by Joe Field
Cooper tried to hold his tongue, but he couldn’t. “Bill, I met the lead driller, Marshall, before he was injured. I sat and talked with him in his RV. I planned to go visit him up at Regions Hospital later today.”
“There’s no point,” said Lisa. “I already placed a call to his nurse and she said they aren’t allowing any visitors yet, not even family.”
Cooper glared at Lisa then looked back at Bill.
Bill stared back at Cooper. “Here’s the thing, buddy boy. You have a story right in front of you, perhaps a big-time story if you pursue it correctly. The granddaughter of a prominent politician in North Dakota was kidnapped by a couple of redneck roughnecks in his backyard. I want your full attention on that story. Lisa, on the other hand, will work the flash fire and go see what she can find out about these reports coming in about a spillage.”
“Come on, Bill—”
“Regarding the spill,” Lisa cut Cooper off. “I placed some calls and it sounds like it could be one of the biggest spills yet in the Bakken oil reserve. Some local experts are saying that up to three million gallons of fracking wastewater has spilled from a leaking pipe in western North Dakota near Williston. This waste has been known to destroy ecosystems by poisoning plants and killing off vegetation.”
“This is exactly why I want you to get out there and get some answers on this new developing story.” Bill looked at Lisa then back to Cooper. “As for you, what is your plan?”
“Bill, can I speak to you in private?” Cooper asked. “It’s important.”
“For crying out loud.” Bill shook his head. “Okay, Lisa, give us the room. In the meantime, start getting ready for your trip out to Williston.”
Lisa nodded and left the room.
“This better be good,” said Bill.
Cooper looked back and made sure the door was closed, and then turned back toward Bill. “It could be. I talked to Senator Hanson, and he said if I helped to get Gabby back then he would give me a story that could be one of the biggest of the year.”
“He’s just using that as leverage so you’ll help get his granddaughter back. I’ve seen that trick used before back in my days with the Star Tribune,” said Bill.
“I think he is sincere; he sounded pretty confident about the story he wanted to tell me. He said it had to do with a corruption and blackmail scandal in North Dakota. It could be good.”
“Well, don’t bank on it, sonny. Just pursue the Gabby story, and if you get anything extra from the senator it will be gravy.”
“Okay, I’ll do that.” Cooper eyed Bill. “Are you sure about assigning Lisa to the Bakken oil field story? Can’t I just work on that one after I finish the Gabby story?”
“It’s your lucky day, punk. I recently started going to church with my ex-wife, and it’s for this reason alone I won’t chew you out of my office. But don’t you ever second guess a decision I make, you hear me?”
Cooper grinned. “You’re going to church with your ex-wife?”
“Wipe that grin off your face, and get out of my office. You wouldn’t understand, you little twerp. You and your high-maintenance millennial friends can go talk about how you should have a thirty-hour workweek, and free lunch and all that crap. You know where you can get that?”
“Where?” asked Cooper.
“France. You can move to France tomorrow and live out the rest of your days complaining about how you don’t have a twenty hour workweek while eating your baguette at a local café in Paris.”
Cooper rolled his eyes. “Okay, Bill, I get it.”
“All right, I’ve had enough of you for one day. Go get me that story or else book your one-way ticket to France and never come back to this building.” Bill pointed toward the door.
“I’m on it, don’t worry about me.” Cooper stood up to walk out, but before he reached the door Bill had one more thing to say.
“Oh, and Cooper. Don’t forget there is only one position available on the investigative team. It’s either going to be you or Lisa, so guess how important this story is for the both of you.”
“It’s life-or-death important for Gabby, and it’s potentially Peabody Awards important for MPR.”
“You better hurry then, time is a ticking.” Bill tapped the top of his watch.
“If you need me, I’ll be in Texas.”
