In the wee hours of Tuesday morning, while most sensible folks were snug in their beds or snoring their way through another dream of untold riches, a more abrupt fate met one unfortunate soul in the parking lot of Dotty’s Casino.
According to Lt. Robert Price of the Las Vegas Metropolitan Police Department, the trouble started around 4:15 a.m. on West Charleston Boulevard, near Jones Boulevard. A man in his 30s, who likely thought he had a full day ahead of him, found himself engaged in a spirited exchange of ideas with an occupant of a sedan that had pulled into the lot.
Sadly, the sedan’s occupant offered the most persuasive argument known to man—a bullet. By the time officers arrived, the man was beyond the need for medical assistance, having permanently retired from life’s daily struggles.
The sedan, meanwhile, made a swift exit north on Jones Boulevard, taking with it any immediate clues about the identity of its occupants. Descriptions of the vehicle and the trigger-happy philosopher within remain elusive, but rest assured, the keen minds of the LVMPD are on the case.
Those feeling particularly civic-minded—or having a juicy tidbit—are encouraged to contact the LVMPD’s homicide section at (702) 828-3521. For those wanting to keep their names out of future woe, Crime Stoppers can be reached anonymously at (702) 385-5555.
It is a fact that some men, when faced with a simple disagreement, will resort to the fine art of persuasion, while others—less burdened by good sense—will opt instead for a bullet. Marshall Barker, 37, of Pahrump, appears to be of the latter persuasion, as he now finds himself a guest of the Nye County Detention Center following an unfortunate Tuesday afternoon debate conducted with a semi-automatic pistol.
According to Nye County Sheriff Joe McGill, the festivities began on March 4 along Donner Street, where deputies responded with admirable swiftness to reports of a shooting. Upon arrival, they found a gaggle of residents spilling out of the house, each eager to share their version of events—most notably, that the gunman and his unfortunate target were still inside.
Deputies then made their way in and discovered Barker standing over the wounded party, a 56-year-old man in a wheelchair and newly acquainted with the disadvantages of a gunshot wound to the thigh. The victim was promptly whisked away by Mercy Air to Las Vegas, where he is recovering—though one suspects he may carry a newfound appreciation for the pitfalls of housemate disagreements.
McGill recounted that once given his rights, Barker did not trouble himself with denials but took the opportunity to confess that he had indeed shot the man—albeit under the ever-popular justification of self-defense. His wheelchair-bound adversary, Barker claimed, had launched a savage attack with a knife, leaving him no choice but to put an end to the hostilities by way of gunfire.
Unfortunately for Barker, the witnesses— numerous and unimpressed with his storytelling—offered a different account. They insisted that the victim was unarmed and that the quarrel had scarcely escalated before Barker produced his firearm and demonstrated his position on the matter with powder and lead.
Further inquiry into the supposed knife-wielding revealed that the only knife in question belonged to Barker and had, quite inconveniently for his case, never been brandished by the victim. A routine background check revealed that Barker was already a wanted man, having neglected to appear in court for a traffic violation.
The authorities, deciding that a man inclined to shoot a fellow over an argument might also be the sort to disregard a court summons, wasted no time in upgrading his legal predicament. He now stands accused of attempted murder and unlawful possession of a firearm.
Thus, Marshall Barker, who began his day as a free man of Pahrump, has ended it in less favorable accommodations—his attempt at self-defense proving about as successful as his attempt at evasion.
Late last month, a stretch of Highway 160 bore witness to a spectacle of such bewildering absurdity that it almost got mistaken for a traveling circus had the performers not been so intent on ramming, jostling, and menacing one another at considerable velocity.
According to Sheriff Joe McGill, a poor unfortunate fellow found hisself harassed and harried by not one but two minivans, each allegedly driven with a degree of enthusiasm usually reserved for stagecoach bandits. The distressed gentleman, who had his wife in the car and a considerable dose of misfortune, rang up the authorities to report that his vehicle, a Nissan Rogue, was being actively battered by the two minivans as he hurtled along the highway.
