Dark Money

by Larry D. Thompson

  “Tell you what, Ike, when you quit today, come on by. I’ll either be in the RV or at Moe’s.”

  Ike nodded as another car stopped. Jack used a Burger King parking lot to turn around and go the few blocks back to his RV. He raised the armor and turned off the alarm. He walked a couple of steps before he remembered he had forgotten his cane and returned to the truck. Inside the RV he stripped off his Levi jacket, turned on the lights and retrieved a bottle of water from the fridge before he walked back to his office. Settling into his chair, he turned on the computer. There was an electronic notice from the district clerk’s office about Ike’s case that brought a smile to his face.

  Some clerk must have brought his amended petition to the attention of Judge Jamison. On her own motion she had ordered that all of the funds from the other songs Ike claimed were his were to be deposited in the trustee account, pending the outcome of the lawsuit. Jack figured that she either liked Ike or took a disliking to Whatley and his California entourage. Whatever the reason, all of the royalties from the album were no longer going to T-Buck’s account. He was probably a wealthy man, but this was his most popular album by far. It wouldn’t be long before he started feeling the pinch.

  Next, he turned to his phone to see he had several messages. Most were from potential pro bono clients. Jack wrote down their problems and return phone numbers. The investigation was interfering with his helping these folks. He would fit them in as he could. Otherwise, he would contact them by phone, advise as he could and tell them he would let them know when he could schedule an appointment.

  Jack looked at court filings and correspondence and emails on other cases and moved each to its respective file. Last, he checked his stocks and shut down the computer. After putting on his Levi jacket, he stepped from the RV, lowered the armor and set the alarm. The overhead lights would automatically come on at dusk.

  He was walking next door to Moe’s when he saw Ike and Trousers coming from the other direction. He waited and motioned them to a table on the inside, out of air that was getting more chilly by the minute. Jack declined an invitation to join the domino game. He and Ike took a table. Moe brought them two Lone Stars and returned with a bowl of water for Trousers.”

  “Much obliged, Moe,” Ike said.

  They sipped their beers, and Jack began. “Got some good news. Our amended petition has been served.”

  Ike nodded.

  “The good news is that the judge has ordered all of the proceeds from the other songs on that album to be put into the trust account.”

  Ike let out a low whistle. “That could be a whole bunch of money.”

  “You got that right. Now, tell me how you’re coming with getting some of that old sheet music for those songs.”

  Ike took another sip of beer. “I’ve been calling, trying to locate every old band member I can find. Some are dead. Some just can’t be found. Still, I’ve got two, so far, who say that they think they have some of the music in their attics. And I’m still working on locating more. I may have to go to New Orleans and start knocking on doors.”

  “Ike, this is big. You may be a wealthy man. For damn sure we can get you out of that shelter. I’ll pay for your trip back to New Orleans if you think it’s necessary. Now, on Saturday, be out in front of the shelter at noon. Get one of your friends to take care of Trousers. We’re going to watch TCU play Texas.”

  The next morning Jack and Colby awoke and lingered in bed for an hour.

  “Okay, you pick football tomorrow. Today, it’s my turn. We’re going to the Kimbell Museum. They have a new impressionist exhibit.”

  Jack stifled a yawn.

  “No, you’re not going back to sleep. Breakfast, then the museum followed by lunch. If you want a nap this afternoon, that’s okay.” She smiled, coyly. “Although, I may be up to some more bedroom time by this afternoon.”

  Jack jumped from the bed. “Since you put it that way, let’s get going.”

  They arrived at the shelter promptly at noon. Ike was in front, wearing a Horned Frogs sweatshirt and a jacket. He climbed into the back seat of the Bentley.

  “Ike, this is Colby, my fiancé.”

  “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Colby.”

  “Same here, Ike, only drop the Miss. Colby is just fine.”

