Fool’s Gold &
The Fools Running Dope

I stopped at a lone filling station in south Texas. As the pump gurgled, I reached for the opened letter under the visor to re-read it. It was from Dobe. The old codger didn’t waste words. The letter simply said:

Skeet! Big troubles at the Turkey Track. Get down here as soon as you can. I’ll explain everything later!

Flashback

With my gas tank full, my bladder empty, a cold RC cola and beef jerky, I continued down the highway, which ran parallel with the Rio Grande.

I had plenty of time off owed to me and called in to use it. After a hasty packing job, I was on the road within an hour of opening the letter. I hadn’t been to the Turkey Track in over a year — Dobe and I cast bullets — handloading them into a large pile of .44 Magnum ammo. While enjoying the fruits of our labor, Dobe spotted drug smugglers crossing the Rio Grande onto his property for their route northward and beyond to dispense their poison.

Arrival

It was after midnight when my pickup finally pulled in front of Dobe’s hacienda. I was greeted as Dobe only greeted an intruder. Blinded by a flashlight with the candlepower of an airport spotlight, I held my arm in front of my eyes, hoping my corneas weren’t fried. Next, I heard the unmistakable sound of a pump shotgun being racked.

Dobe’s deep booming voice told me to FREEZE, unless I wanted to lose my head. “Dobe! Relax! It’s me, Skeeter! I got down here as soon as I could,” I managed to eke out. “Sorry, Skeet,” I heard him say embarrassingly. “Can’t be too careful these days on account of what’s been going on around here.” Grab your bag and come on in the house.

“Esteban, get three jelly glasses from the cupboard, along with some of that Mezcal we got the other day,” Dobe asked his right-hand man, who was lurking in the shadows with his Colt 1911 38 Super. Esteban stuffed the shooter in his waistband and greeted me with his usual strong handshake, apologizing for the cool welcome.

The Cartel

Dobe explained he was doing everything he could to make life miserable for the cartel as they continued running drugs through his property. He strung barbed wire fences, set booby traps of various concoctions, and even sent the occasional potshot in their direction to discourage them.

The cartel responded by sabotaging Dobe’s gas wells, knocking them out of commission and stopping his handsome royalty checks from the gas company. It’s what kept the Turkey Track afloat during long droughts and low beef prices. The leader was now strong-arming Dobe for $500,000, or they threatened to burn the Turkey Track down.

We spent the night sipping mezcal, cogitating, strategizing, and hoping to devise a plan to stop the cartel leader, Hector Benitez Gutierrez, dead in his tracks. As the mesquite fire died down to embers, we hatched a plan — a crazy plan — but somehow, we needed to come up with $500,000 to stall the cartel. Dobe told me not to worry as we headed off to bed.

Best Plans …

When I awakened, it was obvious Dobe was up hours before me. Esteban was cooking breakfast, which consisted of bacon, eggs, toast, and, of course, coffee. When I asked Dobe what he’d been up to, he just smirked and said,” Getting $500,000 worth of gold.” And left it at that. It got me thinking, “Did Dobe have a stash of gold I didn’t know about?”

He’s surprised me so many times over the years that nothing ever surprised me anymore. I remember when he showed me his stash of guns behind a hidden wall. He surprised me not only in volume but also in diversity in everything from old relics to the latest modern guns available.

“Esteban, get word to Gutierrez and tell him we’ll meet tomorrow here at the ranch house, and I’ll have his money. Ask if gold is okay.” At this time, gold was $38.90 an ounce, so $500,000 was equal to 803.34 pounds of gold. Where in the heck did Dobe get that much gold? As I said, he never stopped amazing me.

Our plan was simple but risky. When the cartel came to pick up the gold, Dobe would invite them to a big BBQ, a fiesta of sorts, with roasted goat, beef, fresh tortillas, wine and cerveza. During the party, law enforcement officials would get between the Rio Grande and Dobe’s house, trapping the cartel on their return home. The cops would have the high ground on the saddle the cartel used traveling through Dobe’s property.

Fiesta!

Without wasting a moment, Gutierrez wanted to see the gold right away. Dobe had Esteban pull his pickup from the barn and pull it out front. In the back, an old tarp covered something in the bed. Gutierrez pulled the tarp back, a large grin displaying some gold teeth on his face.

Hefting one of the ingots, testing its weight in his hand, Gutierrez said,” You have done well, old man.” This steamed Dobe to no end. Gutierrez then told his men to load the gold into one of their trucks and enjoy themselves. The men quickly started drinking, eating and partying. Little did they know the trap was being set.

Surprise!

After a few hours, Gutierrez told his men it was time to leave. His men obediently loaded up in their vehicles, taking any bottle of booze they could carry and went on their merry way — totally unaware of what was about to happen.

It would take 30 minutes for the cartel to hit the saddle/ambush. Dobe and I sat by one of the fires, sipping whiskey and listening for gunfire. I admit I was a little more nervous than usual. But all was silent. “They should have hit the ambush by now, Skeet,” a concerned Dobe said. Just then, we heard vehicles pulling up, black Suburbans mostly.

As the procession went by, one of the Suburbans stopped. It was the agent in charge. “Hey, Dad, Hi, Mr. Grant! Thanks for the tip; the plan worked like a charm.” It was all I could do to keep from grinning like a Chesire cat as Bart told us all about the takedown.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Grant, but those gold ingots will be tied up in evidence for at least a year until the trial is over,” Bart said. Dobe started laughing like he’d heard the funniest joke ever, his eyes tearing up. “No problem, Bart,” Dobe said between guffaws, “That gold is nothing but spray-painted lead ingots! Remember when I cleaned up that lead alloy, Skeet? Figured we’d get some use from it besides shooting it!”

Old Dobe had done it again! Fooling everyone, including me. Fool’s Gold, indeed!

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