Con Law Part 45

'Did you know?'

Jimmy John drank his beer then nodded. 'I figured. He never said nothing, but he was different. I mean, he tried to be a regular guy, even played six-man football. But he wasn't big, strong or fast.'

'Not a good combination for football.'

'Nope. And he was so d.a.m.n pretty ... not that I was attracted to him that way, I'm just saying. And those pictures he drew, never going to Boys' Town down in Mexico with us, never went for the sheep-'

'Sheep?'

'Cowboy joke, Professor.'

'It didn't matter to you?'

Jimmy John shrugged his broad shoulders. 'He was the brother I never had. And he was the only person I could talk to.'

He paused, and his expression said his thoughts had gone to the past.

'Back in high school, my mom cheated on my dad. With a Mexican. Everyone in town knew except my dad. All the other boys laughed at me. Except Nathan. He cried with me.'

'He must've been a good friend.'

'My best friend.'

Jimmy John Dale referred to gays as 'queers,' but his best friend was gay, and he knew it. Human beings were complicated creatures. And his former intern had led a complicated life. A complicated, short, double life. Book gazed at the wedding portrait on the wall and wondered about Nathan Jones's life.

'Heard about your intern,' Jimmy John said. 'She okay?'

'A few broken bones, but she'll mend. Jimmy John, you ever heard any rumors that Billy Bob uses cocaine?'

He thought a moment then nodded. 'But no one on the rigs talks about it. We're too scared.'

'Of Billy Bob?'

'That it might be true. It's like you're on a pro football team and the star quarterback's a c.o.kehead. He could take the whole team down with him. Is it true?'

'I don't know.' Book turned to Brenda. 'Did you find anything in the house that might be the proof Nathan said he had?'

'Nothing.'

'Anywhere else he might have put it?'

She turned her palms up. Book turned to Jimmy John.

'Any idea?'

'Sorry, Professor.'

'I always gave my important stuff to my dad,' Carla said.

'His obituary said his parents survived him. Where do they live?'

'On a ranch west of Valentine.'

'How far out?'

'Forty-five miles.'

'Thirty minutes by pickup,' Jimmy John said. 'Just past Prada Marfa.'

'Back in oh-five,' Carla said, 'these two German artists named'-she read their names on the plaque-'Elmgreen and Dragset, they thought this would be just about the funniest thing in the whole world, a Prada boutique in a ghost town. Locals never got the joke. Hence, the bullet holes.'

Valentine, Texas, qualifies as a ghost town. Only two hundred and seventeen lives play out there; the only thing the town has going for it is its name: every February, thousands of envelopes holding Valentine's cards arrive at the tiny post office to be postmarked 'Valentine, Texas.' One mile west of town on Highway 90, sitting on the south side against a backdrop of cattle grazing on the yellow prairie gra.s.s, yucca plants, mesquite bushes, and a distant ridgeline silhouetted against the blue sky was a small white stucco building with plate gla.s.s windows (sporting several small bullet holes) under awnings and Prada Marfa printed across the front facade. Arranged on shelves and display stands inside were high heels and purses from the Prada Milano 2005 collection.

'A fake Prada store,' Book said. 'In the middle of nowhere.'

'The Jones ranch is a ways out,' Book said.

'Everything in West Texas is a ways out. You think we'll learn anything from them? Nathan's parents.'

'Doubtful. But we've run down every other rabbit trail.'

A rocket suddenly rose into the sky in front of them.

'Look at that,' Book said.

'Bezos, the Amazon guy, he bought a couple hundred thousand acres over there, built a s.p.a.ceport. Calls it "Blue Origin." They're testing rockets.'

'You're kidding?'

'Hey, we're high-tech out here, Professor. We've got the Air Force's Tethered Aerostat Radar site on Ninety-it's a blimp-type craft, they put it up to detect drug planes and ground transports in the desert. We've got the Predator drones flying the river-they operate those out of the Corpus Christi Naval Air Station. And we've got Bezos's rockets.'

'And modern art masterpieces.'

'Is West Texas one crazy-a.s.s place or what?'

'In Giant, Bick Benedict puts his boy on a pony when he's four, maybe five, kid starts wailing. That was Nathan. Hated horses and cows and manure. But I still loved him.'

Bill Jones blinked back tears.

'He was your son.'

'I wanted him to be a rancher, take over the spread. He wanted to be an artist. At least he became a lawyer. Reckon I'll sell out to some rich Yankee like everyone else, move over to Fort Davis with all the other old folks. Play bingo.'

'Maybe your grandson will want to be a rancher.'

'You think?'

Nathan's parents, Bill and Edna, had welcomed Book and Carla into their home on a cattle ranch outside Valentine. Their land comprised twenty sections-12,800 acres-of prairie gra.s.sland. The Joneses had ranched that land since after the MexicanAmerican War. On the wall of their living room were framed photos of Nathan as a boy, a young man, a new lawyer, and a new husband. Book wondered if they knew Nathan's truth: his double life, his secrets, his art, his dreams. His unfulfilled life.

'Professor, why do you care so much about my son?'

'He saved my life, Mr. Jones.'

'Nathan? He saved your life?'

'Yes, sir. He stepped between me and a bullet intended for me.'

'His shoulder?'

Book nodded.

'He told us that scar was because he tore his rotator cuff playing basketball.'

'No, sir. That was because of a bullet.'

Mr. Jones seemed to stand a bit taller.

'Mr. and Mrs. Jones, Nathan interned for me at UT law school four years ago. A week ago, he sent me this letter.'

Book handed the letter to Nathan's parents and gave them time to read it. Edna cried; Bill handed the letter back to Book.

'So you're the professor?'

'Yes, sir.'

'He said you'd come.'

'Nathan told you I'd come to see him?'

'No. To see us.'

'You? Why?'

'Because you'd want this.'

Bill Jones held out a key.

Chapter 32.

Fort Davis is the county seat of Jeff Davis County, twenty-one miles north of Marfa. It's a cute little mountain town filled with senior citizens, as if the American a.s.sociation of Retired People had invaded the community. The key opened a safe deposit box in the First National Bank of Fort Davis. Inside was a clasp folder with a stack of papers six inches thick. Carla flipped through the papers.

'Well logs,' Carla said. 'And Barnett Oil and Gas tax returns. This is it. Nathan's proof.'

'Of what?'

She shrugged. 'It's just numbers. I never was good with numbers.'

'I know someone who is.'

Book and Carla walked into his intern's hospital room and found her sitting up in bed and Jimmy John Dale in his red jumpsuit standing next to the bed. He had rolled up the right sleeve as if showing off his biceps.

'Jimmy John?' Book said. 'What are you doing here?'

'He's showing me where the horse bit him,' Nadine said.

'You drove to Alpine to show my intern a horse bite?'

'Oh, uh, no, Professor. I drove Brenda over here. Her water broke right after you left this morning. She had the baby.'

'Are they both okay?'

'Yep.'

Book dropped the papers from the safe deposit box on Nadine's bed tray.

'What's this?'

'Nathan's proof.'

'Proof of what?' Jimmy John said.

'We don't know.'

Nadine thumbed the pages like a card sharp. 'Numbers. Looks like a job for the geeky intern. All right, Professor, I'm on it. And thanks for the underwear. I love the feel of cotton.'

'Over-share.'

'Where's the nursery?' Carla said. 'I want to see the baby.'

'I'll show you,' Jimmy John said.

He led Carla outside. Nadine turned to Book.

'Carla's dad, Wayne Kent, fifty-four, died in an oil rig blowout outside Odessa six years ago.'

'I know that.'

'He worked for Billy Bob Barnett.'

'I didn't know that.'