ACE IN THE HOLE

From the R.M. Dolin novel, “AN UNSUSTAINABLE LIFE – The Book of Darwin”

Chapter 7: Ace In the Hole

Addison Beaumont looks out her office window. A no nonsense blond whose professional attire and Texas charm match her line of work. She hears Darwin’s approach long before he rumbles into her parking lot on his soft-tail Harley and is immediately annoyed. A significant element of Addison’s success as Taos County’s number one high-end realtor seven years running is her keen ability to size up buyers based on appearance and this unkempt road-weary vagabond, who likely smells as ruggedly raw as he looks, couldn’t afford an acre of land let alone an entire mountain. She watches Darwin remove his leathers and slap road dust off his clothes before making his way toward her portico where deliberately wipes his feet before stepping inside.

“Ms. Beaumont.” Darwin says to the young lady whose desk is nearest the door. “I’m Darwin Olinski, I believe my realtor in Chicago set up an appointment.”

The young woman with colorful tattoos and red streaks in her brown hair jumps up smiling. “No,” she says a little flustered by the rugged unshaved man whose coal black hair is matted down from hours in a helmet. “I’m Skyler.” She gestures toward the well-dressed woman in the glass partitioned office beside her. “That’s Addison, let me show you in.” As Skyler leads Darwin into Addison’s office, she makes eye contact with her boss and mouths, “Oh my God!”

Another trait contributing to Addison’s running success is something she learned from her mentor when she first moved to Taos seven years ago. Always be gracious, you might not get a buyer into the property they came to see, but somewhere is something you’ll be able to convince them is exactly what they need. Darwin stands in front of Addison’s regal desk taking in her room filled with Pueblo pottery and southwest paintings. Addison warmly greets her newest client. “Mr. Olinski, I’m glad to finally meet you.”

“Likewise, but please, call me Darwin.”

“Have a seat. You look like you just arrived in Taos.”

“Yeah, I came straight here. I got a little lost last night around Tucumcari and worried I might not make it. I stop to ask a local for directions and ya know, I think he intentionally sends me the wrong way. So, there I am, out in the middle of nowhere, it’s getting dark and there ain’t a town or gas station anywhere to be found. I start thinking the buzzards will be circling soon when all of a sudden, a pickup pulls up loaded with three guys in the cab and three more in back and not a one of them speaks a lick of English. I’m a little nervous things aren’t going to end well but they siphon gas from their truck and draw me a map before sending me on my way. I sure was grateful for em, ain’t gonna lie about that. Ended up camping beside the road cause even after another hour of riding there still wasn’t a town in sight but I had gas and knew where I was going.”

“That’s quite the story. But all’s well, that ends well. So, you rode that motorcycle all the way from Chicago?”

“Yes ma’am. A little cold at times, especially once I crossed into New Mexico, but the Harley held up.”

“How long you plan on visiting and where are you staying?”

“Well, to be honest, I ain’t got that worked out. I’m a plan as I go sorta guy. I did get me one of them rolled up egg things at a mountain village a while back.”

“A breakfast burrito?”

“Yeah, I think that’s what she called it. I have no idea what I ordered but damn it was good.” Darwin pauses. “I apologize for my language, too many hard days on the road followed by even harder nights.”

“No worries,” Addison replies. “You’ll find Northern New Mexicans don’t hold one another to high standards of decorum. Perhaps you’d like to reschedule. Check into a hotel. Shower. Maybe rest a bit?”

“Nah, I’m good. Didn’t come all this way to loiter. Could use a cup of coffee and some time to unwind though. Can I come back in an hour?”

Addison jumps at the opportunity. “That would be perfect. I’m free all morning.”

Darwin gets up extending his hand. “Glad to have met you Ms. Beaumont. I look forward to seeing your mountain property.”

Addison gingerly shakes Darwin’s hand, hopeful the three-second rule protects her. “Please,” she offers remembering to be gracious, “call me Addison. I look forward to seeing you back here in an hour.” Addison and Skyler watch together as Darwin kick-starts his Harley and backs it up enough to turn around. The reverberation of his straight pipe engine rattles through the plate glass barrier of their office leaving them with different but lasting impressions. As soon as Darwin’s far enough away for quiet to return, Addison picks up her phone and dials. “Victor, it’s Addison. Look, I need you to show Marquez Mountain in an hour. Technically yes, but realistically I doubt he can afford a hotel room let alone a mountain. Yeah, not the first to dream beyond his bank account.”

