Con Law (38 page)

Book crawled through the chaos then got to his feet and ran low to the ground and into the desert. He scrambled up the rise; on the other side, he stopped and called out to Carla. A voice answered, but not her voice. A male voice.

‘Hey, Professor.’

Two figures walked out of the darkness and into the light provided by the wildfire. One was Carla; the other was—

‘
Jimmy John?
’

He wore a red jumpsuit and carried an assault rifle over his shoulder.

‘What the hell are you doing out here?’

‘Shooting a few Mexicans.’ He chuckled. ‘I spotted your truck outside the well site, figured you two were gonna get yourself in a mess of trouble, so I followed you. But why’d you follow the tankers?’

‘To get it on tape,’ Carla said. ‘So we can shut Billy Bob down.’

‘Let’s get out of here,’ Book said. ‘Before that fire reaches us.’

‘So Billy Bob’s
contaminating the groundwater with the frack fluid?’ Jimmy John asked. ‘That’s what those papers proved?’

‘No.’

‘Then what?’

‘He’s dumping the flow-back out here in the desert,’ Carla said. ‘To cut costs. That’s illegal. It’ll flow into the Conchos, then the Rio Grande. We can put Billy Bob in prison and shut down his frack wells.’

‘She right, Professor?’

‘Yes.’

Jimmy John sighed then pulled the rifle off his shoulder and pointed it at Book.

‘I’m sorry, Professor, but I can’t let that happen.’

‘Is he pointing the weapon at them?’ Dwight said.

‘Looks that way,’ Lance said.

‘For Christ’s sake. He rescued them, now he’s taken them hostage? What the fuck is going on?’

‘Welcome to Mexico.’

‘You ran Nathan off the road,’ Book said.

‘I wasn’t trying to kill him. I was trying to get him to pull over, so I could talk some sense into him. He was gonna take his proof to the media, like that queer Kenni with an “i” wanted him to. Kenni got him into that queer stuff, thinking he could be an artist, live in New York, smoking dope. Got him thinking like the ChiNazis. Turned him against fracking. Against us. Against me. Like he didn’t care about us no more. Like he found better friends. He knew going public would’ve cost me my job. I begged him, Professor. But he didn’t care.’

‘Nathan died for your job?’

‘You ever
not had a job, Professor? You ever go to the store and have to count your pennies to see if you can buy food? You ever live in a dump trailer on the Mexican side of town? You ever look in the mirror every morning and see a loser? Well, I have. Most of my life. But not since I got a job. You shut down fracking, I lose my job. I can’t go back to that life, Professor. A life without a job.’

Jimmy John swiped a sleeve across his nose. It was bleeding.

‘You drive a big black pickup. You ran us off the road.’

‘You wouldn’t go home and mind your own goddamn business.’

‘You hurt Nadine.’

‘Well, what the hell were you doing, putting her on the back of that Harley? That ain’t responsible.’ He paused. ‘Did she ask about me?’

Carla pointed south. ‘The wildfire, it’s closer.’

‘What are you going to do, Jimmy John? Kill us, then go back and ask Nadine out?’

‘Well … not right away.’

‘You figure the sheriff will blame it on the Mexicans?’

Jimmy John pulled a baggie out of his back pocket and tossed it on the ground.

‘Mexican black tar heroin. Drug deal gone bad. It happens. I’m sorry, Professor. I like you. Not so much Carla, but you’re a good guy, came out here for Nathan just ’cause he was your student back then. I wish it didn’t have to end this way.’

‘Jimmy John, the sheriff will figure this out.’

‘We’re in Mexico, Professor. Two more dead bodies don’t mean nothin’ this side of the river.’

An explosion south of their location sent a fireball into the sky. Jimmy John flinched and glanced that way. Book grabbed Carla, and they ran a few steps into the dark desert then dove into the brush. Bullets zipped through the air over their heads.

‘Nowhere to go, Professor. Only coyotes and wolves out there, and they’ll eat you both for breakfast.’

Book picked up a rock and threw it at Jimmy John. He twirled and fired but missed.

‘Give it up, Jimmy John.’

Book peppered Jimmy John with more rocks.

‘I pitched in high
school.’

He hit him in his back, his leg, and his face. Jimmy John clamped a hand against his head.

‘You got a headache? You want an Advil?’

‘You’re pissing me off, Professor.’

Screams sounded from the other side of the rise where the sky burned bright orange.

‘The wildfire!’ Carla said.

More explosions sent more fireballs into the sky.

