Nothing But Trouble kk-10 Read online

  “So are you going to tell me what business you have with me or is it a secret?” Kerney asked.

  “You’re gonna love it, Kerney. I’ve just brokered a deal to film a movie in New Mexico. It will be produced by a Hollywood film company, costar two of my clients, and be shot entirely in the state. The governor and the state film office are putting a chunk of money into it.”

  “Sounds like quite an undertaking.”

  Johnny spread his hands wide to match the grin on his face. “It’s big, and it’s gonna be a hell of a lot of fun. I want to bring you in on it.”

  “Doing what?” Kerney asked, as the server brought Johnny his whiskey.

  “First let me tell you the fun part,” Johnny said. “The movie is a modern-day Western about a rancher who’s facing bankruptcy due to drought and the loss of grazing leases on federal land. He decides to fight back by mounting a fifty-mile cattle drive to dramatize his plight. But when he tries to drive his cattle across closed federal land, the government bars his access. The story takes off from there.”

  “I’ve always liked a good Western,” Kerney said. “Let me know when it hits the theaters.”

  Johnny laughed as the server placed his salad on the table. “Hear me out. The fun part is that we’re filming some of it on my father’s ranch in the Bootheel, and we plan to hire as many New Mexico cowboys, wranglers, stuntmen, stockmen, extras, and qualified film technicians as possible. That’s part of our deal with the state. I want Dale Jennings to be a wrangler and you to be a technical advisor on the film.”

  “So that’s why you talked to Dale,” Kerney said. “What did he say?”

  “He’s gonna do it.”

  Kerney tried the asparagus soup. It was good. “You can hire whoever you want?” he asked.

  Johnny, who hated tomatoes, picked them out of the salad and put them on the edge of the plate. “For the key, nontechnical New Mexico personnel I can. I’m an executive producer for the project. The story line was my idea. I’m even getting a screenwriting credit for it.”

  “I’m impressed. When does all this take place?”

  “In September, after the rainy season, when it’s not so damn hot.”

  “I’ve got a full-time job, Johnny.”

  “We’re talking about three weeks on location, maximum. That’s all you have to commit to. Use your vacation time. You’ll get top dollar, housing, meals, transportation, and expenses. Plus, you can bring the wife and son along gratis. In fact, we’ll hire them as extras. That’s what I promised to do with Dale’s wife and daughters.”

  Johnny finished his greens and slugged back his whiskey. “We have a ninety-day shooting schedule. Three weeks in the Bootheel to do the major cowboy and rodeoing stuff, then some other location filming around the state in Silver City and Las Cruces. We’ll do the set work here in Santa Fe at the sound studios on the college campus. We’re hiring film students as apprentices.”

  Kerney put his spoon down and wiped his mouth with a napkin. “Sounds like a major undertaking.”

  “It’s big,” Johnny replied. “My sister, Julia, is in on it. You know, you broke her heart when you came back from Vietnam and didn’t marry her.”

  Kerney laughed. “Get serious, Johnny. Julia didn’t want anything to do with me.” A year younger than Johnny, Julia had been one of the prettiest, most popular girls in high school. A great horsewoman in her own right, she’d won the state high-school barrel-racing competition the year after Kerney, Johnny, and Dale graduated.

  Johnny grinned and raised his hand to the sky. “I’m telling you the truth. She totally had the hots for you.”

  “What has Julia been up to?”

  “Pretty much taking care of Joe and Bessie, now that they’re older. What do you think about my proposition?”

  “I’d need to know a lot more about it before I decide,” Kerney answered. “What kind of technical assistance would you have me do?”

  The main course arrived, and Johnny asked for a glass of expensive red wine before cutting into his steak. “Cop stuff,” he said. “You’d make sure anything to do with law enforcement is accurate. The story pits a rancher against agents of the Bureau of Land Management. When he decides to move his cattle illegally across public land, federal agents and the local sheriff try to stop him. The chase turns into a stampede when the cops try to turn back the rancher and his neighbors who are driving the herd across BLM land.”

