Devil's Run (21 page)

“Interesting,” I said,
but I was watching Kohl approach.

Mayor Dave shook his
head. “Must cost them a fortune to keep that thing going.”

“What thing are we
speaking of, Mr. Mayor?” said Kohl.

“Oh, good evening,
Arnold. I was just telling Mr. Craig about your hydroponic garden.”

“Ah, were you?” he said,
his expression inscrutable.

“Come on over here,”
said Cory. “Let’s get everybody.”

We spent the next couple
of minutes posing with Canfield and the others as Cory snapped photos. Finally,
I managed to slip away over to the bar.

“Another Smithwicks?”
said Tim.

“Thank you, Tim. That
would be great.”

As he went to pull me a
fresh one, Boyd came and stood next to me.

“You will not be joining
us for dinner,” he said.

“If Mrs. Canfield asks.”

“She won’t.” He looked
at his watch. “Meet me in the dining room in five minutes. We can talk
privately there.”

He turned and went back
to the others as Tim placed a fresh glass of beer on the bar behind me.

“So, you in or you out?”
he said. “I can’t tell.”

“Smart money’s on out,
Tim.”

“Sorry to hear that.”

“Really?” I glanced over
at the group clustered around Senator Canfield, then turned back to Tim. “Seem
like a bunch of assholes to me.”

He laughed.

I reached into my pocket
and pulled out the sliver of yellow metal.

“What’s that?” said Tim.

“I don’t know. What do
you think it is?”

He shrugged. “Beats me.
Looks like an arrowhead.”

“That’s what I thought
at first, but this looks like paint.”

“Where’d you find it?”

“Down where the fire
was, stuck in a tree. Wish I could figure out what it is.” I put it on the bar
and pushed it towards him with my finger. “Can you dispose of it for me?”

“Sure.” He slipped it
off the bar and put it in his pocket.

“By the way, Tim, may I
offer you some advice?”

“Certainly,” he said.

“Ever been to San
Francisco?”

“Of course, great town.”

“Ever call it ‘Frisco’
while you were there.”

He grimaced. “Just once.
They do not like that.”

“Uh-huh. People
in Lom-
poke
are just as sensitive about people calling it Lom-
pock
,
like you did. I would have thought someone from there would know that.”

He just stared at me,
his face a stone mask.

“Take it from an old
hand,” I said, “it never pays to get too cute with a cover story.”

I dropped a ten on the
bar and walked out.

The dining room was
empty and lit only by the candles on the long banquet table in the center of
the room. The other tables and chairs were pulled back against the wall near
the kitchen doors. The windows here offered a nearly unobstructed view of the
town below. At this distance it looked like a small galaxy, the lights
spiraling out from a densely packed center, growing sparser and dimmer.

Someone came up behind
me. I turned, expecting to see Boyd, but it was Catherine.

“Don’t like crowds much,
do you?” she said.

“I think maybe it’s the
other way around.”

“Could be. Quite a view,
isn’t it?”

“Certainly is,” I said.
“I can see my house from here.”

“I actually can, you
know.”

“Really?”

She stepped forward and
pointed with the hand holding the champagne flute. “See the blue light, off to
the left?”

It took me a moment, but
then I spotted it, near the outskirts of the town. “Yes.”

“My porch light.”

“Why blue? Because
you’re a cop?”

“No. Tradition.”

“I know what a red porch
light means, but this you need to explain.”

“I got lost once, in a
blizzard, back in Illinois when I was a kid.” She got a faraway look. “It was
not long after my mother died. We lived in one of those old postwar
developments where the houses looked pretty much the same. I was walking home
from a town skating pond – can’t skate there any more of course, too much
liability - and the snow was so thick I couldn’t find my house. They were all
just blurs. I kept knocking on doors. Finally, a man opened one, a complete
stranger, and he invited me in.”

“Uh-oh.”

“Don’t worry, it’s not
going there. Besides, I’d been properly taught. After some back and forth I
consented to give him our phone number, which Dad had made me memorize. He went
inside to call while I waited on the porch. Moments later my Dad came running
out of our house.” She laughed. “It was just four doors down. I was nearly
frozen, and my Dad was frantic.” She shrugged. “After that, he changed the
front and back porch lights to bright blue bulbs, so I’d always know my own
house. Silly”

“My Dad did something
similar, except he changed the locks.”

“Everything’s a joke to
you, isn’t it?”

“Not everything. Murder
for one.”

“Murder’s no joke to me,
either.”

“That’s good to know.”

She sipped some
champagne. “I got a call from the county coroner today.”

