“Shit,” Jack yelled. “We’ve got to take Van Zandt alive.”
McCombs ordered a cease fire. He turned on the amplifier. “Drop your guns. This is over. If you want to live, walk slowly to the road.”
Jack and the other two snipers came down from their posts, waded the nearly dry Pecos River and joined the others.
One by one the men in the compound dropped their weapons and walked to the road, hands over their heads. McCombs counted eleven. The old man was not among them. He climbed from the APV, and with his team spread out on either side, walked toward the men. As they approached, they heard the sound of one gunshot, coming from the town hall.
McCombs and Carol crept to the house and kicked open the door. Van Zandt was on the floor, a pistol in his right hand and a hole in his head. His left hand was over his chest, The middle finger was extended. He had made one last effort to send a message about what he perceived as freedom.
They heard a shout, coming from the vicinity of the trailers. “She’s alive, barely. There’s a faint pulse.”
Jack heard and ran to her side. A piece of shrapnel protruded from the side of her head. “We need to keep her alive. Colonel Burnside, can you get that medical helicopter back here? She may not make it, but we’ve got to try.”
37
“Dammit, Joe, you can’t do that. I’ll be at your office in twenty minutes.” Jack slammed the phone, picked up his cane and locked the RV as he left. He made it to the Justice Center in fifteen minutes. Inside the building he shoved onto an already crowded elevator and pushed the button for the eighth floor.
He exited and hurried down the hall to the corner office. When he turned the corner, he felt his knee buckling and almost fell to the floor. He steadied himself with his cane, thinking that he had just recently double timed two miles across the desert in the dark with no problem and his knee craters in a well-lighted hallway. He leaned against the wall and massaged his knee until the pain eased, then limped slowly to Joe’s office. Leaning on his cane, he opened the door. Not the entrance he wanted to make. He wanted to show outrage with his voice and body language. Now he would have to settle for the power of words.
The receptionist looked up as he came through the door. “Morning, Mr. Bryant. Joe said you were on your way over. Your knee bothering you? Probably the change in the weather. I’ll call him.”
Jack declined coffee and leaned on his cane as he gazed out the window. Joe came through the door. “Come on back. You need some coffee? Come to think of it, a shot of bourbon may be better.”
The two friends sat at the coffee table. Jack put his cane on the floor beside his chair. Joe retrieved two rocks glasses and a bottle of bourbon. He poured two fingers in each glass. “I just got a report on Miriam Van Zandt. She survived surgery at Harris, only she may never come out of her coma. I’ve got her under twenty-four hour guard.”
Jack downed his bourbon in one gulp before he spoke. “We’ve done all we can do for her. It’s out of our hands.” He stood to make his point. “Whether or not she wakes up, you can’t close the investigation. We’re not through. We got the shooter, but she couldn’t have just waked up one morning and decided she was going to drive three hundred miles to Fort Worth and kill a few Republicans. Someone must have paid her. Someone wanted Hale and the governor dead. Lardner’s not safe until we find that person. And, dammit, have you forgotten that someone on the inside shut down the outside surveillance cameras on the afternoon before the event? We retrieved parts of three computers from the trailers. Not much to go on, but forensics is doing what they can. Maybe there’s a drive that we can retrieve information from.” Jack raised his voice. “Joe, we can’t quit now.”
“I hear what you’re saying, but Colonel Burnside issued a press release, commending the entire task force and, particularly the SWAT team, for bringing down the killers with no loss of life on our side and said the operation was officially closed. Governor Lardner held a press conference and said the same thing, even singled you out for leading the task force and for your shooting at the compound.”
Jack paced the room. “I used to crave publicity when I was a plaintiff lawyer. I’m past that time in my life. You gave me a mission, and I’m telling you that I have not completed it.”
“Understood.” Joe looked at his friend. “Okay, I’ll keep an open file. You turn up something, let me know, but the task force has been disbanded.”
