You dig around enough, you can probably cut some of the strands of that web, maybe even pull the whole thing apart. But should you? The town needs that mill, Marshall, and everything coming with it. Is it right to deny folks employment just so you can stop Claude Buckman banking another few million dollars?”
Would Dad be surprised to learn that he’s restated Buckman’s thesis for him, in almost his exact words? For a moment I wonder if the crafty old banker just got off the phone with my father. “Probably not,” I tell him. “But damn, I’d like to take those bastards down.”
“Of course you would!” Mom says for him. “That’s the newsman’s dream. It’s Jesus driving the money changers from the temple. John Wayne wading through the black hats with a shillelagh, taking no prisoners. But that’s not real life.”
“Maybe not. But right now, I have the power to do it. I’m close to it, anyway.”
“Are you? I’m impressed. But you know the old saw.”
I think for a minute. “With power comes responsibility?”
“Hah! Maybe I did teach you something all those years ago.”
“Maybe you did,” I concede. Maybe more than I realized, I add silently.
“Are we done?” I hear Dad say. “Your mother just changed the channel to Pravda, and I have some shoes to throw.”
Pravda is one of Dad's nicknames for Fox News. He often refers to CNN as Entertainment Tonight. “That’s it, Dad. I appreciate it.”
“Uh-huh. Over and out.”
After Mom says goodbye, I pick up my burner phone and text Jet, typing: I know you said not to call. This is important. Get back to me ASAP. Then I set down the phone and pick up Buck’s guitar again. Travis-picking in C, I marvel over the clarity and amiability of my father’s response. I figured getting him to speak civilly would be like pulling teeth, as it has been on most occasions when I’ve tried to draw him out during the past months. What explains the change? If anything, I’d expect worsening health to make him less amenable to giving me a coherent answer. And less able. Thinking back on what he said makes Dr. Kirby’s dire prognosis difficult to accept. Can a man who speaks with such enthusiasm be that close to death?
Of course he can, answers a cold voice in my head. An airplane engine can run perfectly until the moment it fails—
My burner phone is ringing. I snatch it up and hold it to my mouth. “Are you alone?” I ask.
“I’ve got three minutes,” Jet says in a taut voice. “What’s happened now?”
“I just met with half the Poker Club at the Bienville Southern Bank. Max wasn’t there. They made me an offer. I want your advice.”
“What’s the offer?”
“Pretty much anything I want.”
“Money?”
“Not just money. They said if I want a new public school, they’ll make it happen. Infrastructure, done. Community betterment fund, done.”
There’s a brief pause. “In exchange for?”
“Dropping my investigations into Buck and the Poker Club.”
“Of course. What do you want from me?”
“Tell me what you’d do in my place.”
Jet is silent for a few seconds. “Have you found Sally’s cache?”
“No. That’s another thing. They want it. I told them I don’t have it, but they assume I’m lying.”
“Well, all this is hypothetical then. Without the cache, they won’t give you anything.”
“Not strictly true. Turns out I have a couple of secret admirers. First, whoever’s sending me the game camera photos.”
“Photos, plural? You got another one?”
“Yeah. This one shows Beau Holland with Buck. Same night.”
“Wow. Who’s this other source?”
“I don’t know. But I think they’ve sent me part of Sally’s cache.”
This time the silence lasts longer. “What’s in it?”
“Emails, deeds, bills of sale. It details some scams involving members of the Poker Club.”
“Enough to ruin the Azure Dragon deal?”
“It’s definitely a start. It might be enough to persuade Buckman it’s the cache. But assume I had the whole cache. What do you say? What would you do?”
“Burn them down. Stall them, play along, then rip them to pieces in the paper tomorrow. Crucify them. They deserve it, every one. ”
“You didn’t take long with that. What about the consequences for the town? Losing the mill?”
“Screw this town. I know that’s not how you feel, but I’ve lived here for the last thirty years. You haven’t. You romanticize this place, Marshall. But it’s rotten. Think about Buck’s murder. Think of all he did for Bienville. But after they killed him, who really gave a shit? They all wished he’d died a year