“Was he prospecting for
customers?”

“It seems one of our
corpses has gone missing.”

“I’m not sure what that
means.”

“Really? They discovered
it because some smart ass named Somerset, whose description sounds pretty close
to yours, showed up looking for an Army buddy.”

“Somerset?” I said. “I
don’t believe I know the man.”

“You two make a nice
couple,” said Richard Imperatrice.

We turned to see him
striding towards us.

“People need to stop
saying that,” said Catherine.

“Oh, Nick has his good
points. I always found him a very straight arrow.” He smiled broadly. “His
later slips were understandable, considering the circumstances. I heard he got
that out of his system.”

Catherine looked from one
of us to the other. She clearly didn’t like what she saw in my face. “This
sounds like none of my business,” she said, finally.

“None of his, either.”
To him I said, “Don’t you have an ass to kiss?”

His smile got broader.
“Times change, Nick. Mine’s the one that gets kissed now.”

“If you meant to say
kicked, I’ll be happy to oblige you.”

“Alright, boys,” said
Catherine. “Don’t make me put the cuffs on you.”

“That’s okay,” I said.
“I was just leaving.”

“No you’re not,” said
Cory, bustling into the dining room, champagne flute in hand. “I just talked to
Jeff and I insist you stay for dinner.”

“I really shouldn’t. I’m
not dressed for it and I’d be the odd man out.”

“Not true! You’ll fill
the empty spot at the table.”

Boyd was standing behind
her, shaking his head ‘no’. That clinched it.

“Thank you, Cory, I’d be
delighted.”

Cory placed me next to
Mayor Dave and across from Catherine, who looked especially fetching in the
candlelight. I made it through the first course, a tasty gazpacho, without having
to say anything. Mayor Dave and the other locals were dominating the
conversation, prattling on about the success of the winter season thus far and
generally kissing the ass of every Verdugo representative in the room. Senator
Canfield listened politely, making the occasional appropriate comment, while
his wife gave him adoring glances between spoonfuls of the chilled soup.
However, the magic couldn’t last, and during the lull caused by the clearing of
the soup course Canfield suddenly addressed me.

“Mr. Craig, you’re from
New York City, I understand.”

“Guilty as charged,
Senator.”

“What is the view from
the Northeast of what we’re trying to accomplish down on the border?”

All heads swung towards
me.

“I’m hardly
representative of the population.”

“Well, then, give me
your own opinion.”

I leaned back while the
waiter placed a small plate of salad in front of me, one with unfamiliar greens
sprinkled with mandarin oranges and little pebbles of cheese. “I’m still not
sure I’m the right person to ask. I was in law enforcement for a long time.”

“I’d still like to know
what you think.”

Opinions are like
assholes, everyone has one. And mine usually made me seem like an asshole.

“If you insist.” I
paused to gather my thoughts. “I understand what you’re trying to do with the
fence and all. The national security concerns, the drug trade, and illegal
immigration. It’s just.” I stopped, hoping lightning would strike me.

“Yes?”

“I’m not sure a fence is
a workable solution.”

There was astonishment
on some of the faces around the table that I was bearding the lion in his den.

Canfield himself seemed
unruffled. “The Israelis have had a lot of success with their Gaza fence,” he
said.

“That fence is less than
thirty miles long, in a populated area, with plenty of guards and armed
checkpoints. We’re talking over fourteen hundred miles, much of it through
desolate terrain.”

“Our southern border is
porous,” said Canfield, “with untold thousands pouring across with little to
hinder them. Illegal immigration severely taxes our healthcare, education, and
social services systems,” he said, ticking them off on his fingers, “and then
there is the threat of terrorism. The Israelis cut suicide bombings from Gaza
to nothing with their fence.”

“Yes, but rockets
replaced the suicide bombers, and they still have a healthy smuggling problem.”

“If it stops one
terrorist, it’s worth it,” said Mayor Dave, nodding vigorously in agreement
with himself.

“And exactly how many
attacks have been launched in this country since nine-eleven by terrorists who
infiltrated our southern border?” I said to him. “I’ll tell you how many. Zero.
Terrorism is a straw dog. There are easier ways to infiltrate this country. We
have twelve thousand miles of coastline, not to mention six thousand miles of
undefended border up north. Hell, Canadian amnesty laws may as well have been
designed by an Al Qaeda travel agent. No, this fence is about illegal
immigration. And to a lesser extent drug smuggling.”

“You must admit,” said
Canfield, “that stopping illegal immigration is a very important goal.”