Jack took a deep breath before he spoke. “Then you better pass the word to Walt and the DPS that they need to double the governor’s protective detail. The person behind the attack is still out there.”
38
Jack drove home and found the place empty. He assumed that Colby had a real estate showing. He scratched Killer behind the ears when he entered the kitchen, put his cane in the barrel, and wandered around the house, not really focusing on anything. He understood politics and how the cops worked the media. They wanted to be able to brag that they had pulled out all stops and caught the assassin in less than two weeks. Praise came from all over the country and in the national press. Superb police work led to the identification of Miriam Van Zandt and tracking her to the compound. Loving County had not become another Waco or Ruby Ridge. The old man and one other militia member were killed. Well, that doesn’t count the pilot of the plane, but now the DPS was willing to turn that investigation over to the feds. With all of such positive press, Jack understood why the cops and the DPS, hell, even Joe, wanted to take the credit and move on. Only he didn’t. He knew his job was not over. He had no idea where to turn, but he would not quit. There was someone out there who wanted these killings done. He would find that person, maybe in a month, maybe a year, maybe two or three years. Meantime, he had no choice but to turn his attention back to his pro bono clients.
He mused that he never would have considered that the hard-charging Jack Bryant of Beaumont would evolve into a lawyer who took great satisfaction out of helping those who had nowhere else to turn. He would start by getting Ike in for a meeting. He had an idea that might get Ike off the streets and set him up for the rest of his life.
Jack’s phone rang. “Hey, Walt, how are things in Austin?”
“Couldn’t be better. My administrative suspension has been lifted and I’m back on duty. I’m heading to New York with the governor this afternoon. Just calling to thank you for all that you did. And, Jack, I think I’m going to be okay now. I think I snapped out of whatever was bothering me. I apologized to my wife and kids. At first I was sorry that I involved you in this crap, but, at the end of the day, everyone from the governor on down knew I made the right call. The governor would like to invite you to Austin for dinner. That includes Colby, of course.”
Jack grinned. “Hell, I told you I was a Democrat. And I’m glad you’re back to the old Walt.”
“Okay, Okay. We’ll sneak you in the back door. The governor really does want to shake your hand and thank you personally. Can I call you when we get back from New York?”
“I suppose. One more thing. You know that this case is not over, no matter what they say.”
There was a pause on the phone. “Yeah, I know. We got the killer but not who set the whole thing up and bankrolled it. I’ve talked to the DPS CSI team. There are no clues as to anyone else’s involvement. They did say that the hard drive from one computer was missing. I checked with the guys that searched the compound. They bagged and tagged every damn bit of evidence in the compound. So, we’re at a dead end. I’ve talked to my boss in the protective detail about our concerns, and he understands. We’re on a high alert for the immediate future. I’ll call you when I get back. And, thanks again, Jack.”
The two friends ended the call. Jack continued to walk the empty house and think about his life and how it had had more twists and turns since he returned to Fort Worth than in all his years of practice in Beaumont. So far, the outcomes had been good. Then, Colby popped into his mind, followed closely by J.D. They were at the center of his universe. Everything else r
evolved around them. He wasn’t looking for love and marriage when he retired to Fort Worth. After all, he had been single for nearly twenty years. Now he couldn’t imagine life without Colby. As to J.D., they had a distant relationship from the time his mother moved him to California and for the four years in the Marines. But he made it through as a fine young man who he was proud to call his son. Watching him grow as a scholar and an athlete was worth everything. Now, once J.D. was through with his season, no matter whether it was another game or two or in the national championship, he would do his best to aid J.D.’s decision in what was almost sure to be a successful NFL career. All in all, he was satisfied with his life. No, more than satisfied, he was delighted with it.
