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There is a peculiar and rather persistent belief among a class of men that banks exist as charitable institutions designed to distribute money to those with the gall to take it. One such gentleman, Mr. Sterlyn Lee Smith Jr., has lately found this assumption sorely tested and ultimately refuted by the United States District Court.

Mr. Smith, aged 49, evidently unwilling to earn an honest living in those years, devised a scheme that was neither particularly novel nor excessively clever but did have the singular quality of lasting nearly six years before meeting its inevitable conclusion. The plan was simple enough: he and his associates would purchase money orders at post offices in California and Nevada, tamper with them until they bore an amount far exceeding their original modest sum, and then deposit these dubious instruments into bank accounts opened in the names of unwitting or willing accomplices. Having thus introduced fiction into the world of finance, they would promptly withdraw the ill-gotten gains before the banks could discern that their deposits were more ink than integrity.

The grand deception, conducted between July 2013 and February 2019, saw Mr. Smith and his compatriots attempt to deposit no fewer than 1,200 forged money orders, amounting to over $1.2 million. Unfortunately for Mr. Smith, the resilience of his scheme was not matched by its wisdom, and he found himself convicted on two counts of bank fraud—one for each financial institution he so boldly insulted.

For his trouble, he has been awarded a five-year sojourn in federal accommodations, where he will have ample time to reflect upon the finer points of banking that he so grievously misunderstood. Additionally, he is now indebted with $432,482.63 in restitution, which he will no doubt find hard to come by now that his days of conjuring money from thin air have come to an unceremonious end.

Upon his release, he will have three years of supervised freedom, a condition, considering his past ambitions, may feel as restrictive as his current confinement.

Mr. Timothy Dean Johnson, a man of remarkable persistence in the art of poor decision-making, has once again found himself acquainted with the hospitality of the Lyon County Jail. Deputies of the Lyon County Sheriff’s Office were summoned on February 19 to rid some local establishment of an unwanted visitor, only to discover that the gentleman in question was none other than Johnson himself, a man with an outstanding misdemeanor warrant and, as fate would have it, an even greater reluctance to comply with the laws of the land.

Upon realizing that the deputies intended to interrupt his evening with a pair of bracelets and an invitation to the county lockup, Johnson responded in a manner both predictable and inadvisable—by resisting arrest and battering one of the fine officers attempting to detain him. As history has repeatedly demonstrated, the strategy did little to improve his situation.

Once subdued and securely in custody, Johnson’s luck took another unfortunate turn when a deputy with the Sheriff’s Office Sex Offender Task Force recognized him as a man who ought to have made a formal introduction to the authorities upon his return to Lyon County but had failed to do so. With his list of infractions now considerably lengthened, Johnson found prompt booking on multiple charges, including failure to register as a sex offender, resisting arrest, and battery on a peace officer.

While one might admire Johnson’s commitment to his chosen path, it is evident that his particular brand of resistance has proven about as effective as windshield wipers inside a car.

The kitchen smelled of onions and garlic, the air thick with steam from the boiling pot. The young man sat at the table, his jungle boots scuffing against the worn linoleum.

He tapped a cigarette from the pack, lit it, and let the smoke drift toward the ceiling. His mother stood at the stove, stirring, her back to him.

“You ought to let him have some vino at dinner,” he said.

She didn’t turn. “No.”

“It ain’t good for him,” she added after a moment.

He exhaled, watching the smoke curl. “Christ, Ma. He’s withering away. What’s it gonna hurt?”

She spun to face him. “It ain’t about hurtin’ or helpin’. It’s about what’s right.”

The son shook his head, flicking ash into an empty saucer. “Since when? Since when was it wrong for Pop to drink? He’s always had his wine, even when I was a kid. Hell, he’d pour me a little when you weren’t lookin’.”

Her jaw tightened. “That was then. This is now.”

“That’s no answer.”

“It’s the only one you’re gettin’,” she snapped. “Now shut up about it.”

He crushed the cigarette against the saucer, the ember hissing as it died. He got up and poured himself coffee.

The bitterness tasted like something old and broken in his mouth. He set the cup down hard and turned for the back room.