  Kerney’s lamb came served on a bed of polenta. It looked perfect. “It doesn’t sound like there would be much for me to do,” he said.

  Johnny chuckled. “Now you’re thinking straight. It would be a working vacation, Hollywood style. Besides that, when was the last time you went on a real cattle drive? I’m not talking about moving stock from pasture to pasture, or gathering cows for shipment. But a real cattle drive, pushing three hundred and fifty head across a mountain range.”

  “Can’t say I’ve ever done that,” Kerney said.

  “Doesn’t that sound like fun?” Johnny asked.

  “Yeah, it does.”

  “You think about it,” Johnny said, fork poised at his mouth. “Talk to Dale. Talk to your wife. This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for us to do something we used to dream about back when we were kids.”

  “You were always good at organizing grand escapades,” Kerney said.

  Johnny nodded, his face flushed from the whiskey and wine. “And this one is a real moneymaker for everyone involved. Not that you need it. To hear tell, you’ve got a sweet little horse-ranch operation outside of town.”

  “Raising and training cutting horses,” Kerney said, wondering who had been so forthcoming about his personal life with Johnny. He doubted it had been Dale Jennings.

  “Are you in?” Johnny asked, his words slightly slurred.

  “I’m not sure if I can spare the time.”

  “You’re the police chief,” Johnny rebutted. “Top cop, and all that. Can’t the department do without you?”

  “I’ll think about the offer.”

  After dinner Johnny fumbled with his wallet for a credit card to use to pay the check. When he signed the charge slip his hand was shaky.

  Kerney thanked him for dinner and held out his palm. “Give me your car keys, Johnny. I’m driving you to the hotel. The concierge can arrange to retrieve your vehicle.”

  Johnny flashed an annoyed looked. “Get real, Kerney. The hotel is only four blocks from here and I’m not drunk.”

  “I think you are. Your keys, Johnny.”

  “You’re joking, right?” Johnny said, laughing.

  Kerney shook his head and made a gimme motion with his outstretched hand.

  Johnny shrugged, fished a hand into his pocket, and dropped the keys into Kerney’s open palm, along with his business card. “I’m going to need an answer on the technical-advisor job in a week,” he said.

  “You’ll have it by then,” Kerney said.

  At the hotel Kerney accompanied Johnny into the lobby. The concierge was off duty, so Kerney gave Johnny’s car keys and a twenty-dollar bill to a valet parking attendant and asked him to bring the vehicle at the restaurant back to the hotel.

  Johnny described his car and the attendant hurried off. “Let me buy you a nightcap in the bar,” he said.

  Kerney steered Johnny to the elevators and shook his head. “Not tonight, but thanks again for the meal. It was good to catch up with you.”

  Johnny hid his disappointment. He hated being alone in hotel rooms. Maybe he should have tolerated Brenda’s chitchat and kept her around instead of sending her back to Denver. He pushed the elevator call button and said, “You’re no fun at all, Kerney.”

  “Don’t take it personally,” Kerney replied. “I’ve got a busy day tomorrow. Next time, if you come to town on a weekend, I’ll lift a glass or two with you.”

  “It’s a deal,” Johnny said. “When I get back to Denver, I’ll send you a copy of the shooting script for the movie by overnight express, so you can see exactl
y what I’ve been talking about. You’re gonna love it.”

  The elevator doors slid open and the two men shook hands and said good-night. Kerney left the hotel thinking it might be wise to check out Johnny and his offer before making up his mind about the proposal. On appearances Johnny seemed to be successful and living large. He drove an expensive car, stayed in the best hotel in town, and had treated Kerney to dinner at a pricey restaurant.

  But Kerney wondered about Johnny’s drinking. He’d studied Johnny’s face carefully for any telltale signs of alcoholism-pasty gray skin, bloodshot eyes, the broken spider veins that showed on the cheek and nose-and had seen none. But that didn’t prove anything.

  He shrugged off his unanswered question about Johnny. Best to wait and see if he followed up and sent him the script. If he did, Kerney would talk to Sara about the idea of spending their vacation playing cowboy on a movie.

