Brujo: Enemies At the Gate

By Jimmy Stout

Detective Tiny Limbardo is living a rough life as a single father of three when he is plunged into a double murder investigation that unravels into a grand conspiracy. Will he solve the crime? Will he find and new faith and new love? Will he even stay alive?

Brujo: Enemies at the Gate is a fiction work about Law Enforcement in a small town in New Mexico that takes an amazing conspiracy twist. It plunges into government conspiracy, science fiction, and modern combat tactics as a backdrop to explore social concepts of the modern day that affect us all. Brujo has a lesson for everyone. It is a PG type book with violence but few, if any, curse words. It is based on two passages from the Bible which I used as its outline. Also, if you like the outdoors, animals, and children there is something in it for you as well. Most of the things that happen in the story are based, at least in part, on real things that have happened to me in a 24 year career in American Law Enforcement. I hope you enjoy Brujo.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Oct 31, 2014
• ISBN: 9781312643451

Book preview

Brujo: Enemies At the Gate

Brujo: Enemies at The Gate

Copyright © 2014 by Jimmy D Stout, Tucson, Arizona

All rights reserved

including the right of reproduction in whole or part in any form

Published by Lulu Press, Inc

Raleigh, North Carolina

United States of America

ISBN 978-1-312-64345-1

King James Version (KJV)

Outside of the United Kingdom, the KJV is in the public domain. Within the United Kingdom, the rights to the KJV are vested in the Crown. The Bible is printed and published by Cambridge University Press, the Queen's royal printer, under royal letters patent. The text commonly available now is actually that of the 1769 revision, not that of 1611. The text used in this book is the current 1769 edition.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Many thanks to my sister Mrs. Barbra Jordan for her editing skills. I love you Barbie

For more information please visit https://www.facebook.com/BrujoEnemyatTheGate

Other Works by this author

Midnight’s Noon: A Compilation of Poems

Forward

At some point in their career, or while entering retirement, many policemen that I have known feel the need to relate their experiences in a memoir only to find that the memories may not find themselves as stimulating on paper as they were in the experience.  Thus, the need to embellish arrives to make the stories more interesting and often that gives rise to controversy. I attempted to do the exact opposite in this writing. My intent was to write a tall tale with the truth woven into it for you to detect and discern. For example, the story about the child stealing arrest is almost word for word exactly what happened to me in the early 1990s as a rookie officer in my hometown. Another that is fairly true to the happening is the story about Rocky Martinez and his encounter with a fight in the intersection. That one was based on an encounter my nephew and I had as I rode along with him on duty in a small town in North Texas on Christmas Eve a few years ago. Lastly, the double murder of the two men on the morning fishing trip is based on a real crime that rocked the pastoral community of my hometown when I was a child of ten years old.  My father, a country pastor of a small church in the farming communities of Oklahoma, reacted to the murder of his friends very strongly as you might imagine, and it left a lasting impression on us all.

It was also my intent to show how God does play a role in man’s daily life and that there is more afoot in the realms above than we often realize. Subsequently, I suppose I vented some pain in regards to my own divorce experience.  Anyone who has gone through a divorce should be able to relate to the feelings I express through these characters. These characters are all fictitious but many of the main characters are based on people from my history.

Lastly, I hope that the ideas that I pass on can resonate with you the reader as well as my own family. As a current and very active law enforcement officer, I still bear the threat every night of not coming home. In writing this book, there is an expression of how I have felt on many occasions so that my own children may understand one day when they are grown or should I not be there to guide them any longer.  In a way, this novel could be as much my epitaph as just an expression of my ability to tell a tall tale.

I hope you enjoy our time together in the following pages, are thoroughly entertained, and walk away with some new nugget of knowledge regarding God’s Kingdom and how it can be very challenging for those that wear the badge of protection in His service.

There is but one conspiracy…

Jim Stout

Tucson, Arizona

Dedication

To my wife, my children, and my family, may you remember me for the man I wanted to be as much as the man I really was, for that is the love I showed you in return. 

There are unholy places where angels fear to tread, there resides the policeman.

-Jimmy Stout

Psalm 127

Except the Lord build the house, they labour in vain that build it: except the Lord keep the city, the watchman waketh but in vain.

It is vain for you to rise up early, to sit up late, to eat the bread of sorrows: for so he giveth his beloved sleep.

Lo, children are an heritage of the Lord: and the fruit of the womb is his reward.

As arrows are in the hand of a mighty man; so are children of the youth.

Happy is the man that hath his quiver full of them: they shall not be ashamed, but they shall speak with the enemies in the gate.

