Chapter 10
(MF, MMF, Mg, bbgM)
The final chapter of Desert Rat Tales. Detective Flores is upset about Billie Jean consorting with a criminal; Sharon's father gets his comeuppance; Deputy Givens and Edie get it on; Billie Jean and Phil get fired after writing an exposé about a drug bust...
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Buddy and I were getting into the Fuckwagon at 7 in the morning when Morris and George were getting into their pickup. They were going to the Dude Ranch, where they had been hired, and offered to give Buddy a ride to Rudy's Butte.
I went to The Diner to drink coffee, schmooze with the city and county politicians, and eavesdrop on the conversations around me.
A jury in neighboring Brewster County was expected to come down with a penalty for a man found guilty of manslaughter and tampering with evidence in the beating death of his wife. After beating her to death, he threw her corpse down a flight of stairs to make it appear to be an accident. All of the injuries sustained in the fall were postmortem. Many of her bruises were weeks old, indicating a history of abuse.
I got to the courthouse just in time to hear the sentence: 40 years. I interviewed the victim's brother, sister and adult daughter. They said that it had been an abusive relationship from the beginning, but the woman wouldn't leave him. The family gave me permission to use the couple's wedding photo.
The story fit in perfectly with my feature on the law enforcement view of domestic violence, and Billie Jean's interviews with battered women at the shelter.
Billie Jean and I spent the next two days turning press releases into news stories. I took photos of awards presentations, an opening day Chamber of Commerce ribbon cutting ceremony for a new boutique. There were a few fender benders, but none photo worthy.
Wednesday, Billie Jean complained about a front-end shimmy, so we put her Opel in the shop for a front end alignment, tune-up and oil change. The mechanic said it would be ready by 5 o'clock Thursday.
An hour after we left the shop, Billie Jean said, "I forgot about my date with Flores. I'll have to use the Fuckwagon."
"No can do, Kemo Sabe. I have a chamber luncheon at noon and an interview scheduled for one. Flores will have to pick you up and drop you off, or I can drop you off and pick you up."
"I'd rather have you drop me off and pick me up. It's so much more erotic having my husband delivering me to my paramour, and picking me up after our assignation."
Thursday, My 1 o'clock interview was cancelled. I dropped Billie Jean off at Flores' apartment, went to the luncheon, where I endured a boring lecture on tax incentives to attract new businesses, then returned to the office.
"A Mrs. Benedict called," Helen said. "She wants Billie Jean to call her at home after 4 o'clock. She sounded scared. Her voice was trembling."
"She's the reason we wrote the domestic violence stories," I said, and described our meeting with the Benedicts. "When we saw her flinch like that, we knew she was a victim."
Billie Jean called the office a little after 2:15. "Come get me," she said.
"Who are you talking to?" Flores asked.
"My husband. My car's in the shop. Phil's my chauffeur today."
"He brought you here!?!"
"Yes. Do you have a problem with that?"
"That's weird. Just too fucking weird."
"I'll be there in about five minutes," I said, and hung up.
I pulled into the space adjacent to Flores' county issued Bronco, and tapped the horn twice.
A minute later, Billie Jean came out, chuckling and buttoning her blouse.
The drape in the apartment's picture window moved slightly, and Flores peered out. I smiled and waved. The drape immediately closed.
"How'd it go?"
"Weird from beginning to end," she laughed. "To begin with, he tells me that I was seen entering a motel room with a known criminal."
"Buddy?"
"Buddy. A deputy recognized me on the back of Buddy's bike when we pulled into the motel, and took down the tag number."
"Deputy Givens," I said. "He gave his parents a tour of the south end and the park. He interrupted my cunnilingual session with Sharon and Edie."
"Flores checked the registration, then checked Buddy for record and wanted. Said he was an ex-con dope dealer."
"And you set his ass straight."
"You bet! I told him that Buddy was entrapped by a paid snitch. He thought the 'confidential informant' was a friend. He told the snitch he was going to buy a quarter ounce of pot. The snitch gave him money and asked him to pick up a quarter for him too. He thought he was doing a friend a favor. He made no money off the deal. But he got busted, and refused to roll over on his dealer.
She continued, "Flores said he committed a crime, and that makes him a criminal. I said speeding is a crime, and that I had seen Flores speeding when he wasn't on duty. Speeding is a crime. Speed kills. Pot doesn't."
"That put a crimp on the sex," I said.
"Temporarily. We were cussing each other out. He was calling me a slut and a whore and a bitch. I called him an ignorant, chickenshit pig who busts harmless pot heads because he doesn't have the balls to go after real criminals. And we had rough, dirty-talking sex. I even got him to eat my pussy after he fucked me. I told him that 'Real Men,' like my husband, clean pussy after they've fucked it."
