The Territory A Novel - By Tricia Fields Page 0,30
violence increased, the trust among the two cities’ law enforcement agencies had deteriorated. Both countries found the other’s legal system lacking. Mexico blamed the American lust for drugs and lack of gun laws, and the U.S. blamed Mexico’s corrupt government and loss of control on the drug cartels. The blame was somewhere in the middle, so in a strange way, it made sense that the problems had collected and festered like an open wound in the hundred-mile strip of middle ground the locals called the Territory.
* * *
When Josie and Marta left for Mexico, Otto called Hack Bloster and Paul Fallow and asked them to meet him at the station. He’d decided to interview them together to get a feel for the dynamics of the Gunners before calling in its other members.
Fallow arrived first, still wearing his white doctor’s coat over a pink polo shirt and khaki pants. His expression was grim but composed, less frantic than he had appeared at Red’s place the day before. Waiting by the front desk, they discussed the slight chance of much-needed rain for the following day.
When Bloster walked in, in his brown sheriff’s department uniform, the still air changed perceptibly, as if an electric current emanated from his body. Fallow made eye contact, and Bloster’s back hunched up like a snarling dog’s. Otto wondered if he had made a mistake calling them in together.
Gesturing toward the office upstairs, Otto walked beside Fallow, and they followed two steps behind Bloster up the dimly lit stairs. Otto glanced over and saw Fallow’s eyes trained on the holstered gun hanging down Bloster’s side, tapping his thigh with each step.
They took seats around the oak conference table located at the front of the office. Fallow slipped into a seat across the table from Bloster and drew himself up like a rabbit trying to avoid notice. Bloster pulled a chair out, took his time adjusting his gun belt, and sat back in his chair with his legs apart. He took up a space that two average-sized men could have fit in. Otto thought he had the look of a man ready to explode at the slightest provocation. He had worked accidents and crime scenes with Bloster through the years and disapproved of his braggadocio. He was the kind of officer who liked to appear in charge of an investigation in front of victims, but who tried to slough off the actual paperwork and questioning to another officer.
Otto got started: “Here’s the situation. We’ve got a body, stolen guns, and a boatload of motives. Problem is, almost no leads. Since you fellas knew him better than anyone, I need you to help me fill in some gaps.”
Fallow nodded. Bloster didn’t move.
“What kind of fights go on between members?”
Fallow shrugged.
“Come on. A bunch of men talking guns and politics? I know there’re disagreements.”
Fallow shrugged again. Bloster’s nostrils flared, and Otto thought he might be getting somewhere.
“All right. Hack, we’ll start with you. You’re the vice president of the Gunners?”
Bloster tipped his head back slightly to acknowledge the question.
“Why don’t you start with your relationship with Red,” Otto said.
“My relationship?” he responded, as if the question were perverse.
“Did you think Red made a good president? Did you get along with him? That kind of thing.”
“When you sign the book as a Gunner, you sign it for life. You commit to a way of life. To upholding our Second Amendment rights. We’re not about getting along with each other. We’re about taking care of this country, our women and children.” Bloster glared at Fallow, who refused to look back and instead sipped at his coffee.
“Did you like Red as a person?” Otto asked.
“What’s that got to do with anything?”
Otto sighed, already tired of Bloster’s tactics. He was a cop and knew exactly what the question had to do with the investigation. “Red’s dead. I need to find out who wanted him that way. I do that by asking a lot of questions to a lot of people. So, tell me. Did you like Red?”
“I loved him like a brother.” Bloster sneered at Otto with the look of a defiant high school punk.
“Did you agree with the way he led the organization?” Otto said.
“Look. Red had the guns. You can’t be the Gunners without guns. Get my drift? So whether I liked him or not was never the point. His sandbox. His rules.”