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If there is one certainty in this world, crime should not pay. And if you were to ask Joel Vargas-Escobar, a high-standing miscreant in the ranks of MS-13, he might agree, provided he is in a mood for honest reflection, which seems doubtful.

The FBI has plucked him from his den and set him on the well-worn path to justice, where he will find the accommodations somewhat less grand.

Vargas-Escobar, a man of such ill repute that even his own shadow might hesitate to follow him, has been accused of orchestrating a symphony of murder—eleven, to be precise—across the desert wastes of Nevada and California.

A federal indictment, first drawn up in 2021, lays out a grim ledger of crimes in which victims, by all accounts, were kidnapped, hauled off to lonesome stretches of wilderness, and dispatched with the kind of brutality that would make even an outlaw blush. Mind you, this is a man sent packing once before. In 2018, the federal government took the trouble to deport him to El Salvador, but like a bad penny—or perhaps more fittingly, a case of smallpox—he found his way back.

Not content to stay a mere foot soldier in the criminal enterprise, Vargas-Escobar allegedly co-led MS-13’s operations in the Las Vegas Valley, giving orders with all the gravity of a monarch whose kingdom consisted of stolen goods, narcotics, and bloodshed. The law, however, has a way of catching up, particularly when aided by the long arm of the FBI.

Federal agents nabbed him on Tuesday in Long Island, a place where he may have thought himself safe but where fate had other notions. Attorney General Pam Bondi quickly declared victory, promising that MS-13 would get dismantled like a cheap piece of machinery, bolt by bolt.

FBI officials, not ones to mince words, urged the public to come forth with information, reassuring families that they should not live in fear of such villainy. Whether Vargas-Escobar himself will oblige the law with a few choice revelations remains unknown.

For now, Vargas-Escobar’s returning to Nevada, where a federal judge awaits him with all the patience of a cat before a mouse hole. One can only hope that justice proves swift and unrelenting since this rattlesnake’s bite is the worst.

Decides Parents Ought to Know What Their Kids Are Up To

After gathering dust on the legal shelf for nearly four decades, Nevada’s long-ignored parental notification law is finally making its debut, much to the satisfaction of some and the dismay of others. Starting April 30, doctors in the Silver State will have to let parents know before performing an abortion on a minor unless a judge grants an exception.

This turn of events follows a federal judge’s decision to lift an injunction that had kept the law locked away since 1985, back when shoulder pads were stylish–and folks still thought Roe v. Wade was a settled matter. U.S. District Judge Anne Traum, appointed by President Joe Biden, ruled that the legal basis for blocking the law vanished when the Supreme Court overturned Roe in 2022.

The law, mothballed for so long that many Nevadans likely forgot it existed, requires physicians to notify a parent before proceeding. Planned Parenthood of Washoe County successfully argued against this issue in the 1980s, and the courts agreed—until now. In December, district attorneys from several Nevada counties decided it was time to revisit the subject, and the judge ultimately sided with them.

Nevada is now joining 36 other states that require some form of parental notification for minors seeking abortions. Critics warn of burdens on young women, while supporters hail it as a victory for parental rights and common sense. Meanwhile, Nevada voters recently backed an effort to enshrine abortion rights in the state constitution, though that effort won’t get done unless approved again in 2026.

For now, the Attorney General’s office remains tight-lipped, and if an appeal gets filed, the case will head to the famously unpredictable Ninth Circuit.

But come April 30–Nevada parents will be more informed about their children—whether their kids like it–or not.

In a turn of events that will surprise precisely no one with common sense, Nye County deputies spent the better part of a day wrangling seven tigers from the property of one Karl Mitchell, a local man with an apparent enthusiasm for testing the patience of both law enforcement and large carnivores.

The operation, which kicked off at the break of dawn, involved code enforcement, animal services, and—one assumes—several deputies questioning their life choices. Sheriff Joe McGill confirmed that Mitchell is now in custody, proving that wrestling with local ordinances is ill-advised–wrestling with deputies is even worse.

Mitchell, a longtime aficionado of keeping things with sharp teeth, has a history of legal entanglements over his tiger collection. His federal license to house these oversized housecats got revoked years ago, a decision that, in hindsight, seems quite reasonable. Nevertheless, in 2019, he won an appeal allowing him to keep the animals, presumably after convincing the Nye County Commission that seven tigers roaming the desert was a perfectly rational idea.

Recent efforts to remove the animals required sedation, a strategy applied liberally to the tigers and, perhaps, should have been considered for Mitchell long ago. Authorities estimate the process will take most of the day, as convincing a tiger to relocate is an undertaking that requires both patience and a distinct lack of fear.