Once in Taos, Darwin quickly realizes what the bookstore clerk on Telegraph Avenue was warning him about. It’s a good thing he’s on a motorcycle because parking in this ancient tourist town is pretty damn dicey. He manages to find a small café off the main plaza that makes a pretty dang darn good cup of coffee. In fact, better than anything he’s had in Chicago or even California for that matter. He wants another one of those egg things rolled up in a pancake, but as he reads the menu, it’s hard to figure what of the many options in Spanish they’re called.

“Sorry for the delay sir,” the frantic waiter says. “It’s been hell this morning. Stacy was supposed to be here but she’s a no-show, again. I don’t mean to bore you with details, but good help is hard to come by in this town. Can I start you with coffee?

“A double espresso Americano, please.”

“Ooh, a Californian. I wouldn’t mention it much if I was you. Locals don’t appreciate you liberals coming here to Califonicate our great state. That aside, what can I get you?”

“What do you call those rolled up egg things?”

The waiter stares at Darwin unsure if he’s being screwed with. “You mean a breakfast burrito?”

“Probably, I had one in a place called Angel Fire this morning and it was pretty good. You guys make those.”

“I’m gonna assume you’re new to the Land of Mañana, because literally every restaurant in the state serves breakfast burritos. The question you need to be asking is whether you want it with bacon, sausage, carne, or chorizo. From there the all-important questions are, do you prefer red, green or Christmas and do you want hand-held or smothered? The chef stands ready to make it any way you want.”

“I have absolutely no idea what you just said, so surprise me.”

“For a first time go at our state’s signature cuisine I recommend, bacon, red chili, smothered. Not as hot as green, not as spicy as chorizo, and not as dry as hand-held. I’ll tell the chef to add extra cheese to calm it down and I’ll set you up with a side of sour cream in case things go sideways.”

Darwin hands the menu he can’t decipher back to the waiter. “I yield to your expertise.”

“Another tip since you’re a newbie, don’t mind folks if they stare. They’re either east coast retirees or trust-funders. You’re the most interesting thing that going to happen in their lives all day.” The waiter brings Darwin coffee and immediately returns with a basket of tortilla chips, a mini cauldron of salsa, his breakfast burrito and a side of sour cream. “Bon appetite.”

It takes Darwin multiple iterations to find the right ratio of burrito, red chili sauce, and sour cream to tolerate the heat but once burn mitigation is dialed in it’s all good. It’s just short of an hour when he prepares to leave having already decided he likes Northern New Mexico. The air is crisp, the sun is bright, and it’s quiet, he really likes how quiet it is. And the view, there absolutely is no photographer on earth with enough skill or camera technology to capture just how damn amazing the views are. Yes indeed, he’s feeling just fine about his decision to come here, so fine in fact he decides to order another breakfast burrito for the road, only this time his waiter recommends a sausage green hand-held because according him, “they’re next level.”

Darwin arrives back at the realtor’s office where Skyler delivers the disappointing news while doing her best to keep from blushing. “I am so sorry Mr. Olinski, Ms. Beaumont’s been called away.” Skyler pivots pointing to the cowboy looking Hispanic man sitting alone on the couch along the entrance wall. “She’s arranged for Mr. Ortiz to show you Marquez Mountain. Victor, this is Mr. Olinski from Chicago.”

Darwin gives Victor a quick once-over and assumes based on his flannel shirt and jeans that are as dusty and worn as his leather boots, he’s the one driving the beat to hell, rust riddled Ford pickup in the parking lot. Victor slowly gets up from the mission style couch and once stabilized, extends his hand and in broken English with a thick valley accent introduces himself. “Victor Ortiz, Mr. Olinski. I got a place up north near where we’re going.” Victor sizes Darwin up validating Addison’s assessment he won’t last past winter, if he even gets that far. “Addison asked me to show you the mountain, but I gotta tell ya, lots of interest. Many offers.” None of that’s true but Addison’s gonna appreciate the effort.

Darwin extends his hand. “Nice to meet you, Victor. How far’s the drive?”

“Not close. I’d say maybe forty minutes. Depends on traffic heading into Questa, ya get behind some slow rolling fool and there’s no possibilities to pass.”

Darwin smiles. “I got nowhere to be and all day to be there, so I look forward to the drive.”

