by Jon Land
“Well, I’ve seen Caitlin Strong do her share of provoking, to the point where the only difference between her and Wyatt Earp was that the O.K. Corral would’ve happened a lot sooner if she’d been marshal.”
Something changed in Doyle Lodge’s expression, his eyes growing distant and moist. “How’s your boy, Masters?”
“I don’t know, Ranger, and that’s the God’s honest truth.”
“You think he’s still using the pills?” the old man asked, the concern in his voice genuine.
“No, I don’t. But I also don’t know what I can do to make sure he never does again. I can’t watch him twenty-four seven, but I get this hollow feeling in my stomach whenever I’m away from him for too long.”
Lodge nodded, looking past Cort Wesley. “I wish I’d gotten the opportunity to worry. As it was, I never got the chance, because my boy was alive one day and dead from drugs the next. I never got the chance to do a goddamn thing about it. You should consider yourself fortunate. By the way, Masters, that ghost friend of yours, is he a colored man?”
“Yes. Why?”
“No reason,” Doyle Lodge said, looking away.
76
WASHINGTON, DC
“Thank you for seeing me without an appointment, Senator,” Caitlin said to Lee Eckles.
“Well,” he said, flashing a grin that looked preprogrammed to appear on a regular basis, “I’d do anything for a resident of Texas, but for a Texas Ranger I’d do even more.”
“I appreciate that.”
Eckles’s lean face was weathered in a way that made it look like part of his persona. His leathery, patchwork features had the appearance of someone who wanted to appear at home working in the outdoors, on a ranch or farm or something. Caitlin could picture him fitting those features into place after shaving. Or maybe he’d purposely exposed himself to too much sun to make him appeal to the down-home constituency he best courted. He had the look of a man desperately trying to seem as comfortable sharing a glass of milk in a voter’s kitchen as a glass of top-shelf whiskey at private clubs more expensive than that voter’s mortgage payment. His corner office suite in the Russell Senate Office Building across from the Capitol came courtesy of both seniority and the glad-handing he’d mastered at every level of politics, fueled by a relentless ambition he didn’t bother to hide.
Eckles was a political legend in Texas who’d risen from the bottom of the heap up, from small-town councilman and mayor to state rep, which was followed by a stint as state agriculture commissioner, from which he built the base that sent him to Washington. He was known for skewering potential rivals from his own party and taking a blowtorch to the lives and reputations of opponents from the other. He was currently serving his fourth term in the Senate, having vanquished four different opponents, each of whom had emerged from their respective bruising and bloody campaigns with reputations tarnished and futures sullied beyond repair.
One opponent had been exposed as a serial philanderer, including a dalliance with an assistant that defined the very notion of sexual harassment. Another was revealed to have covered up an accusation of child molestation in his past, while a third had run a red light while drunk and struck a van carrying disabled adults. A woman who’d most recently run against Eckles was revealed to have paid for her law school education with money made by prostituting herself. Of the four, that was the tale that actually carried a modicum of truth; the others were the result of carefully orchestrated smear efforts, to which Eckles’s opponents spent the bulk of their campaigns responding. Caitlin had heard that his entire political philosophy came down to a version of the final line from the great Western The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance, where the newspaperman famously utters, “When the legend becomes real, print the legend.” Eckles had once been overheard saying “When you don’t have any shit, make your own asshole.”
The senator checked his watch robotically. “So, what can I do for you?”
“I was in town for some meetings at DHS and wanted to thank you for the great work you’re doing with the war on drugs,” Caitlin said. “Real progress is being made, something those of us in law enforcement are hardly used to seeing.”
“Why, thank you, Ranger.”
“No thanks necessary, sir. I especially enjoyed your recent hearing with Big Pharma. You tore those boys a new one”—Caitlin grinned—“didn’t you?”
“I did at that.” Eckles beamed. “Know what those men are at their core? Bullies. They take advantage of people because they’re stronger and more powerful, and no one has the guts to put them in their place.”
“That wasn’t the case at that hearing I watched the other day on C-SPAN. I can understand your motivation, given your own regrettable experience with alcohol.”
Eckles looked down at his desk. “You’re talking about the accident, when I was just a kid. My best friend was driving drunk, killed himself and a family of four in a head-on.”
“You were twenty-four, almost twenty-five, sir,” Caitlin said, having trouble reconciling that with being labeled a kid. “Happened on the Sam Houston Parkway, just after it opened as a toll road in 1989. You walked away, I believe.”
“A few cuts, scrapes, a broken arm and broken nose. I never should have let my friend get behind the wheel.”
“Except you were drunk too.”
“There was that,” Eckles admitted. “If it means anything, I haven’t taken a drink since.”
“It does, sir. Just because a man can’t undo the past doesn’t mean he shouldn’t try to make the future better.”
The senator nodded, pleased by Caitlin’s response. “And what brings you to Washington, these meetings at DHS you mentioned?”
