by Joe Nobody
A few of the team expected an eruption from their new leader, but it didn’t happen. Instead, Ghost nodded and responded, “That is a fair question. Our purpose is to make people question Texas. To instill insecurity. If we were to travel across the border and detonate explosives under a bridge, that would only destroy one passageway out of thousands. Still, people would be scared. The authorities would have to dedicate money and resources to guard the other crossings. Flooding counterfeit money is even more effective. There is nothing Texas can do to defend its currency. We will instill fear, and there is little the authorities can do about it.”
The team seemed to accept Ghost’s explanation. Another asked, “What are you going to be doing while we spend the fake money?”
Smiling, Ghost said, “I’m going to be visiting the currency traders along the border after I purchase my first American car.”
Ordinarily, Zach would look forward to a weekend off. Far too often, being a law enforcement officer was a seven-day a week job. When an occasional break did occur, the ranger relished a wee bit of downtime.
Recovering from Major Putnam’s ass chewing, the ranger decided to make the best of his forced leave. After departing the commander’s office, Zach shook his head as if to clear the verbal tongue-lashing. Deciding it was best to switch gears, he turned to Sam and announced, “I don’t know about you, but I could use a cup of fresh java to nurse these wounds.”
“I’ve got to make a phone call first,” Sam replied, her mood not much better than his. “I’ll meet you down the street in the coffee shop.”
Zach’s next move was to contact Cheyenne.
His outlook improved when she confirmed that Saturday was indeed free. At least the involuntary vacation would offer a little R&R.
Finding his partner already seated in the coffeehouse, Ranger Bass took a seat while smiling and nodding at the waitress. “Thank God it’s Friday, eh partner?”
“Normally, I’d agree wholeheartedly,” she responded wistfully. “But not this Friday. Not only is my boss’s boss infuriated with me, but I've got to put on a happy face and drive to Arkansas this weekend. It’s my dad’s birthday.”
“So?” Zach replied, not really understanding the dilemma. “You’re lucky to still have your folks. Enjoy them while you can. I’d expect that spending some time with your family would help at a time like this.”
“Easy for you to say. Ever since the secession, my old man has become a royal pain in the ass. He was always a political blowhard who bordered on the obnoxious. Now he’s unbearable, especially when it comes to Texas.”
Zach nodded, getting the picture. “Let me guess. He’s one of those conservative types who feels betrayed that the Republic up and left the union rather than stay and fight to make it all better – right?”
“Yup. That about sums it up. Now he feels forsaken and hates all things associated with Texas. He insists we’ve ruined the United States, and both countries are on the fast road to hell.”
The server appeared next to their booth, two cups in her hand. Both rangers automatically fell silent until she had finished and left.
A completely downhearted Ranger Temple continued, “All that wouldn’t be so bad except that my mom and brothers agree with him somewhat. I’m now officially the black sheep of the family, the outlier who moved to Texas – and then had the nerve to stay after the secession. I’m a traitor. A lowlife. A coward who ran rather than hang in there for the good fight.” The officer stirred her tea to cool the temperature a bit, inhaling the aroma from the freshly brewed leaves in an effort to soothe her spirit. “Maybe Major Putnam should have fired me today.”
Sipping his mug of steaming brew, Zach decided to let Sam get it all out. It was about the only therapy he knew to offer.
During her soliloquy, the ranger wondered how many of his fellow Texans suffered similar strife within their families. The secession had been hyped as the best chance to make things better for everyone. Instead of the incessant, political infighting, right and left would each have a territory to govern. But so far, that system hadn’t worked.
From what he garnered, the governments in both Austin and Washington had been surprised by the fierce resistance mounted by the minority opposition that had yet to relocate… and perhaps never would.
In Austin, liberal politicians had filibustered, protested, campaigned, and pulled every dirty trick in the book to prevent Texas from being completely dominated by the right. From what news the lawman managed to catch, the fights in Austin were nothing compared to the battles taking place in Washington.