Chapter 14
Amarillo, Texas
Cooper was bummed the whole flight down to Texas about having another reporter on his story, especially Lisa Larson. Since starting at MPR together, Larson had one feather in her hat from her time helping the investigative team on a trial basis with the Catholic Church scandal in Minnesota. Cooper matched and maybe even surpassed her achievement with his Brown Sugar in Minnesota story. Now, they were both competing on the same story. Except the story was about North Dakota, and Cooper was in Texas. His only hope at this point was to find Gabby, for more reasons than one. If he did, not only would he help save her, but he would also get the story from Senator Hanson. That was his only shot at getting the investigative team over Larson.
This was Cooper’s first trip to Texas, but he wasn’t exactly excited about visiting Amarillo. Of all the places to see in Texas, Amarillo wouldn’t even make his top one hundred places to visit. But, he was there for Gabby, and he was there for work.
At least its seventy degrees warmer than Minnesota right now.
The Amarillo airport had a small-town feel to it. It was named after astronaut Rick Husband, who died when the Colombia spacecraft disintegrated during reentry back in 2003. A prominent bronze statue in the lobby of the airport memorialized him. Cooper walked past the statue and acknowledged the fallen hero with a tip of his Minnesota Twins baseball hat.
An American Spirit hung out of the corner of Cooper’s mouth as he drove his rental car into town. He was struck by how much of an interstate town Amarillo really was. Interstate 40 cut straight through the city, and Cooper drove it from east to west watching fast food chain restaurants and brand name hotels pass him by. One unique place was on the north side of the interstate, a place called the Big Texan. It advertised a free, seventy-two-ounce steak in huge letters on the side of a bull statue. The only catch was, you had to eat the steak and all the fixings within one hour or you had to pay for the meal.
Everything has to be bigger in Texas, thought Cooper.
Cooper was staying on the west end of town, and the hotel he booked advertised being the closest to the Cadillac Ranch. A quick search online revealed that the Cadillac Ranch simply consisted of ten old Cadillac cars buried nose-end into the ground. They were spray painted an assortment of colors and were located a couple hundred yards from the interstate.
Cooper knew he wasn’t here for tourism, and he was happy for that. He went straight to his hotel and checked into his room. His plan was simple: he’d get a local telephone book and call every Nash in there. Then he’d try to line up interviews with the ones who were related to the kidnapper and see what he could find out. But when Cooper opened the phonebook, he found over one hundred entries for people with the last name Nash.
This is going to take awhile.
Cooper grabbed a clean ashtray, opened a new bag of licorice, and started brewing a fresh cup of coffee. He was in it for the long haul. He grabbed the phonebook and a pen and began calling.
“Hello?” said a man with a wary voice.
“Hi, my name is Cooper Smith and I’m calling . . .” Cooper let his voice trail off once he heard the other end of the phone hang up.
Oh-for-one, nice start.
After three cigarettes had burned to ash, and thirty names had been called with no luck, the thirty-first number he dialed was answered by a woman with a heavy Southern drawl.
“Hello, who is this?”
“Hi, my name is Cooper Smith and I’m calling in regards to a missing person case.”
“What do you want from me?” The woman sounded amused.
“Are you Patricia Nash?”
“Yes.”
> “Are you by any chance related to a Declan Nash?”
“Hmm . . .”
Cooper could tell the woman was searching her long-term memory.
“Well, I had a cousin who was named Declan, but I haven’t seen or talked to him in at least five or six years. Why, is he missing?”
Cooper began scribbling notes. “No, he’s not exactly missing himself, but he may have information about another missing person. Say, if you don’t mind me asking, what are Declan’s parents’ names?”
“Oh, you didn’t hear the news?” she asked in a surprised voice.
“No, what happened?”
“They were killed not too long ago. It was a tragedy, too. There was a terrible tornado that came through the county and went right over their ranch. They were so stubborn they didn’t want to leave so they stayed in their home. The only problem was their home got lifted up by the tornado and whipped all the way over to the next county, them along with it. Such a shame, they were nice people.”
“I’m sorry to hear about that. Did Declan have any siblings?”