‘The fire’s reached the tanker trucks,’ Book said.

‘We’ve got to get out of here, make a run for the truck,’ Carla said. ‘The wind’s pushing that fire our way, fast.’

Book threw another rock to the east of Jimmy John—he spun that way—then ran to the west; Book attacked Jimmy John from his rear. Jimmy John heard his footsteps and swung the rifle around, but Book launched himself feet first and struck Jimmy John before he could fire. The rifle went flying, and they went sprawling into the dirt. Book jumped to his feet; Jimmy John did not. He lay in a heap. Then he started crying. Sobbing uncontrollably. After a moment, he pushed himself up; his nose was bleeding. He grabbed his head with both hands.

‘Come on, Jimmy John! We’ve got to outrun the fire!’

‘I can’t go back to that life. No job and nobody.’

‘You want to burn to death?’

Book helped Jimmy John to his feet.

‘Come on!’ Book yelled.

‘I’m sorry, Professor.’

Jimmy John Dale turned and ran up the rise toward the fire. Just as he crested the rise, the flames came over and engulfed him. He fell down the other side.

‘Jesus!’ Dwight Ford yelled at the video screen. ‘He ran into the fire!’

‘They better get out of there!’ Lance said.

The Predator’s camera caught the flames
of the wildfire as it engulfed the tanker trucks and set them afire, causing several to explode in fireballs. Cartel men tried to outrun the flames but failed.

‘Wind’s blowing at forty-three knots,’ Lance said. ‘I’m having a hell of a time controlling this bird.’

The flames ran across the desert toward the two figures.

‘Run!’

Book grabbed Carla’s arm; they sprinted to the truck. He jumped into the driver’s seat and she into the passenger’s. He fired up the engine, shifted into gear, and floored the accelerator. They sped down the dirt road. He saw the flames in the outside rearview; the fire was chasing them to the border.

‘Follow them,’ Dwight said.

The Predator’s camera followed the pickup racing north to the river, fishtailing around curves but staying on the road. The camera panned north to the river.

‘Look,’ Lance said. ‘That’s a Border Patrol SUV.’

On the north side of the river was a large vehicle. Two men stood facing south.

‘Thank God,’ Dwight said. ‘Those are the good guys. My guys.’

Border Patrol Agent Wesley Crum peered through the night-vision binoculars into Mexico.

‘Man, look at that fucking wildfire. And explosions. I’m telling you, Angel, something big is going down in the desert. Let’s call in the Predator.’

‘Can’t. It’s over Nuevo Laredo.’

‘How do you know?’

‘Daily ops bulletin.’

‘Then let’s call in the cavalry, set a trap for those tanker trucks when they come
back to this side.’

Wesley spotted something.

‘Look! One of the pickup trucks is coming back. I think it’s Carla and the professor.’

Angel sighed. ‘I’m sorry, Wesley.’

His partner still had the binoculars pressed against his eyes.

‘For what?’

‘This.’

Angel reached down to his ankle, pulled up his trouser leg, and retrieved his backup weapon. He stuck the barrel to his partner’s head and pulled the trigger.

‘Fuck!’ Dwight yelled. ‘He just shot him! One of the good guys shot the other good guy! What the hell is going on?’

The shooter flung the weapon far downriver then took the dead agent’s binoculars and put them to his face. Then he put something to his ear. A phone.

Billy Bob Barnett inhaled the line of white powder then leaned back in his leather chair and waited for the drug to take effect. To take his mind off the pressures that threatened to push him over the edge.

He had always lived life on the edge.

And if a man lived in Texas and wanted to live life on the edge, he played the oil and gas game. He wildcatted. He punched holes in the earth. He hoped he hit oil or gas or both. When that drill bit is digging deep and nearing the producing zone—what you
prayed
would be the producing zone—man, your heart is pounding and your adrenaline is pumping and your nerves are firing and you’ve never been so alive. If your geology and your hunch play out, life is good. And you are rich. If not …

The thrill of victory or the agony of defeat.

He had enjoyed many thrills and a few defeats. But no defeat like this one. His frack wells had hit
gas, a mother lode of gas; but so had everyone else’s. Consequently, the market had glutted and natural gas prices had plummeted. As had Billy Bob’s emotions. He now wallowed in the depths of depression. And as each time before, he had turned to drugs for respite and relief. Marijuana in college, cocaine in business. It was a daily dose now.

