learned was called 'The Bar') with a little gate in the middle separating the two sides and allowing access to the open area in front of the Judge's Bench.

The table on the left and in front of the Judge's Bench was already occupied by four people. The first was a rotund older man with a bald pate surrounded by neat gray hair. His cheap western cut brown suit was set off with an even cheaper western shirt and a string tie with a longhorn slide clip holding it together. You could just see a new, very loud, very poorly made cowboy boot peaking out from the left polyester pant leg.

Next to him sat a man in a, now get this, a purple velvet business suit offset with a white ruffled shirt. He looked like he should be setting at a Grand Piano with a lit candelabra on top. His effeminate motions left no doubt as to why my redneck friend, Pinkie, literally boiled in quiet disgust when he saw his son. Robert flittered between the older man and the third man, Barrington Hutton.

On the other side of Hutton was a tall, very thin, very old woman with long thin but clean hair. She wore a long shapeless shift that reminded me of what Rachel had worn when I had seen her at the 'Dance Hall.' Her long thin hands lay crossed on her lap. The frown on her face dominated her whole being.

The other table was empty.

I turned to Sal, "I take it that Barrington Hutton, Lola Hutton and Virginia Valdese have some sort of history?"