It takes all of forty minutes to get to the hacienda at the base of Marquez Mountain. Not because they get behind a slow rolling fool but because they are the slow rolling fools. Turns out road rage is a bit of an issue in Northern New Mexico given the explicit hand gestures offered up by offended motorists trapped behind Victor, and as he pointed out, once you get behind a slow rolling fool on a Northern New Mexico road, there’s few opportunities to pass.

The hacienda presents as photographed, in such serious disrepair it likely can’t be rescued. On the plus side, the structural walls are two feet thick with a light tan stucco on the outside and marginally white plaster walls inside. The fireplace in the main room is what Victor refers to as a Kiva. It looks like back in the day when someone actually lived here, it was a key component of meal prep. The kiva’s hearth isn’t large but must be sufficient to heat the entire house because there doesn’t appear to be any other heating source. Most of the round beams supporting the roof seem to be intact. Victor calls them vigas, says the ponderosa logs were harvested on the mountain. The house has three bedrooms, all very small, a kitchen, living area, and what appears to be a bathroom, which is adequate for Darwin’s needs now that he’s a bachelor. He’s already thinking about how one bedroom can be turned into a pantry and the other an office.

On the downside, the hacienda’s ceilings are low, very low and the floors, which are mostly red brick, need replacement. In fact, all the bricks need to be lifted and the dirt base re-leveled, which gives Darwin the idea he can raise the ceiling by lowering the floor. At one point someone decided to cover the kitchen bricks with saltillo tile that’s also settled into an uneven mess. The house does not appear to be wired for electricity, which is a big disappointment. The plumbing’s in no better condition but at least it seems someone, somewhere along the line, attempted to add indoor plumbing by running exposed pipes. The kitchen sink literally drains on the ground outside, rather than flowing into a drain field. Given the kitchen’s state of water and sewer sophistication, Darwin’s not optimistic about what awaits in the bathroom but the fact there’s an outhouse out back does not bode well for what he’s likely to find.

Every window in the house is broken but some still retain random chards of glass. The flat roof’s a complete write-off; it looks like it started out having a dirt thatch cover that got topped with corrugated tin at some point that’s now rusted out in so many places the sun shines through and water stains from rain splatter the walls. At one time there was a front and back door, but both are now missing and as bad as all that is, the thing causing Darwin to consider walking away from this investment is his discovery that pack rats have established a colony inside. He has an irrational fear of rodents dating back to his summers at Adventure Camp and the way councilors used his fear to torment him.

Even though Darwin rode all the way from Chicago intending to buy Marquez Mountain, he’s just not feeling it. He tells Victor he’ll have to raze the entire hacienda and rebuild. Victor starts in about how that would be a sin and talks at length about the building’s history dating back over five-hundred years. That’s when the Marquez family first came to New Mexico from Spain. Whether it’s Victor’s intention or not, Darwin now feels obligated to restore the house which he could do, if not for the colony of demonic rats claiming squatter’s rights. It’s hard evicting rats, they’re incredibly smart and adapt to changing conditions, so, traps, poisons, and other strategies usually result in short term success that fail long-term and he really does not want to go to war with a colony of rats.

Victor can’t recall exactly how long the house has been abandoned but estimates it’s somewhere between forty and fifty years. That’s around the time a group of Texas investors bought Marquez Mountain thinking they could yield a quick return by clear cutting timber and selling it back to east coast lumber yards. What they failed to account for though is the complex requirements necessary to obtain logging permits. Turns out there’s some sort of endangered salamander that only lives on Marquez Mountain and given the eco-extremism of Taos transplants a permit never seems to come available. The investors do find ways to turn a modest profit selling elk, deer, bear, and mountain lion hunting permits to rich Texans eager for a New Mexico wilderness adventure. Victor says the original investors are starting to tipping over and their heirs have no interest in modest returns, which is why the property’s now for sale.

