Chapter 17
Keaton was at the sink in the back room washing dishes. His phone rang with a rotary ring sound. Keaton looked around at the sound.
“Still on the desk,” he said. He turned and followed the sound towards the front room. He was near the desk when the ringing stopped.
“Right.”
The buzz of the voicemail ring sounded twice. Keaton picked up the phone and checked the call number. He fumbled around with the buttons on the phone until the voice message played.
“Mr. Keaton, this is Alicia Escobar. We talked earlier. Can you call me when you have a minute? Thanks.”
“Alicia? Sounded like Detective Escobar,” Keaton stated. “Wonder what I did?”
Keaton pressed the ‘call’ button. The answering phone rang twice.
“This is Escobar,” the police detective said.
“Hello, Alicia. This is Bill Keaton. This is not your office phone,” Keaton stated.
“No, Mr. Keaton. This is my personal phone. I’m out in the office parking lot smoking a cigarette,” Escobar answered.
“Smoking is bad for your health,” Keaton said.
“So’s being a cop,” Escobar answered.
“That’s true,” Keaton replied. “What can I do for you?”
“I remember my father talking about you a couple of times,” Escobar started. “Off the record, to his kid daughter, he told some stories. He said back in the day you were a man that things happened to. They weren’t good things, but you made them work out right. And Dad recognized the difficulty that creates. And he appreciated it.
“You asked me some questions yesterday that I couldn’t answer,” Escobar said. “I can answer them right now.”
“Okay.”
Escobar said, “Two of those LDs you shot were marked Harlequins. The third was known to hang with them. We haven’t gotten any IDs off the others that were there.
“We did get a good image of you, Ms. Davies, Martin and her driver, Phillip.”
“And?” Keaton asked.
“You are right about that tat on Martin’s right hand. It’s been tatted over,” Escobar answered. “His file is a single page. Nothing on it so I did my own digging. He grew up in Highland Park. His father, David Martin, was a VP with a bank downtown. His mother, Carol Klein, was a housewife. The two were in Venice for a vacation when the change came. They never made it back.
“There is nothing on Tristan during the Turmoil years. After Equilibrium was established, he lived with his mother’s brother, Joe Klein. He was an import/export businessman then. Now Klein’s a Congressman.
“Tristan graduated from SMU’s Cox School of Business. Top of his class. He interned with Ms. Davies’ father for six months after he graduated. Now he is personal assistant to Raymond Davies and Ms. Davies’ paramour.”
“’Paramour,’” Keaton laughed. “Escobar, you are the first person I have ever spoken with to use the word ‘paramour.’”
“I’m glad I made your day, Mr. Keaton,” Escobar answered.
“Call me Bill, Alicia,” Keaton replied. “What else did you get on Tristan?”
“Nothing, nada, nyet,” Escobar stated. “No one is that clean. He doesn’t even have a parking ticket. And you know how those Highland Park police are. I looked at your file.”
“That’s not fair,” Keaton answered. “You have the entire weight of the bureaucracy behind you.”
“That’s right,” Escobar laughed. “And ‘The Man’ says I only get a fifteen-minute break. I have done that and smoked three cigarettes. You’re bad for my health, Bill.”
“I didn’t light ‘em for you,” Keaton stated.
“Fair enough,” Escobar answered. “I assume your plan is to dig around Martin?”
“It’s a place to start,” Keaton said.
“Keep in touch then,” said Escobar. “I never turn this phone off.”
“I appreciate that, Alicia. Later,” Keaton said.
“Later,” Escobar said and ended the call.
Chapter 18
The barn was a huge aluminum sheet metal building covering an area bigger than a football field. Equipment entrance, a pair of closed, siding, air hanger doors, enclosed the end nearest the house. There as an office size door on the left edge. The cowboy stopped in front of it.
Timmy started to pull up to the side of the building. The cowboy waved him off and motioned Timmy over to the front of the big doors.
