by Greg Iles
Do you miss it, J.B.? she asks softly. Dont you just want to put your finger in it sometimes?
Walt tries to laugh this off, but something sticks in his throat.
Everybody wants to, she says. You dont never get too old for that.
Walt looks into her eyes, then back at the triangular shadow.
Ill be around, she says, letting the thong pop back into place. You let me know.
She pulls down the clingy skirt, opens the door, and steps out of the van.
Walt drives away without looking back. Her groping touch had repelled him, but that last, unexpected display, her frank lack of embarrassment, arced across the space between them and struck something vital. Its enough to make him want to stop the van and pour another drink. A girl he wouldnt have looked at twice ten years ago has pierced his armor with a simple tease. The confidence he felt on the boat has been shaken. As he climbs the long road that leads up the bluff, he wonders, Am I getting too old for this game?
CHAPTER
27
After two nights without sleep, seven hours rest is not enough, but ten minutes in a steaming shower at least make me feel human again. Caitlin woke me from a dead sleep at 3:45 a.m. and led me to her bathroom. Now, as Im toweling off, she comes in and sets a cup of coffee beside the lavatory. I wrap the towel around my waist, and she perches on the edge of the commode. Shes still wearing the clothes she had on at the police station.
Have you slept? I ask her, taking a hand towel off the rack to dry my hair.
Ive been reading about dogfighting.
And?
My mind is blown. Im serious. This is a worldwide sportif you can call it thatand it goes back centuries. Its been outlawed almost everywhere except Japan, but its still thriving all over the world. Did you even Google this?
I havent had time.
Caitlin shakes her head as though Im hopeless. I pictured, you know, a mob of hicks with twenty-dollar bills in their hands gathered around a couple of bulldogs. But this is a big-money business. Theres a whole American subculture out there. Two subcultures really: the old-timer redneckswho specialize in breeding game dogs and pass down all the knowledge about fighting bloodlines from the 1800s; then theres the urban culturethe street fighters, they call them. Hip-hop generation and all that. Its a macho thing. They fight their dogs in open streets, basements, fenced yards. But as different as the two subcultures are, they have a lot in common. Theyre highly organized, they train the dogs the same way, and they expose their kids to it very young to desensitize them Its sick.
Game dogs, you said. Is that what they call fighting dogs?
No, no. Gameness is a quality that a dog has or doesnt have. If a dog is game, that means hes willing to fight to the point of death, no matter how badly injured he is. Truly game dogs will keep fighting with two broken forelegs.
Jesus.
Caitlin stands, outrage animating her. Apparently pit bull terriers are among the most loyal dogs in the world, and its that loyalty that these assholes twist to create animals that will sacrifice their lives to please their masters. You should see some pictures. When theyre not fighting, these dogs live on heavy three-foot chains or on the breeding stand. Thats it. And they dont live long. You know what happens to dogs that arent considered game?
I can guess.
She nods. They kill them. Kill them or use them for practice. Practice means letting other dogs tear them to pieces, to give them a taste for blood. If its the first option, they shoot them, hang them, bash in their skulls with bats, electrocute them, run them over with trucks. Sometimes they just let them starve.
Its hard to grasp, I say, knowing this is hardly adequate. I need my clothes.
Theyre in the dryer. Ill get them. Though I kind of like seeing you this way. Its been a while.
This is what you get with a journalist like Caitlin. She can talk about horrific details in the same sentence with her desire for food or sex. I guess its like doctors talking about suppurating infections while they eat. After a while, they just dont think about it.
Yes, it has, I agree.
She looks at me for a few moments more, then leaves the bathroom.
The hook has been set. She will not let go of this story until she finds everything there is to know. This probably puts her in more danger than she was in before, but at least now she knows what shes dealing with, and I will be close enough to protect her.