“Yes, he has a brother but I can’t for the life of me remember his name. He is much younger, maybe in his early twenties. I haven’t seen him for ages, though, and even then he was so much younger I didn’t really talk to him.”
“Do you know where he lives or works?”
“Oh, right here in Amarillo, of course. All of the Nash clan lives here. I’m sure you could find him in the phonebook.”
Cooper rolled his eyes. Yeah, only seventy more names to go.
“Thanks, do you know where he might work?”
“I’ve heard he works at one of the barbeque places, but I’ve been on a diet for as long as I’ve known that kid so I couldn’t tell you which one. I do know it’s one of the best, though.”
Cooper jotted his next project on his notepad. Find the best bbq in Amarillo.
“Thanks, Patricia. I don’t mean to take up too much of your time, just one last question. Do you know of any other Nash relatives who may know Declan a little bit better?”
“Not that I know of. Their family kind of kept to themselves, especially the last five years or so. Not sure what happened, but if you find the brother I’m sure he can tell you all about it.”
“Well, I appreciate your time and information.”
“My pleasure.”
◆◆◆
Cooper spent the rest of his first night in Amarillo doing research on the best barbeque restaurants in the city. According to TripAdvisor and Yelp, the top barbeque restaurants in Amarillo were Tyler’s, Spicy Mike’s, and Rudy’s.
The following morning, Cooper started his search for Nash’s brother at Rudy’s restaurant since it was the only one open for breakfast.
Who eats baby back ribs for breakfast?
To Cooper’s chagrin, when he pulled up to the red-paneled building with the bright yellow signs, an advertisement in the window said that Rudy’s was serving breakfast tacos until 10 am. Cooper’s cholesterol went up just walking into the place—the intense smell of cooked beef and pork assaulted him. The restaurant looked like a cafeteria set up in a barn. Red and white-checkered plastic sheets covered the tables.
Easier for cleaning. Just hose them off.
Neon signs promoted name-brand beers, and a large Texas flag hung from the ceiling. The place was empty, except for a couple of workers. Cooper went up to the counter to place his order.
“Good morning. Can I have one breakfast taco, please?”
The young woman behind the counter had a big black trucker hat on and a Rudy’s T-shirt. She was clearly still half asleep.
“Sure, anything else?” She yawned.
“Yeah, I have a quick question. Do you know if a guy works here with the last name Nash?”
“Nash? Hmm . . . don’t know anybody named Nash.”
She looked back to the kitchen. “Hey, Frank, you know anybody named Nash that works here?”
“Nope,” came the reply.
“Okay, thank you,” said Cooper. “I was just curious.” Cooper handed cash to her for the food.
“Take a seat, and we’ll bring that taco right out for you.”
Strike one.
◆◆◆
Cooper watched the tumbleweeds that occasionally rolled across the streets of Amarillo as he drove, his breakfast taco from Rudy’s settling in his stomach. The taco had been stuffed with all sorts of grease and goodness, and Cooper knew he would pay for it later. The other two barbeque places didn’t open until 11, so Cooper killed some time driving around Amarillo. He made two stops—one at the American Quarter Horse Heritage Center and Museum, and the other at the Jack Sisemore Traveland RV Museum.
After that, Cooper had basically exhausted Amarillo’s tourist attractions, so he made his way over to Spicy Mike’s BarBQ Haven. It was a tiny, quaint building off the highway with red-paneled walls, a white rooftop, and a brick bottom. Just the sort of no-frills place that would serve delicious barbeque.
Cooper was clearly the first customer of the day, as a man came and opened the front door when he arrived. He didn’t relish the thought of eating barbeque after his large breakfast, but he didn’t want to be rude. When he got out of his car, he noticed a gas station across the street called the Toot’n Totum. A black Dodge Charger sedan was parked near the front door, with the easily recognizable red taillights that stretched all the way across the back of the vehicle. Cooper swore he had seen it once already today—perhaps at one of the museums?