Timmy ran his window down. “Am I pulling inside?”
“No,” the cowboy answered. “It’ll just be easier to bring the packages out the front. Park there in front where the doors come together.”
“You want me to back up to it?” Timmy asked.
The cowboy shook his head, “No. Just pull up close; but not to close. We’ll need some maneuvering room,” he grinned.
Timmy pulled the van up as the cowboy went through the office door into the barn.
The van was three meters from the doors. Timmy turned off the engine and stepped out. He walked around to the back of the van and opened the rear doors.
There was a loud screeching of metal as the big barn doors opened. There was a man dressed in a white jumpsuit on each door pushing them open. A terrible stench rolled out of the barn and surrounded Timmy. He started gagging.
“If you’re gonna puke, do it out here,” the cowboy said walking out of the barn. “Not that you’re gonna make it smell worse inside. It’s just easier to clean up out here,” he laughed. “Powerful stuff, ain’t it?”
“What is that smell?” Timmy asked.
“Carcasses, man. Carcasses,” the cowboy answered. “You want to look? It’s worth more than fifty cents,” he laughed. “Nothing like this where you come from.”
Timmy nodded and stood up straighter as he walked toward the doors’ opening.
“Y’all load up the packages while I show Perry around,” the cowboy ordered the men in white as he led Timmy into the interior of the barn.
The barn was lit by a few scattered florescent light fixtures hung from its ceiling. There were a half dozen rows of well-spaced, steel animal cages running from the front doors to the rear of the building full of snarling, keening, cursing LDs.
“Don’t get close to those cages,” the cowboy instructed. “Hell, those animals ’ll snatch out and drag you over. Seen it happen. One bite and then we toss you in that cage with ‘em,” he laughed.
“What do you do here?” Timmy asked, breathing through his mouth.
“We’re doin’ a breeding program with these things,” the cowboy answered. “On this ranch we been doing it with cattle for two hundred years. We’re just getting this herd started but we have high hopes for it.”
Timmy asked, “High hopes for what?”
“When the change happens, the DNA changes, right?”
Timmy nodded.
“That DNA change gives the LDs extended life. Knocks their brains down a bit but they live longer. We don’t really know how long they’ll last. Hell, none of the dead has died yet,” the cowboy grinned. “We got a herd on another part of the ranch we’re using as a baseline, monitoring that.
“You know how most these things have poor balance and a stiff walk? We got a herd of free range LDs out on the ranch that we’re monitoring. With that particular herd we’re working to identify flexibility and strength characteristics and IQ retention. Your packages are from that herd.
“Obviously they have to move well to make it out on the range. Coyotes rip these things up a bunch if they can get to ‘em. Don’t kill ‘em. Got to rip the head off to do that but the coyotes tear ‘em up bad. First thing you know they’re out there crawling around on their bellies ‘cause the coyotes got their legs. We let the buzzards take care of those partials. They ain’t hurting anyone.
“So when this free range herd transitions a LA we capture that new LD, draw DNA, check its mobility and cognitives, and if they are good, rotate it back out into the free herd. Of course, we also cull the herd of any LDs with lesser attributes than the new member.
“Most of these in this barn are culls. They’re not much good for anything. Least so far we haven’t found ‘em worth anything. We update our mental and physical test results, pull DNA samples and then transition them. Just building up the herd.”
“What’s this free herd feed on?” Timmy asked.
“Locals,” the cowboy laughed. “We drop some illegals out there sometimes. Sometimes we get a load from the cities. Cops clean out the homeless type thing. Got to do something with them. You get surprised sometimes with what adds good DNA.”
Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
Timmy shook his head, “Man, this is some operation. I would never have imagined such a thing.”
“Neither do the high cog LDs,” the cowboy laughed. “That’s why we are out here in the middle of nowhere. Those worthless city things would go ape over this.”
One of the men in white walked up. “Jefe.”
The cowboy turned, “Yes, Jorge?”
