Read Online Con Law by Mark Gimenez - Free Book Online Page B

But man’s nature drives him to settle the unsettled frontier; and so men have tried in Marfa, Texas.
    From a distance, as you come down off the Chisos Mountains from the east and onto the plateau, you see the Davis Mountains to the north and the Chinati Mountains to the south; between the ranges lies a vast expanse of yellow grassland. And smack in the middle you see a small stand of trees, hunched together as if seeking safety in numbers against the relentless wind whipping across the land. The trees, planted by the first settlers, offer the only shade for a hundred miles in any direction and define the boundaries of the town of Marfa. As you come closer, you see the peach-colored cupola atop the Presidio County Courthouse peeking above the treetops as if on lookout for rampaging Indian war parties. But no savage Comanche galloping across the land on horseback threatened the peace in Marfa that day; only a Con Law professor riding a Harley with his reluctant intern perched behind him.
    Book downshiftedthe Harley as they entered town on San Antonio Street and rode past a Dollar General store on the north side and dilapidated adobe homes on the south; Presidio County ranked as the poorest in Texas and looked it, except for a few renovated buildings housing art galleries. He braked at the only red light in town then pointed to the blue sky where a yellow glider soared overhead in silence. Nadine pointed south at an old gas station on the corner that had been converted into a restaurant called the Pizza Foundation; her face was that of a child who had spotted Santa Claus at the mall.
    ‘Pizza!’
    ‘Let’s talk to Nathan Jones first. Maybe he’ll have lunch with us, tell us his story.’
    ‘What time’s your appointment?’
    ‘Didn’t make one.’
    ‘Why not?’
    ‘Better to arrive unannounced. Nathan was always given to drama, probably read too many Grisham novels.’
    ‘Just so you know, if he made me ride six hours on this motorcycle for nothing, I’m going to beat him like a redheaded stepchild.’
    In the rearview mirror, Book saw a green-and-white Border Patrol SUV pull up behind the Harley and hit its lights. He cut the engine and kicked the stand down; he noticed Hispanics on nearby sidewalks scurrying away. Two agents wearing green uniforms and packing holstered weapons got out of the SUV and sauntered over. Both were young men; one was Anglo and looked like a thug, the other Hispanic and an altar boy. The thug eyed the Harley.
    ‘What’s that, an eighty-nine softtail classic?’
    ‘Eighty-eight.’
    ‘You restore it yourself?’
    ‘I did.’
    ‘Turquoise and black, I like that. And the black leather saddlebags with the silver studs. Cool. What engine is that?’
    ‘Evo V-2.’
    ‘Damn, that’s a fine ride.’
    The thug admired the bike then Nadine perched high in the back seat and finally turned his attention to Book.
    ‘You Mexican?’
    Book glared at the agent.
    ‘Do I look Mexican?’
    ‘You look like an Injun, but we don’t get Injuns around here no more, just Mexicans.’
    The Hispanicagent’s expression seemed pained. He took a step slightly in front of the thug. He was either the good cop in a good cop/bad cop routine or genuinely embarrassed by his partner.
    ‘You look familiar. Where have I seen you?’
    ‘On national TV, you dopes,’ Nadine said from behind. ‘He’s famous.’
    ‘Who you calling dopes?’ the thug said. Then he turned to Book and said, ‘Were you the bachelor?’
    A look of recognition came across the Hispanic agent’s face; he smiled broadly.
    ‘No, he’s the professor. Bookman. I watch you every Sunday morning. It’s an honor to meet you, sir. I’m Agent Angel’—
AHN-hell
—‘Acosta.’
    ‘John Bookman.’ They shook hands then Book aimed a thumb at the back seat. ‘My intern, Nadine Honeywell.’
    ‘And this is my partner, Wesley Crum. Please excuse his bad manners, Professor, he was raised by the scorpions in the desert.’
    ‘Funny,’ the