Texas claimed five large cities and a significant Latino population, two segments of the electorate routinely associated with the left. Before the secession, Houston, San Antonio, Austin, and El Paso all elected mayors who were proud members of the Democratic Party.
The capital city itself, a pre-secession benefactor of tremendous growth from an influx of a young, liberal-minded labor force, had become the state’s progressive stronghold.
After independence, those on the left formed a united front, bound and determined not to let conservatives have their way.
The reverse was true in Washington. Southern Republicans joined with their comrades from states like Wyoming, Oklahoma, and Montana to make President Clifton pay a high price for every inch of legislative ground gained.
The hope of ending the government gridlock had been a key justification for the secession. Just as so many promises made beforehand had, the separation actually made things worse.
The two camps blamed each other – officially from behind the podium, as well as over dinner tables from sea to shining sea. Obviously, Sam’s father was one of the more vocal in his beliefs.
“I just wish one of my brothers would take my side or at least stick up for me occasionally. I’m completely outnumbered, and it ruins the entire visit,” Sam continued, stirring the hot, jasmine blend.
“Then, don’t go.”
She smirked, “To be honest, I’ve thought about it. I was praying we’d still be working this case, and I’d have a legit excuse. I keep telling myself that dad will eventually cool off, and we can get back to being a family again.”
“I’m sorry, Sam. I wish there was some valuable advice I could offer. I grew up without my folks, so I’m hardly an expert,” Zach offered, trying to be supportive. It was a little difficult for him to relate.
Sam continued as if she hadn’t heard Zach’s words. “And then there’s the part about my private life. If my mother uses the phrase, ‘biological clock,’ one more time, I’m going to palm my iron and shoot somebody.”
Zach had never seen this side of his partner before. Sam was normally so in control, tough and down to business. She’s just like anyone else, he supposed. And family can be a pain in the ass.
The waitress appeared again, refilling cups and flashing Zach a flirting smile. The attention didn’t go unnoticed by Ranger Temple. “I think she wants in your pants, Zach,” she announced after they were alone again.
“They all do,” he teased with a dismissive eye roll. “Probably a holster hugger.”
Sam tried to chuckle and swallow a sip of tea at the same moment, the subsequent snort causing her to choke, her snicker swelling into an uncontrollable giggle. With friendly eyes, she tilted her head and responded, “Thanks. I needed a laugh.”
It was an odd moment for Zach. He found himself feeling a connection with the woman across from him, a bond that extended beyond one cop helping another. She had opened a private door, and that had required faith. It was a new layer of trust between them, and the tall ranger decided that he could get used to it.
Leaving a Texas greenback for the check and tip, the two law officers made for the parking lot.
“So what’s on the agenda today, Ranger Bass?” Sam asked, already knowing the answer.
“I’m going to head home. Cheyenne is supposed to come over tomorrow, and my place could probably use a good cleaning before that happens. Catching up on a l
ittle shuteye seems like a good idea, too. I highly recommend you do the same. I’ll call you Monday morning, and we can await Major Putnam’s wisdom together.”
As they ambled out to the pickup, Sam reacted as if something important had popped into her mind. “I’m sorry. I’m being so self-centered and rude. I’m glad you and Chey are giving it another try. Ya know… I really like her. By the way, do you two have special plans for the weekend?”
“Nothing fussy. I’m going to throw something on the grill. She said something about a movie.”
“Sounds like some quality time.”
Zach merely nodded, not sure why talking with Ranger Temple about his on again, off again romantic interest would make him so uncomfortable.
On his way to the border, Ghost decided to drop in for a little gambling himself. The cell members were on task, purchasing their second-hand rides to spread the forgeries throughout the region.
Some small voice in his head wanted to test the currency, see for himself how the casino dealers acted when he handed over the bills. With $10,000 in his pocket, he strolled with purpose into the first gambling hall.