  The game turned out to be much closer than the Frogs wanted. It was supposed to have been a rebuilding year for Texas. The Longhorns had lost four of their first seven games and played like this one was for the national championship. The Frogs pulled it out, but just barely, 42-39. Ike yelled so much that he was hoarse after the game. When Jack dropped him off at the shelter, he said, “I haven’t had that much fun since I left New Orleans. If we get some money out of this lawsuit, I’m going to buy a house and fix you some of my world famous gumbo.”

  Two hours later Jack and Colby parked in front of Bonnell’s Restaurant. Jack spotted J.D.’s pickup a few spaces down. They entered the restaurant to find J.D. surrounded by fans who were beseeching him for an autograph. Beside him was his longtime girlfriend, Tanya, a tall blonde and an All American in her own right as a volleyball player. She secretly hoped that J.D. would be drafted by the San Diego Chargers so she could start a professional beach volleyball career. J.D. saw his dad and Colby. He apologized, broke away from the fans and nodded at the hostess who whisked the four of them to a corner table.

  When they were seated, Jack ordered a bottle of Chardonnay. J.D. enjoyed wine and beer as well as occasional bourbon, only not during the season. From August until it was over, he was a teetotaler. He said he was fine with water. Tanya asked for the same.

  “You limping a little, Son?” Jack asked.

  “Yeah, I got my ankle stepped on toward the end of the game. I’ll go to the training room tomorrow and ice it. Should be okay by next weekend.”

  “Tanya, how are you doing? We haven’t seen much of you lately.”

  “Volleyball season runs about parallel with football season. We usually play twice a week. Between games, practices and studies, even J.D. and I have a hard time getting together. But, I might add, that our volleyball team is almost as good as the football team. The conference tournament is coming up. We’re seeded number one.”

  The waiter brought their drinks, explained the specials for the evening, handed them menus and excused himself. Colby sipped her wine and placed it on the table.

  With her eyes sparkling, she said, “Jack and I have some news.”

  “Spill it,” J.D. said.

  “We’re going to be married.”

  J.D. rose to hug his dad and kiss Colby on the cheek. “Wow, congratulations. When?”

  Jack took over the conversation. “We figure we can’t do it too soon. Hopefully, you’ll be playing for the national championship. Then I’ve got to round up this killer. That may take a little while. Next, you’ve got the NFL draft and we’ll have to negotiate a contract, assuming you still want me as your agent. We figure in the spring, maybe May.”

  “Works for Tanya and me. And, of course I want you to represent me. You really think you can wind up this criminal investigation by then?”

  “Hoping to. Right now things are going well. Could be in a few weeks even, but I can’t tell you anything for now.”

  28

  Jack had just said goodbye to his third pro bono client of the day when his cell rang. He glanced at the caller i.d.

  “Hey, Walt, you enjoying a few days with your family?”

  “Actually, I can’t seem to get my ass off the couch. My boys always look forward to this time of year because it’s deer season; only, we haven’t been once. I can’t get motivated to do much but flip channels on the television all day.” Jack shook his head at that reply. “We’ve got some news. I suppose I should say, we have a report, nothing really newsworthy.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “DPS has been watching that convenience store for four days. She’s not been around.”

  “Hell,” Jack said. “I was hoping
this was going to be easy. What do we do now?”

  “Drone.”

  “Say that again.”

  “You’ve read about them. Also called unmanned aerial vehicles or UAVs. DPS has a long range one. We have an agreement with the Border Patrol to split the cost. When we don’t need it for anything else, one of them flies up and down the Rio Grande at about six thousand feet, looking for drug smugglers, illegals and so forth. It’s based at Laughlin Air Force Base in Del Rio on the border. That’s where the pilot is. Colonel Burnside is arranging for it to be diverted to Pecos and Loving County. They say it’s small enough that it won’t be noticed at six thousand feet or so. We’ll get some good pictures of the compound.”

  “Sounds good to me. When can we see the results?”

  “Instantly, if you want to drive to Austin. We have a room at the DPS headquarters with high definition screens on the walls. The pilot in Del Rio is flying it. There’s a feed to Austin. We can watch what he’s seeing.”

