by Ben Rehder
“You want to ask your goddamn question?” Walter said, thumping the cane for emphasis.
Rosen let it slide. The snippy attitude didn’t bother him. He was immune to it by now, in his line of work. “Okay,” he said, “the question is...Wouldn’t life be easier for all of us if Aaron wasn’t around anymore?”
Nicole sat at her desk and dialed the number for the transplant center at St. David’s North Austin Medical Center. The young man who answered listened to her request, then routed her to a woman named Celeste—or rather Celeste’s voicemail. Nicole left a brief message explaining who she was and what she wanted. Information, basically. She was having a hard time getting her head around some of the things she was reading.
According to several healthcare websites, more than one hundred thousand people in the United States needed an organ transplant, and many of them, like Heather, were facing a long wait for an available organ.
Six thousand kidney transplants were made possible each year by living donors—but what about all the other people needing transplants? Didn’t they have family members and friends who’d be willing to donate? Nicole felt confident that if she needed a kidney, there were at least half a dozen people who would step forward. Maybe she was simply fortunate to have that kind of support network around her. Or maybe, when push came to shove, some of those people wouldn’t actually follow through with the donation. It was sad to think that might be the case.
And what about harvesting organs from the deceased? Nicole couldn’t imagine why that wouldn’t solve the organ shortage issue many times over. How many people died in the United States every day? Every week? Every month? A quick Google search told her the annual number of deaths in the U.S. was nearly two and half million people. Where did all those organs go? Nicole could only assume that most of the deceased weren’t registered to be organ donors, or that the organs weren’t suitable for donation.
She surfed over to the National Kidney Registry website, where she learned that there were three types of living kidney donation. The first, and most obvious, was direct donation: Joe needs a kidney, so Mary donates one. Simple, assuming the donor was compatible, and Nicole now saw that most donors, even family members, were not compatible. That was surprising.
Then there was the Good Samaritan or anonymous donation, where the living donor gave a kidney to a total stranger. This was rare—fewer than one percent of kidney donations—but the kidney could be matched with a recipient who was highly compatible.
Then there was something called a paired exchange.
21
The entrance to Blanco State Park, along the southern banks of the Blanco River, was less than a half-mile from the restaurant. Liam pulled in and found a small parking area just a few steps away from the water. It was surprisingly quiet, considering that they weren’t far from the highway. There were no other people or vehicles in sight. As far as Liam could tell, they had the small park to themselves.
“This is a beautiful spot,” he said.
“Mmm-hmm,” Jessi said, but she was looking down at her phone.
They had the windows open and the breeze coming through was fantastic. The perfect temperature. Liam reclined his seat. He could feel the warmth of the sunlight shining in through the rear window.
“If we can figure out the timer thing,” Jessi said, still surfing on her phone, “there’s no reason we can’t do it tonight and hit the road. Don’t you think?”
He realized that, no, he didn’t want to hit the road tonight, or even tomorrow, or the day after, because he was enjoying the trip. Well, of course he was. What guy wouldn’t? Liam hadn’t really expected that he and Jessi would hook up, but now that they had, he didn’t want the trip to end so quickly.
“We shouldn’t rush it,” Liam said. “Don’t want to end up doing something stupid.”
He could tell that Jessi wasn’t really listening.
He turned his head slightly to the right and looked at her in profile. She really was cute. And smart. And witty. And so focused on their mission. Funny that he had been worried that some of his ideas would be too extreme for her. Turned out he was way wrong about that. There had been times when he’d wondered if she would have the guts to do it, but now she was even more gung-ho than he was. Almost too enthusiastic, really. But that was okay, wasn’t it? Besides, she was soooo cute. Not just cute—sexy. Even sexier now that he knew what she was like in bed.
He rolled onto his right side and reached over to place his left hand on her bare thigh. It was a great thigh. Not skinny, but not fat. Just like the rest of her. She didn’t seem to notice.