As the tigers prepare for their new home at an undisclosed sanctuary, the good people of Pahrump can rest easy knowing that their odds of encountering a loose Bengal on their morning commute have significantly decreased. Meanwhile, Mitchell will have ample time to reflect on the fundamental lesson that, when it comes to pets, perhaps a nice goldfish would have sufficed.

In the wilds of Kyle Canyon, where nature used to run its course and horses roamed free without so much as a by-your-leave, trouble has been brewing. It seems folks—ever eager to poke, prod, and provide unsolicited handouts—have done what they do best–made a mess of things.

The seven mustangs of Kyle Canyon, including one young foal fresh to the world, are being given their walking papers, not for any fault of their own, but because folks have been getting too close, and the horses—being horses—have reacted in the way of their kind.

“I didn’t think it was getting that bad. It is getting that bad. It’s just dangerous,” said Kim Donohue, who heads up Wild Fire’s Wild and Free Mustangs in Boulder City.

She’s the one the U.S. Forest Service has tapped to take in the evicted herd, seeing as how the animals aren’t trusted to hold their tempers, nor humans to keep their distance. The problem, as it so often is, comes down to food.

Folks keep feeding these wild creatures like they are petting zoo attractions, luring them ever closer to roads, cars, and other hazards. The horses have learned that human hands hold treats, and in their eagerness for another morsel, they have started sticking their heads into moving vehicles.

“The horses are running into traffic. People going 80 miles an hour in a 35, and horses were running out to traffic so they can stick their heads into the car and beg,” Donohue said.

If that doesn’t paint a picture of future calamity, consider last year’s incident where a young girl took a hoof to the head. Earlier this month, a boy met with the same sort of misfortune.

To spare both man and beast from further folly, the Forest Service has decided the herd must go. They will be rounded up within two months and transported to Donohue’s rescue. The only delay is the foal, who needs a little more time before making the journey.

For those lamenting the loss of their free-range Mustang neighbors, let this be a lesson–nature is not a petting zoo, and a free horse fed is a free horse lost.

Ain’t this a turn of events? The Nevada Gaming Control Board has seen fit to publish the latest tally on the northern end of the state’s grand enterprise of chance, and lo and behold, the figures ain’t exactly cause for celebration—unless, of course, you happen to be the sort who takes delight in watching the house lose for once.

In Carson City and the Carson Valley, the gaming tables stood their ground like a stubborn old mule, showing but the faintest retreat—a minuscule 0.48 percent drop in February compared to last year. The good people of Carson, Gardnerville, Minden, and their neighboring haunts wagered and lost a respectable $10,297,812, which is a tidy sum by most reckonings, but still, the coffers jingled just a mite less than before.

When it comes to the total across Nevada, the story turns grim. The state’s nonrestricted gaming licensees—those fine establishments specializing in separating fools from their money—reported a “gaming win” of $1,217,662,484 in February. A handsome figure, no doubt, but it’s 9.28 percent short of last year’s spoils. And for those keeping the books over the long haul, the fiscal year’s tally from July to February is also limping along, trailing by 1.14 percent.

And what of the once-mighty shores of Lake Tahoe? The South Shore casinos took a staggering hit, down 17.35 percent, while their North Shore kin found themselves short by 9.34 percent. Reno, that great citadel of neon and nostalgia, watched its gaming revenue slip 6.44 percent, and Sparks fared only slightly better, down 2.65 percent.

In sum, gamblers have either grown wiser or luck has taken an extended vacation–either way, the house ain’t winning this round, and that, dear reader, is a spectacle rare enough to warrant a good, long look.

It’s not every day that Northern Nevada gets mistaken for a Hollywood backlot, but here we are—snowflakes fallin’ like stage props while a pack of film folks set up shop in Carson City and Washoe Valley. The movie, a Warner Brothers-backed picture, has been described as a “Yellowstone”-esque tale and the age-old question–Are we destined to trip over the same rake our parents did, or can we finally learn to step around it?

Juan Pablo Arias Muñoz, the film’s director, said, “It’s a film about family. It’s a film about tradition.”

With the snow fallin’ thick as a politician’s promise, the media got invited behind the scenes of a sequel to a five-part Amazon Prime series of the same name, Casa Grande. The production company, ESX Entertainment, started shooting in Northern California but decided Nevada had a certain untamed charm.

“When we landed here, we were like, ‘Wow, it looks like a postcard,’” said Ali Afshar, President of ESX Entertainment. “The snow looks so perfect, it almost seems fake.”

One might argue that Nevada winters need no Hollywood magic—it’s been trickin’ folks for free since the Pony Express.

The filmmakers have been good at using the region’s diverse scenery, from farmland to mountain peaks to small-town charm. One day, they were holed up in a house shootin’ some scenes and choreographing a fight—presumably not over who gets the last cup of coffee.