"Did he do good?"
"Not really. He needs practice," she said. "Then I sucked him until he came in my mouth. Then I helped him get it up again, and he gave me an ass pounding I'll never forget. He's really good when he's angry."
We went to the suite, where she changed clothes, and put her cummy dress in the tub to soak. Her lover didn't let her undress before throwing her onto the bed and creaming her cunt and ass.
"Amber Benedict called. She wants you to call her at home after 4 o'clock."
"I'll bet she read the domestic violence stuff, and wants out."
"That's why we wrote it."
Billie Jean called Amber at 4 o'clock. The abused wife did, indeed, want out.
"As soon as I hang up, I'm calling the shelter," Amber said.
Five minutes later the emergency services scanner alerted us to deputies and an ambulance being dispatched to the Benedict address.
We hopped in the wagon and sped to the scene.
Paramedics wheeled Arnold out on a stretcher when we arrived. He screamed obscenities as he was loaded into the ambulance. He had seen the Gazette stories, and decided to stay home. He hid in the basement, beside the floor furnace, where he could monitor any conversations on the first floor. He heard Amber talking to Billie Jean.
He went upstairs when his wife hung up. He knocked her down, and was on top of her, slapping and backhanding her when Lizzie, Sharon's older sister, took Arnold's baton and whacked him on the back several times. One of the blows fractured a lumbar vertebrae, severing his spinal cord, and paralyzing him from the waist down.
Lizzie told authorities that he raped her, and threatened to kill everyone in the family if she told anyone.
While Arnold was in the hospital, Detective Anthony Flores filed drug smuggling charges against him. A dope dog and handler on loan from Brewster County, alerted to Arnold's F-350 crew cab dually. A search warrant was served, and significant quantities of cocaine and heroin were confiscated.
Two months later, while being wheeled into a courtroom, he snatched a bailiff's pistol and committed suicide.
After that, things settled into a comfortable routine. We spent more and more time down south. We bought 10 acres of undeveloped land on the right bank of Coyote Creek south of El Cuevo. We bought an old self-contained cab-over truck camper to live in on weekends (Friday thru Sunday). I built a plywood shed around it to shade the metal from direct sunlight, and give the walls additional insulation. Most nights, we slept on the flat roof, under the stars.
Dave was happy with Billie Jeans management of the paper. Advertisers were happy. The Chamber of Commerce was happy. Government officials were happy. We were in semi-retirement, cranking out crap and making the right people happy.
Our sex life was fantastic. Billie Jean had Flores Thursday afternoons, The Lost Boys Saturday nights, and Me and Buddy whenever she wanted.
I had frequent orgies with Filly, Sharon, Edie and the Parsleys.
I took the girls to the Fort Stockton Walmart three times, where I got in the back of my Fuckwagon with them. I finger fucked two while eating one's pussy.
After our third mini orgy, we went to the KFC, and met Deputy Givins, who was off duty.
We ordered a bucket and sat with Givens. The girls went to the restroom, giggling and whispering, and I noticed a prominent lump in Givens' trousers.
"Edie has a big crush on you, Gene," I said, confidentially.
"Really?"
"You're attracted to her too."
"She's a cute little girl."
"And you're attracted to cute little girls."
"Not in that way!" he retorted.
"That's not what the lump in your pants says."
"I wasn't thinking about her!"
"You were thinking about a drumstick?" I asked innocently. "I love little girls too."
"You do?"
"Especially sexy willing little girls like Edie and Sharon and my own daughter."
The girls returned from the bedroom. Edie sat beside Givens.
"Would you like to ride back to Montenegro with Deputy Givens, Edie?"
"Really!?! Could I?"
"If you want," he said.
"There's no hurry, Deputy. Edie's not expected home until tomorrow afternoon."
"What's that thing on the back of your truck?" Edie asked the deputy.
"A camper cover. It's where I sleep when I'm camping out."
"Can we camp out tonight?"
"If you really want to."
"I really really want to."
Edie later told me they went to a secluded spot out in the desert. She told him that she, Filly and Sharon liked being naked. She asked him about being a cop and arresting bad guys. Then she hugged and kissed him.
"He was really surprised that I could kiss so good, like a grown woman. Then we made out and felt each other up. He came when I touched his dick the first time. And he was really surprised when I sucked it. I told him that Filly taught me how to be a great cocksucker."
Deputy Gene Givens told me about it later. He was madly in love with the little girl, and thanked me profusely for getting them together. It was his first real sexual encounter with a prepubescent girl. Prior to Edie, he had only managed to cop a few feels on a couple of willing nieces.