The man lay on the narrow bed, thin beneath the blankets. He breathed slowly, the rasp of it filling the quiet.

The son crouched beside him. “You want me to bring you something, Pop? A little wine?”

The man’s eyes opened, pale and faded. He shook his head. “No. Let it go. This way, it comes quicker.”

The son stared at him for a long moment. Then he stood and went back to the kitchen.

His mother was watching the doorway, waiting. “And?”

He pulled out the chair and sat, picking up his coffee. It had gone cold.

“He don’t want anything,” he said. “Said his death will come quicker this way.”

His mother turned back to the stove.

The kitchen was quiet except for the bubbling pot.

Dismantled by the Spoilsports of Law

Where there’s a road, there’s a rascal, and where there’s money, there’s a man eager to collect it by means otherwise. Such was the case of two enterprising gentlemen from Guatemala, whose industry in the field of human transportation was regrettably brought to an untimely halt last Friday by the meddlesome hands of federal agents.

These distinguished individuals—one Eduardo Domingo Renoj-Matul, known by the cheerful moniker of “Turko,” and his faithful assistant, Cristobal Mejia-Chaj—had, according to official allegations, dedicated no less than a dozen years to the noble art of human importation. Their operation, which authorities describe as “one of the largest human smuggling organizations in the United States,” is said to have arranged passage for a remarkable twenty thousand souls between 2019 and July of last year—an impressive number indeed.

Their labors, however, have not been without hazard, for federal agents have seen fit to charge them with crimes that, should they be convicted, their prospects range from a life behind bars to the somewhat less appealing alternative of the gallows or its modern equivalent.

U.S. Border Patrol Sector Chief Gregory K. Bovino, speaking in the solemn tones common to his profession, revealed that his officers first made their acquaintance with this smuggling concern in 2021, when agents from Indio Station noted an unusual flow of Guatemalans heading westward—an oddity, to be sure, for no man goes west to reach the east–unless led astray by mischief or money. Further inquiry, spurred on no doubt by the prospect of a fine feather in some bureaucrat’s cap, revealed a vast and industrious enterprise stretching from coast to coast.

To navigate such a route from California to Arizona or New Mexico, one must invariably pass through Nevada and the city of Las Vegas in particular—a town well-acquainted with affairs of dubious legality. Whether Messrs. Renoj-Matul and Mejia-Chaj took advantage of Nevada’s lively market in vice and villainy is unknown. One suspects the authorities may be rummaging through their files for a charge or two more to stack upon the heap.

The accusations against them are plentiful. The indictment tells of a “Wood House” in Los Angeles, where weary travelers found shelter after parting with the not-insignificant sum of fifteen to eighteen thousand dollars. As any man of business will understand, the sum merely covered the cost of entry, and further conveyance to the promised land of the east required additional negotiation.

Those whose purses proved inadequate to their ambition were detained in a manner reminiscent of debtors’ prison, pending payment from some obliging relation. One unfortunate mother, whose child had fallen into the clutches of this arrangement, was advised in no uncertain terms that failure to remit the necessary funds would result in the return of her offspring in a form most inconvenient for family reunions—namely, a wooden box.

Accomplices in this enterprising scheme included one Jose Paxtor-Oxlaj, known in professional circles as “Vale Viente,” who is presently in an Oklahoma jail owing to a minor miscalculation in velocity that resulted in the untimely demise of seven passengers. Another worthy, Helmer Obispo-Hernandez—alias “Xabi,” because no scoundrel is complete without a nom de guerre—remains at liberty, perhaps owing to his alleged enthusiasm for the old-fashioned art of decapitation, a talent he reportedly threatened to demonstrate upon an officer of Homeland Security and his kin.

Chief Bovino, taking a well-earned victory lap, declared with evident satisfaction that the entire operation had been “destroyed and dismantled” from top to bottom. He further offered a philosophical reflection on the nature of border security, assuring the public that such things “do not just happen” but require innovation, forward-thinking, and “moving the ball down the field.”

A sporting metaphor, perhaps, but one suspects that for the gentlemen at the heart of this matter, it’s game over.