Deputy Sedrick Sweet, the first to arrive on the scene, found the Rogue looking less rogue-like and more like a mule that kicked on both sides. Damage, he noted, was evident on the front, back, and both flanks—altogether a sorry sight. To make matters worse, the minivans, piloted by one Seth Jenness and his matrimonial counterpart, Cyndal Jenness, contained two young children, no doubt receiving an impromptu education in the fine art of highway hooliganism.
The bewildered victim recounted a harrowing tale: the minivans, in a display of rare coordination, had boxed him in on the highway, refused to let him pass, then chased him down with high beams flashing and horns blaring like cavalry in a B-movie charge. Rightly fearing that his home address was the last thing he wished to share with his pursuers, he led them on a strategic detour until help arrived.
Cyndal Jenness, for her part, had a different tale to tell. She claimed that her dear husband, Seth, had merely been brake-checked—an act she seemed to believe justified a full-blown vehicular assault. Her argument became diminished by the dashcam footage, which showed, in rather indisputable detail, that she had taken to ramming the victim’s vehicle with the kind of determination one might apply to cracking a particularly stubborn walnut.
But if Cyndal’s actions seemed overenthusiastic, Seth’s were downright theatrical. The man, when questioned, readily admitted to discharging his firearm—a detail one might think best left unspoken. Deputies later retrieved three shell casings along the highway, proving that Seth had taken it upon himself to add a bit of gunplay to the evening’s misadventure.
When all was said and done, the law, having exercised its patient forbearance, decided enough was enough. Cyndal was arrested on two counts of battery with a deadly weapon—namely, her automobile—while Seth was detained for assault with a deadly weapon, discharging a firearm where he most assuredly should not have, and the rather unfortunate charge of child endangerment, as his offspring had been along for the perilous ride.
Bail was set at $20,000 for Cyndal and $21,000 for Seth to inspire some reflection on the merits of peaceful travel. Meanwhile, authorities called the Division of Child and Family Services, as even the most thickheaded observer would agree that involving one’s progeny in high-speed vehicular combat is poor parenting at best.
Thus concluded another day in Nye County, where the highways remain as wild as ever and where some folks, it seems, prefer to settle their disputes with a minivan and a sidearm rather than a polite word and a handshake.
The wind came hard out of the east, driving sand and loose gravel like buckshot from a scattergun. It stung the skin, rattled against the rocks, and hissed through the sagebrush, speaking in a dry, restless voice. A man caught out in it would pull his hat low, turn his collar up, and keep moving, knowing full well that the wind didn’t care if he lived or died.
After taking a drubbing from Damonte Ranch in their last outing, the Wooster Colts came out on Saturday with something to prove. And prove it they did, though they kept the crowd on edge until the final out, scraping past the Fernley Vaqueros with a narrow 4-3 victory.
It marks the fourth straight time the Colts have sent the Vaqueros packing, a streak that shows no signs of cooling. Seven Wooster bats got in on the action, with Cayden Corl leading the charge. The young slugger went 2-for-3, slapping a double in the process—his best showing at the plate since April 2024.
The hard-fought win evens Wooster’s record at 1-1, while Fernley’s woes continue as they stumble to 1-5-1 with four straight losses. If the Vaqueros were hoping for a shot at redemption, they didn’t have to wait long. Unfortunately, the Colts had more of the same ready, shutting them out 4-0 in the rematch later that day.
Virginia City’s Muckers took to the diamond Saturday with the grit and determination that would have made the old Comstock miners proud, walking away with a hard-fought 15-12 victory. The triumph marked a historic moment for the squad, as it was their first time toppling this particular opponent on enemy turf since the spring of 2024.
Leading the charge was the fleet-footed Nanna Lopez, who proved herself a terror on the basepaths. She crossed home plate four times and swiped three bases, reaching base in all four of her trips to the plate. If there’s a player more reliable for stealing bases, the record books haven’t found them yet—Lopez has filched at least one in each of her last seven outings, stretching back to the prior season. Not to be outdone, Ava Farrell going 2-for-3 with a triple, two runs, and a stolen base.
The Muckers’ bats were alive and well, racking up a .407 average on the day. That’s no fluke either, as they’ve now cleared a .316 mark in six straight contests. Their record stands at 2-0-1, though the celebration was short-lived—they hit the field again on the 8th and ran into a buzzsaw, dropping a 23-13 slugfest.
