Pure River...Dark Hearts

By Stephen Sprinkel

Reno private investigator Stephen Buffalo is hired by a mysterious client to investigate the murder of casino owner Ricardo Velez. Buffalo's investigation confronts him with the dark world of brothels, casinos, cult religion, corrupt public officials and his own inner demons. The surprising outcome reveals a darkness greater than he imagined and

• Language: English
• Publisher: Book Vine Press
• Release date: May 30, 2022
• ISBN: 9781958128800

Stephen Sprinkel

Stephen Sprinkel has worked as a psychotherapist and minister in Northern Nevada for over thirty years. He has also been a community college instructor and contributing writer to a nationally syndicated self help column. He currently lives in Reno, where he maintains a private therapy practice.

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Copyright © 2022 by Stephen L. Sprinkel.

ISBN 978-1-958128-78-7 (softcover)

ISBN 978-1-958128-79-4 (hardcover)

ISBN 978-1-958128-80-0 (ebook)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2022909898

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

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

Printed in the United States of America.

Book Vine Press

2516 Highland Dr.

Palatine, IL 60067

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Epilogue

Chapter One

Reno can be a tough little city. A few fortunes are made.

Most are lost. My fortune would be made or lost over a dead man: Ricardo Velez.

I never knew Velez. Like most people in Reno, I had heard of him through the media. He was an ex-boxer turned successful casino owner and married to a well-known madam named Candy. I’d been in his casino a few times and dropped some dollars on its two blackjack tables I’d had my share of free drinks.

The Casino Del Sol was one of the smaller gaming establishments left on Virginia Street. It was a casino where the locals hung out for cheap meals and conversation. It was noisy, smoky, and friendly. My kind of place. Velez was half owner. A man by the name of Eddie Delgreco was his silent partner. No one knew much about Delgreco. It was Velez who got the recognition. A large. gold-framed picture of him as the 1973 welterweight champion hung above the casino bar. He was muscular, dark, handsome, and very Latin. But the picture was old and dusty like the casino. It was a reminder that the glory days of both the Del Sol and Velez had come and gone many years ago.

Velez sightings were rare in the casino. Fact is few people ever saw Velez anywhere in Reno. I’m told he became a very private and reclusive man. Those who did see him swore that he had become more handsome sophisticated, and suave with age, enhanced by the first signs of gray it his otherwise dark, thick hair.

But the words most people associated with Ricardo Velez were passion and power. They say he breathed power and that his physical presence was alluring, especially with women. Second only to women was his passion or high-powered cars. Powerful cars reminded him of his glory days as the though young fighter with a potent and deadly knockout punch. Surely, they reminded him of his younger days as a teenager in Mexico City joyriding in stolen Cadillacs and Continentals. Word has it he often joked about having little use for small compact cars, especially his wife’s 2000 Toyota Camry.

So I was told that Ricardo Velez was a man with a passion for power, speed, and women. But on the evening of Wednesday, June 24, Velez’s passion would burn strongest for the one thing he couldn’t have. That night, he must have thought, would be different. The early morning tall that Candy’s mother was gravely ill in Atlanta probably seemed like a godsend. Candy quickly made her flight arrangements and canceled her weekly Wednesday luncheon and spa treatment. By late afternoon, Ricardo was driving her to the Reno-Tahoe airport for a series of overnight connections. With the fuel pump out on his Ford Explorer, Ricardo was forced to drive the Camry. The privacy provided by the tinted windows did little to offset his dislike for her car. Normally he would complain. His great consolation, though, was that Candy was leaving.

As they pulled out of the driveway, Candy made a tearful glance back at her lovely three-story home. Built by Reno’s premier architect, John Hess, it was a Spanish-style white stucco mansion with a red tile roof. Located at the eastern end of a canyon overlooking Palomino Valley made it quite isolated. The closest home was nearly a mile down the winding canyon road. Isolation only added to its beauty. The view west from any of its thirty rooms and one hundred windows was breathtaking.

Flashes of lightning from the typical afternoon thunderstorms, which often caused power outages to their castle, punctuated the scenery as the Camry headed down the twisting canyon. The forty-minute drive from Palomino Valley to the airport was filled with the usual deadening silence. Candy was lost in thought of her dying mother. Ricardo was thinking of another woman. Arriving at the terminal. Ricardo leaned over and gave Candy the perfunctory kiss on the cheek and told her he loved her and would miss her. He said he would come to Atlanta if and when her mother died. For a brief and rare moment, Candy felt vulnerable. Quickly composing herself, she go out of the Camry, took her suitcase out of the backseat, and walker into the terminal. It was the last time they would see each other.