King James Version (KJV)

Chapter One:  Except the Lord Keep the City

Suspect vehicle now eastbound on Pine, a male voice blared over the radio in a cold, yet professional tone. It was as if the pursuing officer was ordering a pizza instead of chasing a stolen car through the streets on a dark Sunday evening. The siren could be heard in the background of his transmission just as with the various other units that were heard calling in as they closed in on the vehicle being pursued, a Black, 2009, SUV.

Slow down Rook. We won’t do them any good if we have a wreck while responding, Officer Martin Luther Marty Greene said calmly from the passenger seat of the black and white Crown Victoria.

Yes, Sir, Officer Loral Schmitt retorted in a humbly submissive tone.  It was her Rookie year, and she had been on the street in the field-training program for just two weeks. This was her first pursuit, and the sound of her own emergency equipment blaring into her ears and rattling through her skull was raising her anxiety level by the second. Her pulse was pounding. Her breathing was increasing, and her hands were barely maintaining their grip on the steering wheel. She zoomed through the streets of Teton Del Fe, New Mexico at now a slightly slower rate than the speed of sound.  It did not help that it had been raining this evening, and the road was wet with the leftover puddles. They were splashing skyward like a water ride at an amusement park as she flung through them trying to control the shifts in traction to and from the car and the road.

Teton Del Fe was a good size city that appeared as a hamlet in the desert. It was nestled at the southeastern base of the Coyote Mountains and divided by a ridgeline that spurred out to the easterly direction. It also had a serious water runoff problem that was playing into her difficulties at the moment.

At times, it was like as if Loral was just trying to control a crash as versus responding to a crime in progress.  Those moments when the world began to go into slow motion, but the car she was driving was not slow at all were becoming numerous. She had felt that before when she had been in a car accident in her teens.  It was as if someone was playing a movie frame by frame, but at real speed.  Her senses were at their peak at this point, yet playing funny games with her at the same time. Marty had turned the police radio up at the beginning of all the commotion, and it still seemed that she had to struggle to hear what was happening. The pungent smell of the standard issue government air freshener in the air conditioner vents mixed with the smells of people and coffee wafted into her nostrils making her a little nauseous. She just wanted to make it where they were going in one piece.

She was an unlikely Rookie Cop as ever there was, to be sure. Those who had met her had their reservations about her staying on the street past her field training time. They usually formed a very sexist, but realistic, conclusion that most officers made of her upon first sight. She was just too pretty. She was 5’9, blonde, with blue eyes and had the figure of a Greek Athenian Statue. The academy had gotten her into great shape. Her shapes made most conclude that she would be working some community relations or public information job standing in front of a camera as soon as the first Assistant Chief set eyes on her. She would probably be a Chief herself not long after that duty was over. A sexist point of view, but honest and formed based on years of exposure to a system that mandated that it put its best foot forward all the time. It was just as well, Marty Greene thought, because after ten years on the street as a beat cop, she would have gained weight, developed bad health habits, and like the rest would pick up a few facial scars which would ruin her natural God given beauty. No man or woman wanted to see that for one so young and blessed. He fighting back the fact that he was becoming car sick at that moment, as he would never admit that to a Rookie.

Ocean 159 responding from Mountain and First, the radio cracked yet again.

Oh man, that is Tiny! Well, hurry the hell up Rook! We have to get there before he does, or there won’t be anyone left for you to use that fine academy training on tonight, Marty commanded. Slow down, speed up; and people wonder why cops drive so poorly at times.  Loral mused as she pressed the gas pedal just a little harder.

Tiny…, I heard the B shift talking about him?

Yeah, he is a real machine, the real deal, and if you want to arrest anyone today you better get things moving.

She thought to herself, to where? The chase is still screaming through the streets, and the engine in this car cannot go much faster, but she dared not really say what she was thinking. Just then, she hit a giant puddle that was more like a small pond in the middle of the road. It flung up into the engine well, and now steam was bellowing from under the hood and compression in the engine dropped for a second, yet she pressed on.

Ocean 134 is setting up spikes at Camp and Forest Hill, the radio chimed again like a flash news bulletin.

Well, Rook, that is where we need to be. Take a right, right here. 

Suspect vehicle has hit the spikes, Ocean 134 transmitted again.  The pursuit was about to come to an abrupt end, and they were still five blocks away.

They’ve terminated… they’ve terminated and struck a parked car, four suspects fleeing on foot, I’ll be out of the car, King 104 stated in a matter of fact tone. King 104 was also known as Officer William Spam Adams who was one of the department’s three K-9 officers.  He was called Spam because of his frequent choice of mystery meats for his lunches.

Ocean 134 will be in foot pursuit eastbound, one subject…. (pause and heavy breathing)…Hispanic male, blue jeans and black leather jacket, Officer Rocky Martinez managed to say over the radio between breathes.

Ocean 159 on scene, Tiny Lombardo stated calmly. 