SILETZ, Ore. — The search for 2-year-old Dane Paulsen, who went missing from his home near milepost 21 on Highway 229, north of Siletz, has continued into Monday with increasing efforts from law enforcement and community volunteers.

Dane was last seen on March 1 playing in his front yard. He wore a grey fuzzy hoodie with ears, blue and white shoes, and black pants. Authorities described him as “friendly and fearless,” comfortable around strangers and water, though he cannot swim.

Since his disappearance, the Lincoln County Sheriff’s Office has coordinated extensive ground, water, and air searches. Witnesses saw a vehicle and an unidentified adult male near a bridge close to Dane’s home roughly 30 minutes before he vanished. After locating the car and its occupant, an investigation cleared the man.

During a press conference on March 2, authorities explained their decision not to issue an Amber Alert, stating that the case did not meet the necessary criteria. For an Amber Alert to be activated, law enforcement must have reasonable belief that an abduction has occurred.

The missing child must be under the age of 18 and believed to be in imminent danger of serious bodily harm or death. Additionally, there must be enough descriptive information about the child, the abductor, or any involved vehicle for law enforcement to issue an alert that could assist in the recovery of the child.

The child’s information needs to be input into the National Crime Information Center (NCIC) database. Officials emphasized that while Dane’s case is urgent, it does not fit the criteria for an Amber Alert, as there is no evidence suggesting an abduction.

Despite this, search teams have aggressively pursued all possible leads, with support from the Lincoln County Major Crime Team and the FBI. As of Sunday, March 2, authorities reported 382 acres and 283 miles searched using 88 certified search and rescue members, four watercraft, four divers, four drones, six human-trailing K9s, 40 investigators, and 138 community volunteers.

Searchers are focusing efforts between the steel bridge and Huhtala Road, with officials urging community members not to enter the primary search area to avoid interfering with operations. Volunteers are instead encouraged to gather at the Elks Toketee Illahee campground, where the park host will coordinate search efforts.

Jess Palma, executive assistant for the Lincoln County Sheriff’s Office, stated that overnight volunteer searches are discouraged due to safety concerns and limited visibility. While there is currently no evidence of foul play, the FBI’s Victim Services Division has been assisting the family.

Authorities urge anyone with information to call the tip line at 541-265-0669. A GoFundMe campaign has been created to support search efforts.

Here Today, Gone Tomorrow

There is nothing quite so dependable as the undependability of a rogue government agency, and few know this better today than the folks at Catholic Charities and the Northern Nevada International Center (NNIC). Having thrown in their lot with USAID—the famed arm of Washington’s generosity—both organizations now find themselves staring at an empty till.

Late Wednesday night, a funding freeze rolled across the land like a federal decree from on high, halting refugee resettlement programs nationwide. Catholic Charities, quick to assure folks they weren’t getting shuttered, stated that the Northern Nevada chapter would remain unaffected as it does not directly rely on USAID’s resettlement dollars.

Whether this was foresight or mere luck, we may never know.

NNIC, however, is learning firsthand what happens when one builds their house on government sand. Executive Director Carina Black now finds herself in the unenviable position of explaining to her clients that, while they were most welcome yesterday, today’s hospitality is contingent upon whether USAID remembers to pay its tab.

“We are telling our clients that we don’t know how much longer we can support them,” she said, another way of admitting that faith in Washington is a riskier gamble than a hand of faro at a saloon.

For now, NNIC will survive on whatever funds they managed to stash away before Uncle Sam yanked the purse strings. They will support their current clients for a few months longer but have locked the doors to new arrivals, waiting to see whether the great hand of federal mercy will again reach into its deep pockets.

It’s the natural result of tying fortunes to a group like USAID, which has long operated with all the reliability of a traveling medicine show or at least working against American interests.

It is an old and well-established truth that no good ever comes from a man loitering outside a saloon with a pocket full of special powders. The wisdom, however, appears to have eluded one Dallas Weaver of Grass Valley, Calif., who, on the evening of March 2, found hi

sself the object of great interest to the Storey County Sheriff’s Office.