  “I’ll be there. Tell me when.”

  “How about ten in the morning. That’ll give you time to drive from Fort Worth. I’ll arrange for the pilot to have the drone close to the compound around that time, but he won’t fly over it until you and I are ready.”

  “You got it. Give me directions to the DPS office and I’ll see you there. And, get your ass off that couch and at least take your wife for a walk, maybe the boys, too.” Jack clicked off the phone and gazed out the window, thinking about Jack vegetating on the couch. Clearly, he was still dealing with issues. Jack finally concluded there was nothing he could do for his friend at the moment. Still, he would watch for an opportunity to encourage him to talk.

  At a quarter of ten the next day Jack parked Lucille in front of the DPS headquarters, reached for his cane and walked toward the main entrance. Today he wore a long-sleeved, blue dress shirt. Walt greeted him at the front door.

  “Follow me.”

  They went through a door different from the one going back to the Colonel’s office. This hall was institutional green with no pictures or decorations on the walls. At the end, Walt buzzed. The door opened and Colonel Burnside stood in the doorway.

  “Come on in. You must be Jack Bryant. I’ve been hearing good things about you. I had some reservations when Joe appointed you as special prosecutor, but no more. We’ve made good progress.” He stuck out his hand.

  “Thank you, Colonel. I relied heavily on Walt.”

  They entered the room to find one wall with a video screen similar to the one Jack had in his media room. In the middle were swivel chairs on rollers with drink holders in the arm rests. The large screen on the wall showed what appeared to be a desert. It took Jack a few seconds to realize that the scene was changing. In the lower left corner was a smaller screen.

  A lean, middle aged black man with white hair, bushy eyebrows and a similar mustache could be seen on the smaller screen. He was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt and was holding a control in his hands.

  “Jack, this is Colonel Floyd Foxworth. We just call him Fox. He flew fighters for the air force for twenty-five years and retired in Del Rio. We talked him out of retirement to do a different kind of flying.”

  Fox looked toward the camera. “Morning, Jack. I’ve got a camera there in your room so I can see you, too.”

  “Fox, can you give Jack a short demonstration as to what your toy can do?”

  “Sure. I flew it up from the border early this morning and have it just circling about fifty miles from your target. What you’re seeing now is from the camera mounted on the bottom. I could take it up to ten thousand feet and you could still see a coyote running across the desert. I can also rotate it three hundred and sixty degrees, like this.”

  They watched as the camera made a full circle, very slowly, before returning to its starting position.

  “Then, I can switch cameras to the one facing the front and we can see where it is going, somewhat like the view from a cockpit.”

  “What’s the speed?” Jack asked.

  “I can make it hover, which is what it is doing now, or we can get up to sixty miles an hour.”

  The craft leaped forward and soon the ground was flying by.

  “I can also drop it to a couple of hundred feet like this and then pull it back up to the six thousand feet where we were when you walked in.”

  “Just curious,” Jack said. “How long before you have to refuel it?”

  “Usually we don’t need to. If it’s been sitting in the hangar for a while, which it does only for maintenance, we’ll recharge it. Otherwise, it has solar panels on the top that continually feed the battery.

  “I’m impressed,” Jack said.

  “It’s amazing technology. Not quite as much fun as when I was flying fighters, but it’s a great retirement job. And, no one is shooting at me.” Fox grinned. “Now, where are we going?”

  “North of Pecos,” Colonel Burnside said. “By road, it would be up U.S. 285 and hang a right on 302. When you get to the Pecos River, the compound is on the left. Here are the coordinates.” He held a piece of paper up in front of the camera. Fox wrote them down.

  “Give me a second to program them, and we’ll be off.” A moment later the drone picked up speed. “This front camera also rotates. I’ll set it so we can see the ground and the horizon. You still want it at six thousand feet?”

  “You tell us,” Jack replied. “We want high definition pictures, but don’t want it to be spotted.”

