The Racketeer

For the moment, he forgets about the glamour of acting and becomes sullen. I ask him about his father, but he wants no part of that conversation. He gets angry and barks at me, and suddenly he’s acting again. Afew minutes later, Gwen, very much on his side now and wary of me, tells him he’s superb.
    As we loiter around the front of the shack, I pace as if lost in a deep creative funk. I finally ask where his mother is living now. He points and says, “About ten minutes down that road, but we are not going there, okay?”
    I reluctantly agree and step away to chat on the phone again.
    After two hours in and around Willow Gap, we’ve seen enough. I make it known I’m not too pleased with what we’ve shot, and I become irritable. Gwen whispers to Nathan, “He’ll get over it.”
    “Where was Gene’s meth lab?” I ask.
    “It’s gone,” he answers. “Blew up not long after he died.”
    “That’s just great,” I mumble.
    We finally load up everything and leave the area. For the second day in a row, lunch is a burger and fries just off an interstate exit. When we’re on the road again, I finish another imaginary phone call and stick the phone in my pocket. I turn so I can see Gwen, and it’s obvious I have big news. “Okay, here’s where we are. Tad has been talking nonstop to the Alvarez family in Texas and the Marshak family in California. I mentioned these two cases to you, Nathan, if you’ll recall. The Alvarez boy was shot fourteen times by DEA agents. The Marshak kid was asleep in his college dorm room when they broke in and shot him before he woke up. Remember?”
    Nathan is nodding as he drives.
    “They’ve found a cousin in the Alvarez family with good English and he’s willing to talk. Mr. Marshak has sued the DEA and his lawyers have told him to keep quiet, but he’s really pissed and wants to go public. Both can be in Miami this weekend, at our expense, of course. Both have jobs, though, so the filming has to be done on a Saturday. Two questions, Nathan: First, do you want to go and do this? And second, can you go on such short notice?”
    “Have you told him about the DEA files?” Gwen asks before he can answer.
    “Not yet. I just found out this morning.”
    “What is it?” Nathan asks.
    “I think I told you our lawyers have filed the necessary paperwork to obtain copies of the DEA files on certain cases, including Gene’s. Yesterday, a federal judge in Washington ruled in our favor, sort of. We can see the files, but we cannot actually have possession of them. So the DEA in D.C. is sending the files to the DEA office in Miami, and we will have access to the materials.”
    “When?” Gwen asks.
    “As early as Monday.”
    “Do you want to see Gene’s file, Nathan?” Gwen asks cautiously, protectively.
    He doesn’t answer quickly, so I chime in: “We won’t be shown everything, but there will be a lot of photos—crime scene stuff and statements from all of the agents, probably a statement from the informant who set you guys up. There will be ballistics reports, the autopsy, photos of that. It could be fascinating.”
    Nathan clenches his jaws and says, “I’d like to see it.”
    “So you’re in?” I ask.
    “What’s the downside?” he asks, and this question gets a lot of consideration for the next few minutes. Finally, I reply, “Downside? If you are still dealing, then the DEA would come after you with a vengeance. We’ve had this discussion.”
    “I’m not dealing. I told you that.”
    “Then there’s no downside. You’re doing it for Gene and for all of the DEA’s murder victims. You’re doing it for justice.”
    “And you’re gonna love South Beach,” Gwen adds.
    I close the deal by saying, “We can leave tomorrow afternoon out of Roanoke, fly straight to Miami, do the shoot on Saturday, play on Sunday, see the DEA file on Monday morning, and you’re home that night.”
    Gwen says, “I thought Nicky had the jet in Vancouver.”
    I reply, “He does, but it’ll be here tomorrow afternoon.”
    “You have a jet?” Nathan asks, and he looks at me in pure amazement.
    This is amusing to Gwen and me. I laugh and say, “Not mine, personally, but our company leases one. We travel an awful lot and sometimes it’s the only way to get things done.”
    “I can’t leave tomorrow,” Gwen says, looking at her schedule on her iPhone. “I’ll be in D.C., but I’ll just fly down Saturday. I’m not gonna miss the three families in the same room at