by Taylor Moore
“Well, we can’t sit around all day laughing at these idiots. We got horses to feed.”
At the word horses, Asadi smiled. He’d never seen one up close in his life. Sure, they had them in Afghanistan, but not in his village, and none like the ones he’d seen on the drive up. None with cowboys atop them for sure. He could barely contain his excitement.
Butch ambled over to the dining room table and grabbed the cold weather gear Garrett had laid out for Asadi. “All right, sonny, time to earn your keep.”
After Butch dressed him in his new shirt, coat, and hat, Asadi went to the mirror in the hallway leading to the bedrooms and stood there taking in the sight. He felt like he was looking at a stranger, like someone he’d seen in a book or magazine. He looked like an American kid.
He had been admiring himself for less than a few seconds when Butch called his name from the back door. As he turned the corner out of the hallway, Asadi was met with a blast of frozen air that chilled him to the bone. The coat and hat did little to stop the cold and he shivered hard even before setting foot outside. Nevertheless, he bounded through the entry, off the back porch, and jumped into a layer of fresh snow.
Asadi was about to grab a handful of the white powder when he looked over to find the most beautiful sunset he’d ever seen. Across the endless prairie, the sun exploded in hues of orange, yellow, and pink as far as the eye could see. And it was all captured between a layer of purple storm clouds above and a snow-white blanket below.
Butch didn’t even look at it. Instead, the old man trudged through the snow to the barn behind the house. Asadi followed closely as they walked in, disappointed that it was only slightly warmer. The back of the structure was open to the outside. Under an awning a crowd of massive beasts waited behind the fence, huddling for warmth as they munched lazily on hay.
Butch pointed and mouthed the words core-der horses several times, seeming insistent on noting the importance. He even went into great detail, using not a single word other than horse that Asadi could understand.
At first, Asadi was terrified when five of the large creatures rumbled over, having never seen an animal that big up close. But it became clear they were not a threat and were more interested in food than they were in him.
The old man tapped his chest with the palm of his hand and said Booch, then pointed to each horse and rattled off their names. Asadi wanted to remember each one but it was hard to focus. He was too enamored of the beasts themselves.
Never had he seen something so impressive—beauty and power all at once. And he could tell Butch felt the same. It was in his eyes, a warmth that showed through as the old man rubbed their big foreheads and scratched their noses. He looked at them like family.
Asadi had been timid, hesitant to approach the horses until Butch led him over by the hand. Although he couldn’t grasp the old man’s words, he could somehow feel the lessons as they were conveyed to him. They were about trust, moving slowly, and being calm.
Butch pulled from a brown sack a handful of pellets and poured them into Asadi’s upturned palms. A few cascaded over and landed on the ground. Asadi worried he was wasting them, and his face must have shown it. But Butch just laughed it off.
“Plenty more where that came from.” He pointed to the horses. “Now go over there and make yourself a friend or two.”
Asadi understood the word friend and knew what to do. He carefully walked over with the feed and slid it between the slats. But he was startled by two competing horses that butted heads and accidentally dropped them to the ground. One waiting in the wings swooped in between them and nibbled at the scattered pellets. Asadi looked back again, worried he’d done something wrong.
The old man slapped his thigh and hooted laughter. “You’ve heard of horseplay, haven’t ya’, sonny?”
He didn’t know what Butch said but assumed the old man had made another of his jokes, so Asadi laughed too. The old man ambled over with his brown sack of feed and handed him a second scoop. “Give it another go!”
Asadi took the gesture to mean try again. And so, he did. This time successfully. And now that he had the hang of it, he kept up the feeding, doing his best to dish out the pellets evenly, and make sure all the horses got fed and none grew jealous.
Of course, he learned quickly, it was impossible. Some were ruder than others, nosing their way to the front and taking more than their fair share. They were just like people in that way. Some were greedy. Some were kind. But they were all magnificent.
