Now, I don’t pretend to be a lawyer, a sheriff, or a Texas man with an unspellable first name, but I do know the smell of cow pies when the wind shifts–and friends, something peculiar’s driftin’ over from Storey County. They’d rather eat their badges than speak plainly when the subject’s has a darker shade than a sand-blasted sagebrush.
One Shyncere Jefferson, all of eighteen years and hailing from the land of brisket and big hats–Abilene, Texas–got sentenced to fifteen years in a federal pokey for producing child pornography. A grim and vile business, no doubt, and justice, at least on that score, had its boots laced up tight.
But what catches the ear isn’t just the crime–it’s the molasses-slow and mutter-mouthed way the Storey County Sheriff’s Office–which has all the transparency of a coffin lid–chose to say so. You’d think a case involving two underage local girls and a man from out of state would provoke a mighty bellow of righteous fury.
Instead, the SCSO stayed so tight-lipped it made a bullfrog look chatty. Why, you ask?
It’s no secret that Storey County’s got a bad hand at the poker table from social media that makes a cursed prospector look charmed. A past fracas that involved race left the office tiptoeing like a chicken on a hot skillet, and the sheriff and his deputies fearin’ their legal shadows like superstitious gamblers in a haunted saloon.
It all began on August 26, 2024, when the Sheriff’s Office cracked open an investigation into a man sending nasty messages to two girls–just 12 and 13. The girls’ phones got a forensic download–a term that here means “we poked around until we turned pale,” and what they found would make a grizzly lose its appetite–filthy texts, videos, and photos, all tied back to young Mr. Jefferson.
Now, here’s where the SCSO pulled one of its favorite moves–passing the ball. They joined with the FBI faster than you can say “not it,” and let the feds do the heavy lifting. By October 28, the FBI in Abilene slapped the cuffs on Jefferson and hauled him off like yesterday’s trash.
But Storey County, ever the shy debutante at the truth-telling cotillion, waited till the whole matter got tied up in a neat federal bow before mumbling the outcome. One can almost imagine the press release being scribbled with one hand while the other clutched a rosary, praying nobody noticed the suspect was Black.
Look–justice ain’t about hiding behind hedges when the going gets racial. It’s about stepping into the sunlight, telling folks what happened, and trusting that truth, however rough around the edges, will stand on its own two boots. But that sort of plain talk seems to spook the SCSO worse than a ghost in a courthouse.
Maybe, one day, they’ll speak up before the FBI sends the wedding invitations, or maybe not. After all, in Storey County, silence is golden–and sometimes, cowardly.
The Old Blog in the Desert 