Just then, the scene of police patrol cars with emergency lights flashing overhead came into view. The lights danced off the surrounding buildings and the wet road like the dance floor at a nightclub. Loral brought her vehicle to a screaming halt behind the others and jumped from the vehicle running eastbound. Marty Greene soon followed, hot on her heels. 

Two subjects just entered the warehouse at Forest Hill and Rider. Spam can you bring your partner over here? a voice chanted through Loral’s earpiece.

10-4 we are 10-15 by one, and we will be right over. That meant that King 104 and his partner, Balto, a three-year-old German shepherd had arrested one suspect and were securing him in their vehicle.

He says that one guy has a handgun, be advised! King 104 emphasized with great concern in his voice.

Any other units 10-15? Tiny retorted over the radio. No one answered the call. Everyone meet at the warehouse entrance but no one goes in yet! Tiny again directed. Tiny Lombardo was the Senior Patrol Officer in the area and was in charge of this patrol grid.  The other units began checking in stating they would meet there immediately.

Three officers crouched calmly on either side of the warehouse door which opened into a dark and cold alley. Their breaths were steaming out rapidly into the night air like the nostrils of a knight’s weary and agitated mount.  Water from the rains had made pools and puddles all over the alley pavement, and the rain was still dripping and draining from the gutters on the warehouse roof.  The officers all had weapons drawn and pointed in the general direction of the open door. Their index fingers shown outside of the respective trigger guards of their weapons in confirmation of years of intense training and experience. You don’t put your finger in the trigger guard until you have a target; Loral heard the voice of her firearms instructor reverb through her mind from her recent days on the academy firing range.

Tiny Lombardo emerged from the shadows like a Ninja of Medieval Japanese folk lore. Crouching down beside Loral he calmly stated, Ok, they are in there. I did a quick peak through a window on the other side, and they are trying to hide behind some big crates on the main floor. He stated with the crafty and premeditated tone of a high school football team captain in the huddle before the big play.  Marty, you go to the north corner of the building and maintain a 90 degree view of both the north and east sides.

Roger that, and with that Marty Greene slunk off in a crouch exhibiting a very determined tactical fashion.

Ok, Rookie, by the way what’s your name?

Schmitt, Sir.

Ok Schmitt, pleased to meet you, he said with a rather quick smile. Go over there to the southwest corner and maintain a 90 degree visual of those sides. If anyone runs out when we send the dog in, you sing out, and we will be right there to help you.

Right! she stated as she stood up straight and turned around to go to her corner.

Well, get down a little, Rook! Tiny stated in almost a joking manner, but he was not. Also, try to find yourself some cover over there in case rounds start coming out through the walls at you.

Loral was still a little shocked. Tiny Lombardo was a dark haired Italian well over six feet tall, and probably three hundred pounds of what appeared to be mostly muscle. He had a little gut, but it was not the type that would lead one to believe he was a slovenly kept man. His baby face contained a five o’clock shadow and blue eyes all topped off by a very military looking crew cut. He appeared to be a capable and confident man who presented himself rather non-threateningly and of good humor with a hint of being the very last man you would want to meet in a dark alley. In this case, it was a nice feeling to know he was on your side of the confrontation.

Just then, Spam and Balto arrived at the warehouse door, crouched down for a quick chat with Tiny, and then, K-9 off the leash came booming across the radio. Loral could see Spam, Tiny, and Rocky Martinez funnel through the door behind Balto like an instant SWAT Team. They moved with the tactics and motivation of military men, and soon loud barking with a sudden scream of pain came bellowing from the warehouse door.  Obviously, Balto had found the suspects, or at least one of them. Could that really be the same dog she had played with these last two weeks? He seemed like such an overgrown puppy, full of energy, eager to please his handler, and always ready to go to work.

Police Canines are a special breed of dog in their own right.  They are intensely loyal, always ready for work, and ultimately only as good as the handlers that work with them during their tour of duty.  Balto was one of the best, and it was largely in part to the great amount of work that Spam put into the continued daily training.  Balto had won almost every police canine competition he had ever entered in the time he had been in service.  Not to mention, the amount of narcotics he had seized was in the millions of dollars. However, what Balto did best was taking down suspects. He was the best dog on the department and easily the best bite dog in the county.

All Clear, suspects 10-15, came slipping from her earpiece.

Her heart was still in her throat; and now that the situation was calming down, it still did not return to her chest, where it rightfully belonged. Now she felt the urge to pee as it had been pressing on her bladder since before the pursuit started. The three officers and Balto exited the warehouse door with two Hispanic males in handcuffs in their company. Tiny had the pistol that the one young man had been carrying tucked into the waistband of his duty belt. Balto’s catch of the day was screaming about his arm as the blood had already soaked through his field dressing and onto Spam’s handcuffs.  The other subject, who appeared to be about 17 or 18 years old, was screaming obscenities at Rocky Martinez as he informed him of how his lawyer was going to have his badge and that they would be out on bail before the paperwork would even be done. The last part of his tirade was sadly probably true.  It seemed that many of the local meth dealers liked to utilize the same legal counsel who was always ready with bail money even in the middle of the night.