  Actually, to Kerney, in spite of his reservations about Johnny, the idea sounded like a total hoot.

  By morning the April snowstorm had passed, the sun had burned away the last traces of snow, and trees were greening up, about to bud. After a presentation to a civic organization at a breakfast meeting in downtown Santa Fe, Kerney hurried back to headquarters for a regularly scheduled monthly meeting with his senior commanders and supervisors from all shifts.

  Always on the lookout for new ways to combat and reduce crime, Kerney had recently instituted a computer-based system that identified patterns of criminal activity based on the types of offenses committed, the dates and times of each occurrence, and the specific locations of the crimes. Basic information from all incident reports and traffic citations was fed into the system, analyzed, and broken down into ten geographic areas within the city. The program allowed Kerney and his commanders to shift resources, set goals, coordinate case planning among the various divisions, and track progress.

  The department had field-tested the system over the previous holiday season and had reduced auto burglaries at shopping malls by fifty percent. Now that it was fully operational, each commander was responsible for establishing targeted monthly goals to reduce crime on their shifts based on the current trends.

  Over twenty senior officers were crowded into the first-floor training room, filling the chairs at the large conference table and sitting against the walls. Kerney’s deputy chief, Larry Otero, ran the meeting as commanders discussed the data, reviewed current activities, set new case plans, and decided upon special operations to be initiated during the coming month.

  At the end of the table a slide projector connected to the computer displayed the maps of the city on a screen that highlighted high crime activity. In the downtown area, early evening, strong-arm robberies and purse snatchings were up, and in a public housing neighborhood near St. Michael’s Drive, criminal damage to property and residential burglaries had risen by ten percent on the weekends. On the southern end of the city motor vehicle crashes were down on all shifts. But a perp had surfaced who was baiting patrol officers into high-speed chases and had yet to be caught.

  The meeting wound down with a report on the completion of the latest citizen police academy program, and a decision was made to run a DWI blitz on a weekend two weeks hence. The last bit of business was an announcement of the arrival of twenty new patrol vehicles, which would be outfitted and put in service within several weeks.

  Kerney thanked everyone for their good work and went to his upstairs office, where he reviewed the shift commanders’ reports from the last twenty-four hours. A DWI arrest had been made on Cerrillos Road by a third-watch patrol officer, and a male subject named John Jordan had been taken into custody.

  Kerney powered up his desktop computer, logged on, and read the officer’s incident-and-arrest report. Three hours after Kerney had left him at the hotel, Johnny had been busted on Cerrillos Road two blocks from the city’s only adult entertainment club. He’d been stopped for making an illegal U-turn and had failed a field sobriety test. At the jail he’d registered a 0.20 on the alcohol breath test, more than twice the legal limit.

  Kerney called the jail and learned that Johnny had been released on bail. His phone rang just as he was about to dial the hotel.

  “Hey, Kerney,” Johnny said cheerfully when Kerney answered. “You should have had that nightcap with me at the bar, then I wouldn’t have gotten into trouble with one of your cops.”

  “I just read about your ‘little trouble,’ Johnny,” Kerney said.

  “Didn’t the cop call you at home? I asked him to.”

  “He had no reason to do that.”

  “Even if he had, I figured you wouldn’t give a rat’s ass,” Johnny said sourly.

  There was static on the receiver. “Where are you calling from?” Kerney asked.

  “I’m on the road, heading home. Can you help me get out of this pickle for old time’s sake?”

  “Sorry, Johnny. Get a lawyer to handle it.”

  “Is it that cut-and-dried?”

  “In my department it is.”

  “I thought as much. Even though I’m pissed, I’ll still get that shooting script off to you. It will be on your desk tomorrow morning.”

  “I’ll give it a look, Johnny.”

  “Good deal. My reception is breaking up. I’ll talk to you soon.”

  Johnny disconnected and Kerney spent time running a quick background check on Johnny. In Colorado, Johnny had been cited twice for speeding but had no DWI arrests on his record. The National Crime Information Center showed no outstanding wants or warrants, and there was nothing on him in the New Mexico law enforcement computer system.