“Well, sir, as you may be aware, I’m an official liaison between law enforcement in Texas and Homeland Security…”
“I hadn’t heard, actually. Congratulations.”
“And I’ve also got business at the Drug Enforcement Administration.”
“What might that be, Ranger?” Eckles asked. Caitlin’s words had yet to produce any rise out of him.
“Can this conversation be kept between us, Senator?”
“Of course.”
“Good, because I got to thinking you should be made aware of something I’m looking into back home and intend to discuss with the DEA.”
“What’s that, exactly?”
“I can’t give you ‘exactly,’ because I haven’t gotten that far yet.”
“What can you give me?” Eckles asked her next, his voice losing a slight measure of its processed cadence.
“I believe there’s a major drug manufacturing operation going on in our state, specifically pertaining to opioids.”
“You don’t say, Ranger.”
“I do, even though I’m not at the proving stage yet. It was watching that hearing the other day that made me think I should bring it to your attention, because I believe you may want to involve yourself in that effort, you and your Senate health committee.”
“Whatever I can do. You know that.”
“You know a man named Roland Fass?”
“I don’t believe I do.”
Caitlin took her phone from her jacket pocket and switched it on, turning the screen for Eckles to see. “Then can you explain how this picture of the two of you together got taken the same day as that hearing, Senator?”
77
WASHINGTON, DC
Eckles fumbled for his glasses atop his cluttered desk. Caught by surprise, Caitlin knew, he was trying to buy time to rework his processed script, and she gave him all he needed.
“It was taken in a suite at the Mayfair Hotel, sir,” she said, holding the phone closer to him. “One of our tech guys who’s looking into Fass brought it to my attention.”
The senator took off his glasses. “I do remember meeting him, but not his name. Nor do I recall the subject of our conversation, since he’d forced his way into that reception specifically to confront me.”
Caitlin laid the phone down on her l
ap. “So you remember being confronted, but not what the confrontation was about.”
“I didn’t mean it that way, Ranger.”
“Then how did you mean it, sir? Take your time, please.”
“Fass is a subject of your investigation?” Eckles posed, again stalling to form the proper thoughts into the right words.
“Right now, I’d call him a person of interest. Man’s got a shady past behind him and did a stretch in prison for defrauding his own engineering company. We believe he’s involved in a chain of those so-called one-stop pain shops where people can see a doctor, get a prescription, and fill it, all in the same place.”
Eckles nodded. “As fast as we put them out of business, new ones pop up. I heard for a time there was someplace these one-stop shops were more common than McDonald’s.”
“That would be parts of Florida, sir, which used to be the pill mill capital of the country. Law enforcement’s been chasing them out, so they’ve relocated elsewhere, including Texas.”
“We need to do more about that, Ranger.”
“I was hoping you’d say that, Senator. That’s why I came by,” Caitlin told him.
“I am confused about one thing, though,” the senator said, starting to scowl before stopping himself. “You mentioned your visit to Washington was about the illegal production of opiates. But this Roland Fass seems to be mixed up on the distribution side of these drugs.”
“That’s the thing, sir. It may well be both. See, these one-stop pill mills started sprouting up,” Caitlin said, using just enough truth to better form the lie she was composing, “at the same time we began to get word about a massive manufacturing operation. We’ve got nothing firm linking Fass between the two, but right now he’s the primary focus of our investigation.”
“You came to see me because of that picture showing Roland Fass and me together?”
“That’s correct, sir.”
“But you didn’t raise that fact from the beginning of our meeting.”
“Also correct.”
“Some would call that deceptive, Ranger. What would you call it?”
“Another day at the office, Senator. Does any of this jog your memory about what you and Fass talked about at that reception?”
“Nothing. He talked. I pretended to listen.”
“And you’d never met him before?”
“I believe I already answered that question.”
“To the extent that you’re certain there are no more pictures out there of the two of you together?”
“What did I just say?”
“Ever hear of Air America, Senator?”
Eckles looked at her as if he didn’t understand the question, then canted his head from side to side. “Sure. Took place mostly during the Vietnam War, then later in South America. I’ve held hearings on the fact that the CIA was in league with informant drug dealers the agency thought were serving their cause, by enabling their efforts and protecting them from prosecution.”
Caitlin nodded casually. “That’s quite a mouthful, Senator, but your hearings must’ve neglected the fact that it cut a lot deeper than that. Elements of the CIA, in Southeast Asia as well as South America, were using the proceeds to fund illegal, off-the-books operations. A lot of the spies doing the country’s business also managed to line their pockets so thick they needed another pair of pants.”
“What does this have to do with your visit here today, exactly?” Eckles asked her, starting to lose his patience.
“Well, sir, seeing you in the company of a man suspected of being involved in a major drug operation raises some similar questions, don’t you think?”
“No, Ranger, I don’t, not at all,” Eckles said, straightening in his chair and checking the time on a cell phone resting on the blotter before him. “As much as I’ve enjoyed talking to you, I have another appointment I’m already late for.”