“The packages are in the van, boss,” Jorge answered.
“Thanks.” The cowboy turned back to Timmy. “You’re all ready, Perry. Do you need to use the bathroom or anything before you head back?”
“No, I’m good,” Timmy responded.
“Okay, don’t get caught with that stuff in the van. All kinds of folks would be unhappy.”
“I’m a very careful driver,” Timmy assured the cowboy. “What am I carrying?”
The cowboy laughed, “Shit, you’re funny. You got three heifers out there.”
“Cows?” Timmy asked.
“No. Like I said, you got three LDs from the free range herd. A big one and two little ones,” the cowboy said. “Don’t get all worried,” he added. “They’re sedated and sacked up?”
“Sacked up?”
“Like potatoes,” the cowboys answered. “Come on,” he said and headed out the barn.
The rear doors of the van were still open. The cowboy stopped and pointed, “Sacked head to toe.”
Timmy looked in at his cargo. There was a man and two young girls laying in the back of the van. They were each individually encased in tight fitting canvass bags with only their heads exposed.
“Their arms are down by their sides. If they were to wake up, they can’t even get their arms up to try and get out,” the cowboy said. Closed the van doors.
“And they are sedated. But now that stuff won’t last forever.” The cowboy slammed the van doors closed and looked at the watch on his wrist. “You got five, five and a half hours to get ‘em home. And it’s only a three-hour drive.”
“Great,” Timmy answered. “I better get going.”
“You better not leave your phone and wallet laying out where every Tom, Dick and Jorge can see them,” the cowboy laughed.
Timmy grinned. “I was told you would tell me where to go with them.”
The cowboy and the two hands laughed.
“You know what I mean,” Timmy grinned.
“Let me see your hand,” the cowboy ordered.
Timmy reached out his hand.
The cowboy pulled a marker from his shirt pocket, took hold of Timmy’s hand and wrote a location on the back of it. “When you get to the highway, stop and make that call your supposed to make. Then check the directions to that location.”
“Okay,” Timmy said pulling his hand back.
“Don’t smear it,” the cowboy said.
“Right, right,” Timmy answered moving to the driver’s door. “Thanks.”
“You sure you don’t want to use the bathroom? Get a bottle of water? Dr. Pepper? Anything?”
Timmy opened the van door and answered, “I’m good. Thanks.”
“Okay, Perry. You can just circle around the house to get back on the road,” the cowboy said making a circular motion with his right arm. “Be safe.”
“Thanks,” Timmy answered and closed the van door and started up the engine. He looked back at the packages as he let the engine warm up.
Timmy put the van in gear and eased off the brake. The cowboy raised his left hand. Timmy waved back and started around the house.
Chapter 19
Tristan knocked on the study door and opened it without waiting for an answer to the knock. A small amount of morning light eked into the room through the heavy curtains shielding the windows on the wall opposite the door.
Davies sat working on some papers at his desk. “Well?” he asked looking up at Tristan.
Tristan wore a hand stitched, silk, John Phillips suit. He closed the heavy door. “No word yet, sir. It’s still a little early to hear anything.” He walked over beside the desk.
“Damn, it,” Davies said. “I hate waiting. Those samples are the first seventh generation. I want to get a close look at them.”
“Timmy is punctual. He would have left Dallas at seven. A little over three hours to the ranch. An hour to load. I don’t expect to hear from him for at least another ten minutes,” Tristan explained. “And then another three and a half hours to get back to the Grove.”
“Sit down and wait here with me,” Davies ordered.
Tristan moved over and sat in one of the chairs facing the desk.
“You are all dressed up,” Davies said. “You going somewhere?”
“Ruth and I are doing that thing I told you about later this afternoon and I have a meeting with Uncle Joe here in a little bit,” Tristan answered.
“What the hell does that fat bastard want?” Davies asked.
