The Racketeer

edge of a creek. Old willow oaks hang overhead and block the sun. The weeds are knee-high. “Here we are,” he says as he turns off the ignition.
    We get out and I tell Slade and Cody to get their gear. We will not be using lighting and I want the smaller, handheld camera. They scramble around, grabbing equipment.
    Nathan walks to the edge of the creek and smiles at the bubbling water. “How often did you come here?” I ask.
    “Not much. We had several drop points around Bluefield, but this was the main one. Gene had been making runs here for ten years, but not me. The truth was I didn’t work in the business as much as he wanted me to. I could see trouble. I tried to find other jobs, you know. I wanted out. Gene wanted me to get more involved.”
    “Where were you parked?”
    He turns and points, and I decide to move his truck and Slade’s van to keep them out of the frame. Relying on my vast directorial skills, I want to shoot an action piece with Nathanapproaching the scene on foot and the camera right behind him. We practice this for a few minutes, then begin rolling. Nathan is doing the narrative.
    “Louder, Nathan. You gotta be louder,” I bark from the side.
    Nathan is walking toward the scene and talking: “It was about two in the morning when we arrived here, me and Gene. We were in his truck, I was driving. As we pulled up, right about here, we could see the other vehicle over there, backed into those trees, where it should have been.” He keeps walking and pointing. “Everything appeared normal. We parked near the other vehicle, and our man, let’s call him Joe, so Joe gets out and says hello. We say hello and walk to the back of Gene’s truck. In a locked toolbox, there are about ten pounds of meth, good stuff, most of it cooked by Gene himself, and under a sheet of plywood there is a small cooler, also with about ten pounds. Total drop was roughly twenty pounds, with a wholesale value close to $200,000. We got the stuff out of the truck and moved it into the trunk of Joe’s car, and as soon as he slammed the trunk, all hell broke loose. There must’ve been a dozen DEA agents all over us. I don’t know where they all came from, but they were quick. Joe disappeared, never to be seen again. They dragged Gene over by his truck. He was cussing Joe and making all sorts of threats. Me, I was just so damned scared I could hardly breathe. They had us, dead guilty, and I knew I was headed to prison. They handcuffed me, went through my wallet, my pockets, and then led me down the trail over there. As I was walking away, I looked over my shoulder and I could barely see Gene on the ground, with both hands behind his back. He was angry and still cussing. A few seconds later, I heard gunshots, and then I heard Gene scream when he got hit.”
    Loudly, I say, “Cut,” and walk around in circles for a moment. “Let’s do it again,” I say, and we go back to the starting point. After the third take, I’m satisfied and seize upon the next idea. I ask Nathan to stand on the spot where Gene was lying the lasttime he saw him. We place a folding chair there and Nathan sits down. When the camera is rolling, I ask, “Now, Nathan, what was your initial reaction when you heard gunfire?”
    “I couldn’t believe it. They threw Gene down, on the ground, and there were at least four DEA agents standing above him. His hands were already behind his back, not yet handcuffed. He had no weapon. There was a shotgun and two 9-millimeters in the truck, but we had not removed them. I don’t care what the DEA said later, Gene was unarmed.”
    “But when you heard the gunshots?”
    “I stopped in my tracks and yelled something like, ‘What is that? What’s happening?’ I yelled for Gene, but the agents shoved me forward, down the trail. I couldn’t look back—I was too far away. At one point, I said, ‘I wanna see my brother,’ but they just laughed and kept pushing me into the darkness. We finally got to a van and they shoved me inside. They drove me to the jail in Bluefield, and the whole time I’m asking about my brother. ‘What happened to my brother? Where is Gene? What have you done with Gene?’ ”
    “Let’s cut for a minute,” I say to Slade. I look at Nathan. “It’s okay to show some emotion here, Nathan. Think of the people watching this film. What do you want them to feel as they listen to this awful story? Anger? Bitterness? Sadness? It’s up to you to convey these feelings, so let’s