He didn’t know their names, but Asadi had labeled them by the way they acted. And he’d already made his list of favorites. Assuming they could be ridden, he wanted to ride the one in the back, the one too shy to barge up like the others. He was black, with a white splotch on his forehead that looked like a star.
Asadi liked the gentleness of the creature and felt like they could be friends. Wanting to get to know him better, Asadi threw a pile of pellets to the ground a few feet away and watched the group rush toward it—all but the one in back.
With the rest of the group out of the way, Asadi moved to the side, grabbed a handful of feed and held it out to the black horse. After a few seconds, the big guy rumbled over. He extended his nose timidly to Asadi’s hand, took a few big whiffs, and raised his upper lip.
Turning his palm to the sky, Asadi unfurled his fingers and let the horse nibble at the pellets. He was nearly finished when the others realized what was happening and rushed over.
At this commotion, the black horse eased away and again took his place behind the others. But as the horse looked back, he let out a gentle whinny, a sound Asadi took to mean he had made a real friend.
10
Before Garrett could get more details about the threats to his family, the waitress came back at their table with the steaks. And as far as he was concerned, it wasn’t a moment too soon. After taking a second to gather his composure, Garrett dove right in. “Bridger, if somebody’s threatening your family, you need to go to the sheriff if you haven’t already.”
“If I go anywhere, it won’t be the sheriff’s department, especially with Crowley at the helm.”
“Why not?”
Bridger hesitated, as if searching for the right answer. “He’s . . . just not the right guy.”
“How is the head local lawman not the right guy?”
“Because the only thing that exceeds his incompetence is his stupidity.”
Fair enough. Garrett had run into a few in law enforcement that fit that description. But Bridger still should have reported the incident to get it on record.
“Crowley’s more politician than lawman,” Bridger scoffed. “You want anything done in a serious way you gotta break out of his circle.”
As sheriff, Crowley should have been the top of the local law enforcement food chain. But in small towns, these guys are all beholden to donors. Families like the Kaisers hold more sway than the mayor or county judge.
The thought of doing an end run on Crowley and having Bridger talk to Sanchez crossed Garrett’s mind. But if his brother hadn’t thought of that already, there was a reason.
Wanting a little more time to think on it all, Garrett let it go. “Well, you know who’s worth their salt around here a hell of a lot better than I do. But my guess is that if you’re going up the law enforcement chain then this thing goes deeper than some local yokels?”
Bridger again looked over his shoulder. Content that they were out of earshot, he picked up his fork and knife and spoke as he sawed into his steak. “About a year ago, two hotshots got stopped near the Oklahoma line on I-40 by the Texas highway patrol for speeding. Trooper got a weird feeling and called in the dogs. Didn’t take long before they’d pulled out about eight pounds of heroin hidden in a compartment under the trailer.”
“Eight pounds?” Garrett made an extra effort to feign ignorance for the sake of protecting his DEA cover. Hotshot drivers were responsible for quickly moving oil field equipment from one spot to another. “I’m guessing t
hat’s more than you need for a fun little road trip.”
“A lot more. It’s why I was surprised when I got asked to represent these guys.”
“Who hired you?”
“Oil field services outfit based out of the Eagle Ford. Company called Renegade.”
Garrett immediately remembered the Renegade Oil & Gas Services truck he’d seen out by the bridge. He’d seen them all over town.
After a quick look around Bridger continued, “I mean . . . I’ve done some light criminal cases around here in the past. You know, DWIs and rodeo cowboys doing dope. But nothing like this. I gave some referrals in Amarillo for criminal defense attorneys who knew a hell of a lot more about that stuff than I did.”
“And?”
“Renegade still wanted me as their man. You know, local guys, so they wanted a local lawyer. But what was really at the heart of it all was keeping the whole thing quiet. Said it was in everybody’s best interest that it stayed under the radar, so it didn’t reflect poorly on the company’s reputation. And since they’re tied so closely with Mescalero, it would have given both companies a black eye. You know how people gossip.”