After I dress, we take my backpack and slip out a side window, then through a neighbors yard to a street two blocks away. There a female reporter named Kara picks us up in her Volkswagen. She drives us to her apartment on Orleans Street, tells Caitlin to be careful, and disappears. Then Caitlin takes the wheel and follows the directions Ive given her.
Our destination is a hundred acres of gated land called Hedges Plantation. Just off Highway 61 South, its owned by Drew Elliott, my fathers first junior partner, and a friend of mine since grade school. Dad is supposed to have got the key so that he can let us onto the property at 4:30 a.m. Danny McDavitt and Kelly are flying in from Baton Rouge, and McDavitt can probably set the chopper down there without anyone being the wiser. Though Hedges is surrounded by the newest residential developments on the south side of town, its mostly wooded, and protected from casual observation on every side. Drew originally planned to build a home here, but now I hear he plans to build a high-end subdivision. Modern medicine in a nutshell. There are a couple of aluminum buildings on the property, and its one of these that Ive chosen for our rendezvous.
Is that the one? Caitlin asks, pointing to a narrow gravel road just past the entrance to an antebellum home on the right.
No, the next one.
I see it. Okay. She slows the car, and the wheels crunch on gravel. The thing about dogfighting, she saysits standard procedure for Caitlin to return without warning to a previous discussionis that when the police do bust fights, which is rarely, they always turn up evidence of other crimes. Drugs, weapons, prostitution. The gambling goes without saying.
Kill your lights.
What?
Theres enough moonlight to get us down this road.
She switches off the lights but keeps talking. I dont mean random stuff either. The same criminals who run drugs and guns and girls love fighting dogs. Its like the ultimate expression of the male lust for power and violence.
Your Radcliffe education is showing.
Well, its true.
I know. Thats why I called Kelly.
She gives me a tight smile. Yeah, I get it now.
As we roll up to a metal gate, a tall, white-haired man steps from behind some cedar trees to our right. My father. Caitlin smiles and starts to roll down her window, but Dad pulls open the gate and motions for us to drive quickly through. After we do, he locks the gate behind us and comes to the passenger door of the Volkswagen. I get out and squeeze into the back, leaving the front seat for him.
Well, Kate, he says, his eyes glinting as he looks at Caitlin. Its sure been dull without you around.
No more boredom, she says with a smile. I guarantee that, at the very least. Have you heard from Peggy and Annie?
Dad shakes his head. Were talking as little as possible. And only on the satellite phone.
I have it with me, I say. We can get an update after this meeting.
Good. I have a surprise for you, Son.
Whats that?
Walts here.
Garrity?
Right.
What do you mean here? In Natchez? Or here here?
Hes in the shed now, talking to Kelly.
For the first time, I feel a rush of real optimism.
The sly son of a bitch just appeared in my house, Dad says
. Almost gave me a coronary. I have James Ervin watching me, and he had no idea Walt was even there.
James Ervin is a black cop my dad used to treat. Thats not encouraging.
Walts pretty slick, Dad says.
Whos Walt Garrity? Caitlin asks.
A Texas Ranger, Dad explains. Met him in Korea, when we were still boys. Hes semiretired, but I guess once you learn to sneak past Indians and Mexicans, retired city cops arent much of a challenge. This will be the only night we see him. He wants to work totally apart from everyone else.
As well as I got to know Walt in Houston, there are many things I dont know about him. For example, I know that my father saved Walts life during the Korean War, and that Walt later returned the favor, but I dont know the circumstances of either episode. Both men belong to a generation that doesnt talk about certain things without a compelling reason.
Im sure Walt knows best, I say. Well talk about your security later.
Dad ignores this and motions for Caitlin to continue up the road. She gives his hand a squeeze, then begins driving us deeper into the forest.