"Edie says that you're very good at cunnilingus," he whispered shyly. "Maybe you could give me some pointers."
I took him to our suite, where I watched and listened and masturbated as Billie Jean and Filly told him what to do and how to do it on them. Soon, he was kissing, licking, nibbling, sucking and tongue-fucking like a pro.
Life was good... until I fucked it up.
A chicken-shit underhanded undercover sting operation and drug bust by the Department of Public Safety's State Narcotics Assholes pissed me off.
During Spring Break, Red said that a friendly highway patrolman told her that there was an undercover operation going on down south. They wanted to nail Saddlebag Sam.
A week later, word was out that Sam was entertaining a narc at his camp, and everyone was warned to stay away.
I didn't believe it. Sam wasn't stupid. Uneducated. Ignorant. But not stupid. I rode my moped into his camp, where Sam introduced me to his new friend.
I cracked up. He was a dude; in the old west sense of the word. His fancy western shirt was fresh out of the box. It still had creases. Everything from his 5x beaver Stetson to his custom made Tony Lamas was brand new. He even wore a bolo tie.
The Dude--I forget his name--owned a small radio station, and was trying to impress his new young secretary who was a pot head. He was trying to be cool. He had an old GMC pickup he wanted to trade for a kilo of pot.
Sam was acting as the go-between for the dude and the farmer across the river, and invited me to go along for the exchange. Sam and the Dude got into the cab. I rode in the bed. We went to a well used shallow crossing near Sam's camp.
I thought the Dude was going to back out of the deal when the Mexican asked for the title. His name was on the title.
Sam explained, "If the federales stop him, and he don't have a title, they'll beat the shit out of him and take the truck."
The Dude relented, and the exchange took place. As the Mexican drove across the river, I thought I heard the squelch of a walkie-talkie.
Fuck! I looked around, and was about to dive into the river downstream from the shallows. In the current, I could go a long way under water, and come up in a wooded area on the Mexican side.
Then a bird flew out of the bushes from which the squelch sound emitted.
I let out a long sigh of relief, and laughed at myself.
"What's so funny?" Sam asked.
"Everybody thinks this dude is a narc."
"Are you fuckin' kiddin' me?"
"I kid you not."
After school let out for the summer, we would leave work at 4 o'clock Thursday, and go to our camp. Our usual mode of transportation in and around the Rudy's Butte-Quicksilver City microplex was two old Honda mopeds Buddy bought and rebuilt for us. Billie Jean and I learned how to row inflatable rafts, and spent a lot of time on the river.
Gabriel's younger brothers, Raphael (Rafe), 11, and Uriel (Urie), 9, became Filly's boyfriends. They had burros. The boys rode into our camp while Billie Jean, Buddy and I were constructing a 12'x12 sotol stalk ramada on the north side of our camper.
Filly begged them to take her for a ride.
After finishing the ramada, Buddy and I explored the surrounding area on foot, and came upon the kids in an abandoned roofless jacal. Urie's dick was in her mouth and Rafe's was in her cunt.
Before I could tell them they weren't in trouble, they panicked, hopped on their burros and galloped away.
We took Filly to the Quicksilver Stables/Boat House, where she told Gabe to tell his brothers that everything was cool, and they were welcome to visit our camp anytime.
When they sheepishly arrived, I told them that I preferred them to do their fucking at our camp, where they were safe.
A few days later I arrived at camp to find them at it again.
"Y'all don't have to stop," Filly said. "Daddy loves watching me fuck and suck. Don't you, Daddy?"
"Yes. I most certainly do."
Rafe resumed pounding her pussy while Urie humped her face.
"Oh God! Oh God! Oh God!" Rafe exclaimed, pounding hard, then going rigid. "I think I came. I think I really squirted."
Filly rolled over onto her back and spread her legs. Thick white jizz oozed out of her hairless cunt.
"I did it! I did it! I really fucking came!"
Without even thinking about it, I buried my face between my little girl's legs, and lapped up the preteen cum. I ejaculated without touching my cock when she came in my mouth.
Early that summer, we met Royce at El Cuevo. Meeting him was a deja vu experience for me. It seemed like we had met before, but couldn't remember where or when. Royce said he felt the same.
He smoked pot with me and Billie Jean. His wife was dying of cancer, and he was buying marijuana to ameliorate the nausea from the chemo treatments.
The bust came down Labor Day weekend.
Royce was an undercover narc. Jeff Smith was his snitch. The operation began a month before we arrived in Montenegro.