Garrett didn’t need any reminders about that. Renegade’s reaction was understandable but rare. Most employers want nothing to do with anyone conducting criminal activity on the job. In fact, they’re usually so pissed they turn out to be the prosecutor’s biggest allies. But with oil prices low as they were, a lot of these service companies had gone under. Losing a customer as big as Mescalero in a down market would hurt like hell.
“Okay, so, what’d you do?”
Bridger threw up his hands. “I defended them.”
“Why?”
“Kaiser had agreed to provide legal counsel as part of some clause in his master service agreement with Renegade. Aside from that, he had a good working relationship with them and didn’t want to start over with another company on account of a bad egg.”
The more Garrett thought it through, the more it all made sense. Even for a company like Mescalero, one with investors, it was easier to just make the problem go away rather than deal with bad publicity. “Well, how’d it all turn out?”
“Good for Renegade and Mescalero, I guess. It never went to trial, just like they wanted. Whole thing was resolved quick and quiet.”
“And the hotshots?”
Bridger let out an exasperated laugh. “Hell, these guys had a list of priors long as my arm and they wouldn’t cooperate with law enforcement. At all. The DA offered a lighter sentence if they rolled over on their buddies, but the two turned it down flat. They pled guilty and went straight to prison. Do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars.”
Garrett leaned back in his booth, taking it all in. He signaled the waitress for two more beers. “No names? No nothing, huh?”
“They wouldn’t say a thing, Garrett. These guys were scared. They took the first plea deal and got the big bitch given their previous convictions. Twenty-five to life. Caught chain to TDC lickety-split. Over and done.”
“Twenty-five to life?” Garrett shook his head. “I’m thinking these are the kind of guys who would throw their own mama under a bus to get out of trouble. Am I right in thinking that’s a little strange?”
“That’s strange, all right.” Bridger leaned in and lowered his voice. “What’s even stranger is I got a thirty-thousand-dollar bonus check from Renegade for the fine work I did.”
Garrett took a moment to process all Bridger had told him. “A bonus for what?”
“They said it was for my discretion on the matter.” Bridger shook his head and laughed. “Discretion is part of the job. All I did is what I was supposed to do. And I didn’t talk about the case to anyone other than who I had to but that’s nothing out of the ordinary. At least for me.”
“Then what kind of discretion were they talking about?”
Bridger shrugged. “Got a feeling there was more to the story. Like maybe I might get some questions later on. And low and behold about a week later, a couple Texas Rangers paid me a visit out at the house. One was out of Lubbock, the other from down on the border at Weslaco. Had a lot of questions about Renegade. So, I told them what I knew, which wasn’t much, then they left me a card and thanked me for my time.”
“Anything come of it?”
“Nothing from them.” Bridger looked around again and lowered his voice. “But about six months later, two more Renegade hotshots heading west toward Albuquerque got nailed for dope at a truck stop near Adrian about three o’clock in the morning.
“The driver went inside to take a leak and the other idiot got into an altercation with some lot lizard hopping rig to rig doing her thing. Apparently, he wasn’t satisfied with the job, and when she tried to collect, he refused to pay. Kicked her out of the truck right onto the concrete. Sheriff’s deputy happened to be there filling his coffee and saw it all go down.”
“How’d they happen upon the drugs?”
“The one inside the bathroom took off running, so the deputy knew something was up. They tore the truck apart, finding double the amount of dope they did before.”
Garrett was genuinely intrigued and having fun. After all these years he and his brother had something in common besides their dysfunctional family. “How’d you handle this one?”
“I didn’t,” Bridger stated flatly. “Renegade’s lawyer called me up again and wanted me to do the same thing.”
“And?”
“I refused.”
“Why?”
Bridger laughed. “I know you’ll find this hard to believe, but some lawyers do have a conscience. And these guys were looking at some serious prison time. I’d learned my lesson from the first one. Stick to what you know. They needed a real criminal lawyer and I told them that very thing.”