At approximately 5:45 p.m., the peace of Virginia City was disturbed by reports of a suspicious automobile and a band of enterprising gentlemen peddling their dubious wares to the thirsty patrons of several C Street establishments. Upon arrival, deputies encountered three adult males, including the aforementioned Mr. Weaver, who had no less than 43 grams of psilocybin mushrooms and 13 grams of methamphetamine. One presumes this was not for personal botanical study as further investigation into Mr. Weaver’s vehicle revealed a veritable traveling apothecary of illegal substances, complete with the necessary tools of the trade.

Unimpressed with his entrepreneurial spirit, deputies promptly escorted him to the Storey County Detention Facility, where he now faces an impressive list of charges. These include unlawful possession for sale of flunitrazepam and gamma-hydroxybutyrate—compounds best known for their appearances in crime reports rather than chemistry textbooks—as well as possession of a schedule I or II controlled substance in varying quantities. His bail is the handsome sum of $50,250, which, given his chosen profession, he may or may not have the means to pay.

Thus ends the misadventure of Mr. Weaver, who, had he stuck to the traditional saloon pastimes of whiskey and questionable storytelling, might have avoided the inconvenience of legal entanglements. Instead, he has joined the long and colorful history of men who came to Virginia City seeking fortune and found themselves at the mercy of the law.

And Other Curious Notions

The Nevada Legislature, ever eager to find new ways to spend time and money, has turned its attention to one of the great crises of our era—license plates that are not yet digital. Assemblyman Howard Watts, a man of vision and a great believer in the march of progress, has offered Assembly Bill 296, allowing the Department of Motor Vehicles to embrace the wonders of modernity by accepting digital license plates from an approved vendor.

One can only imagine the untold suffering this bill seeks to remedy—perhaps thousands of Nevadans lying awake at night, tormented by the knowledge that their plates remain stubbornly analog.

But fear not, for relief is on the way. Not only will digital plates become a reality, but they shall also have the power to replicate designs and prestige plates, ensuring that one’s vanity remains intact in the digital age. These plates will also be able to display Amber Alerts and other messages approved by the DMV. However, one can’t help but worry about what might come next—a future where cars inform everyone about road conditions and the latest bureaucratic bunglings from Carson City.

Ever the great experimenter, California has already adopted digital plates, and Nevada, not to be outdone, shall soon follow suit. To add an extra layer of innovation, AB296 will also establish a pilot program to gather data on vehicle mileage, thus ensuring that no wheel turns without proper documentation. By 2026, the good people of Nevada will be under the watchful eye of progress, their odometers no longer private matters between man and machine.

Of course, the Legislature has not stopped at reinventing the license plate. Other noble efforts are afoot. Senate Bill 234, for instance, seeks to expand emergency Medicaid coverage for those who have entered the country through unconventional means. This bill, a labor of seven dedicated Democratic lawmakers, will provide for emergency transport, hospital care, and other treatments—though elective surgery, therapy, and other non-urgent matters shall remain in the domain of those who have navigated the system with paperwork in hand.

Not content to stop there, Assembly Bill 294 takes up the pressing issue of age verification online. Websites harboring material deemed harmful to minors must now implement systems to keep the young and impressionable at bay, with a hefty $10,000 fine awaiting those who fail in this moral duty. The measure enjoys bipartisan support, proving that if there is one thing upon which both parties can agree, the internet must be tamed—preferably with fines and lawsuits.

Thus, the Nevada Legislature marches forward, ever determined to regulate work fine and ensure that no citizen, young or old, escapes the ever-expanding reach of governance. What new wonders shall emerge from their deliberations? Only time will tell, but rest assured, the age of the digital license plate is upon us, and the world will never be the same.

When a man has a dollar in his pocket, a politician is somewhere nearby scheming how to spend it. And if that man lives in Nevada, he will soon find that not only is his dollar spoken for, but his vote must now travel through a freshly minted labyrinth, designed not so much to improve the system as to complicate it to the satisfaction of Democratic lawmakers.

