Chapter 10: Suspicions

After a few moments Clarence had calmed down and the group discussed the issue less emotionally but with considerable speculation. They lacked hard facts to establish any firm basis for an action plan. They certainly had no proof to take to the authorities. Any call for help from their friend, Sheriff Nelson, would be based on faith and trust.

“All right,” Reese said, “let’s back up and review what we do know. First, there’s the circumstances of Gran’s daughter and her boyfriend going on the run, and what Gran has told us of the circumstances. So we assume that it involves drug gang ‘enforcers’ and — this is somewhat circumstantial — the twenty thousand that only Melody could have put in Bug’s stuffed toy. Other than stolen drug money, she certainly had no access to that kind of cash.

“Then there’s the mugging that we fought off not long after we hit the road to come up here. That was during our stopover on the state border. I’m thinking it was linked to the beating our RV park landlord suffered the day after we left. He’d agreed not to give out any personal information to strangers who came asking. Obviously, somebody came asking. Logically that had to be connected to whoever was chasing Melody and Shoo.”

Reese paused, picked up his coffee cup, and looked around the table. Nobody disagreed. Clarence Reeder stared at a spot above Reese’s head, the gears still turning, puzzling over the possible legal ramifications. He wore a different shirt; Gran had retrieved one of Buck’s clean shirts to replace his coffee-stained white shirt.

“So,” Reese continued after further thought. “Maybe the link is broken. Maybe the muggers weren’t able to connect us from the border town to our destination here. We’re pretty damned isolated, off any travel routes. But then again, if they have our license plate number, that would be a link. They’d have to do some digging. My address of record is in care of Clarence’s office down in town. That leads them there, and then they’d have to make a connection between town and our Yankee Girl site. Short of breaking into Clarence’s office or interrogating him or his staff, they’d have to ask questions around town. Maybe they’d even pose as somebody plausible like an insurance investigator or distant relative, come to ask at the Sheriff’s office. Sound likely?” Reese asked.

“That might be plausible, but it also assumes that they’re splitting their pursuit between going after Shoo and Melody and coming after Gran and the kids,” Buck said.

“It also depends on how many men and how much time and money they’re willing to spend on this chase that we know damned little about,” Clarence added. “And what connections they might have that we’re unaware of.”

“Connections?” Buck asked.

“We should assume that any drug operation is a syndicate with ties into a conspiracy of connected parties, people in various positions of influence or power who’ve been corrupted by money or blackmail or addiction. Think about it. There’s a flood of drugs coming into the country, and a river of money flowing out. It’s a massive invasion and a huge outflow. That simply isn’t possible without corruption, without crooked cops, judges, politicians, and a broken system. Here in the US we stick our heads up our butts and think we’re immune: we’re not like Mexico or the Central American countries where murder and money have given drug cartels power over their governments. We assume it isn’t happening here.”

“That’s a pretty cynical and harsh judgment,” Buck interrupted. “This IS the United States. We’ve got a pretty solid system of laws and institutions!”

“Think so?” Clarence countered. “Think again. Why do you think the Feds have been so adamant about trying to track cash banking transactions? For taxes? Hardly. They’re trying to get a handle on the money out-flow, trying to cut the jugular vein of the cartels’ lifeblood. Let’s indulge in a bit of ‘Ill-Gotten Wealth Management 101.’

“If you’re making a million a week in big city drug sales, that’s a bale of $100 bills. You’re going to haul or ship it to your fortress in Mexico? And every month it’s four bales of money, and in a year it’s a truck shipment? And you’re not dealing in just one city. You’re accumulating mountains of bales of money from a multitude of cities. And now you’ve got a massive headache and a real threat to your operation. All that success becomes a major problem: what the hell do you do with all that cash money? You launder it. You pour it into a cleansing operation, like real estate or investments or art, anything with a legal cover. But the source of the money has to be concealed, made murky or muddy. And that takes, what?” Clarence asked.

“A bought middle man,” Reese answered.

“Right. A corrupt banker, a crooked art dealer, a coerced and blackmailed real estate investor. And its really helpful if you have some law enforcement officials who are paid to look the other way if investigators find shady connections. The clues, the leads, and the evidence mysteriously fall down a rabbit hole and the case goes nowhere. A judge rules on a technicality, or a prosecuting attorney finds there isn’t enough evidence to bring to trial. I honestly believe that some day in the far future our great-grandkids will be astonished to read how many high-ranking government officials were owned by the drug cartels who funded massive offshore money accounts for them. Anyway, that’s what we’re facing. I’m convinced of it,” Clarence said.