Out yonder in Nye County, where the sun sets slow–and the law rides quicker than a jackrabbit with its tail on fire, a peculiar incident unfolded that’d make even a demon raise an eyebrow.
On the evening of April 8, just after supper time, Deputy Sedrick Sweet was rolling down Highway 160 in his marked sheriff’s wagon–a modern contraption with lights and sirens to wake the dead–spied the oddest sight. A white Dodge Neon, creeping along slower than molasses in January–flashing its hazard lights like it had a mind to join a parade that nobody’d heard of.
Deputy Sweet, a man of keen observation and sounder suspicion, reckoned something was amiss. His sharp eye lit upon what appeared to be a Nevada temporary placard stuck in the window–but something about it wasn’t right, like a three-dollar bill on payday.
Sweet wasted no time turning on his siren and pulled the Dodge to the side of the road, ready to investigate this rolling mystery. Behind the wheel sat a Hispanic gentleman who, by all appearances, understood English like a coyote does Latin.
Sweet tried explaining the situation, but the driver shrugged and smiled in that universal language: “I don’t know what you’re hollerin’ about.”
Not to be outfoxed, Sweet called for backup, summoning Deputy Deon Ford, a man blessed with the gift of tongues–or at least Spanish. Upon Ford’s arrival, the driver produced a California driver’s license, showing a name and a photograph that seemed respectable enough to a blind man at twenty paces.
But Nye County dispatch, not being easily hoodwinked, reported that the license belonged to a different soul out of Granada Hills, Calif. Smelling something stronger than skunk cabbage, the deputies pressed the man harder, and he eventually coughed up another document from Mexico–about as genuine as a politician’s promise.
When the dust finally settled, the man admitted that not only was the placard as fake as a snake oil tonic, but the license he handed over was a lie, too. Since the deputies couldn’t get his real name or make any sense of the documents he juggled, they hauled him off to the Nye County Detention Center under the timeless title of “John Doe.”
For his troubles, John Doe now faces a collection of charges, including operating a vehicle without a valid license, no proof of insurance, and displaying fictitious registration–crimes that, while mighty creative, don’t sit kindly with the local authorities.
The Old Blog in the Desert 
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