  Although it appeared to be Johnny’s first DWI bust, it wasn’t something Kerney could take lightly. Because Johnny could be untrustworthy and downright conniving, he decided to pay a visit to the New Mexico Film Office to learn more about the movie project. He wanted to know if it was the real deal or one of Johnny’s pie-in-the-sky fantasies.

  Housed in offices on St. Francis Drive, the film office had undergone a resurgence with the election of a new governor who made trips to Hollywood to court production companies to film pictures in New Mexico. Under the governor’s watch new state laws had been passed offering tax incentives and loan subsidies to moviemakers.

  Kerney introduced himself to the receptionist, a young woman with light brown hair and plucked eyebrows, and asked if someone could tell him about a movie to be filmed in the Bootheel later in the year.

  Somewhat taken aback by Kerney’s uniform, the young woman cautiously asked why he was interested. Kerney told her he’d been approached to serve as a technical advisor on the project, and the receptionist passed him on to the director, a middle-aged woman named Vikki Morrison.

  Trim and energetic, Morrison had short blond fluffy hair and high cheekbones. Her office walls were filled with framed, autographed photos of movie stars and posters of films shot in the state. A director’s chair at the side of her desk carried the name of one of Santa Fe’s best-known resident film celebrities. A bookshelf held a display of various shooting scripts signed by cast members, along with a carefully arranged display of copies of a book, 100 Years of Filmmaking in New Mexico.

  Kerney explained his personal relationship with Johnny Jordan and asked about the movie project in the Bootheel. Morrison told him that Johnny had been a driving force behind getting the film shot in the state. He’d brokered a deal to use the nearly abandoned mining town of Playas as the production headquarters. In addition to serving as a movie set, the town would house the cast and crew during filming in the area.

  Kerney knew about the town through a recent article in a law-enforcement bulletin. Built in the 1970s, Playas had once been a company town of over a thousand people. But when the nearby copper-smelting operations were shut down, it became a virtual modern-day ghost town containing over 250 homes, 25 apartments, a bank building, post office, fire station, churches, community center, air strip, and other amenities. Recently, the town had been bought with Homeland Security fun
ds and was in the process of being transformed into a national antiterrorism training center.

  Morrison explained that Johnny had been active in securing part of the financing for the movie through a low-interest state loan. He’d just finished negotiating the final details of a contract that guaranteed the state a percentage of the profits from the film.

  Kerney asked Morrison to tell him about the role of a technical advisor.

  “Well,” Morrison said, “it all depends on the project, the cast, and the crew. In some cases it can be a demanding, frustrating role, or it can be an enjoyable, low-key experience.”

  “I’m not looking to take on something that winds up being a heavy burden.”

  Morrison smiled. “I can certainly understand that. You should have an opportunity to meet with the producers and key personnel before filming actually begins. If what you learn isn’t to your liking, you can always opt out of the project.”

  “That sounds reasonable,” Kerney said. He thanked Morrison for her time and left with a copy of 100 Years of Filmmaking in New Mexico, which she insisted he should have.

  Johnny Jordan lived and worked in a late-nineteenth-century brick building in downtown Denver that had originally been a warehouse. The developer who renovated it had added a two-story penthouse with a wall of glass that looked out at the Rocky Mountains. It featured a large balcony, a media room, four bedrooms, two home offices, and a huge living room adjacent to the kitchen and dining area. This was where Johnny and his wife, Madeline, a partner in a law firm that specialized in corporate mergers and hostile takeovers, lived. Madeline retained sole ownership, having bought the property prior to their marriage.

  Johnny loved living there, loved waking up to the city views and the distant mountains, and especially loved that it hadn’t cost him a penny.

  He didn’t expect Madeline to be home, and she wasn’t. Johnny always timed his trips out of town with other women to coincide with his wife’s travel schedule. It reduced the odds of discovery. This week she was in Toronto, heading up a team of lawyers negotiating the merger of two multinational lumber companies.