Were meeting in a sixty-by-forty-foot shed of galvanized aluminum, the kind you see along highways all over the South. My father leads Caitlin and me past a ski boat on a trailer, a 1970s-vintage Corvette with a hole in its fiberglass, an orange Kubota tractor, a zero-turn lawn mower, and various other power machinery used for grounds maintenance. Near the far end of the building, sitting in folding lawn chairs beneath two camouflage-painted deer stands, are Danny McDavitt, Carl Sims, Walt Garrity, and Daniel Kelly. At first glance, they look incongruous, like an illustration of different American types: an astronaut, an NFL cornerback, a cowboy, and a surfer with a blond ponytail. Im surprised to see Carl Sims here, but before I can ask about his descent into the Devils Punchbowl, Walt Garrity drawls, Look what the cat drug in.
Rising from his lawn chair, Walt catches sight of Caitlin and quickly doffs his Stetson. Maam. I didnt realize wed be having female company.
Kelly rises to give Caitlin a hug. They met seven years ago, when we were drawn together by the Delano Payton case. What do we have here, Penn? Kelly asks. The Seven Samurai?
Carl Sims smiles from his chair. Kind of looks like it, if you count the lady.
Oh, she pulls her weight, Kelly says.
Gratitude shines in Caitlins eyes as she shakes hands with Carl and Danny.
Maybe youre right, I say. Leaderless soldiers gathered to save a village.
Well, Im impressed, Caitlin says. An air force pilot, a marine sniper, a Texas Ranger, a Delta Force commando, and a doctor.
You left out lawyer and reporter, McDavitt points out.
Superfluous on any important mission, Im sure, she quips, getting a chuckle all around and putting everyone at ease.
Not these days, Kelly says. Even the army needs a legal department and a propaganda machine.
He unfolds three more chairs, and we sit in a tight circle, surrounded by chain saws and Weed Eaters and the oily smell of two-stroke engines. I look across the circle to Carl.
So, you made it out of the Punchbowl?
The sniper grins and shakes his head like a man whos spent a week crossing a desert. Took a while, but I finally did.
Danny McDavitt says, I would have called and told you, but I figured you needed the sleep.
Thank you, says Caitlin. He did.
Did you find anything down there? I ask.
Not a damn thing. Not in the car or around it. I grid-searched on my hands and knees. If there was anything down there, somebody else already got it.
Do you think the car burned when it crashed, or somebody torched it and dumped it there?
Somebody torched it, but I dont think they did it until yesterday. I think somebody else made the same climb I did, either to find something or to be sure they destroyed something.
As I recall the USB drive Tim concealed in his own body, Dad says, So, where do we start? Is everybody on the same page, or whatever they say these days?
Walt leans back and speaks from beneath the brim of his hat. His voice has been roughened by years of cigarette smoke, and the clear eyes in the weathered face give him a natural authority that the others seem ready to defer to, at least for now.
Mr. Kelly was just telling me some things his company has learned in the past few hours. Reckon he ought to start us off.
Everybody good with that? Kelly asks.
The group nods as one.
As most of you know, I work for Blackhawk Risk Manage ment. We have a research department, and theyve been checking out Jonathan Sands. In some ways, our research people arent much different from those at any other corporation. They use Google, Nexis, et cetera. But Blackhawk also employs former counterterror operators from the U.S., Britain, Israel, Germany, South Africabasically every major military power. We also employ former government lawyers and retired line officers. So our informal network of sources is pretty good. The initial bio I got back is detailed, but it only goes back to February 1989, when Sands left the UK. Northern Ireland, to be exact. This was just after some of the worst fighting in the so-called Troubles over there. The Brits are stonewalling on exactly what Sands did before 89, so well have to be content with what we have for now.
Why would they hold back? I ask.
