One Rule - No Rules Page 3

  "I'll take a more in-depth look at your case, and then we'll be in touch," said Attorney Waters to Louis, his polite smile tainted with the slightest hint of impatience. "Thank you for coming down so promptly, Thalma."

  Thalma nodded. She and Louis walked out of the law firm's small building. They stopped at the pickup.

  "You want a ride to your apartment?" asked Thalma.

  "Well, ah, can I take you out to lunch or something? It's the least I can do, and, well, I'd kind of like to talk to you more about your offer."

  "We can talk."

  They drove out of the parking lot and headed downtown. Louis suggested the Breton Café. Inside, Thalma ordered two tuna sandwiches, while Louis – nervously checking his wallet – settled on a bowl of soup and a cup of tea.

  "Order some real food," said Thalma. "I'll cover it."

  "But after all you've done for me already, I'd like to do something..."

  "Don't worry about it."

  "Thank you. I am not worthy." He performed a half-bow. "Man, I have to admit I'm starving. Couldn't make myself eat much of that slop they call food. And I've slept on rocks more comfortable than that bed."

  "Oh, I'm sure beds in the state prison are much more comfortable."

  Louis stared at her for a moment to satisfy himself she was kidding. "Ha. Right. I'm sure they have king-size deluxe mattresses in there, and the staff is wonderful."

  Thalma allowed a thin smile as she downed her glass of water. Louis stirred his tea with an unsteady hand. The server delivered a large hamburger with fries for him, and the tuna sandwiches for her. Thalma consumed one sandwich while Louis nibbled at his hamburger.

  "One lucky break," he said. "They never got around to impounding my car. It's still out there where I left it." He smiled. "Along with my other stuff."

  "I can take you to your car."

  "Thanks. I'd appreciate it." He took another bite from his burger, and washed it down with his tea. "So, uh, Thalma. I was kind of wondering if that offer of yours is still on the table."

  "It could be."

  "Is there any chance you could give me, you know, a feel for what I might be doing before I sign on the dotted line?"

  "You'd be something like my personal assistant."

  "As in, I fill your cup of coffee, take notes at your meetings, that kind of thing?"

  She smiled. "I don't drink coffee."

  "Ha. But seriously." He lowered his head and eased closer to her, lowering his voice. "It's illegal, isn't it?"

  "Before I answer that, I will again ask for you to swear on your life not to reveal anything I say to you to anyone else."

  "Swearing over a hamburger and fries seems somehow sacrilegious."

  "Anyone," Thalma repeated with unsmiling emphasis. "That means your girlfriend –"

  "I don't have a girlfriend."

  "Or your family."

  "Haven't spoken to my parents since I got booted out of the university."

  "Or your friends." She met his gaze, her dark blue eyes chilling him. "You'll need to swear that on your life."

  "Just to be clear," said Louis. "I don't have to take the job, and I could quit, couldn't I? As long as I keep my promise."

  "Correct."

  "Okay." He took a deep breath. "Then I will swear, uh, on my life, to tell no one anything about you. Unless, you know, you tell me it's all right."

  Thalma nodded. "Let's finish this and then go somewhere private."

  Twenty minutes later, they drove over to McNory Gardens and found a park bench in the shade.

  "Ever grown a garden?" Thalma asked him.

  "If two sickly marijuana plants in my closet counts." He chuckled. "That's about it. Pretty sad for someone whose grandparents ran a small farm, huh?"

  "That's what I do."

  "You're a farmer? I noticed the combine in your barn."

  "I am a farmer, but that combine belongs to the people who are leasing my land. What I grow is far more profitable."

  "Oh." He grinned and nodded sagely. "I get it. You're running a grow operation out there."

  "Yes."

  "Hey." He raised his hands. "Like, that's super-cool, dude. I was afraid you were a hit woman or something." He released a breath. "I totally respect that. As I said, I tried it myself – I'm sure on a slightly more modest scale."

  "I'm glad you feel that way," she said.

  "There's some really primo stuff floating around these days. Is that you?"

  "Could be."

  "The dude who sold me the ounces – fronted them to me, actually – told me he got it from a guy. I've never heard anyone mention you."

  "That's the idea."

  "Right." He shot her a questioning look. "Did you make your people swear on their life to you, too?"

  "Nope. You're the first."

  "Why?"

  "Because you're the only one who's going to see my operation. No one I'm working with now has."

  "Wow, dude, I'm feeling honored."

  "Why do you keep calling me 'dude'?"