“I understand, Senator. We’re almost wrapped up here. Just a few more questions, if you don’t mind.”
Eckles nodded grudgingly.
“We’ve also linked Roland Fass to a number of warehouses scattered across the country, believed to be storing huge amounts of opioids. These warehouses are all situated in areas where there’s been a significant uptick in drug distribution and abuse, as witnessed by a spike in overdose deaths and suicides. Does that ring any bells for you?”
The senator took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “If it did, I wouldn’t be able to comment.”
“I was asking because the investigation is ongoing and we haven’t been able to confirm our suspicions yet.”
“I’m assuming that you have a source who’s been feeding you this information, Ranger. Perhaps you should let my committee question him in closed session under seal. I can guarantee his or her safety.”
Caitlin held his stare. The leathery lines and creases seemed to have flattened out, as if the subject of their conversation had stripped off his costume.
“I’m sure you can, Senator, but we’re not there yet. Like I said, the investigation is at the earliest of stages and may not lead anyplace that would merit a committee as important as yours wasting your time. We don’t even have enough probable cause yet to seek warrants to search all those warehouses. That said, when and if we’ve got something concrete, you’ll be among the very first to know.”
Eckles rose, his chair creaking beneath him. “I understand. What do you intend to do about Roland Fass, in the meantime?”
“Right now he’s no more than a person of interest. And I’m sorry if my mention of you being caught in a picture with Fass cast any aspersions.”
“I’m sure it didn’t.”
Caitlin joined Eckles on her feet. “After all, we’re in this together. That’s right, isn’t it, Senator?”
“Wouldn’t have it any other way, Ranger.”
78
HOUSTON
The regular season for the Village School boys varsity soccer team had been canceled, but competing in the district and private school playoffs hadn’t been ruled out. So the team had started practicing at Matzke Park on Jones Road, far enough away from campus to fly under the radar but close enough to be a manageable drive. The senior captains had come up with an idea to keep the team sharp, and the players had voted unanimously to make the commitment to show up every other day at the nineteen-acre park, which featured a butterfly garden, playing fields, a playground, and walking trails.
It had been a show-of-hands vote, and Luke Torres wasn’t sure how he would have voted if it had been secret ballot instead. Not that he could possibly have declined, given that his overdose had made this mess in the first place, and he hated that the senior-dominated team had lost its season, thanks to him. Sure, you could say it wasn’t his fault, that maybe ten other seniors had ingested the same amount of drugs he had. The difference, of course, being that they didn’t end up in the emergency room needing a shot of Narcan to save their lives.
The thing he’d learned with crystal clarity from his father, brother, and Caitlin was how quickly things in general could turn to shit. How easy it was to be knocked from your pedestal when you figured you were at the top of the world. He’d never experienced it personally until four nights ago, but now he realized it was the very basis of why his dad and Caitlin always warned him to be careful.
Be careful …
What did that mean, exactly? He’d never understood the substance behind the statement. And the last thing he wanted to be doing right now was thumbing his nose at the school’s formal suspension of the team. He didn’t have any strikes left, and, under the circumstances, he could see his ass getting tossed if the team’s disregard of the school’s orders came to light.
How would that look on my transcript?
He’d made an excuse for missing the first practice, but he knew he couldn’t skip out on the second as well. So here he was, running drills, even though he was pretty much a scrub off the bench, here, as much as anything, to avoid being the only one on the team who wa
sn’t.
Luke’s practice uniform shirt felt a little big on him, resisting all efforts to remain tucked into his shorts. That’s what you get for overdosing, he could almost hear his dad say. Then Caitlin would chime in about emaciated junkies with shrunken stomachs and protruding ribs that made them look like walking skeletons. He was lucky to be alive, to have gotten out of this with a mulligan, and here he was risking it all to practice for games the school team might not even get to play. For years he’d watched from afar, pretty much, as trouble continued to find his brother, never figuring that he was going to be the one to go looking for it.
But he had to admit that it felt good to be out in the sun and the fall heat, ebbing now in the late afternoon. It felt good to smack the ball with his cleats and do something that felt normal enough to make him forget, however briefly, how close he’d come to dying, like, ninety-six hours before.
That would have sucked, Luke thought as he hammered a kick past midfield, right onto the foot of Ben Brussard, who launched it high into the net for a goal.
79
HOUSTON
The kid had done Yarek Bone a favor. Taking him out on school grounds would’ve posed a formidable challenge, even for Bone, especially since he figured that a guy like Cort Wesley Masters wouldn’t have left his son on his own. Fass had gotten the man’s file from his Washington sources, and Bone found himself focusing more on what was missing than what was there. Because when there was this much stuff clearly missing, indications were the dude was one bad hombre. Bone’s kind of guy, in other words.
But there was one thing Masters’s file didn’t need to mention: the fact that he and the woman Texas Ranger Bone had gone up against were lovers, that she was surrogate mother to the guy’s son, who had just slammed a foot into the soccer ball on the field clearly in his view.