“So far,” she said, “this isn’t quite as easy as I thought it would be. Some of these timers require electricity, and I don’t think we can count on access to electricity, do you?”
“Better stick with batteries,” he said.
He began to rub his hand along her thigh. It was so warm and soft.
“These are all pretty complicated,” she said.
“How about a magnifying glass?” he said. “Or a candle?”
He ran his hand upward along her hip, past her rib cage, and gently cupped her left breast. He immediately felt a tingle in his groin. She didn’t respond.
“Maybe I’m not using the right search terms,” she said. “Most of these timers are supposed to be for bombs or dynamite. I don’t see anything about delaying the start of a fire.”
“Try ‘fuse’ instead of ‘timer,’” Liam suggested. “Like maybe ‘slow-burning fuse.’ Something like that.”
“Good idea.”
Her boob was easily the size of a large orange or even a grapefruit. One of Liam’s friends had told him that cattle nowadays were injected with growth hormones that ended up in beef and dairy products, which caused adolescent girls to develop earlier and more fully than they otherwise would. “Haven’t you noticed all the sophomores with huge tits?” the friend had said. Liam wondered if that was why Jessi was so curvy. She’d only been a vegetarian for the past year or so, meaning she’d eaten plenty of good ol’ Nebraska beef before that. And milk. And cheese. Yes, eating beef was murder, but it was hard for Liam to complain about this particular side effect, if his friend’s theory was true.
He used the ball of his thumb to gently rub Jessi’s nipple through the cloth of her shirt and her bra underneath. It began to swell. She had incredible nipples. Liam hadn’t seen as many nipples as he would like, but based on his limited research, he’d say that Jessi’s were world-class.
He raised his head and peeked around the parking lot. Still nobody in sight. He wondered if Jessi would be willing to do it right here in the Hyundai. He’d never done it in a car before. Maybe she’d at least be willing to give him a hand job, because now that he’d be playing around with her boob for awhile, things were starting to get serious in his pants. She could even keep surfing on her phone with one hand while taking care of Liam with the other, if that’s what she wanted. He wouldn’t mind. He wasn’t selfish.
“Okay, that worked,” Jessi said. “Here we go. It’s so simple.”
Marlin dialed Phil Colby’s cell number and was surprised when Phil actually answered.
“I figured you’d let it go to voicemail,” Marlin said.
“Why’s that?”
“This thing with Aaron Endicott. I thought you might not want to talk about it.”
“To avoid one of your lectures?” Colby said, with a hint of a laugh. “Well, see, this time, I did the right thing—or what you’d consider the right thing.”
“You cranky today or what?” Marlin said. He could tell from the sound of the call that Colby was in his truck with his phone on hands-free.
“Okay, I’m sorry. What’s up?”
“Want to grab some lunch?”
“Wish I could, but I’m on my way to pick up a pressure tank for my well. Old one ruptured yesterday.”
“You gonna install the new one yourself?” Marlin said.
“Gonna try. Looks pretty straightforward.”
“Need some help? I could swing by late this afternoon.”
“Thanks, but I can probably get it. If not, I’ll give you a shout.” There was a beat of silence before Colby said, “Go ahead and ask. You know you want to.”
“Okay. I’m curious about your run-in with Aaron Endicott,” Marlin said. “It’s not like you to call the sheriff’s office about anything, and that’s not a slam, just an observation. What made you call this time?”
Colby took a deep breath. “You met this guy?” he asked.
“Yeah. Bobby and I spoke to him.”
“Did he come across to you as a genuine nutcase?”
“I’d like to hear your impressions,” Marlin said.
“We’ve both dealt with a variety of shitheads and assorted scumbags over the years, but this guy is different.”
“How so?”
“Like he’s not quite right in the head,” Colby said. “You look in this dude’s eyes and get the sense he’d hurt somebody bad and it wouldn’t bother him any more than stepping on a bug.”