By the time Darwin’s done surveying the hacienda and its surrounding space for a possible drain field, garden, re-engineered courtyard, and solar collection area he’s somewhat back on board but if you held a gun to his head, he’d still say no on account of the rats. Sensing hesitation, Victor offers to take Darwin up the mountain to assess the view and take stock of the wild mustang herd that summers there and has probably yet to migrate down to their winter grazing areas. On the long often treacherous ride up Marquez Mountain, Victor recounts its rich history; he proudly talks about Onso and Anna, Carmelo and Jorge, and of course Calvin Kismet Kincaid and his beloved wife Theresa. Victor speaks with profound bitterness about how the evil bible quoting judge Parsons stole his family’s land before killing Calvin and taking Marquez Mountain. With amazing specificity, Victor runs down the list of every Marquez Mountain owner for the past hundred and fifty years, describing in great detail how each owner acquired then ultimately lost the land, including the Hispanic family who acquired it just before the depression but lost it after all their sons died in World War II. From there the property languished in probate until the Texas investors stepped in.

As Victor’s beat up old truck lumbers up the barely discernible road with several places having a super steep drop off with no guard rail, Darwin questions whether it’s even possible to get up the mountain. They hit a muddy elk bog and almost get high centered, but Victor reassures Darwin that all that’s left is to dodge some boulders fast enough to get a run at the last incline and then they’re there. That’s good news because even though he’s never been prone to car sickness, Darwin’s head and stomach are sending very clear signals that this ride better end soon, or he’ll get a chance to re-sample the culinary delights of this morning’s breakfast.

Dodging boulders on a narrow mountain road at high speed is fun for Victor but scares the hell out of Darwin. It seems even at that, they don’t generate enough speed in the bounder field to make the last climb but somehow the rust riddled Ford grinds it out to reach the top. Bursting out of the dense forest they flash onto a mostly flat meadow and Darwin is instantly reminded of how he felt the moment his plane to Maui drops out of a low-hanging storm cloud just before landing; it’s like taking a blindfold off and realizing you’re in paradise. As Victor slow-rolls his Ford to a stop, Darwin’s so blown away by what he’s witnessing he’s literally breathless, which is just the effect Victor’s going for. While Darwin works to mentally quantify the magnificent beauty of the meadow, Victor points to the lower edge of the large aspen grove in the center where the meadow’s two creeks converge. A strikingly bold appaloosa stallion is pushing a heard of about twenty mustang mares to the back side of the aspen where the rest of the herd is already protected from these sudden intruders.

“That appaloosa’s really something isn’t he.” Victor says. “He’s owned this herd for the past five seasons, really building up the blood line. No one’s sure where the hell he came from, he just shows up one spring and forces the old stallion into early retirement. If you look closely, you can spot satellite stallions waiting for their chance to challenge the appaloosa but so far, he ain’t letting any such hanky panky happen on his watch.”

Darwin and Victor sit in the pickup for over an hour as Victor points out the many special features of the meadow, including Lost Luck creek and the spot where legend has it, Calvin and Theresa Kincaid are buried. He talks about the Anglo Mason and how prospectors still trespass onto the mountain looking for his carved-out cave where Calvin supposedly stashed all the gold and cash he got from selling lumber and meat to Red River miners. “If you ask me,” Victor says. “There either never was a stash, or by now someone’s found it and kept really quiet so they wouldn’t have to share. If you want, I can show you a cave up near the summit where you’ll find turquoise veins, they ain’t much now, but in a couple hundred years as the stones oxidize, that turquoise is gonna become something special.”

Victor encourages Darwin to get out and walk about, excusing himself for being too out of shape to be hiking at this elevation. Darwin doesn’t need to be asked twice. He eagerly hops out of the pickup to experience this magnificent meadow firsthand. To listen to the sounds, take in the smells, feel the wind as she dances through the aspen, appreciate the landscape, and the panoramic views too impossible to describe. He walks to the lower edge of the aspen grove where the two creeks converge and gets closer than expected to the appaloosa who’s unafraid but pushes his mares even further away from danger. Once the mares are moving, the stallion stops to assess this new interloper to his tranquil pasture. Darwin and the stallion standoff staring at each without uttering a sound, as if letting their souls work through introductions. When the stallion’s satisfied he’s said his peace, and is pretty sure Darwin’s said his, he rejoins his mares with casual indifference.

Darwin watches the stallion disappear into his herd like a ghost in aspen, he then shifts his attention to the west, unsure if he can or should trust what his eyes are telling him. Before him is a view that could be Eden, a thousand or so feet below is the flat valley floor with the Rio Grande Gorge slicing down the center as it stretches from the far north to the far south as far as he can see. Across the valley in the distance are the Jemez Mountains. Victor says they’re mystical and from where Darwin’s standing that’s absolutely true. He can’t decide if he should make an exploratory expedition there some day or leave them shrouded in mystery so as never to minimize the magnificence of this moment.