The young lad then made the time honored mistake of spitting on Rocky the Rock Martinez.  Loral was enraged and was close enough that she was about to take the nasty youth from Rocky and put him face first in the dirt for a nice soil sandwich herself when Rocky wiped the spit from his face calmly, smiled, looked at Loral and said, Calm down, Rook, I needed a shower today anyway. However, there was something sinister in that statement as Rocky’s glare changed, and he proceeded to lift the suspect up with one hand so that the young thug had to walk on his tiptoes just to keep standing. The notion that there was more to come for this little criminal worm made his own unrighteous anger turn immediately into fear of the unknown.

The Rock, Ocean 134, was no little man himself. He was not the huge battleship that Tiny Lombardo was, but he had a barrel chest and biceps that would make the most steroid induced Hollywood tough guy shrink in shame. The veins stuck out on them so well that the EMTs always teased the Rock about being able to start an IV on him without pulling the ambulance over. Needles made the Rock’s face turn funny colors so the EMTs, especially a couple of the lady kind who had obvious designs on the Rock, took that one as far as it would go every time they saw him. Tonight would be no exception as they had already called for them to help clean up Balto’s work on the pistol packing drug dealer.

Everyone met back at the scene where the cars were parked and secured the suspects in their vehicles. The smell of steaming engines and hot brakes still filled the air. Loral had forgotten to turn off her siren when they pulled up, and it was still blaring through the night air, now at annoyingly deafening octaves. She shut the siren off, and then the officers stood together.

Tiny spoke, Well, we still have one subject outstanding, but he is long gone it would seem. Spam, on the ride in talk to your 10-15 and see if he will give up who the other guy is and where he might be running to from here. Maybe we can get a warrant over the telephone and go pay him a visit before morning.

Spam and Balto then returned to their vehicle and departed to begin the evening’s interviews and paperwork.  Tiny and the others transported the other two subjects in after a short stop for the bleeder at the emergency room for wound cleaning and a nice tetanus shot.  Not that he needed it, as Balto’s mouth was probably far cleaner than any girl this punk had kissed lately. However, why miss an opportunity to get the misguided youth a needle for his trouble. Further, it gave them one more chance to get a little information out of this subject before they reached the department, and the dirt bag lawyer sprang him before he talked too much.

Marty and Loral stayed to process the SUV for recovery and wait for the tow truck. In the SUV,

they found three other handguns tucked under and in the backs of the seats. They also found several baggies of methamphetamines and a plastic baggy of marijuana in the middle console between the driver and passenger seats. Loral broke out the fingerprint kit, dusted the driver’s area for prints, and actually got some very good ones off the rearview mirror. Those would be matched up with the prints they took from the people they had arrested during the booking process. 

Loral was consumed by her curiosity concerning Officer Joshua Tiny Lombardo on the ride back into the station.  She subtly enquired of Marty Greene about Tiny. Marty was all too agreeable to fill her in as it was obvious that Tiny was one of his personal heroes in the department. As it turned out, Tiny had become somewhat of an internal department legend and commanded an amazing level of respect from patrol officers and management alike.  Marty told her that Tiny had just returned from working a five-year stint in the Criminal Investigations Division (CID).  While there he had made a staggering amount of cases as a detective, and surprisingly, they were all in some way mostly related to Cyber Crime Investigations.  This she found amazing. A man that was the size and shape of a professional football lineman was a computer geek that had been progressive in prosecuting a record number of major cases based on computer evidence.  This made her even more curious about Tiny.  She learned that he had investigated all kinds of cases as a Cyber Crimes Investigator including fraud, burglary, child sexual exploitation, and he even made a case on an attempted murder once as a very disgruntled wife tried to hire him to kill her husband. Tiny was a go-getter in every sense of the word, or at least he had been.

Most believed Tiny had returned to the Patrol Division after a case he worked involving child sexual exploitation had affected him emotionally right down to the bone. No one could blame him, and everyone had a great amount of compassion and respect for his decision to step out of the Criminal Investigation Division (CID).  Child crimes were tough cases, and it took a special kind of cop to deal with them. Tiny had been investigating a suspected child molester and pornographer when he served a search warrant on the man’s residence and found a little seven-year-old girl in the middle of being filmed for an internet pornographic movie. Marty explained that the scene was so disgusting and perverted to Tiny and that he felt so guilty for not having obtained a warrant sooner that he could no longer investigate those or anymore computer cases, at least for a while.  Tiny has three kids of his own you know, two of them are twin girls that were about the same age as the victim. So that whole type of case was just too close to home for him. Would be for me too, I guess, Marty concluded. I never have understood how any detective can go through all of those pictures and still go home and eat dinner, he finally remarked as they pulled into the station.