Psychopath, Marlin thought.
“Well, I’m glad you filed a report,” Marlin said.
“Doesn’t mean I won’t handle it myself if he shows up again,” Colby said. “But at least you’ll know who did it if I wind up dead.”
“Not funny,” Marlin said.
“Hey, what do you expect? Garza already told me there wasn’t much they could do unless I could prove the guy made threats.”
“What’d he say, exactly?”
“Said he’d beat me to death with my own rifle, and then said he’d catch me later when I wasn’t armed.”
“And what did you say to that?”
“Believe it or not, nothing.”
“Get out of here.”
“Amazing, huh? Such self restraint.”
Marlin started to give Phil the details about Aaron Endicott’s criminal record, but he decided it wouldn’t make much difference either way. Colby was already on high alert, and that was the important thing. So Marlin said, “Just be careful, okay? This guy is dangerous.”
“Hey, now that I know he’s part of this famous TV family,” Colby said, “maybe I should get a lawyer and file a civil suit. Get me some of that sweet Hollywood money.”
22
When they broke for lunch—eating bologna sandwiches and pork rinds on the tailgate of Red’s truck, parked in the shade of an enormous oak tree—Red shook his head and said, “I’m drawing a blank so far.”
“Me, too,” Billy Don said.
“Wait a sec,” Red said. “You don’t even know what I’m talking about.”
“I guess that’s why I’m drawing a blank,” Billy Don said.
Red didn’t know if Billy Don was trying to be a smartass or not. Sometimes he said some incredibly dumb stuff that was actually sort of clever, if he intended it to sound as dumb as it did. Kind of a Yogi Berra thing, like “Nobody goes there anymore. It’s too crowded.”
“I can’t figure out how to go about investigating the Endicotts,” Red said.
Billy Don kept eating. He had already finished two sandwiches, and he had two more waiting, ready to go.
“I got up early this morning and drove past their place, before I picked you up,” Red said. “Big ol’ iron gate out front. Beautiful rockwork, by the way. Eight-foot fence around the perimeter.”
“Wire cutters,” Billy Don said. “Problem solved.”
“Yeah, but then what?”
Billy Don had just taken an enormous bite, so he made a grunting noise that meant I don’t know, but you should start there and improvise as necessary, and remember that the most effective plans are adaptable. Or at least that was the way Red interpreted it. Or maybe Billy Don simply didn’t care enough to answer in full.
Red said, “See, my point is, since there’s a gate, if I suddenly show up at their front door, they’ll know I cut through the fence or climbed over it or something. But if there wasn’t a gate, I could drive right up and introduce myself. Make up some story for being there. Weasel my way in.”
“Jehovah’s Witness?” Billy Don said. “Amway salesman?”
“Hey, you might be joking, but if there wasn’t a gate, something like that might work.”
Billy Don took that remark as encouragement and began to reel off a list of other possibilities. “You could be from the phone company, or delivering a package, or checking the power lines for tree limbs...”
“I said if there wasn’t a gate.”
“Or spraying for bugs, or you’re a neighbor coming over to say howdy, or you’re there to—”
“Enough already,” Red said.
Billy Don took another humongous bite and shrugged, which meant Jeez, I was only trying to help. Why do you have to be so touchy? I have feelings, you know, and I don’t appreciate your abrupt manner.
They’d be done with the roofing job this afternoon, and after that Red would have some time on his hands. He wanted to use it wisely—what they called “being proactive”—rather than waiting around for the cops to show up and arrest him for murdering Harley.
“You know, it’s ironical, if you think about it,” Red said.
“What is?”
“We won that bounty, and that seemed like the best thing that ever happened to me. Shoulda known it would lead to big problems. Without that money, I wouldn’t have become partners with Harley—”
“You weren’t partners with Harley,” Billy Don interjected.
“—and I wouldn’t be in this fix with the cops—”
“You’re not in a fix with the cops,” Billy Don said.