The sting turned to shit when a Border Patrol helicopter spotted Dan's pot patch. The agents landed, and ripped up the plants.
Dan was hauling five gallons of water to the patch on foot, and spotted the chopper before the agents spotted him. He laid on the ground beside a 2' to 3' high volcanic dike and oyster bed, almost within hearing distance. He could hear voices, but couldn't make out the words. They called their headquarters and discovered the land belonged to a nature preserve.
About the same time, another ex-con friend of Dan's was arrested on an outstanding traffic ticket. Stevie had a small quantity of cocaine when he was searched at the jail. The narcs were called in, and interrogated him. They knew about Dan growing pot for Smith. They left Stevie alone in the interrogation room, along with a manila folder. In it was a photo of Dan's marijuana plantation.
They promised Stevie the cocaine charge would disappear if he agreed to give evidence. He spilled his guts.
Stevie visited Dan on his way to Mexico, and told him everything, including the fact that his friend, Jeff Smith was a paid snitch.
Barb later told me that Smith showed up the next day. She stopped him from getting out of his car. "Danny has a gun. You do not want him to see you."
By the time the narcs arrived with their arrest warrant, Dangerous Dan was in Boquillas, a fugitive from injustice.
The State Narcs and several DPS troopers raided Rudy's Butte and Quicksilver City, picking up anyone who sold or gave any drugs to Smith or Royce.
I was on the Rudy's Butte Store porch when the invaders arrived.
"What the fuck, Royce?" I asked.
"You were a cop. You know how it is."
"When I was a cop, this kind of shit was called entrapment, and would have been thrown out of court."
Everyone who was arrested was busted for a quarter ounce or less of marijuana, or a few prescription pills.
"You're all a bunch of chicken shit motherfuckers," I announced.
Two of the highway patrolmen actually blushed. Red would later tell me they were ashamed of having to take part in the farce.
Deputy Buddy was even forced to take part. He was asked to transport George's girlfriend, Bree, to the county jail.
"You want to exchange cuffs?" a narc asked Deputy Buddy.
The old lawman shook his head and said, "I'll take my chances with this desperado uncuffed." Then to Bree, "Do you need anything before we go?"
"A pack of cigarettes."
"Phil, could you get Bree a pack of Virginia Slims?" He knew her brand.
I bought her a pack and a Dr. Pepper.
I reverted to investigative reporter mode. I flooded DPS headquarters with Freedom of Information Act Requests. How much money was spent on the operation? How many man hours? How much cocaine did the DPS provide Confidential Informant Jeff Smith? (He had been sharing it like candy.)
Detective Flores surreptitiously did a criminal background check on Jeff Smith, and gave it to Billie Jean. He was a convicted child rapist on parole.
I wrote a news story on the bust that was highly uncomplimentary to law enforcement. I wrote an editorial lambasting the War on Drugs as a total waste of time, money and lives.
Law enforcement was unhappy. Elected officials were unhappy. The Chamber of Commerce was unhappy. Most importantly, advertisers were unhappy. Everyone except my loving wife wanted me fired.
Billie Jean's confrontation with Dave was ugly. She held up her signed employment agreement. He snatched it from her hands and ripped it into pieces, and yelled, "You're fucking fired!"
She picked up the pieces. "I'll tape it back together and sue your sorry ass for breach of contract and wrongful termination."
In the end, he agreed to pay her salary for a year. I was given two week's severance and a month's vacation pay.
We moved to our camp full time. Charles actually broke down and cried like a baby when we packed our things and headed south.
Red gave me a part time job as her bartender. She had a beer and wine license. I didn't have to mix drinks. Billie Jean worked as a part time waitress at El Cuevo. She would learn how to mix drinks, and would become the South End's favorite happy hour bartender.
Her Thursday afternoon assignations with Detective Flores moved to Thursday evenings in room #1 of the Chihuahuan Desert Resort Motel, where I got to watch through the one way mirror, and eat her pussy after he left.
We enrolled Filly in Rudy's Butte School. It served preschool through eighth grade students, after which they were bussed 100 miles to Alpine High School.
Filly became as big a slut as her Mom. She was protected by the Acosta brothers, who as everyone believed, were favored nephews of El Zorro de Ojinaga.
Dangerous Dan became a celebrity in Boquillas, Mexico, where he was a tourist attraction, entertaining gringos in the cantina with his outlaw ballads. They got to rub shoulders with a lovable rogue. He got a lot of pussy.
Barb and the kids moved back to Seguin, where she lived off a generous inheritance from her father.
Billie Jean gave up her journalistic ambitions and enjoyed our lazy lusty desert rat lifestyle.