It seemed that the rest of the shift was not in a good mood at all as Loral and Marty walked into the station.  This was odd as they’d had some action and had gotten to do what police officers like to do most, take real bad guys off the street and into a pair of handcuffs.

Marty made straight for the coffee pot for a cup of liquid jumpstart and learned that CID was already interviewing the dealers they had arrested.  Loral sat down at a computer to begin writing her supplemental report about the evening’s activities.  Marty walked into the computer room, took one look at the rest of his coworkers and said, Ok, what gives? 

Rocky sprang from his seat stating, Ah, Tiny and Dan have been in with Rivera for about half an hour now.

Oh, man, Rivera is still here? Marty retorted.

Yeah, as soon as we got back he pulled Tiny and the Sarge into his office, and they have been in there ever since.

Well….? Marty stated leaving a very pregnant pause hanging as he motioned for all of them to follow him.  They all went into the men’s locker room, even Loral reluctantly followed as she was convinced by Marty, with a look, that it was ok. 

Marty went over to the full-length mirror and removed it from the wall. Then he pulled a string in the wall which dislodged a large section of dry wall from where the mirror had hung. Behind it in the wall were two very large steam pipes and one very small hollow pipe which ended at the opening. Marty pulled a funnel looking device from inside the wall and placed one end of it in the open pipe. He then plugged a coax and a wire into the funnel device and the other end into the auxiliary port of the stereo system in the locker room and turned up the sound.  The next thing everyone heard was the conversation in Lt. Gerald Rivera’ office. The group stared at Marty in amazement. Anyone say anything about my little intel device here, and I will never represent any one of you as a union steward again, and that means you too, Rook.  They all shook their heads as if pledging an oath in blood. 

The conversation in the Lieutenant’s office was amazing. Everyone knew that Rivera had no love for anyone except Rivera and that Tiny intimidated him a little because he was too well respected to make Rivera very comfortable.  But the conversation they heard was just pure political horse crap. The owner of the vehicle that the dealers had struck after they hit the spike strips had already called in and was threatening to file suit against the department for damages. She didn’t care if the police had any control over how drug dealers drove or not.  Rivera was thoroughly lambasting Tiny about the fact that he should have ordered the spikes be set up in a different more unpopulated area. Sgt Daniel Mac McIntyre who had been trying to moderate things a little up until that point even responded that there was not a more unpopulated area where they could have spiked the SUV. At least it was near the industrial district and not a more residential one.  That little defense earned the Sergeant ten minutes of dressing down after Tiny was excused. 

What was so frustrating to everyone though was that Tiny had not really given it back in kind to the Lieutenant.  He had spoken calmly, reasonably, and logically to Lt. Rivera which made the upwardly mobile backstabber even angrier as he saw he could not get in Lombardo’s head one inch or rattle him whatsoever.  Rivera was the most hated person in the whole department which made him natural enemies with the most admired who was serving right on his shift and under his command.

Tiny could be heard walking down the stairs. Marty stashed the listening device back into the wall, cleaned up, and everyone went back to the report writing room at light speed just as he made the corner.  He walked into the room and told everyone they had done a great job just as if they all had been submitted for a major award or something. He was smiling from ear to ear and acted as if he had won the lottery. He also advised them that the CID Investigators were telling him that they thought they might get one of the subjects to roll on the evening’s events. Everyone thanked him just a little too eagerly out of their compassion for his professionalism which struck a chord in him as he cocked his head sideways and his eyes twinkled like he was a radar tower that just received a signal.  Marty? chimed Tiny.

Yeah, Josh? Marty replied with a very compassionate tone. 

Make sure everyone files their paperwork with Dan, I am going to head down to the county to turn in the initial appearance stuff on these guys.

Right on! Marty shot back.

Oh, and Marty…?

Yeah, Josh?

Stop listening to me on that spy gizmo you think I don’t know about ….and my damn name is Tiny!  He then poked his head back around the corner, shot the whole room a giant grin, and went back out the door.  The whole room erupted in laughter, which became the total capstone of the evening. It showed that Rivera had come nowhere close to bothering Senior Patrol Officer Joshua Tiny Lombardo. The rest of the evening was spent processing the subjects and generating enough reports to clear a small forest of its tree populace.