The next morning Jack left the house early and was at the RV by eight o’clock. He wanted to be there when Ike and Trousers walked by on the way to his corner. Jack fixed coffee and flipped on the television in the living area to CNBC and watched for Ike. The morning was crisp but clear and the forecast was for temperatures in the low sixties. Nice weather for Ike to stand on his corner. Besides, it was now the holiday season and folks were more inclined to open their wallets and purses. He needed to remember to get a Christmas gift for Ike and, maybe, invite him to the house for dinner.
It was about nine-thirty when he saw Ike walking by, Trousers at his side like he knew he was on the way to work. Jack opened the door and stepped to the parking lot. “Hey, Ike, we need to talk.”
Ike looked over, nodded and waited for traffic to clear before he and Trousers crossed the street. “Morning, Jack. You through playing detective and SWAT team member?”
“Through for now. Sometimes when you agree to help a friend, it turns out to be a little bigger than you bargained for. Can you and Trousers come in for a few minutes? I have an idea about your case.”
Ike looked down at Trousers. “He says that we’re going to be late for work, but if you have a dog treat, he’ll probably be okay.”
Ike settled down at the forward table. Jack poured two coffees and pitched Trousers a small bone from a bag he had purchased just for him. He sat across from Ike.
“For now, anyway, I’m through with protecting the governor. Let’s talk about your case.”
Ike nodded.
“Here are our options. We have a good case, particularly if we can turn up more evidence that you wrote those T-Buck songs. The problem is that I suspect that T-Buck has enough money that even if we win, he can drag this out on appeal for three or four years.”
Ike raised his hand. “So, you’re telling me that even if we win in the next year or so, I might not see any money for three or four years? What kind of justice is that?”
“Haven’t you ever heard that old saying about the wheels of justice turning slowly? Appeals are built into the system. Assuming we win in district court, we’ll spend six months on post judgment motions. Figure two years to get through the court of appeals and another couple of years if the Supreme Court takes the case. You’ll be making interest on our judgment, but that’s not calculated until the end. So, I’ve got another plan. Am I correct that if we could set you up for life, house with a back yard for Trousers, nice car, enough money to live comfortably, you’d be interested? And, I’m talking in a few months, not years.”
“Interested? Hell, yes. You know I never had much. Don’t need a lot. What you just described is living like a king. How do we get there?”
“You think you can get your friend, Maurice, up here from New Orleans in the next month or so for a deposition about the songs you wrote. I’ll pay his airfare and put him up in a motel for a couple of days. We need to meet with him one afternoon and have him sit for deposition the next day.”
Ike smiled at the thought. “Be nice to see my old trombone player again. I think he’s living off Social Security. Probably can get up here about any time you want. I’ll call him when I get back to the shelter this afternoon.”
When Ike left, Jack picked up the phone. When the receptionist answered, he said, “Nicholas Whatley, please.”
“Nicholas Whatley’s office.”
“This is Jackson Bryant from Fort Worth. Is he available?”
“Can I inquire as to the purpose of the call?”
One of Jack’s pet peeves: assistants screening calls. “Look, ma’am, I know you’re just doing your job, but I don’t have to tell you the purpose of my call. I’m a lawyer in Texas. Either Whatley wants to talk to me or not. Just tell him I’m on the line.”
“Just a moment, sir. I doubt if Mr. Whatley is available for you, but I’ll inquire,” came the haughty reply from a voice full of disgust and authority.
Jack had waited nearly a minute and was about to hang up. He would just get the notice out and let Whatley deal with it, but he preferred to be professional.
“Mr. Bryant, how are you today? Sorry to keep you waiting.”
“Fine, Nicholas, if I may call you by your first name. We’re not much on formalities in Fort Worth.”
“Certainly, and make it Nick. What can I do for you?”
“I want to get some facts on the table that may help us resolve our lawsuit.”
There was a pause. “I appreciate that, but T-Buck is not going to be interested in settling. He knows he’s in the right. Still, what do you have in mind?”