Over in the boys’ camp, Dayton was the beneficiary of an unusual victory, winning by forfeit over Hug on Saturday. The Dust Devils remain unblemished at 6-0, their offensive prowess carrying them through this dominant stretch with an average of 11.7 runs per game. As for Hug, misfortune continues, with a staggering 24-game losing streak leaving them winless at 0-4.
Both squads now turn their eyes to their upcoming challenges. Dayton will defend their home turf against South Tahoe on Wednesday at 3:30 p.m., riding the momentum of three consecutive home wins. Meanwhile, Hug faces an uphill battle, squaring off against Elko at 10:00 a.m. on Saturday, hoping to shake off their lingering woes.
It’s a curious thing how a politician’s mind works. One moment, they are as blind as a mole in daylight, and the next, they develop the keen eyesight of a hawk when a cause arises that suits their fancy. Such is the case with Senator Catherine Cortez Masto, who, with great fanfare, has thrown her support behind a bipartisan bill to prevent foreign adversaries from buying up American farmland near military installations.
Now, this all sounds like common sense, and one might even applaud—except for the nagging inconvenience of memory. Because while the senator is busy proclaiming her devotion to national security, one can’t help but recall her other votes—such as her refusal to end the government’s habit of dipping its hands into the pockets of hardworking waiters and waitresses by taxing their tips. Or her lack of concern for overtime workers who see their extra pay gobbled up before it reaches their wallets.
Then there’s the matter of fairness or the senator’s definition. She has had no qualms about allowing men to compete in women’s sports, though any farmhand from Reno to Rattlesnake Ridge could tell you that a rooster doesn’t belong in the henhouse.
Most telling of all, while she stands ready to protect farmland, she has little to say to the mothers who have lost their daughters to crimes committed by illegal aliens. Nor does she spare a word for the 13-year-old child battling cancer, whose plight she passes by as though it were no more than a tumbleweed in the wind.
But if you were to ask her about these things, you’d find she is as hard to catch as a jackrabbit in a sagebrush thicket. No, the senator prefers safe speeches and even safer crowds, where no one will trouble her with questions that she can’t answer with a well-rehearsed phrase and a smile.
And so, the farmland may be safe, but the average Nevadan? Well, they’d best look out for themselves.
It used to be that a young man—or an exceptionally hardy young woman—could lace up a pair of shoes, step onto a field, and compete for the sheer joy of proving that their legs were faster, arms stronger, and their lungs mightier than the next fellow’s. There was honor in it, and perhaps a ribbon or a medal, but that was about the extent of the reward.
The Amateur Athletics Union (AAU) presided over such contests like a proud but stingy uncle, ensuring that neither fortune nor profit sullied the purity of a sport. That dear reader is as extinct as a Dodo in a boxing ring.
Enter a legislative endeavor in Nevada that proposes to remove the last vestiges of amateurism from college athletics called Senate Bill 293. Spearheaded by Roberta Lange of Las Vegas, this bill would allow colleges and universities—UNR, UNLV, and their ilk—to directly compensate student-athletes for their name, image, and likeness.
In other words, the days of young men sweating for school pride alone are about as fashionable as a leather football helmet. It is all part of a grander scheme—House v. NCAA, a case that, if fully approved, will send cash cascading down upon student-athletes like a slot machine hitting the jackpot.
Schools that once pleaded poverty when asked for better dining hall meatloaf are now lining up to share revenue from media deals, ticket sales, and sponsorships. UNR and UNLV have already assured donors they’re in on the deal.
At present, the money flows through boosters, businesses, and shadowy collectives operating with all the transparency of a magician’s trick. But if SB 293 passes, the universities will take the wheel, steering their financial chariots to ensure their athletes get compensated. Whether this heralds the golden age of collegiate sports or the final nail in the coffin of its so-called purity remains to be seen.
But one thing is sure—the Amateur Athletics Union, which once ruled Nevada’s playing fields with an iron whistle, has been reduced to a relic of a bygone era, much like a gymnasium with wooden dumbbells or a basketball court without corporate sponsorship.
