The Racketeer Page 0,82

out of the same incident in which your brother was killed, right?"

"You got it. I pled guilty and went away for five. My cousin is still in prison, Big Sandy over in Kentucky, a bad place. Most of my cousins are either locked up or dead. That's one reason I moved to Radford, Mr. Baldwin, to get away from the drug business."

"I see. Please call me Reed. My father is Mr. Baldwin."

"Okay. And I'm Nathan, or Nate." We tap glasses again as if we're suddenly much closer. In prison we called him Nattie.

"Tell me about your film company," he says. I anticipated this, but it is still shaky ground.

I take a gulp and swallow slowly. "Skelter is a new company based in Miami, just me and two partners, plus a staff. For years I worked for a bigger production company in L.A., an outfit called Cove Creek Films, you may have heard of it." He has not. He just glanced at the rear end of a shapely young waitress. "Anyway, Cove Creek has won a ton of awards and made decent money in this business, but last year it blew up. Big fight over creative control and which projects to do next. We're still in the middle of some nasty litigation that looks like it will drag on for years. There's an injunction in federal court in L.A. that prohibits me from even talking about Cove Creek or the lawsuit, pretty crazy, huh?" To my relief, Nathan is rapidly losing interest in my film company and its problems.

"Why are you based in Miami?"

"I went there a few years ago working on a film about bogus government defense contractors and fell in love with the place. I live on South Beach. Ever been there?"

"No." Except for the trips arranged by the U.S. Marshals Service, Nathan has never ventured more than two hundred miles from Willow Gap.

"It's a happening place. Beautiful beaches, gorgeous girls, wild nightlife. I got a divorce four years ago and I'm enjoying the single life again. I spend about half the year there. The other half, I'm on the road filming."

"How do you film a documentary?" he asks, then knocks back some beer.

"It's far different from a feature film. It's usually just me and a cameraman, maybe a technician or two. The story is the important part, not the scenery or the actor's face."

"And you want to film me?"

"Absolutely. You, maybe your mother, maybe other members of the family. I want to go to the place where your brother was killed. What I'm after here, Nathan, is the truth. I'm onto something, something that could really be big. If I can prove the DEA systematically knocks off drug dealers, that they murder them in cold blood, then we might be able to bust these sumbitches. My nephew was breaking bad, getting deeper into the crack trade, but he was not a hard-core dealer. Stupid, yes, but not dangerous. He was seventeen and unarmed, and he was shot three times from point-blank range. A stolen pistol was left at the scene, and the DEA claims it belonged to him. They're a bunch of liars."

Nathan's face slowly contorts into anger and he looks as if he wants to spit.

I press on: "The film will be the story of three, maybe four of these murders. I'm not sure if my nephew's will be included because I'm the filmmaker. Maybe I'm too close to his death. I've already filmed the story of Jose Alvarez in Amarillo, Texas, a nineteen-year-old undocumented worker who was shot fourteen times by DEA agents. Problem is, no one in his family speaks English and there's not much sympathy for illegal immigrants. I've filmed the story of Tyler Marshak, a college boy in California who was peddling marijuana. The DEA broke into his dorm room like a bunch of Gestapo goons and shot him dead in his bed. You may have read about it." He has not. The Nathan Cooley I knew played video games hours a day and never looked at a newspaper or magazine. Nor does he have the innate curiosity to check out either Skelter Films or Cove Creek.

"Anyway, I have some great footage of the dorm room, the autopsy, and statements from his family, but they're currently tied up in a lawsuit against the DEA. I may not be able to use this."

Lunch arrives and we order more beer. Nathan rips chicken off the bone and wipes his mouth with a napkin. "Why are