“You’ve seen that sheet music I produced at the hearing. I’m going to get the guy that had that music to Fort Worth for a deposition. Shouldn’t take more than a half a day. Just want to get some potential dates from you.”
“That’s a long way to fly for such a short deposition.”
“Understood, Nick, but you knew where Fort Worth was when you took the case. If you want to appoint local counsel, that’s fine with me.”
“No, I suspect I better be there. I’ll get my assistant to email you some dates before the day is over.”
“And, may I suggest that you leave some of your lawyers in Los Angeles. I office in an RV and it might get a little crowded. Oh, and you might want to have your client’s agent available by phone. If the deposition goes like I expect, we may need to get him involved in settlement discussions.”
39
The deposition was scheduled for the Monday before Christmas, the only day that Whatley had available until after the first of the year. Maurice Wilkins flew in on Sunday morning. Jack and Ike met him at the airport. Wilkins was a short, round man whose belly hung over his belt. What little hair he had was curly and white. He made up for his lack of hair with a full white beard that made him look like a black Santa Claus. He even had a twinkle in his eye.
He and Ike talked non-stop from the airport to Jack’s RV, bringing each other up to date on their lives and catching up on the whereabouts of old friends and band members. Jack dug into Maurice’s somewhat faded memory bank, fishing for as much as he could remember about Ike’s songs and other potentially useful information as well as the whereabouts of other band members who would remember Ike writing the songs that T-Buck had recorded. Fortunately, the more Jack probed, the more Maurice remembered. Once he was satisfied that he had extracted all he could from Maurice, he explained how the deposition would go the next day. He intended to drop Ike off at the shelter and take Maurice to the Residence Inn off 7th Street, but Maurice had a different plan. He would stay with his friend in the shelter where they could continue their conversation late into the night.
The next day dawned dreary, cold and wet, not a frog-strangling rain, but a steady drizzle that made the temperatures in the low forties feel ten degrees colder. Jack took Ike and Maurice for breakfast at a café in the stockyards and then drove back to the RV.
Jack seated Maurice at one end of the dining table with the court reporter beside him. He would sit across from Maurice. Whatley could sit at the table. Ike would sit in the driver’s chair that now permanently faced the rear. That left the passenger seat or the two easy chairs across from the table for Whatley’s associates.
Whatley arrived in an Escalade rental, driven by one of
his young associates. He had left his paralegal back in Los Angeles, but still traveled with two lawyers. Jack knew how that game was played. One senior lawyer, one younger partner and a senior associate, all billing by the hour. Must be costing T-Buck twenty grand a day. Jack smiled when he saw them unload from the Escalade. Big firms were the same around the country. Even with his biggest cases and a multi-week trial, he got by just fine with one associate and a paralegal. Jack opened the door and stepped to the parking lot to greet his adversaries.
“Welcome, gentlemen. Hope you didn’t have any trouble finding me.”
Whatley shook his hand. “No problem. The bellman at the Renaissance seemed to know where you were located. He just said to go out North Main and look for the RV on the left. You remember my two associates, Adam and Paul.”
Jack shook their hands and led them in. “Nick, you’ve met Ike. This is Maurice Wilkins. I suggest that you join us at the table and your associates can pick a place. I’ve got coffee, sodas and water on the kitchen counter. You can help yourselves.”
When everyone was settled, the court reporter swore the witness.
“Mr. Wilkins, you understand that you have just sworn to tell the truth?” Jack asked.
“I certainly do, Mr. Bryant. And I would add that I would expect the Good Lord to send a bolt of lightning and strike me from this chair if I don’t.”
Jack smiled. “If you don’t mind, please tell the Lord that won’t be necessary. The rest of us are sitting a little too close and might not survive. We have penalties of perjury to deal with folks that are untruthful in these proceedings. Now, do you know Mr. Ike Irasmus, sitting over there?”
‘Yes, sir. Been knowing him about forty years. Lost track of him after Katrina.”
Dark Money Page 18