The Racketeer

her?”
    “You can try, but she’s pretty tough. She doesn’t like the idea of you or anybody else making a movie about Gene and our family. She thinks you’ll make us look like a bunch of ignorant mountain folk.”
    “Did you explain that you have the right to monitor the film as it progresses?”
    “I tried to. She was drinking.”
    “Sorry.”
    “I’ll see you in the morning.”

CHAPTER 30
    N athan is living in a small, redbrick house on a narrow road a few miles west of the Radford city limits. His nearest neighbor lives in a double-wide trailer half a mile closer to the state highway. His front lawn is neatly mowed and there are a few shrubs lining the narrow front porch. He’s outside playing with his yellow Lab as we arrive and park in the drive behind his shiny new truck.
    My ace crew consists of my new assistant, Vanessa, who will be called Gwen on this project, and two freelancers from Roanoke—Slade, the videographer, and his assistant, Cody. Slade bills himself as a filmmaker and works out of his garage. He owns the cameras and equipment, and he looks the part—long hair in a ponytail, jeans with holes in the knees, a couple of gold chains around his neck. Cody is younger and sufficiently grungy. Their fee is $1,000 a day plus expenses, and part of the deal is that they do what they’re supposed to do and stay as quiet as possible. I have promised to pay them in cash and I’ve made no reference to Skelter Films or anything else. It might be a documentary film, or it might be something else. Just do as I say and offer no details to Nathan Cooley.
    Vanessa arrived in Radford last night, and we bunked together in a nice hotel where we registered in her name and used a prepaid credit card. She told her boss she had the flu and, underdoctor’s orders, can’t leave the house for several days. She knows nothing about filmmaking, but then neither do I.
    After a round of awkward introductions in the driveway, we check out the surroundings. Nathan’s backyard is a large open area that slopes up the side of a hill. A herd of whitetail deer scamper over a fence when they see us. I ask Nathan how long it takes to cut his grass, and he says three hours. He points to a tractor shed where a fancy John Deere riding mower is parked. It looks new. He says he’s a country boy who prefers the outdoors, likes to hunt and fish and pee off the back porch. Plus, he still thinks of prison and life there with a thousand men surviving in close quarters. No sir, he loves the open spaces. While we walk and talk, Slade and Cody wander aimlessly about, mumbling to each other as they look at the sun and rub their chins.
    “I like it here,” I say, pointing, taking charge. “I want those hills in the frame.”
    Slade seems to disagree, but he and Cody nonetheless start hauling gear from their van. The setup takes forever, and to show my artistic temperament, I start barking about the time. Gwen has brought along a small makeup kit, and Nathan reluctantly agrees to a touch-up with powder and a bit of blush. I’m sure it’s his first, but he needs to feel like an actor. Gwen is wearing a short skirt and a blouse that’s hardly buttoned, and part of her act is to see how easily the boy can be teased. I pretend to look over my notes, but I watch Nathan as he watches Gwen. He loves the attention and teasing.
    When the camera, lights, monitor, and sound are almost ready, I take Nathan aside, just the two of us, director and star, to contemplate my vision.
    “Okay, Nathan, I want you to be very serious. Think about Gene, his murder at the hands of the federal government. I want you to be somber, no smiles, no fun here, okay?”
    “Got it.”
    “Speak slowly, almost painfully. I’ll ask the questions, youlook at the camera and just talk. Act naturally. You’re a nice-looking guy and I think the camera will like you, but it’s important to just be yourself.”
    “I’ll try,” he says, and it’s obvious Nathan is really looking forward to this.
    “One last thing, and I should have mentioned it yesterday. If this film does what we hope, and blows the cover off the DEA, then there could be some retribution, some payback. I don’t trust the DEA for one second—a bunch of rogue thugs—and they might do anything. That’s why it’s important for you to be, shall we say, out of the business.”
    “I’m clean, man,” he says.
    “You’re not dealing in any way?”
    “Hell no. I’m not going back to prison,