Tristan smiled. “The same thing all fat bastard congressmen want, campaign money. I’m sure he is looking to see which way the wind is blowing on your next Synthmeat plant location. He’d like it over in his district.”
“If he wants it in Mesquite, he should be paying me instead of me paying him,” Davies answered.
“I won’t disagree,” Tristan answered. “I’ll bring it up to him when we talk if you want me to.”
“Ah, hell no. He only has money I’ve given him. I might as well take the change out of my right pants pocket and put it in my left,” Davies stated.
“And drop a few coins doing it. Uncle Joe is not a net even proposition,” Tristan laughed.
“Damn right about that,” Davies added.
A phone in Tristan’s jacket pocket began to vibrate. Tristan looked at Davies.
Davies smiled and pointed at his ear.
Tristan nodded and pulled the phone out of his pocket and answered, putting it on speaker, “Hello, Perry. Good to hear from you. How are you doing?”
“Everything is going great, sir,” Timmy answered. “I’ve taken care of the business out here and I’m getting ready to head back.”
“That’s great, Perry,” Tristan said. “So everything has gone well.”
“Yes, sir. Everything is great. I even got a package for you,” Timmy said.
“Super. You all set for when you get back in town?” Tristan asked.
“Yes, sir. I am,” Timmy answered.
“Great, then. I’ll see you late this afternoon,” Tristan said and ended the call.
Davies rested back in his chair. “Good. I feel better now.” He looked at Tristan and said, “Go see what your uncle wants this time and then take care of your thing with Ruth. It looks like we might have a busy evening.”
“Yes, sir,” Tristan answered as he stood up from the chair. “I’ll stay in touch.”
Chapter 20
Timmy tossed the phone onto the passenger seat beside his wallet and personal phone. He started up the van, put it in gear, looked over his shoulder and pulled out onto the highway and headed east.
Forty minutes later he passed back through Graham. At the intersection where Annie worked he looked at the windows at the front of the station as he passed through.
***
Tristan exited US 80 East onto N. Beltline Road in Mesquite. He pulled into the Waffle House parking lot and saw his uncle’s Cadillac. Tristan parked his Tesla S beside the Cadillac and went inside.
Rep. Joe Klein was a shorter, heavy set man, with thinning hair. He was seated at the short counter. Open stools were on either side of him. An older LD woman in a Waffle House uniform and light, frizzed up hair stood behind the counter talking with him. Joe was watching for Tristan. He stood up and stretched out a hand when Tristan walked in.
“Uncle Joe, how are you?” Tristan asked grinning, taking the offered hand. “It’s been a while.”
“Yes it has young man,” Joe answered. He leaned in and gave Tristan a hug. “Too long.”
Joe released Tristan and turned to the waitress at the counter. “Frances, thanks for holding that back booth for us. We’ll move back there now. Can you bring us some fresh coffee?”
“Sure, Joe,” the waitress answered. “It’ll be there before you are.” She laughed.
Joe laughed. “We need to hurry, boy. Can’t let a woman beat me.”
“Women are the only thing you do let beat you,” Frances laughed.
Joe grinned at her. He and Tristan moved to the back booth near the restrooms. Joe slid into the end seat leaving Tristan to sit with his back to the restaurant.
Frances arrived with the coffee as Tristan settled into his seat.
“Damn,” Francis said softly. Reaching over the wall dividing the kitchen from the seats she set the cups down.
“You lose, Frances. No tip today,” Joe grinned.
“What’s different about today?” Frances asked. She smiled at Tristan. “Here’s some cream for you, Hon. Don’t let Chubby have any.”
“Thank you’ ma’am,” Tristan answered. “Black is fine. You should probably take the cream back with you so ‘Chubby’ doesn’t take it.”
Frances continued to smile as she scooped up the cream. She turned her smile to Joe, winked at him and left.
Joe reached for the sugar dispenser and poured a lot into his coffee.
“You still like some sugar with your coffee Uncle Joe?” Tristan asked.