Tiny did just as he had said and knew his coworkers would as well. Trust is pivotal in any operational unit, but none more so than a Police Patrol Unit.  He went to the county jail and filed the paperwork. After that, he returned to help the others with what they had going on in the case. By that time, the next shift had taken the street, and they were all working way past their normal daily shift time. That was the way it worked and Tiny, out of all of them, had been accustomed to that early in life. Most did not know it, but he was a graduate of the U.S. Air Force Academy in Colorado Springs, Colorado. He had served in the Air Force as a Commissioned Officer in the specialty of Air Base Ground Defense. He had spent plenty of time in the Middle East during his youth. He had originally hoped to be a pilot, but pilots are not usually built like linebackers no matter how intelligent they are in reality. One thing he had learned well was leadership. He played football for the Air Force and really had been a linebacker. He knew of the destructive power of pouring foul water on the fire of motivation. There was no way he would have returned from Lt. Rivera’s office and vented it onto his unit. They had it hard enough without the politics leaking in on them from every angle. He took it, filed it away, and let it make his inner core just that much harder.  This hardening effect also helps to harden the arteries of policemen, eventually, so everyone in the profession must find a way to decompress in their own way.

The end of the day found Tiny pulling his patrol vehicle into the three-car garage of his very modest and older Santa Fe style home.  He got out of the car, closed the garage door, and proceeded to the cave. The cave was the name his children had given the twelve feet by eight feet little room he had constructed in the garage after they had moved in, and before mommy had left.  The cave had a shower, toilet, sink, closet, refrigerator, a flat screen T.V. on the wall, a telephone, a recliner, and a gun vault inside of it. It also was secured by an electronic combination lock to keep curious children and other nefarious characters out of it when Tiny Daddy Lombardo wasn’t around.  He entered the code on the keypad located next to the door, opened it, and promptly struck his forehead on the trim over the door. He stepped back rubbing his head in an attempt to rub the pain out. He looked up at the door trim where a multitude of forehead dents had grown like a bumper crop. Had he been wiser, he would have thought of making this door taller when he had installed it.  Going to the cave was the most regimented thing Tiny really ever did during his day. Unfortunately, all too often, so was bumping his head. This is where he transformed from Senior Patrol Officer Tiny into Daddy Lombardo.  The cave also had another very important purpose. It is where he cleaned up before entering his home. He might have blood on his uniform or have been exposed to someone with a disease, or any number of other things he did not want to bring home to his family. Truly, the cave was just as much a decontamination chamber as it was a decompression chamber from the day.

It was late now, and the kids were in bed so he was not in a rush to decompress. Not even Marco, his German shepherd, became attentive when he arrived.  He just gave a little bark of greeting and then went back to sleep as if it was a normal function of the household.  Nanna would be asleep in her bedroom, and he could move as slow as he wanted until morning and school time.  He turned up the dimmer lights, used the remote to turn on some old Hank Senior on the small stereo, locked up his weapon in the gun vault, stripped off his uniform and tossed it immediately into the waiting clothes washer just outside the door of the cave, and then got in the shower.  He stepped out for a second to get a bottle of water out of the refrigerator.  He took a long hot shower and washed away the cares of the evening. He began organizing in his mind on what had to be done the next day at work so that he could file it away and get some sleep. He got out, put on a very large terry cloth bathrobe, sat down in the recliner for just a moment, and turned on the television. He never watched the news anymore. Instead, he watched an infomercial about some grossly insane looking cooking utensil and began to drift off to sleep in the chair. He snapped out of the intruding slumber, put on his underwear and t-shirt, and closed up the cave for another evening. He was sealing up the police professional and embracing his most important role. He was like a moth emerging from a cocoon as he moved quietly the rest of the way into his home and into the role of father.

Tiny walked through the halls peeking in on sleeping children. He looked at their little chests rise and fall as they made their way hopefully through dreamlands of candy and toys. Marco rested quietly at the foot of the bed of young six-year-old Vicente Lombardo where he normally resided every night. Marco was a Blue Line German Shepherd that could swim like a duck, growl like a bear, and be ridden like a horse. He was a great dog that truly loved the children. Marco often attempted to herd them like sheep, but that was his shepherd instinct coming out. He was extremely protective of Vicente. Tiny gave him a quick pat on the head as he left Vicente’s room. Nanna’s door was shut, and she could be heard snoring from within like a buzz saw in a lumber mill. The twin twelve-year-old girls, Maria and Marilyn, were fast asleep in their bedroom as well. Tiny crept to the kitchen, made himself a snack, looked at some bills, and then went off to be after making sure the laundry was going and that school lunches were ready, of course.