Is it natural for reporters to get paranoid? Cooper had been followed by dangerous drug dealers as he pursued the Brown Sugar in Minnesota story. Several of those encounters lead to car chases and shootouts that nearly killed him. Maybe a little paranoia is okay…
Cooper decided to wait by his car and have a smoke to see if he could spot the driver. That was one good thing about smoking—a person could kill five-to-seven minutes standing around doing nothing other than smoking and no one would question it. By the time he finished his cigarette, no one had come out to claim the Charger. Cooper shrugged it off and headed into Spicy Mike’s.
The barbeque smell hit him immediately, and his stomach instantly created extra room. Big rolls of paper towels sat prominently in the center of a few small tables, ready to clean up any hungry patrons. Three steps into the joint and Cooper’s mouth started to salivate.
Gotta hand it to the South, you can’t get barbeque like this up in Minnesota or North Dakota.
Cooper went up to the counter, and a middle-aged man sporting a goatee and a baseball hat came out from the back.
“You’re my first customer of the day.” The man’s hands were full of barbeque sauce. He washed them in a sink behind the counter as he looked over at Cooper. “What can I get for you?”
“Just trying to beat the rush,” said Cooper. “I’ll take a plate of your most popular meal.”
The man wiped his hands on a towel and gave Cooper a big smile. “That would be the beef brisket, with mac-n-cheese, mashed potatoes, and toast.”
“Sounds perfect to me. Say, you wouldn’t happen to be the owner would you?” asked Cooper.
“Sure am, the name’s Mike.” He shook Cooper’s hand.
“Nice to meet you, Mike. I’m Cooper.”
Mike turned his ear toward Cooper as he rubbed his goatee with his hand. “I’m picking up an accent from you. Do you live in Amarillo or just passing through?”
Cooper grinned. “That’s probably my Minnesota accent you’re picking up on, don’t cha know?” Cooper laid the accent on thick.
Both men laughed. Mike had a deep belly laugh that shook the floorboards.
“Yeah, I’m staying in Amarillo for a little bit to check some things out,” Cooper said. “I actually have a question for you. I’m looking for a guy with the last name Nash. Does anyone with that name work for you?”
Mike shook his head. “I wish I had more workers, but I’m pulling down most of the shifts here while I try to build the reg
ulars up. Sorry about that.”
“Not a problem at all, just curious.”
“Let me go get you your brisket, I’ll be right back.”
“Thanks, Spicy Mike.” Cooper swung his right arm and snapped his fingers in disgust.
Strike two.
◆◆◆
Spicy Mike’s beef brisket was to die for, but it was tough to finish the plate with all the fixings, especially after such a big breakfast. Cooper decided to head straight to Tyler’s Barbeque, and use whatever willpower he had left to refrain from ordering an additional meal.
Cooper pulled off the road when he saw the big star logo that read Tyler’s Barbeque, Support Texas Barbeque. Tyler’s occupied yet another red building with a big sign in the front window that said it was open for business. By now it was Amarillo’s lunch hour, and Cooper walked into a wall of noise when he entered the restaurant. Again, he noticed the signature cafeteria tables and plastic tablecloths. A queue had formed to the left in line with an illuminated sign that said Order Here. Cooper eyed the plates of the patrons chomping away. The food looked delicious, especially the corn bread muffins and the dessert.
Cooper finally made it to the ordering window.
“What’s your most popular dessert?” he asked.
The girl behind the table slid a baking pan in front of him. “The peach cobbler is amazing here. Freshly baked.”
“I’ll take a slice of that.”
She pointed. “Head down the line and pay there.”
At the end of the line, Cooper paid a girl with pigtails and dimples for his cobbler. She looked friendly, so he asked her about Nash.
“Say, quick question. Do you happen to know anyone that works here that has the last name Nash?”
She spoke with a Southern drawl. “You lookin’ for Jasper?”
“Is Jasper’s last name Nash?”
“I think so.” She smiled and looked over her shoulder toward the kitchen. “I don’t see him back there. He might have went out back to check on the smoker. Just head out around the building toward the smell of the barbeques, you can’t miss it.”
