The Spot and the Star

"A carbon spot! What the hell is a carbon spot?" I ask. I knew I wasn'tgoing to like the answer ... and I could tell by Blackie's tone that itwasn't something you wanted to find in your Christmas stocking.

"It's this black deposit right here Rick ... see?" he answered, holdingthe ring at full arm extension. I'd always thought those diamond guysexamined the thing by holding it so close to their eyeball you couldn't geta thought in between.

"Yeah, I see the damn thing Blackie ... shoot, you can see the suckerfrom across the street! It looks like a picture of a solar-eclipse! I don't knowhow-the-hell I missed seeing it. Anyway ... is that good or bad?" I musthave been asking-for-practice because even I know that a `spot' ... of anycolor, on any gemstone, could only lessen its value unless you can wipe itoff with your handkerchief.

Blackie hesitates a second before saying ... "Well Rick, in this case, it'sactually good. At least it proves it really is an actual diamond." I thoughtI saw the glimmer of a chuckle in the back of his eyes. Prick! "This isn'tthe one you sent over for me to look at yesterday Rick ... the setting is thesame though."

Putting my hands on my hips and half turning away I say low andslow ... "That sorry son-of-a-bitch switched `em on me." Then turningback ... "Well, at least it's a real diamond ... so what do you think `Old-Carbon'here is worth?" This one is really for practice.

Pondering as if attempting to conceptualize the nature of infinity,Blackie replies ... "Well, it's hard to say Rick. I can't use it, but somebodymight give about two hundred for it. Maybe two and a half." Damn! WhenI sent it over to him yesterday ... he appraised it at seven thousand! NowI'm positive about seeing that chuckle in his eyes.

I grabbed the damned thing and half-walked, half-ran the block fromBlackie's jewelry shop, down Main Street to our offices in the Hotel Eagle.Fuming!

"That city-prick probably thinks he's away smooth," I mumble tomyself. "Well pal ... you went and screwed with the wrong cowboy! HereI go and try to help you out of a bind, it being so close to Christmas andall, and you're scamming me from the startin' gate. You're gonna be sorryyou ever set one foot in Eagle-by-god-Pass, Maverick County, Texas. Yourass is mine dude!" Still fuming, I slam my outer office door behind me.

I demanded justice! And uh ... maybe a little helping of revenge.

Mimi Garcia, my secretary, follows me through the reception area intomy office and informs me that there's the usual 236 people in the outer-officewaiting to see me and that I have 682 telephone calls to return. Buthey, good news ... only about 150 of them are important. Damn!

All I could think of at that instant was how cool that carbon-dude'sears were going to look mounted and hung next to those `giant' antelopehorns everybody claims I shot at the Petan Ranch in Marfa, Texas. ThePetan belonged to McLean Bowman, who at that time, was quite likelySouth Texas' `most-eligible-stud.' McLean was from San Antonio but couldusually be found at `Sugarland,' his home-ranch a few miles outside ofCarrizo Springs. He was our partner in various business ventures and hissister Beth is married to my brother Michael.

Now. I've long held that it was in fact, Michael and McLean who hadassassinated this innocent little creature ... then had the horns mountedand hung on my office wall ... and unselfishly awarded me the `honor ofthe kill.' They made a big-deal about it too.

"Pricks! I'll get around to them," I think to myself.

But damn ... the carbon-dude's ears would definitely look cool hangingin my office though. Real cool.

"Everybody waits Mimi ... hold all calls and send Rocky or W.C. tofind Jay Lewey and drag him and the sorry-ass story he's made up by now,down here right away," I say in a somewhat unpleasant manner. "Please,"I add ... in a feeble attempt to fend-off one of her `looks.' Oops ... too late.

Rocky Reagan was Michael's and my right and left hand ... and adamn good pair to have when there were cattle around ... and there alwayswere. And seeing to that was W.C. Butler, a lifelong family friend and myhead cattle-buyer in Mexico. In the winter and spring of 1975-1976 ... weimported over 120,000 head of live steer cattle and calves into the UnitedStates from Mexico. That's a lot of cattle ... but not near as many as thereare `true-stories' about W.C. Butler.

"And get me Grady Sessems in Del Rio on the phone. If he's not inthe office, find him. I don't care where he is or who he's with." Grady isdefinitely as cool of a stud as there is ... I'll see what he thinks. I walkedbehind my desk and Mimi goes about her tasks, completely unruffled asusual. I slump back in my chair, rocking slowly back and forth ... "Pal,we don't put up with this city-slicker crap in Maverick County. Man,you're not gonna need a lawyer ... you're gonna need a by-god-priestwhen I get my ..."

"Ricky, esta El Senor Sessems en la lina dos," Mimi's voice on theintercom breaks my trance.

"And Mimi, go next door and tell Dad, W.C., Rocky, and whoeverelse is in there, that this isn't a damn-bit funny. I can hear the gigglingthrough two walls! Hell, I was thinking about giving that ring to one ofthem for ..."

"Grady, listen, some sorry son-of-a-bitch just ..." I spin him the tale.We talk awhile, he's laughing his ass off, and I'm smoking from both ears.

"Rick, this guy's history ... a memory! You can barely describe him ...you got no real name ... no make or model of vehicle ... no address ... I'ma Ranger, not a psychic," Grady says still chuckling.

"I want this guy, Grady. I want him more than I wanted my date atthe senior prom ... look, we can ..."

"Okay, Rick, okay. I'll send you a man in the morning. He can practicedriving. And say Rick, if you don't want the ring with the spot, I have afella that ..." Whack ... I slam the receiver on its cradle!

"Smart-ass! Everybody's a by-god-comedian," I say to an emptyoffice ... "try to do a little somethin' nice for somebody and ... ah shit!"

It must have taken Grady about a minute to call Dad because thelaughing in his office went up about two octaves. Hell, everyone in townwithout a hearing problem laughed themselves damn near into a coma.Felipe, my yardman, had heard the story by the time I got home thatnight. At least he was genuinely concerned. He said that he had an unclein Monclova who made gold and silver colored rings ... cheap! Except...