Loral went home very fatigued.  As she walked through her apartment door, she realized she had not eaten or used the restroom all night. It did not matter as now all she wanted to do was to go to bed. It just did not matter since she could pee in the morning. She did not have an elaborate ritual, or after work process, like Tiny. These types of things came with age, time in law enforcement, and the influence of a family.  When there was a family to come home to, officers had to come off duty in their minds. When there was not, then they did not have to come off duty mentally until emotional fatigue gave way to it. Loral’s head hit the pillow, and she was out. She had taken off her duty belt, as there were only four hours that she could sleep before she had to get up and head back to work.

Chapter Two: The Watchman Waketh But in Vain

The breeze moved around the edges of the little chapel like a gentle rolling wave coming to shore on the morning tide. Its persuasive force teased the nearby pine trees and enticed them to begin the subtle dance, which was so familiar in the fall. The wind lifted the fragrance of the trees into the air spreading the sweet and arousing scent of pine needles as it went. The air inside the little rock chapel was the total opposite of the outside, still and damp. The room was nearly dark with only the shadows of the evening dusk to act as the congregation within this small hollowed chamber of loneliness.  It was an odd place to be, a little chapel in the Veteran’s Section of the Teton Cemetery, but it comforted him. He found a place of peace there in the halls of death and memorial. There no one would think to look for him, and he would not be disturbed. He could let his ever-vigilant guard slip down and place into perspective the complications of his very dangerous life.

He sat there, on the concrete floor with the stone pews acting as shields for his back and the little rock alter as his focus at the front. Above the alter hung a cross of simple and durable masonry. It was elegantly affixed to the stonewall.  His breaths were slow and deep. His eyes closed in meditation. He sat there with his legs folded as if he were in a yoga class and performing the Lotus Position. However, it was not for increased flexibility that he sat there.  It was to quiet his mind and to open his soul. He sought to organize, or reconcile, the two personalities that now fought within him. Two personalities constantly struggled for him, but he only had one soul. The breeze gently entered through the little open windows and eased his spirit. He had to come here frequently to remember who he really was in life.  He was Senior Detective Hector Manuel Madragon. In the dark circles of the drug culture, he was known as Jesus Gutierrez, or El Brujo, meaning the Magician, as his street name. He was currently the most successful undercover Narcotics Officer that the State of New Mexico Department of Public Safety had ever fielded. 

For more than two years now, he had worked diligently to penetrate the numerous narcotics organizations in New Mexico. Each had fingers that reached all over the country and down into Mexico and Central America. Both the leaders of the state and the leaders of notorious outlaw motorcycle organizations alike trusted him. It had taken him months to patch into the Diablos Del Norte Motorcycle Club, but when he became solid with them, he  became trusted very highly. He was a great earner in their eyes. In short order, they gave him his own crew to run in hopes that he would open a new charter for them. Some leaders of more common street gangs were very trusting of him as well. Another of his gifts was the ability he had to help the various organizations find ways to filter or wash their earnings to avoid tax entanglements and popping up on the radar of the accountants with badges.  He was very valuable, but his greatest value to them was as an enforcer.

Hector was a peaceful volcano of a person. He was disciplined, organized, and somewhat a person of faith. He also was very extensively trained in the martial arts. His father had taught him since he was very young in Tai-jutsu and Ninpo.  His ability to meditate in this lonely place came from the many hours of training he had received. He certainly was one of the most deadly men that most people would ever meet, yet it was likely they would never realize it until it was too late, if at all.

Hector was very smooth as Jesus El Brujo Gutierrez. He had not killed anyone during this tour, but he had come close many times. He had developed many subtle ways to make people disappear. This was why he was called El Brujo, because he could make people disappear. However, he wondered how long he could keep that up before he was forced to pull the trigger on someone on the spot.  He had developed a very fruitful and sensitive relationship with an investigator at the state forensic science center. He could get body parts as needed to prove he had closed the deal on those he made disappear. It was a horrific game of deception he had played thus far, but the organizations were not stupid nor completely trusting of even their own personnel.

Soon he would be discovered as these awful people loved to send their messages to others in the most gruesome of manners.  At some point, he would be asked to do something on the spot that he just could not do. Soon he would have to come out and live with a shadow on his soul and a watchful eye over his shoulder. Luckily, he was not an everyday enforcer for them. They only called him for his magic when their own associates failed or their target was one of their own.  The rest of the time he spent setting up drug deals that would be followed to or from their source or busted outright. However, the busts were rare as too many would give him away, and he could never participate in the takedowns himself. He also collected a large amount of criminal intelligence that lead mostly to normal investigators turning players in the game into informants. This ability had been the real reason they had left him in the role so long.

Hector was not married and had no children. Resultantly, he became fully immersed in his work and in his character, like an alter ego that lived with him everywhere he went. He was a medium sized man of very muscular build. He had short hair and a neatly trimmed beard.  He was a very plain looking Hispanic man with the exception of his biker clothes.  Nearly in his forties now, Hector was no longer a junior cop anymore. However, being undercover for so long had changed how he thought on any occasion. He had to make sure he was in his right person when he was not on the job, and it was rare that he was not on the job.