Now, as with most grand adventures, the weather’s been both a help and a hindrance.

“It’s so cool looking with the snow and whatnot, but then cars are getting stuck in the mud,” Afshar admitted. “We’re parking in this field, and we have to tow them out. Also, I went to Scheels and spent a ton of money—we don’t even have Scheels in California!”

There’s nothing like a good old-fashioned snowstorm to turn a filmmaker into a local shopper.

Aiding this cinematic endeavor are some up-and-comers from Nevada’s Future Filmmakers Foundation, a program out of the Cordillera Film Festival.

“They’re really prepared,” Muñoz said. “They show up and already know what they’re doing.”

A rare and remarkable thing, indeed.

Once Casa Grande wraps, ESX Entertainment will take its cameras south to Las Vegas for another film. Afshar hopes Nevada will open its doors wider to the industry so productions don’t have to keep running off to Georgia or parts unknown.

Filming will conclude in Carson City’s prison—though one hopes the actors are only there temporarily. Casa Grande will hit theaters by late 2025 or early 2026, giving audiences a taste of Nevada’s cinematic potential.

And who knows? If Hollywood keeps sniffin’ around the Silver State, we may see Nevada become more than a backdrop for car commercials and cowboy movies—it might just turn into the next great stage for storytelling, snowstorms, and all.

If you ever wanted a lesson on how to rub your head and pat your belly—while standing on one foot and whistling Dixie—then, by all means, stroll through the Nevada Legislature this session. It seems our esteemed lawmakers have found themselves in the peculiar predicament of lamenting potential Medicaid cuts with one hand while gleefully doling out millions to Hollywood with the other.

Senate Minority Leader Robin Titus, a woman of medicine and plain-spoken common sense, appeared downright flabbergasted as she pointed out the sheer contradiction.

“One of the ironies of this whole session is the Democrats have been hammering, hammering Trump and Republicans about possible reductions to Medicaid,” she said. “But at the same time, they introduce a $150 million transferable tax credit program for the film industry. Now, if that’s not irony…”

And that, dear reader, is what we call a humdinger.

While some lawmakers in Carson City quake in their boots at the thought of losing $1.9 billion in Medicaid funds, others are rolling out the red carpet for Hollywood bigwigs, pitching a generous $120 million a year in tax credits for a Las Vegas movie studio. The bill’s backed by Sony Pictures, Warner Bros., Discovery, and Howard Hughes Holdings—because nothing says fiscal responsibility quite like giving corporate giants a hearty helping of taxpayer gravy.

Speaker of the Assembly Steve Yeager, ever the optimist, tried to downplay the Medicaid panic, reassuring folks that “it’s just not going to happen.” Meanwhile, Assembly members Sandra Jauregui and Daniele Monroe-Moreno must have had stars in their eyes as they introduced their film tax credit bill, touting it as Nevada’s golden ticket to cinematic greatness.

Titus, however, isn’t one for fawning over actors or swallowing rosy economic projections whole.

“You will never see me in a picture with an actor or actress because I’m just not star struck,” she declared, likely to the horror of Carson City’s most enthusiastic celebrity-chasers.

As for the promised economic returns on the film industry investment? A consulting report claims that for every tax dollar spent–Nevada will reap $25 in economic benefits—which sounds suspiciously like the kind of Common Core math that turns water into wine.

Titus, ever skeptical, isn’t buying it.

“For every dollar invested in this, in the film credits, you only get about 50 cents back,” she countered. “We just cannot justify that.”

On the Medicaid front, Titus pledged to fight for its survival but acknowledged that adjustments may be inevitable. And the first on the chopping block? The “childless adults” added to Medicaid during the COVID expansion—many of whom, Titus pointed out, are employed by corporations like Walmart and Amazon, which could probably foot their healthcare bills without needing a handout from the state.

And so, as Carson City politicians wring their hands over Medicaid while rolling out the welcome mat for Tinseltown, one can’t help but marvel at the spectacle. It’s a show with all the makings of a blockbuster: drama, irony, misplaced priorities, and a budget twist worthy of a Hollywood script.

The girl was seven. It was her birthday. Her mother took her to the park. Then to the store. She let the girl pick out a toy.

The mother was a woman of faith. She had a prayer closet. She knelt there in the morning. She knelt there in the evening. It was her place alone.

The girl chose a rubber ball. Red.

They came home. The mother went to the kitchen to start dinner. Then the sound came. Tires screaming across the pavement.

The mother looked out the window. The red ball bounced in the street. She ran outside. The girl lay in the road, still.

That night, the father sat in the living room. The sun was going down. Shadows stretched across the floor as he lost his temper and blamed her; the gate had been left open.

Hours passed. The house was silent. He realized she had not come out of her prayer closet.