“—and I wouldn’t have to prove my own innocence.”
“You don’t have to prove your own innocence.”
Red threw a hand up in disgust. “There’s no talking to you anymore,” he said.
By then Billy Don was laughing loud enough to make the truck bounce up and down.
“Goddamn it, this is serious bidness,” Red said.
Billy Don made an attempt to control himself.
“I’m under a lot of stress,” Red said. “Don’t need extra bullshit from you on top of that.”
“Okay. All right,” Billy Don said. “I ’pologize.”
Red grabbed the bag of pork rinds and began to eat with as much rankled indignation as he could muster.
“What you oughta do,” Billy Don said, obviously trying to make up for his snotty remarks, “is the same thing you think the cops are doing to you.” Red didn’t answer—just kept munching pork rinds—so Billy Don continued, saying, “Start following the Endicotts around until one of ’em does something suspicious. Rockford used to do that and it seemed to work for him.”
“The cops are doing it to me,” Red said.
“I’ve been thinking about that,” Billy Don said. “If they was watching you last night, why didn’t they bust us for smoking that joint?”
“That’s just a misdemeanor,” Red said. “Why would they bother with that when they’re trying to pin a murder on me? Besides, they could be keepin’ track of me other ways.”
“Like what?”
“Some sort of GPS gizmo on my truck,” Red said. “Hidden in some place I couldn’t never find it.”
“What on earth could they learn by doing that?”
“They wouldn’t know what they might learn until they learned it.”
“Keep this up and you’re gonna need a tinfoil hat,” Billy Don said.
“Whatever.”
Red let the conversation lapse and contemplated what Billy Don had suggested. Surveillance. That’s what the detectives called it. Watch somebody until they do something stupid, or they go somewhere they aren’t supposed to go, or they meet up with somebody they aren’t supposed to meet up with. Red knew you could learn a lot about somebody that way. Only question was, which member of the Endicott family should he follow? The answer, most likely, would be whichever Endicott should happen to leave the ranch first.
Billy Don sa
id something else, but Red was too distracted by this latest investigative angle.
“Huh?” he said.
“Speaking of pot...” Billy Don said. He grinned and removed a joint and a Bic lighter from his shirt pocket.
“Seriously?” Red said. “You’re becoming a regular pothead. I never woulda guessed that.”
Billy Don sparked the joint up and took a long hit. Red noticed that the odor of the burning marijuana wasn’t bothering him as much as it had the day before. It wasn’t pleasant, but it wasn’t bad.
“We’re handling sheet metal and climbing on a rooftop on a windy day,” Red said. “You fall offa there and you could break your damn neck.”
Billy Don exhaled a plume of smoke that drifted away in the wind. He appeared so content and satisfied.
“That means we gotta be extra careful,” Red said, reaching for the joint. He took a couple of deep hits, and after a few minutes, he wasn’t quite as cynical about Billy Don’s suggestion. Surveillance. It sort of made sense. After all, they say a criminal always returns to the scene of the crime. Maybe if Red followed the Endicotts around, one of them might return to Harley’s place. Then Red would know exactly who had killed the old man.
Marlin wasn’t expecting Endicott Empire to be any great banquet of intellectual sustenance, but the show was even emptier and more pointless than he would have guessed.
After lunch, lacking any other ideas on where the investigation should lead next, he spent the afternoon scanning episodes online to see if he could learn anything relevant about any of the Endicotts. Of course, Marlin also understood that within the context of the show, the family members weren’t being themselves, they were participating in choreographed scenarios designed to give the viewers exactly what they wanted.
And what the viewers wanted, apparently, was a family who weren’t just rednecks, but were actually caricatures of rednecks. They were rednecks amplified. Rednecks on steroids. Rednecks supersized. Marlin knew plenty of genuine Texas rednecks, but the Endicotts made them all seem like urban sophisticates.
