Free Dog Gone Lies (Pacheco & Chino Mysteries Book 1) by Ted Clifton Page A

their distribution on the lake area. They could pass them out and then have the people talk to their neighbors about it. Ray looked at the flyer and was impressed with Tyee’s skills once again. They talked about calling Clayton and getting some more people to hand them out the next day.
    “What’s going on out there in the store—you said there were customers?”
    “Yeah, surprised me. When I showed up there were three cars out front and maybe ten or more people in the store. They’re not local, so not sure what it was about.”
    Ray and Tyee went into the store and found there were now even more customers than before. Big Jack was smiling and ringing up sales on the old cash register. When he had a break, he joined Ray and Tyee.
    “Seems there was an article in the El Paso paper about the fishing tournament week after next. These people were in El Paso on some kind of church mission, saw the article, and decided to come up and see the lake. They didn’t know there was such a large lake in New Mexico. Anyway, just a freakish thing. Normally we only get about twenty or so fishermen entering the tournament, so it’s never attracted much attention from the press. Also looks like I have about thirty messages on my machine, presumably something to do with the same article.”
    “What would you do, Big Jack, if you had this kind of business all day long?”
    “Lock the door.”
    Big Jack wasn’t a devoted business man. Part of his daily routine was an afternoon nap on the dock, weather permitting, and it would be absurd to have it interrupted by customers. As it turned out, the church group could probably have been trusted to make their selections and leave the money, but the next group to come in might take all the beer. Big Jack didn’t seem too concerned one way or the other, though.
    After the invaders had satisfied their curiosity they loaded into their cars and headed back to El Paso. Ray suggested they stop at La Posta in Old Messila to have dinner, highly recommending the food.
    Once the quiet of the store returned, they went back to the plans for the meeting on Sunday. Tyee started printing flyers, and Ray called Clayton and told him their plans. Clayton was excited and said he would get his wife, as well as Cindy and her boyfriend, to distribute the flyers the next day.
    Pretty soon Big Jack suggested it was time for a beer. Ray and Tyee joined him on the dock and sipped their beers. Well, Ray and Tyee sipped—Big Jack was doing something closer to gulping. Happy was well pleased to have the company and settled down as close as he could get to the group.
    “I think Big Jack’s should sponsor you in the Elephant Butte Fishing Tournament—what do you think Ray?” This was Big Jack speaking in between gulps of beer and chews on his cigar.
    “Do you ever light that cigar?” Tyee seemed curious about the ever-present, disgusting cigar.
    “That’ll teach me to give an Indian a beer.”
    Ray thought this was good natured banter, but decided it was best if he changed the subject.
    “Exactly what would that mean, Big Jack, if you sponsored me in the tournament?”
    “Mostly it would mean I’d provide you with a Big Jack’s hat and vest. If you win I would get half your earnings and free publicity. If you lose, I’d be out a hat and vest and the fifty dollar entry fee.”
    “If I win, what’s the prize?”
    “First place prize is three thousand dollars.”
    “Why not sponsor Tyee?”
    “Well, he won the first three tournaments, so the executive committee, which is actually just me, decided on a new rule the next year that doesn’t allow professional fishing guides to enter.”
    “White man fuck Indian once again.”
    “Yeah, doesn’t feel right, just because he won to stop him from entering.”
    “Okay, maybe it wasn’t right, but nobody else would enter if Tyee was fishing. So the tournament wouldn’t exist. So what do you do? Piss off one guide or stop the tournament? I went with pissed off