They found her there. Emergency crews cut her down from the hanger rack.

The apron was still knotted tight around her throat.

Governor Joe Lombardo has taken a moment from the rigors of governance to enlighten law enforcement on immigration enforcement.

“My advice to Nevada sheriffs and chiefs is, those sheriffs are autonomous, they’re elected officials, but I would recommend they use a similar policy as Las Vegas Metro,” declared Lombardo, exhibiting a deference to independence while nudging the flock toward his past practices.

Now, the curious reader might inquire, what precisely is that policy?

It appears that Nevada’s law enforcement, including the esteemed Las Vegas Metropolitan Police Department, has opted not to involve itself with the federal government’s immigration escapades unless the individual in question is both undocumented and of a particularly violent inclination. In such cases, Metro notifies Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) at the time of booking and release. The federal authorities must then retrieve the individual with a warrant in hand.

However, the efficiency of such arrangements is questionable, as both Lombardo and current LVMPD Sheriff Kevin McMahill have noted that ICE, though duly notified, only collects a fraction of the uninvited guests. Perhaps the agency, like a cat presented with too many mice, is overwhelmed by the abundance.

Lombardo points out the distinction between state law and federal law—a delineation that often proves inconvenient to governance. While under his watch at Metro, the department maintained a partnership with ICE in the jail, which met its demise in 2019 following a court ruling about booking records.

Meanwhile, Democratic Nevada Attorney General Aaron Ford has presented guidance, instructing state agencies, courts, and schools to concern themselves primarily with state law and to refrain from performing the federal government’s chores free of charge. These recommendations, however, come with the remarkable condition that they are entirely optional, thus rendering them an elegant exercise in suggestion rather than statute.

“You remove the worst of the worst,” Lombardo remarked of Metro’s approach, an assurance meant to soothe the nerves of the law-abiding citizen.

Yet, he acknowledges that policing, much like any other endeavor, is constrained by means and resources. Being far from the Rio Grande, Nevada does not bear the title of a border state, though Lombardo stands at the ready should President Trump deem it necessary to send the Nevada National Guard southward to lend a hand.

“I totally respect and I support what Donald Trump is trying to do in the immigration space,” the governor stated, leaving no doubt where his sympathies lie.

Should Trump come calling, Lombardo stands prepared to answer—noting that federal efforts in Nevada are sorely lacking in resources and personnel. Lombardo seems particularly resolute on his intention to veto any legislative mischief aimed at curtailing federal immigration enforcement in schools or churches, those bastions of learning and worship that, in the eyes of some, ought to remain untangled from the machinations of border control.

As for the broader efforts of ICE, the Department of Homeland Security proudly proclaimed that in the first 50 days of the administration, nearly 33,000 undocumented individuals found themselves apprehended—three-quarters of whom bore accusations or convictions of crime. However, should one be so bold as to inquire how many such arrests transpired in Nevada, the department, much like a seasoned politician, proves less forthcoming.

And so, the matter of immigration enforcement in Nevada continues, an affair guided by policy, politics, and the occasional gubernatorial pronouncement—each carrying the weight of authority and the flourish of opinion–as is tradition in the great American pastime of governance.

And a Helping Hand for the Blind

Senate Republican Whip Lisa Krasner, armed with the conviction of a missionary and the determination of a Missouri mule, has set forth a pair of education bills that aim to patch up some of the holes in Nevada’s schoolhouse roof.

The first, Senate Bill 272, takes dead aim at a rule that presently leaves students twiddling their thumbs for 180 days after transferring schools, barring them from playing sports or joining extracurricular activities as if they had committed some grave offense. Krasner’s proposal would let students skip that purgatory if they can show they transferred due to emotional distress—a term broad enough to cover everything from genuine hardship to the peculiar torments of adolescence.

The bill also throws a lifeline to the children of military families, ensuring they don’t lose precious time on the field or stage simply because Uncle Sam decided to shuffle their parents elsewhere.

“Every student deserves a fair chance,” said Krasner, picturing forlorn teenagers sidelined from glory. “This bill ensures that no student is left behind due to circumstances outside of their control.”

Meanwhile, Senate Bill 357 takes up the cause of students with visual impairments, mandating that the State Board of Education lay down clear standards for teaching Braille and providing assistive technology. In plain terms, she wants students to have more to rely on than good intentions and crossed fingers.

“Education should be accessible to every student,” Krasner declared, as if anyone in polite company might dare to disagree.

Whether these bills will sail smoothly through the legislative waters or sink beneath the weight of political wrangling remains to be seen. But for now, Senator Krasner has thrown down the gauntlet, and the matter rests with those august lawmakers who will decide whether Nevada’s students deserve a fair shake—or just more of the same.