The waitress came back and set a couple of fresh beers on the table. Bridger took a hefty swig and continued after she left. “A few days later, I get some visitors at my office. A couple of local rednecks. One big sumbitch. The other a worm. They asked me if I’d reconsider Renegade’s offer and started with questions like whether or not I’d thought about the welfare of my family. Veiled threats but a clear message.”
Garrett didn’t like where this was going. “They mention the girls?”
“By name.” Bridger clenched his napkin in his fist. “That’s when I threw their white trash asses out in the street and called up Bo Clevenger.”
Garrett was tempted to tell him about his earlier run-in involving Bo and the Renegade employee but didn’t want to interrupt until Bridger got to the end. “Why him, Bridger? What’s Bo got to do with this?”
“Works for the Renegade regional office here. Runs a contract crew of hotshots.”
Now it was coming together. And it might explain Bo’s brand-new top-of-the-line Ford F-350 Platinum parked in the lot. A truck running north of $80,000 would be hard to justify if it wasn’t a moneymaker. Of course, given what Garrett had just seen on the Wagon Bridge and was hearing from Bridger there was a chance his old friend wasn’t just a low-level hustler anymore.
Garrett leaned forward. “All right. What’d he say?”
“Said he had no idea what I was talking about. Acted like it must’ve been some buddies of the guys arrested and said he had nothing to do with it. But he didn’t back down either. Asked me if I’d reconsider working a deal like I had before.”
“And?”
“I stuck to my guns. Told him I couldn’t take the case and that was that.”
“But let me guess, that wasn’t that.”
Bridger looked out onto the dark street, seemingly at nothing, lost in his thoughts. “Last month, our dog was killed.”
“Scooter?” Truth be told, Garrett had just assumed the gray-muzzled black Labrador had probably already died. Still, it hurt to hear the news.
Bridger looked back and nodded. “We’d had him since the girls were just babies. You came with us to pick him up. Remember? Over in Dalhart.”
Garrett f
elt sick to his stomach. He had a vivid image in his mind of the twins dressing the dog like Santa Claus, with the little red hat, beard, and all. The good-natured thing just sat there and let them without making a fuss.
“I know what you’re thinking, Bridger, but around here dogs don’t always have the longest life spans. How many did we lose out at the ranch over the years? Between rattlesnakes, coyotes, and oil field trucks. I bet we—”
“It wasn’t a damn truck, Garrett. The dog had arthritis so bad he never left the house.” Bridger looked straight ahead with a thousand-yard stare. “When the girls got home, he was lying near dead on the front porch. Beaten and bloody. Barely able to breathe.” Bridger paused and swallowed hard. “We couldn’t even move him an inch. The second you touched him he’d whimper and cry. So, I sent the girls back to town and took care of it myself.”
“Dammit, Bridge! Who would do something like that?” Garrett looked around to make sure no one heard him. He hadn’t meant to react the way he did, but he was shocked, saddened, and outraged. “What the hell’s going on here?”
“What’s going on?” Bridger answered in a quiet voice, “What’s going on is I’m doing penance for my sins. Being punished for the things I never should’ve done in the first place.” He looked back out the window, into the darkness. “And now everyone I love is going to suffer.”
Part Two
For they have sown the wind, and they shall reap the whirlwind.
—Hosea 8:7
11
As Garrett drove the dark back roads returning to the ranch, he slowed below the speed limit. The roads were getting icier as the temperature dropped, and the thick snow clouds blotting out the moon and the stars didn’t do much for visibility. Not only that, he was distracted. In all his life he’d never seen Bridger that worried.
Garrett had pressed for more answers, but ever the skillful lawyer, his brother had parried him with ease. There was more to the story, that was certain, but Bridger was holding back. Given what had happened to the dog, someone was sending a message. The question was what to do now.