The only game he knew how to play was craps, a skill learned the hard way on the floor of a Legionnaire barracks. It had taken nearly all of two paydays before he’d finally moved from easy mark to the proficiency of an average player.
The thick carpet and chorus of singing slot machines caused him pause for only a few moments. A cocktail waitress in a very skimpy outfit gestured toward the craps tables.
He was a little bit surprised at his heart rate as he reached for the first bill, choosing a low limit game and purchasing only $100 in chips.
Five rolls of the dice later, he cashed in another two fakes. In less than 10 minutes, that money had vanished into the table’s cash box, and his chips were gone.
With his apparent bad luck out of the way, the cell leader moved up a few notches, meandering toward a section of tables with higher limits. Here, he could spend more of the phony money without anyone noticing at all.
Purchasing $1,000 in chips, Ghost began betting on multiple options, playing long odds, and grumbling when the dice failed to produce a winner.
About halfway through his dwindling stack of colorful disks, a man he knew was called a “pit boss” strolled over and made eye contact. “Sir, are you staying at the hotel?” the man asked.
“No, sorry. I’m at a hotel downtown, close to my meetings. Is there a problem?”
“No. No, not at all,” the boss stated with a friendly smile. “I was going to offer you a rewards card if you were our guest.”
In less than an hour, Ghost had lost nearly $2500.
As he’d instructed his team, Ghost didn’t lose all of his chips. With a collection of several hundred dollars, he strode to the cashier’s cage and exchanged the casino’s currency for American dollars.
On the way to the lobby, he spied a row of gift shops, many offering expensive items in the storefronts, hoping to catch the eye of gamblers who had gotten lucky and were giddy with a profit in the pockets.
Entering a jewelry store, Ghost immediately stepped with purpose to a counter sporting a slim collection of Rolex watches. The clerk was more than helpful, allowing the Arab to try on several models.
As per the modus operandi, he didn’t choose the most expensive item with a price tag north of $20,000. That would draw attention. Instead, he selected a more modest option, counting out a mixture of American and Texan currency, some of which was real money.
“This is going to work,” he whispered, trekking to the parking garage and his late model SUV with temporary tags. “And I might just keep this nice, new watch as a spoil of war.”
He drove out of the city, keeping his speed reasonable, the border his final destination. There were six legal crossings from the U.S. into Texas, two of those via the wide, multi-lane, interstate highways that crisscrossed the former neighbors in statehood.
Around each, free enterprise had taken root, businesses popping up to serve travelers crossing from one country into the other.
Gas was cheap in Texas, so the number of stations in the Republic far exceeded the common demand. At the same time, cigarettes and other tobacco products were far less expensive in the U.S. The list of goods and services that could be easily exchanged by citizens of each nation was substantial.
Those living on the border... who were willing to invest the time required to pass through the checkpoints… could freely purchase goods on either side within certain limits.
Ghost wasn’t interested in unleaded gasoline or Marlboro Lights. Nor did he intend on crossing into the Lone Star Republic.
No, what drew the ISIS cell leader to the area were the currency exchanges.
Some were small, family-run affairs, often housed in hastily constructed buildings or storefronts. Others were franchises or chain stores, a few owned by the larger banks. They were typically secured inside of the gas stations, restaurants, or bank branches lining the first few exits on either side of the international boundary.
While the exchange rates weren’t as good, the grander, more established operations offered convenience and safety for their clients.
Ghost intended to visit them all.
Starting at the southernmost crossing, he spent the rest of the day visiting one after another, dumping anywhere from $2,000 to $3,000 dollars in fake money at each stop.
The process was easy, quick, and most of the money speculators didn’t even bother to ask for identification.
As he traveled north, he also made a few quick stops at the host of casinos that flourished along the border. Some were tiny, slot machine-only enterprises, others rivaling their Las Vegas counterparts with favorite celebrity shows and extensive hotel facilities. Some received a visit, others he bypassed.