Kelly shrugs. We dont know that yet. But he has an amazing story, and Ive heard a few. When Sands left Northern Irelandone step ahead of somebody, is my guesshe worked as a mercenary for almost a decade, then settled in Macao. He started in the security department of a casino owned by Edward Po. Po is a legend, a whole separate story, so lets forget him for now. Suffice to say hes a sixty-eight-year-old Chinese billionaire, utterly ruthless and notoriously kinky. The important thing is that Sands arrived just before Macao was returned to Chinese sovereignty. It was about to expand from a serious-gamblers-only city to a Vegas-style destination, and Sands proved a valuable asset to Po. He was white, he could pass for English, and he had the kind of skill set that rough boys develop in Northern Ireland, plus what hed learned in the interim. That doesnt explain his meteoric rise within Pos organization, though. He was promoted very quickly, and within three years he was often seen with Po at various public functions in China. And not as a security officer, but a corporate officer. Sands even seemed to overtake Pos son, whose name is Chao.
What explains that? asks my father.
Dogfighting, says Kelly. Thats what I think. Its Pos passion. Hes a famous breeder of Japanese Tosas, and he definitely fights them on a circuit.
You think Sands picked up the taste for it there? Carl asks.
Kelly shakes his head. My gut tells me Sands grew up around it. Specialized knowledge about the sport would have got him noticed by Po.
Caitlin says, I found a lot online about dogfighting in England and Ireland, going back centuries.
Kelly nods sagely. Lets rewind a few years. Before Sands arrived on the scene, Edward Po had a younger brother named Yang, who died of cancer. Yang Po was a Christian, a Baptist converted by Scottish missionaries, and he ultimately married one of their daughters. Yang had a daughter named Jiaohalf-caste, white blood. Very hotin pictures, anyway.
I met her, I say. Shes striking, all right.
Caitlin cuts her eyes at me. Is she part of whatevers going on here?
I think so, yeah. Thats the vibe I got.
Thats interesting, says Kelly. Because Yang Po had no involvement in his brothers casinos or any other criminal activity. He was a professora law professor, if you can believe that. Edward, on the other hand, was neck-deep in every racket you can run in China, and thats saying a lot. Hes since exported a lot of his operations to the U.S. and Europe, as well. Whats important for us is that Edward
Po promised his dying brother that hed not only take care of Jiao, but shield her from the sinful lifestyle. And he tried. He sent her to Cambridge, in fact. But when Jiao returned to Macao, she naturally fell for Sands, the Irish bad boy, much as her uncle seems to have done. Po hoped shed grow out of it, but when she didnt, he told Sands to get out of town or else.
Or else what? asks Caitlin.
If Sands left China without Jiao, hed get a nice severance package and the highest recommendation. If he stuck around or tried to take Jiao with him, theyd sever his genitals from his body, then his head from his neck.
Caitlins eyebrows arch with interest, if not surprise. So what did he do? Jiaos here now. Did Sands risk the reprisal and take her with him?
Hes not the type to cave to threats, I say.
Depends on whos doing the threatening, says Kelly. The IRA thinks they know something about torture? Trust me, you have to go to Asia to learn about pain. Sands had seen Pos organization from the inside, and he knew what would happen. He did exactly what the boss wanted. He left the girl and China. Anyone want to guess where he went?
Land of opportunity? prompts Danny McDavitt.
You got it. Las Vegas, to be exact. With Pos recommendation, Sands got a top security job with the Palm Hotel group. Turned out his ambition was to own a casino himself. I think thats what Sands was doing with the niece in Macao, trying to marry into the business. Fast-forward a few months, and enter Craig Weldon, a Los Angeles entertainment lawyer who liked to hang out at the Vegas Palm. Weldon owns a sports management agency, and he had the same dream as Sands, to own a casino. The difference was, Weldon had the money to build one. Thats how Golden Parachute was born. They made a simple plan to go into secondary marketslike Mississippiand beat out the competition. They wanted to clean up out in the sticks, then return to Vegas as conquering heroes ten years later. Not a bad plan. But while they were putting all this together, Jiao showed up in Vegas. Couldnt stay away. True love, and all that. Now, did Sands try to send her back to China? Did he ask her to stay? We dont know. All we do know is that Po didnt send an unlicensed surgical team to castrate Sands. He let the Golden Parachute get completely unfurled, ready to catch wind, and then