Some time, later, Ricardo drove back on the 395 Freeway, heading north on his usual route to McCarran Boulevard, east to the Pyramid Highway, then north again to Palomino Valley. He called the casino office on his cell phone and left a message for Eddie Delgreco that he would be unavailable for the next three days. Finally, he reached the families turnoff at the wild mustang corrals. Turning east, he headed up the mass of dirt roads, which connected the valley homes. Though it was nearest three miles away, he could see his home perched majestically above the eastern hills. The afternoon thunderclouds had dissipated, and the early evening sun was just beginning its descent in the west, already bathing the desert in a bright orange. It was this incredible natural beauty, combined with the solitude, that lured him to build there fifteen years earlier. To his dismay, though, more homes had been built in the valley over the last few years. Cheap homes. Homes with people he didn’t know and didn’t want to know. People who were probably like himself. People who wanted to be left alone in the Nevada desert. Fortunately, the canyon with its gullies, twists, and turns prevented anyone from building within a mile of his castle. Ricardo and Candy planned on that when they first chose the location. Those were happier times.

Passing the last home in the valley, Ricardo began the final ascent up the canyon road. He always thought of this road as his personal driveway even though it was legally on land owned by the Bureau of Land Management. It was originally used by miners, prospectors, and hunters. Eventually it would be used only by the Velezes, their invited guests, and those occasional unwanted ATV enthusiasts. Despite its twists and turns, it was in excellent paved condition. Ricardo made sure of that by paying a local company to maintain it. Candy demanded it so she could drive her Camry.

The sun had finally sunk behind the western range, but the canyon was still light enough for Ricardo to see familiar landmarks with each turn. The abandoned mine, the sheer cliffs of red stone on the right, and the steep canyon to his left with its meandering spring-fed creek. Beautiful wild flowers showered the canyon walls and creek below with yellow, purple, and orange. Perhaps the flowers reminded him of his love and passion for her. That night they would finally be together. He would call her and invite her to his castle.

As he made the final turn toward the house, he heard the sudden crack of his side window. The pain was immediate. The grip of his left hand on the steering wheel was gone. So was half the hand. The car veered to the left toward the canyon. Horrified and in shock, he attempted to turn the blood-spattered wheel to the right. Then a second crack, and the entire side window shattered. So did the left side of his brain.

The Camry bounced off the canyon wall and veered again to the left, over the edge, tumbling into the canyon three hundred feet below

Six days later, the wreckage and Ricardo’s remains were spotted by Washoe County sheriff’s deputies. They were driving up the canyon to the house after Eddie Delgreco had called expressing concern over his business partner’s whereabouts. The body was barely recognizable due to the crash and scavenging coyotes. Investigators were able to locate Candy at her mother’s home in Atlanta. She got the call just as she was leaving to disconnect her mother’s life support.

Four days later, a Mass was held for Ricardo at the Little Flower Catholic Church. Seven hundred people attended. Civic and community leaders. Casino owners. Members of the media. The employees of the Casino Del Sol and Eddie Delgreco. The prostitutes who worked in Candy’s two brothels. Ricardo’s old boxing manager and cronies. It seemed as if everyone was there. Everyone except me and Candy Velez. I didn’t know the man, and I was too busy trying to straighten out my own life. As for Candy Velez, she had disappeared.

Chapter Two

Alot of things can change in three years. People change.

Places change. But not the Casino Del Sol. I was never big on change. Maybe that’s why I liked the Del Sol. It was familiar. And so were the people who worked, gambled, and ate there. The stench and brownish yellow stain from decades of cigarette smoke clung to the asbestos ceiling. A few of the old pull handle slot machines were still around…antiques. like the casino itself and its aging cocktail waitresses. But everyone was friendly, and the food was cheap. Gaming patrons still got served generous portions of free drinks while musicians sang stale lounge music in the background. I’d stopped drinking right around the time of the Velez murder, so the booze didn’t really appeal to me. It was the atmosphere of old Reno and its dying breed of patrons that brought me in. For some of the old-timers, it had become a second home. Maybe it was that for me as well.

Eddie Delgreco had also become more visible since his partner’s death. Despite the casino’s reputation for never changing, he had, in fact, made two changes. First, he removed the old boxing picture of Ricardo Velez above the bar. That upset a few people. It didn’t bother me. Second, he remodeled the restaurant. Despite all the work, it still kept its original fifties atmosphere. But the food was good, and the service was even better because of Jenny Giles.

Jenny had been a waitress for about four months. She seemed to be in her mid to late thirties. I was gradually able to learn about her through my daily morning coffee visits. She was recently divorced…another Southern California transplant. She came to Reno to live alone and, like so many others, pick up the pieces and start a new life. She had a ten-year-old son. Jason, who lived with his wealthy attorney father in LA. Jason played baseball and loved the Dodgers. Jenny liked baseball too. Some time that summer, Jason was supposed to visit.