  He laughed. "No offense. I tend to say that a lot when I'm nervous."

  "Being a little nervous isn't always a bad thing," said Thalma with a half-smile. "But maybe it would help you to know that I've been doing this for over sixteen years, and I've never been busted. Also, I've never had to kill anyone in the line of this work."

  "That is, uh, reassuring." He squinted at her. "You said sixteen years? Have you been doing this since you were like eleven?"

  "Twenty-one. Though nothing like on this scale for the first few years."

  "You're saying you're thirty-seven? Damn, you sure had me fooled. I figured you were twenty-six, twenty-seven tops."

  She forced a shrug. Talking about her age with someone this young made her feel self-conscious.

  "How old are you?" she asked. "I'd guess twenty-two or three."

  "Twenty-two." His own smile was self-conscious. "But hey, I'm glad you've been around the block a few times. This isn't a business for amateurs, that's for sure."

  "Especially a business where a mistake can cost you your life."

  Louis gave her a queasy smile. "Far as I know, running a grow operation doesn't incur the death penalty. I think it's ten years max. Not that I'd ever want to do that."

  "It's life or death for me, because I won't be behind bars," said Thalma. "I would rather die than let that happen."

  "Wow. That's kind of radical, dude." He grimaced. "Sorry. But yeah, after spending the night in jail, I kinda get that. Of course, dope will be legal everywhere in a few years, and all this crazy drama will end."

  "True. But some drugs will always be illegal. Those will be the ones we'll be selling."

  "Not shit like meth, I hope," said Louis. "I mean, I'm all in favor of legalizing most drugs, but I won't be part of that. I watched one of my cousins get eaten alive by that shit."

  "I won't sell anything that I know is unhealthy."

  "That's good to hear. Of course, you can destroy your life with anything, if that's what you want to do. But some drugs pull you toward that. Not marijuana – that's all politics and pharmaceutical companies protecting their turf. No one's ever died from it directly, and there are lots of potential health benefits, from what I've read."

  Thalma watched a young family traipsing through the rose garden before them, ooohing and aaahing at the blood-red flowers. What would it be like to have a family? To have a husband and young children – a normal life? She averted her eyes to some tall oak trees on the far side of the gardens.

  "So I'd be helping you run your grow operation?" Louis asked. "Or you'd want me on the selling end? Or?"

  "Not selling," said Thalma. "The growing and harvesting part, and everything connected with that. And probably some administrative things."

  "I think I can handle that."

  "We'll see." For the first time since they'd sat on the bench, she turned to him, her eyes measuring. "I'll do what I can to protect you, Louis, but there are no guarantees."


  "I understand." His face had lost some of its color, but his jaw was set. "My life totally sucks as it is anyway."

  "You said you dropped out of college?"

  "Yeah."

  "Why?"

  "My mom must've asked that a hundred times. 'Why, why, why'?" He imitated her voice with a birdlike screech. "I gave her a lot of bullshit reasons, but the truth is I don't know. Something just felt wrong."

  "What were you majoring in?"

  "Engineering. I never got far enough to choose a specialty, but I was leaning toward structural." He shrugged. "It just started getting dull – all the science and no practical applications. Honestly, what I love best is building things. I was always good with tinkering, and I thought engineering was the way to formalize that. I got bored, I guess."

  "I like building things myself," said Thalma. "Though they don't always like me back. It's not one of my talents."

  "Maybe I can help you with that."

  "Maybe."

  "This could really work, you know?" He beamed at her, radiating so much youthful enthusiasm that Thalma wanted to shade her eyes. "We could be a really good match. It's almost as if higher powers conspired to see us meet."

  "Do you believe in higher powers?"

  His grin slipped. "Not really."

  "I don't, either. I believe in doing things right and not making mistakes."

  "I'm with you there." He gave her a shrewd look. "So what's your endgame? How do you see this all playing out?"

  "I want to change the world," she answered without hesitation. "Either by changing the one we have, or creating one of my own."

  "Far out."

  "And you? What are you looking to achieve?"

  Louis cupped his chin and assumed a pose of grave contemplation.

  "For starters," he said, "I'd like to stay out of jail."

  THEY RETRIEVED Louis's Honda from the dirt road where he'd abandoned it – along with the dope he'd stashed under some rocks by a nearby tree. He followed Thalma to her farm in the mid-afternoon. Socrates tore himself away from chasing a squirrel and ambled over, his dark eyes fixed on Louis as he climbed with great trepidation out of his car.

  "Good dog?"