Such is the case with AB 306, a legislative marvel brought forth by Assembly Speaker Steve Yeager and Senate Majority Leader Nicole Cannizzaro, who have determined that the citizens of Nevada are in desperate need of additional mail ballot drop boxes during the mysterious three-day chasm between early voting and Election Day. That a man might have survived all his previous years without such convenience is of no consequence—lawmakers are here to remedy an affliction they have just discovered.

The bill demands no fewer than ten new drop boxes for Clark County–home of Las Vegas, where votes vanish faster than a rabbit in a magician’s hat and five for Washoe County, where Reno resides, clinging to its lost dignity. These boxes shall remain open seven hours a day on the Saturday, Sunday, and Monday before Election Day, presumably so that ballots may wander in at their leisure, unburdened by the constraints of traditional voting hours.

Now, one might reasonably ask: if vote centers already serve as mail ballot drop-off locations, why must we tinker further? The answer, of course, is as plain as a mule’s ears—because there exists a three-day stretch where these locations are closed.

It might seem a natural consequence of an orderly election process to the average citizen. But in the inventive mind of a lawmaker, it is an insurmountable crisis requiring immediate legislative intervention.

Thus, with the noble spirit of those who fix what ain’t broke while leaving the broken untouched, the state of Nevada marches forth into another grand electoral experiment, ensuring that no ballot shall suffer the indignity of waiting its turn. And, in the grand tradition of political progress, taxpayers can rest easy knowing that their hard-earned dollars are hard at work—whether they asked for it or not.

Saturday’s contest between the Virginia City Muckers and the Portola Tigers was a showdown neither team could claim for their own. A deadlock at 10 apiece left both squads shaking hands with unfinished business.

Virginia City, now sitting at 1-0-1, will take their bats and gloves on the road next Saturday to square off against a non-varsity opponent at 11:00 a.m. Not one for sitting idle, Portola promptly dusted Hug with an 18-1 trouncing on the 1st, wasting no time getting back on the winning track.

Meanwhile, Fernley kept its unblemished record intact with a 5-1 victory over Palo Verde Valley on Friday. Emma Masters manned the mound for all six innings, scattering five hits and allowing just one earned run while ringing up six batters. It was her stingiest outing since April 2024.

Lauren Smith made her mark at the plate, tallying two runs on three hits—a career-best performance. Sara Moffett chipped in with a triple and an RBI, proving Fernley’s lineup is a threat from top to bottom.

Swinging the bat like they had something to prove, the Vaqueros notched a .429 average, keeping alive a season-long streak of batting above .353. Their triumph pushed them to 3-0, while Palo Verde Valley saw a six-game road win streak from last season’s end, dropping them to 3-1.

But both teams kept moving: Fernley took a narrow 6-5 loss to Elko on the 28th, while Palo Verde Valley bounced back with a 2-0 win over Needles.

Saturday’s action saw Fernley lace up their cleats again, and once more, they made their presence known, toppling Boulder City 7-2. Joslyn Wadsworth stood tall in the circle, working five innings without allowing an earned run while fanning six batters—a new personal best. Taylor Tollestrup’s bat was on fire, delivering a flawless 3-for-3 performance, swiping a base and crossing the plate twice.

The win lifted Fernley to 4-1, while Boulder City’s struggles continued, extending their losing streak to five games and dropping them to 0-4. Fernley now sets its sights on a Saturday morning home matchup against Sparks, whose hitters will need all the luck they can muster against a Vaqueros pitching staff allowing just 2.4 runs per game. Boulder City, meanwhile, will try to turn the tide against Democracy Prep Agassi Campus on Friday afternoon.

For Churchill County, Saturday brought little joy and plenty of frustration as they were dismantled 18-0 by the Davis Sr. Blue Devils. The loss ended the Greenwave’s impressive 12-game winning streak.

Now 2-1, Churchill County looks to right the ship when they visit River City for a 12:15 p.m. contest on Saturday. Davis Sr., riding a hot streak of five wins in their last six outings, improves to 6-2 and will take on Lincoln in a tournament showdown—just in time to capitalize on Lincoln’s ongoing four-game skid.

Softball never lacks drama, and as the season barrels forward, these squads will have plenty more chances to stake their claim on victory.