“Yes I do,” Joe laughed. “And you still taking yours black?”
“Yes sir,” Tristan answered. “It’s better for your eyes and your waistline.”
Joe raised his cup and sipped some coffee. “Nothing wrong with my waistline, little boy.”
Frances returned. “Nothing right with it either. You gentlemen know what you want?”
“She’s talking to you,” Joe told Tristan. “Frances has never mistaken me for a gentleman.”
Frances and Joe laughed. “Sure,” Tristan answered. “Two eggs, over easy. Toast, sausage and hash browns.”
“That sounds pretty good,” Joe stated. “But, it’s lunch time.” He looked at Frances, “Steak and eggs. You know I want the eggs very runny and extra butter on the toast and...”
“Fried onions in the hash browns,” Frances finished Joe’s sentence.
Joe looked at Tristan, “I’m getting too well known here. May need to take my business elsewhere.”
“Elsewhere’s already run you off twice,” Frances stated. “Food’ll be up in a couple of minutes,” she said to Tristan. “We already had Chubby’s steak started.”
“Thank you, Frances,” Joe said as the waitress turned and headed to turn the rest of the order into the cook.
“Nice suit,” Joe said.
“Thanks. I feel a little overdressed,” Tristan answered.
“You’re a lot overdressed there boy,” Joe laughed. “But regular folks like to believe rich folks are just like them. It’s good for you eat in places like this. Plus, the food is good and not fancy prices.
“You should think about running for office,” Joe added. “People like you.”
“Uncle Joe,” Tristan started.
Joe interrupted, “I know, you’re going to marry that rich girl and run her rich father’s business. And that’s fine. But,” Joe raised a finger. “people elect rich men, too. Hell, look at Kennedy and the Roosevelts and George Washington and Thomas Jefferson. Money, money, money. And lots of it.”
Frances came over to the table with both arms filled with dishes. Both Joe and Tristan leaned back so she had room to set everything out. When she finished, she stood up and asked, “You all need anything else? More coffee?”
“Coffee, please,” Tristan answered. Joe already had a mouth full of steak. He nodded.
Frances left to get the coffee.
“Okay, Uncle Joe. I’ll be President for you. What do you need right now?”
Joe grinned and swallowed. “Word on the street is that your boss is doing some business over in the Grove. You know me, ‘If it ain’t my business, it ain’t my business.’ But folks are starting to make some noise. Is there anything I should know about?”
Frances came back and refilled Tristan’s cup. Joe put his hand over his cup, “I just got it mixed to my liking.”
“Good, I’m not sure we have anymore sugar,” Frances answered.
“Thank you, Frances,” Joe grinned.
Tristan sat silent and cut his eggs. When Frances was away, he said, “What have you heard?”
“Something about kids,” Joe answered. He took a big bite of steak and around his chewing he added, “LA kids.”
“I don’t know what that would be about, Tristan answered.
“I told you, you need to go into politics,” Joe stated. “Now let me eat. I can’t think and talk and eat at the same time.”
Joe had more food on his plates than Tristan, but he finished first. He picked at his teeth with a finger and watched Tristan eat.
Tristan pushed his food away with it only half eaten. He picked up his coffee cup and looked at Joe.
Joe said, “Like I said, it ain’t my business. But do you think I might be interested in it?”
“Uncle Joe, I don’t know anything about whatever it is you are talking about,” Tristan answered.
“I know that boy. But… if there turns out to be something of interest out there in my district; I would be interested in being a part of it,” Joe smiled at Tristan and waved his right hand at Frances.
“Hon, you didn’t eat. Was everything alright?” she asked Tristan.
“Yes, ma’am. It was great. I just wasn’t that hungry,” Tristan answered.
Frances started clearing off the dishes. “Well, it looks like Chubby was.”
“Always, Frances. Always,” Joe laughed. “Especially when I’m buying.”
“And you’re paying?” Frances laughed. She looked at Tristan, “Hon, you are special.”