First, the glut of gas. Then, the plunge in prices. Followed by the collapse of the stock value. And the pressure—the constant, pounding pressure—from the analysts, the board, the shareholders … and then his own lawyer. Nathan Jones had learned the truth and had threatened to go public with company documents. That would have been the end of Billy Bob Barnett.

The cartel had taken care of Wade Chandler. He would take care of Nathan Jones. But a car wreck did it for him. A stroke of luck. A sign that his luck was changing. He would hold out for the futures market to move back up, as it surely would. Drill more, frack more, stockpile more gas for the inevitable rise in prices. He was saved. Until a law professor rode into town on a Harley.

His cell phone rang.

Angel waited for Billy Bob Barnett to answer. When he did, Angel said, ‘They’re coming, the professor and Carla. What do you want me to do?’

‘Don’t let them back on this side of the river. It’s like Vegas, Angel. What happens in Mexico stays in Mexico.’

‘You’re the boss.’

Angel disconnected, replaced his cell phone, and returned to the vehicle. He got the AR-15, snapped in a full clip, and grabbed the night-vision goggles. He walked across the dry Rio Grande and waited for the professor and Carla to arrive. And arrive they would. There was no place for them to go but north to the river. The wall of fire would chase them right into his kill zone. All he
had to do was wait.

*   *   *

Dwight could see the pickup truck speeding directly at the Border Patrol agent.

‘He’s gonna kill those two people in the pickup truck,’ Lance said.

‘I know.’

A Border Patrol agent had gone over to the dark side. It wasn’t the first time, or even the thousandth time. There was just too much easy money to be made. Look the other way and collect a million bucks. That was bad enough. But killing a fellow agent, that crossed a law enforcement line that no officer can cross. Ever.

The agent Dwight was now staring at on the video screen had to die.

He had to die that night.

On that river.

Before he killed those two people.

While there was still time to control the story.

But who could he call? Other Border Patrol agents would be in Presidio County, maybe near enough to arrive in time, but what if they had been corrupted, too? He needed a law enforcer in Presidio County who was incapable of being corrupted.

He grabbed a
phone and dialed.

Sheriff Brady Munn had the Presidio County SUV running eighty miles an hour with the lights flashing but no siren on Highway 67 just north of Presidio when his cell phone rang. Better not be Shirley telling him she was seeing the Marfa Mystery Lights. He answered.

‘Sheriff Munn?’

‘Yep.’

‘This is Air Interdiction Agent Dwight Ford, at the Predator Ops center in Corpus Christi.’

The Predator boys must’ve spotted some Mexicans coming across the river.

‘Agent, I don’t have time to chase wets for you—’

‘Sheriff, I’m sorry to wake you up but—’

‘I’m already awake. I’m hauling ass to the border. We got something strange going on—’

‘With tanker trucks?’

‘How’d you know?’

‘We’ve been tracking them with the Predator. They drove into Mexico and dumped some kind of liquid.’

‘Frack
fluid.’

‘Frack? Like from gas wells?’

‘Yeah. Like from gas wells.’

‘Anyway, there was a shootout. We’re following two individuals, a male and a female—’

‘The professor and Carla.’

‘You know them?’

‘If that’s them, I know them.’

‘Well, they’re heading north now.’

‘Good.’

‘Not so good. We got a man on this side of the river, Border Patrol agent.’

‘And?’

‘He’s rogue. Just killed his partner. Gotta be on the cartel payroll.’

‘Who?’

‘Can’t tell.’

‘Where?’

‘West on FM One-seventy, just past where the Conchos joins up. A Border Patrol SUV is parked on the river road. Can’t miss it.’

Dwight paused.

‘He’s gonna kill those two people, unless you stop him. Sheriff, they need your help.’

Angel Acosta stepped onto Mexican soil. For the last two years, he had been on the cartel’s payroll; all he had to do was turn a blind eye to drug shipments coming north. But while profitable, the job carried significant personal risk. So he had approached Billy Bob Barnett about employment in the oil and gas business; Aggies helped Aggies. Billy Bob had a job for him, but it required that he continue his employment with the Border Patrol. Billy Bob had made an arrangement with his trucking company, which had close ties to the cartel, to dump his frack fluid in the desert; but, there was always the risk of
a Border Patrol agent spotting the caravan and getting curious. So Angel’s job was to make sure no one was watching Highway 67 when the tanker trucks made their run into the desert. To evade the Predator’s ‘eyes in the sky,’ he called in bogus tips of drug deals going down, way downriver, as he had that night. So he would collect two paychecks for that night’s work, one from the cartel and one from Billy Bob. What federal employees call ‘double dipping.’