Strong Cold Dead (Caitlin Strong, #8)(19)
“Madre de Dios,” one of Paz’s men muttered.
*
“A dummy?” Jones repeated, wondering what Guillermo Paz had tucked in his hand, when he returned to the van.
“Stuffed animal, actually, dressed in clothes and a baseball cap.”
“Don’t tell me, Colonel: facing away from the window so my surveillance team wouldn’t figure things out.”
“The blinds cracked enough to let them see what they expected to.”
“Yeah, there’s a post in Alaska waiting for them, as of tomorrow.”
“I left my men in the apartment to make sure it was secured for your tech team. Tell them to watch out for the candy wrappers.”
“Candy wrappers?”
“They’re crumpled up everywhere. Hershey bars, I think.”
“You could have told me that much over the radio, Colonel,” Jones said.
“But there was something you needed to see,” Paz told him, showing Jones what he’d been holding. “Right away.”
Jones looked at the framed picture, shaking his head. “Oh, shit…”
15
WEST HOUSTON, TEXAS
“Well, poke me with a stick!” Sam Bob Jackson said, entering the reception area of his office with a wide grin, hands clasped before him as if he were praying. “If it ain’t Texas Ranger Caitlin Strong, in the flesh!”
Caitlin popped up from her chair and extended her hand. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Jackson.”
The owner of Jackson Whole Mineral clasped the hand in both of his. “I am so sorry to keep you waiting. I knew a Texas Ranger would be coming, but I didn’t know it’d be you, by God.” His eyes narrowed, head canting slightly to the side, as he pulled his hands back. “You don’t remember me, do you?”
“I’m afraid I don’t, sir.”
“Why, I’m the one who presented you that commendation on behalf of the Texas Chamber of Commerce after you plum near saved the state from those Russian fellas fixing to do us harm, just like your daddy did back in his time. Hell of a thing, wasn’t it?”
“I’m not allowed to comment, Mr. Jackson, though I am curious about how you came by the information you did.”
Jackson winked. He was a big man, with a triple chin dangling over a string tie that made him look like a fake cowboy. His belly hung well over his belt, which looked to be stitched from the same leather as his boots.
“Well, Ranger,” he winked, “I suppose we both got our sources.”
Caitlin nodded, figuring it was best to leave things at that.
“Now, let’s go down the hall to my office so I can help you out in whatever it is that brought you here.”
Jackson Whole Mineral occupied a floor of a gleaming new office tower located, appropriately enough, in west Houston’s Energy Corridor, with a clear view of the Katy Freeway out one of Sam Bob Jackson’s office windows. Caitlin took a seat in front of his desk and watched Jackson struggle to adjust the designer blinds just enough to keep the sun from her eyes.
“There we go,” Jackson said, finally. “You comfortable?”
“I am, sir.”
“How about something to drink?”
“Your assistant already offered.”
“Yeah, Muriel’s a peach, ain’t she?”
Jackson Whole Mineral advertised itself as an experienced and trusted purchaser of oil and gas mineral and royalty interests throughout Texas, Louisiana, and, most recently, the Dakotas, thanks to the Bakken oil field up there. As a third-party consolidator, the company’s role was to generate the best possible offers for clients who, like the Comanche, were looking to sell off interests in their land. Toward that end, the company maintained a staff of geologists, engineers, and economic analysts whose job was to get their clients the highest possible return for either leasing or selling their oil and gas interests.
Still giddy, Sam Bob Jackson reclined comfortably in his leather desk chair, propped his boots atop his desk, and laced his fingers behind gelled hair that smelled like something out of a bakery. He looked like a caricature more than a man, but the persona seemed just genuine enough to leave clients with a comfort level bred by an old-school Texas oilman who seemed fit for an episode of Dallas.
“So, what can I do for you, Ranger? You didn’t specify the reason for your visit.”
“That’s because my visit isn’t part of an active investigation, nothing like that,” Caitlin told him. “I’m just here for some background on the Comanche Indian reservation outside Austin.”
Jackson nodded, poking at the air with a finger that looked as thick as a cigar. “Where those young folk are staging a protest.”
“That’s the one, sir.”
“You mind calling me Sam Bob, Ranger?”
“Not at all.”
“On account of we got history between us and all, and I’m not just talking about that award the Chamber gave you.”
“No?”
“Your daddy got mine out of a whole mess of scrapes. He was a good man, my daddy, kind and generous to a fault. But he couldn’t hold his liquor, and Jim Strong was always there when a bender got the better of him.” Jackson pulled his boots off the desk and rocked his chair back forward. “Be glad to return that favor any way I can.”