  “That ought to be about right. You can see that we’re passing over I-20 east of Pecos.”

  The eyes of the three men in the room in Austin were glued to the screen, like kids watching their first model airplane.

  “Damn,” Walt said. “I can even tell you the makes of the cars on the freeway. Amazing.”

  “We’ll just follow highway 285 until we get to the turn. Won’t take but a few minutes.”

  A different highway came into view and the craft veered right.

  “Not much traffic on these roads,” Fox commented.

  “Yeah, it’s one of the most desolate parts of the country. That’s the reason these guys chose it,” Burnside said.

  “Okay, we’re coming up on the Pecos. Pretty dry this time of year.”

  “There it is,” Jack said, pointing at the upper part of the screen. “Can you switch to the bottom camera now? You can see a gate.”

  The camera view changed.

  “Now, slow it way down,” Jack said.

  The drone appeared to be barely moving.

  “Damn, look at that. Bunkers and trenches all the way around the place. What’s that?” Jack pointed to a partially constructed building.

  “That, my friend, is their version of the Alamo. Nothing but the front façade. They started it several years ago but haven’t gotten around to finishing,” Burnside said.

  “There’s a bunch of trailers. Must be where they live. I don’t see any people,” Jack said.

  “Word is that the men started working out in the oil fields when the Permian basin took off again. Closest drilling is about an hour from there. I suspect the men leave before dawn and return after dark. They may not want anything to do with the government, but they like money as much as the next guy.”

  Walt pointed to the upper part of the screen. “Look over there by the river. There’s a trailer set off a little from the others. That looks like our killer’s pickup beside it. Fox, can you zoom in on it?”

  The camera zoomed until the pickup covered nearly the entire screen.

  “Now, can you circle around so we can see the right side? That’s it. Jack, there’s our dent in the bumper. We found her.”

  “No, we didn’t find her. We found her truck. We need to find out if she’s still living here. Fox, can we circle around a couple of hours?”

  “No problem, as long as you want. I’m going to have her hover for a couple of minutes. I’ve got to step out to take a leak. Tell me if you see something.”

  When Fox returne
d, Jack said, “Can you go over to the northeast part of that property. I want to have a look at it.”

  Fox pointed the drone that direction.

  “You guys, particularly you, Fox, tell me if I’m wrong. Isn’t that a landing strip there along the west fence?”

  Fox zoomed the camera in. “Looks like it to me. Smoother and flatter than the desert around it. Could be used for some prop planes.”

  “Probably not related to what we’re looking for, but our criminal division will need to be watching that compound more carefully,” Burnside said. “Fox, I’ll coordinate with the Border Patrol and get you to start regular fly overs of the compound.”

  “Roger, Colonel,” Fox replied.

  Two hours went slowly. Jack had to remind himself to focus. Two pickups stopped at the front gate with men in them. Each time a man climbed out on the passenger side and bent over what appeared to be a lock on the gate. Once the truck went through, he re-locked the gate and the truck moved among the trailers where the men separated. At noon the doors of a building in the middle of the property opened and several children came running out, followed by women who must have been their mothers. They played on a swing set and a jungle gym for a half an hour until they were called back into the building. For the most part the women wore jeans, long sleeve shirts and sneakers. Miriam was not among them.

  An older man with a long beard, wearing overalls left a double-wide close to the building with a beer in hand. He settled himself into a rocker in the shade of the front porch.

  “That must be Van Zandt,” Jack said. “Fox, since we’re here, can we stay until dark? If her dad is on the porch, she may join him.”

  “No problem for me,” Fox said. “I brought my lunch.”

  “Speaking of lunch,” Burnside said, “I’ll have my assistant bring us some take-out menus.”

  The afternoon wore on. The children were dismissed from the building about three. The sun was drifting toward the horizon. More men were returning. After going in their trailers, they came out with tall boys in hand and stood around the backs of pickups, swapping stories. Jack pointed to the trailer that appeared to be Miriam’s.