Therefore, he sat there, time burning slowly as he focused on restacking the mental blocks in his mind. The sweat ran down his light brown skin from his forehead down the side of his face. However, oddly, it was not at all hot in the little chamber. It was the fire from within him that fueled his labors. When he worked, it was as if the blocks in his mind that made up who he was would get knocked over like a child scattering his toys across the living room floor. In his mind, he restacked them, putting them back in order where they belonged. Block by block, he restacked them from even the smallest infraction of his soul to the greatest.  From the use of foul language and the over manipulated sexual underlining of a culture gone mad for the lust of pretty women to the outright vile and criminal mindset that he was constantly exposed to every waking moment; thusly he restacked them all. He prayed, as he went, for God’s good favor and thanked Him for delivering so many into his hands. He asked that God would be gracious to deliver more to him, and he named the targets of his work to Him one by one. He prayed for protection and success and that his mind would survive and his soul would remain intact.

The women, ah the women, they were flung at his feet like stones. He eventually had to take one or his criminal peers would have figured him out. They often became suspicious of him when he would not indulge with others while claiming his faithfulness to Erica. Erica Gonzalez had been deeply involved with the outlaw gangs and was known as a jealous woman. So when he confessed that Erica was his woman no one seemed to suspect him further.  The downside was that he truly had feelings for Erica, but his feelings had to be given by Jesus and not as Hector. Hector wondered if he had sinned and lost some of his soul every time he took the young Erica to bed, which was often. She did not live with him, but wanted to do so. She might as well live with him as she was more at home in his home than her own. Of course, nothing in his home could resemble law enforcement. All of the possessions that resembled his real life were stored away in a storage room on the north side of Santa Fe. He had not seen his own things in years.  His true identity was all but gone except for on the evenings he had to meet his handler at the State Headquarters in Santa Fe once a month.  He always thought that was stupid and dangerous, but it was mandatory.  They had to see that he was not going native a term that is used when an undercover officer goes under too far and becomes a real criminal. The truth was he was closer now to going native than he ever was before in the past. The road had been too long for him. 

He was deep into meditating and praying now. He was not a deeply religious man, or so he thought, but he did believe in God and in this context and time, he was reaching out more and more.  He carried a verse around in his head that he used to mediate on when he found himself in need. The 127th Psalm of Solomon, the first verse was his mantra, his comfort, his chant as he sat there deep into his own soul;

Unless the Lord builds the house, the builders labor in vain. Unless the Lord watches over the city the watchmen waketh in vain.

The last half of the verse he chanted repeatedly in his mind. He saw himself as the watchman, and he constantly prayed he was not guarding in vain.  He was not so religiously minded when he began this tour undercover, but the deeper he went under, the deeper his search for faith had become. He had learned the verse by watching one of those cheesy television evangelistic shows in a hotel room one evening, and he had liked it. He felt it fit him better than most things he had heard.  He was truly disturbed that he could eventually lose his own soul. He had readjusted from his sitting position to a kneeling one as his legs had fallen asleep.

He was vulnerable now, so deep into his time in the chapel that he did not hear the steps of the man approaching it from the tree line.  Normally, he would have heard the tromping of steps on the leaves as this man was not at all careful in his approach. The man stopped at the door and saw Hector knelt there in prayer.  The man slowly and quietly entered the chapel door, passing through like a whisper on the breeze.  The man was in his fifties, a white man with a balding head that had reached back beyond the crown. His light brown hair, or the lack of it, made him look more like a Medieval Friar in dark robes. He was portly in shape and wore glasses thick enough that he should have been able to see into the future.  The breeze stiffened and the smell of the man, the smell of Old Spice aftershave, wafted into the nostrils of the enchanted officer that now knelt within reach of him.  The odd man was about to speak softly when Hector realized he was not alone.

Hector’s eyes opened wide gathering in what light that could be found, he drew in a deep breath, and sprang to his feet like he had been shot from a cannon. As he sprang, he drew his Colt .45 caliber model 1911 pistol from beneath his leather vest and from the waistline of his blue jeans where it had been resting.  He leveled the barrel directly in front of the forehead of the approaching man with only inches between them. It may have been dark inside the chapel, but

that barrel was as large as any manhole cover he had seen on the city streets of Teton.  The laser dot from the sight located under the barrel was frozen on his forehead like a thumbtack in a corkboard.  However, what was even more disconcerting to this Shepherd were the eyes behind the weapon. Reverend Whitmore was not facing Hector, but was under the lethal gaze of El Brujo.  His life expectancy was bleeding away in nanoseconds.  He must say something to reach this man with the cold eyes of a beast, the eyes forged