The Lyon County Board of County Commissioners convened on March 6, 2025, to hash out county affairs, approve what needed approval, and settle what needed settling. Among the more noteworthy moments of the meeting was Sheriff Brad Pope presenting Deputy Trevor Bonds with a Meritorious Service Medal for his gallant conduct during a high-speed hullabaloo in Smith Valley on January 25.
The Commissioners then turned their attention to Nevada Copper, which, like many a hopeful miner before it, had found itself in a bit of a financial pickle. The company was allowed to square its personal property tax debt for $1,170,339.77. In a stroke of charity—or perhaps pragmatism—the Board waived penalties and trimmed the bill by five percent, provided Nevada Copper paid up without delay.
In other matters of local consequence, the Commissioners blessed Desert Hills Dairy to expand its anaerobic digester systems. Those unfamiliar with the term may take comfort in knowing that it is a sophisticated way of saying the dairy can now do more with cow leavings than letting them pile up.
Verizon Wireless and its accomplice, Vertical Bridge, secured a Conditional Use Permit to plant a new wireless communications facility and a 115-foot windmill tower in Mason Valley. The windmill, presumably, is for aesthetic purposes or perhaps a nod to the past, as it is unlikely Verizon intends to harness the wind for anything other than metaphorical purposes.
Meanwhile, the Commissioners took a red pen to The Lakes at Dayton Valley Planned Use Development. Out went the idea of a hotel and casino, in came something more fittingly labeled “Community Commercial,” which could mean anything from a laundromat to a grand emporium of curiosities. Additionally, a zoning map amendment was approved to reassign various parcels from single-family nonrural residential and tourist commercial designations to the more all-encompassing PUD (Planned Unit Development), ensuring the future of Dayton Valley remains as flexible as a well-worn saddle.
Silver Springs also saw its fair share of change, as Tract Capital Management, LP, received the go-ahead to swap out vast swaths of land from rural to suburban and from fifth rural residential to service industrial. The Board also approved a “mini master plan,” which, despite its diminutive moniker, will steer the planning of roads, waterworks, and sundry necessities across a 460-acre stretch.
Lastly, the Commissioners turned their attention to the Sheriff’s Office, approving the conversion of certain evidence items—including firearms—into County Property for lawful use or disposal. It is unclear whether the disposal will involve smelting or a more creative redistribution, but it got settled without fuss.
After a solemn silence worthy of a tomb, the Nevada Supreme Court has stirred on the matter of Reno’s esteemed Mayor, Hillary Schieve, and the case of the mysterious GPS tracker. The justices have graciously set aside 34 minutes on April 8—presumably because 35 would be an unreasonable indulgence—for oral arguments on whether the name of the man who hired a private investigator to follow the movements of Schieve shall get tossed to the lions.
Schieve and former Washoe County Commission Chair Vaughn Hartung have taken great offense at the notion that a public servant might be subject to scrutiny. It is an understandable concern, for history has shown that public officials prefer their affairs to remain as private as possible—particularly when wrongdoings get uncovered.
The problem, however, is that a certain “John Doe” hired a private investigator, David McNeely, to conduct this scrutiny. McNeely employed a GPS tracker—an act which, while perhaps impolite, is not so very different from the time-honored tactics used by law enforcement, news reporters, and opposition research teams.
For his part, Doe argues that hiring an investigator was a fine example of First Amendment conduct, for if one cannot look into the actions of public officials without fear of retribution, then what need have we of private investigators at all?
The mayor and her compatriot, however, see it differently. To them, this is not about transparency or accountability but their sacred right to govern the public without being watched.
In its infinite wisdom, the court has already ruled that McNeely must name names, but Doe has thrown himself upon the mercy of the justices, hoping to keep his anonymity. Should he lose, he may appeal to the U.S. Supreme Court or resign himself to the reality that, in Nevada, investigating the powerful is a pastime best left to those with nothing to lose.
Should his name be revealed, Schieve and Hartung will have their satisfaction, and the civil case against McNeely and Doe will proceed. Should the court rule in favor of Doe, the mayor, with her ally, will have to proceed by suing only the investigator.
Either way, the message is clear: the next time one wishes to investigate an elected official, one should consider the wisdom of remaining blissfully ignorant.
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