The longer Darwin stands at the lower edge of the aspen grove in the center of the meadow at the very spot Calvin and Theresa Kincaid are likely buried, the more he knows, this is the place the Berkeley bookstore clerk told him to find. The place he can set about doing what he has to do to atone for what he’s done. It won’t be easy and it absolutely will take time but for the first time since Berkeley, Darwin feels his burden being lifted even if only just a little. Standing here gives Darwin a sense of knowing what he has to do and how he has to go about doing it, and that’s the hardest part of journeying along the road to redemption.

On his walk back to the pickup, Darwin decides to hell with the rats, he’s gonna buy Marquez Mountain, a place he’s never felt more at home, a land that already knows his soul. It’s as if the gypsy curse brought him here, that this is where he always was supposed to be. He opens the truck door to Victor’s wide grin already knowing Darwin’s decision, “So,” Vector says with southwest bravado, “whatta ya think?”

“Oh,” Darwin answer as he crawls inside. “I’m definitely buying.”

“You do know the asking price, right?”

“I wouldn’t have come if I didn’t.”

“A piss-load of pesos for sure but you can probably whittle em down based on the condition of the hacienda, but not much based on the beauty of this here meadow.”

Darwin grins, since Berkeley one persistent burden has plagued him; what to do with his blood money. He was going to give it away, but Becky accused him of being a fool and said she has no time for fools. He knows he can’t win her back if he does something foolish with the money and buying this mountain satisfies his need to cleanse himself of tainted cash without looking like a fool. “It would be an insult,” he tells Victor, “to offer anything less than asking.”

“I could be wrong,” Victor continues trying to make his point without directly insulting Darwin. “But I don’t think the owners are willing to finance and you being out of state, it’s unlikely you’ll get bank backing, but hey ya never know, you’re not Hispanic.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Darwin says. “I’m paying cash.”

“Cash,” Victor says without thinking. “You cartel?”

“Why would you say that?”

“All the markers say so. You ride into town on a Harley. You’re clearly not a nine-to-fiver. And Taos is a drop off spot for drug runners coming up from Mexico along the turquoises trail.”

“I’m not surprised about the drug runners, I think I actually met some yesterday around Tucumcari, but I’m not one.”

“If ya don’t sell drugs your generational wealth, I gotta warn ya, trust funders don’t last long up here. This is the kind of country that takes a real man to master. Thousand-dollar suits and daddy’s bank account can’t hide in Harley leather out here. You may think you’re rough, your personal trainer may have you convinced you’re tough, but I gotta tell you brother, this mountain will break you. It’ll demand everything you’ve got and still not be satisfied. No matter how much effort you put in to building a life, the mountain will demand more. It will break you down and then it will kill you.”

“Being a bit dramatic aren’t ya.”

“Am I!” Victor shoots back. “Let me tell you mister motorcycle rider, I’ll be the first to apologize if you last till spring. However, since you seem determined to make a go of Marquez Mountain when men of considerably more utility failed, tell me, what’s your plan? I’m far less interested in how you intend to build a life here, then how you think you’ll survive until spring?”

Darwin glares at Victor with obvious frustration. “I get your point and to your point, I don’t have it all figured out, I’m a plan as I go kind of guy. I know you don’t think that works in your wilderness world and fair enough. What I know, what was revealed as I stood on the edge of the aspen grove, is that this is where I’m supposed to be. I have things that need doing and this is where they’ll get done. Now I may die in the process and again, fair enough, sometimes risk and consequence extract their toll. But just as often, they sometimes have to be ignored, like you did when we went racing through that boulder field. Besides,” Darwin says with a gregarious smile, “I’m counting on you to have my back, you’re my ace in the hole.”

“You’re a regular funny man aren’t you. But if you don’t mind me leaning on an occasional cousin or nephew I can set you up with crews for just about anything. And while I’m at it, you need to let me negotiate with Addison for you. I happen to know her clients are desperate to sell and can get you a good price. I don’t know how things work in Chicago, or California, or wherever the hell you’re from but in the Land of Mañana, no one pays asking price for anything.”

“Doesn’t that lower your commission?”

“A little. But it matters more to me the right person owns this property and takes care of those mustangs. I get sense you are that guy. Besides, each time I set you up with a work crew, they owe me a favor, and, in this valley, favors are worth more than money.”