In the trunk were two boxes, one with real U.S. dollars and the other with the counterfeit bills. As the day progressed, the volume of green moved from one container to the other.
Eventually, he found himself leaving Louisiana, entering Arkansas, the sudden realization making Ghost’s heart race for a few beats. But there was nothing but a small sign announcing the passing.
To the foreigner, this was an oddity. Habituated to any border having some sort of monitoring, checkpoint, or other display of authority, Ghost merely continued driving without interruption. He almost missed the marker.
A few miles inside of Arkansas, he pulled into a gas station and unfolded his map. Texarkana, a major crossing with several near-border exits looked to be a target rich environment.
“Why not?” he whispered to the empty car. “I’ll dump the rest of the forgeries and then head back to Lake Charles. Tomorrow, if they haven’t caught onto us, we’ll start on the next box.”
A persistent knocking rousted Zach from his sleep, the pounding at the front door coinciding with dreamy visions of Samantha in a skin-tight, mini-skirted version of the Texas Ranger’s uniform serving a warrant with him at some no-goodnik’s residence.
Shaking reality into his foggy brain, Zach padded to the entrance, hissing a string of curses and growls at the bold son-of-a-bitch interrupting his Saturday morning slumbers.
“It’s a good thing I’m a sworn officer of the law,” he grumbled, hefting the .45 automatic. “Otherwise, I’d shoot your sorry ass.”
Reaching the peephole, Zach exhaled when a smiling face surrounded by shiny, blonde hair appeared through the warped view. Cheyenne.
As normal, she exploded across the threshold when he opened the door, managing to issue a cheerful “Good morning, cowboy,” cheek-peck, hug, assessment of Zach’s condition, and scan of the interior all at once.
“I brought breakfast burritos and coffee,” she continued, moving toward the kitchen carrying a paper bag. “I got that good bacon and egg kind you like so much.”
“What time is it?” Zach yawned, rubbing the stubble on his face and suddenly remembering he’d forgotten his pants.
“It’s 8:15, Mr. L
azy Bones. You’ve slept away half the day already.”
Zach peered down at his boxers and bare legs, trying to determine if pants, coffee, brushing his teeth, or grumbling at Cheyenne was his next move. The damned woman was just too cheery.
The rustling of paper, followed by the seductive aroma of coffee made the decision easy. Accepting the steaming Styrofoam cup, he muttered, “Thanks,” and toasted the air in her direction. “So, I don’t mean to seem ungrateful or anything, but, uh, why are you up and at ’em so early?”
“Because!” she chirped sunnily. “I’ve not seen you in two weeks and didn’t want to waste a single minute of our day. Now take a few sips of that java and then go get your sexy ass in the shower while I heat up this grub. You look like you’ve been out on the trail for a week, and you probably smell like it, too.”
Zach hesitated, wanting to savor the coffee. He watched while Cheyenne bustled around the stove, a frown fleetingly flashing across her face as she inspected his frying pan’s level of cleanliness. It passed, but barely.
Despite the woman’s annoying hour of arrival and way-too-early energy level, Zach had to admit she was a vision.
Cheyenne had grown up a country girl, born and raised on a neighboring ranch. They had met in first grade.
Tall, gangly, and often teased about being too skinny, she had been a tomboy of sorts, always willing to play ball, wrestle, race, or participate in whatever mischief was awry. As they grew up, Chey was considered just “one of the guys,” and could hold her own in any situation.
After the death of Zach’s father, a pained, confused young man had found a caring, healing soul inside the girl next door. They spent countless summer evenings doing simple things, breaking green beans on her folks’ back porch, snatching catfish in Miller’s pond, and counting stars while sprawled under the old elm tree at the south gate.
All of that changed at the start of their freshman year. Over the summer, something happened to Cheyenne. She arrived at school with protruding breasts, a perfectly shaped bottom, and a sassy haircut. The guys were stunned, the girls hushed with envy.