“Making that fence
work,” I said, “is going to require the equivalent of a standing army on our
border with a friendly nation and major trading partner.”

“A friendly nation that
is in a chaos of violence and in serious danger of collapse,” said Canfield.
“Drug cartels openly defy and battle the government. Politicians, judges, and
police chiefs are murdered wholesale. Those illegals are coming here because
their own government cannot protect them from violence.”

“On the contrary,
Senator, most are coming here because per capita income in the United States is
seven hundred fifty percent what it is in Mexico. They want better lives, and
they were coming in droves even before the violence. As for the chaos in
Mexico, that is largely because of us.”

“What the hell are you
talking about?” said Mayor Dave.

“Now, Mr. Mayor,” said
Canfield, holding up a calming hand, “let the man speak. Mr. Craig?”

“The violence and
anarchy there is fueled almost entirely by our demand for illicit drugs. The
people of Mexico are merely in the pipeline.” I waved my hand around the table.
“We’re the spigot.” I pointed at the lights below. “I guarantee you that in
some of those mansions down there illegal drugs are being used right now. It’s
part of the culture, made fashionable by celebrities, Wall Street brokers, and
politicians – no offense, Senator.”

“None taken,” he said,
smiling. “How do we change that?”

“In a free society, one
with a culture as coarse as ours, you can’t. We have a First Amendment that protects
the sleazy along with the sublime. So as long as the entertainment industry
continues to glorify drugs and champion their use, demand will stay high. I’m a
veteran of the so-called war on drugs and I can verify that despite all our
efforts the stuff comes in by the ton. We spend billions of dollars to very
little effect. We had success in Columbia, but the cartels just moved to other,
friendlier countries and set up shop.”

“So you’re for
legalization?” said Randolph.

“That might work eventually,
but some pretty ruthless people supply this stuff right now. They aren’t going
to go away quietly and let legitimate drug companies and the government tax man
reap what they see as their rightful profits.”

“Do you really think
legitimate drug companies would manufacture and sell such poison?” said
Randolph.

“In a heartbeat, if it’s
legalized. They have in the past. Cocaine was once an ingredient in Coca Cola
and the name ‘heroin’ is a trademark of the same company that makes Bayer
aspirin.”

“You’re kidding,” said
Mayor Dave’s wife.

“Heroin was sold over
the counter as a cough suppressant for years. In any case, these cartels have
amassed billions of dollars and can simply buy into legitimate drug companies
and take them over.”

“It seems to me, Mr.
Craig,” said Canfield, “that you are really good at finding problems, but not
at offering solutions.”

“As I understand it,
Senator, finding solutions is what we elect people like you to do.”

 Boyd said, “That’s
enough, Craig”

Catherine looked down
and toyed with her salad.

“You are correct, Mr.
Craig,” said Canfield, ignoring Boyd. “That is why my constituents elected me.
And my solution is the fence. It may not be perfect, but it is worth trying.”

“We have different
definitions of worth, Senator. Conservative estimates of what this border fence
will cost run around thirty billion dollars. You and I both know it will cost
much more than that, after you factor in the usual cost overruns, the skimming,
and the padded union contracts. And it will take so long to finish, that by the
time it gets done, if it ever gets done, some smart guy will have found a way
to beat it.”

“Not if we put the Army
on the border,” said Randolph.

“As I said, the cartels
have billions to spend. Do we really want to create a situation that exposes
our military to the sort of corruption that’s rampant in our neighbors to the
South?”

“Well, I say we at least
try the fence,” said Mayor Dave. He turned to me and sneered. “It’s better than
doing nothing. And I believe it will stop illegal immigration.”

“It may slow it,” I
said, “but it won’t stop it. The smugglers always find a way. Demand is high
for their product, too. As long as the well-to-do want their beds made and
their lawns mowed for a reasonable price, we’ll have a constant stream of
illegals to replenish the supply.” I looked around the table. “You know, some
poor illegal froze to death in your town not long ago, and as far as I can
tell, nobody reported him missing. Or cared to find out why he died.”

Catherine’s eyes blazed
and her mouth opened to speak, but Richard Imperatrice, of all people, came to
my rescue.

“I should have warned
everyone,” he said, “that my experience with Nick is that he has strong
opinions.”

“And is not very
diplomatic when sharing them,” said Catherine.

I pushed back from the
table and stood up. “My wife once told me I could light up a room simply by
leaving. I apologize for all my shortcomings, and don’t wish to further damage
the mood. Senator. Mrs. Canfield. Chief Masterson.”