  He reached out to touch Socrates' head. The big dog shook his hand off.

  "That's a dominance gesture," chuckled Thalma. "He won't accept that from you."

  "What do I have to do? Hump him?" His nervous laugh raised a low growl in the Rottweiler's chest.

  "I wouldn't advise that."

  Thalma walked over to them. "Socrates, this is Louis. Louis, Socrates." She lowered her voice to a resonant rumble. "Do not harass him or interfere with him in any way, or you'll answer to me."

  Socrates cocked his head toward her, the harsh glare in his eyes softening. Louis thought he saw affection in the creature's eyes, and maybe a hint of fear. Louis didn't blame him. He might be a big dog, but she was a fucking panther.

  Socrates resumed stalking the squirrel as they entered the house. He followed her through a kitchen door down into the basement. Louis performed a slow circle, taking in the exercise equipment – barbells, dumbbells, a weight machine, TIG welder, and some tool-bearing shelves.

  "I was expecting this to be your grow room," he said.

  "It's the entrance."

  "Ah, a hidden room. Do you have a fake wall or something?"

  Thalma motioned him over to the sump pump. She flicked a switch, and the pump did its thing. Dropping into it, she opened the outside panel, punched in the combination for the stainless steel door, and swung it open. She backed against the drain chamber wall, and held her arms up to Louis.

  "Come on," she said.

  Louis sat down at the chamber, dangling his legs over the edge. With a wary frown, he pushed himself off. Thalma steadied him as he landed. Standing that close to her, Louis was struck by the heat radiating from her body and the spicy smell of her skin. Cinnamon? He wanted to step closer and sniff her. Her proximity was weirdly intoxicating.

  She released his arms and bent down to step through the entrance into her clone room. Louis followed her.

  "Holy fuck," he said. "This is serious James Bond shit here."

  He wandered past her down the main aisle, peering at the plants.

  "Hydroponic?"

  "Deep water culture. This is the clone room."

  Louis tapped the walls. "Solid steel?"

  "It's a shipping container."

  They moved on to the next room, where seven rows of much larger plants branched upward toward the ceiling. Louis applied his engineer's eyes to the project. Forty gallon tubs, filtered water provided from a tank against one wall, reflector shields to maximize full-spectrum light on the plants, the light hum of fans. It struck him as a simple but demanding system.

  "How do you circulate air in here?" he asked.

  "Pipes leading to discreet outdoor locations," she said. "I have my own well and source of electricity."

  The next room featured large, bulbous plants that Louis thought resembled marijuana. Then he noticed the purplish glaze on the leaves.

  "Oh shit," he gasped. "This is Purple Haze – that new stuff that everyone's raving about. I've never tried it – too damn expensive – but I know some people who have, and swear it's like magic mushrooms meets marijuana."

  Thalma smiled. "That was the idea."

  In the fourth and final room, dim lights shimmered, bathing rows of mushrooms in ghoulish twilight.

  "Speaking of magic mushrooms," said Louis. He whistled softly. "You must have thousands of 'em. It's like something out of a Halloween movie in here."

  Louis wandered about, sniffing the mushrooms, grinning to himself.

  "A dude could get seriously wasted," he said.

  "Do you like to get wasted?"

  He straightened up, his grin slipping away under her cool gaze. "Maybe once in a while. Not while I'm working, if you're worried about that. I know this is a serious business."

  "Dead serious."

  Louis winced. "But still, you must, you know, check this stuff out personally from time to time, right? To make sure it cuts it?"

  "Of course. I also have 'professional samplers' and a lab scientist check out every new product before it's released."

  "You employ a 'lab scientist'?" He gawked at her.

  "Yes. I employ lots of people, including a plant geneticist and a biotechnologist."

  "I've never heard of any dope peddler doing anything like that."

  Thalma smiled. "I'm not just any dope peddler."

  "How the hell do you pull this off?" He raised his arms in an all-inclusive motion. "Build all this stuff, make these kinds of connections? How do you handle all this shit alone?"

  "It's not easy. Which is one reason you're here today."

  "You had to hire people to come out dig the holes and lower these containers into the ground. What stops them from telling other people?"

  "They sign a non-disclosure agreement, and they're paid well and fast. They're also out-of-state firms that have a reputation for discretion. I have people whose task it is to vet people and businesses."

  "And all these people report to you?"

  "Some do. Most of them report to other people, who then report to me. My organization is highly compartmentalized. It would take awhile to explain the details."

  "That's awesome." He peered at her in the dim light. "How did you figure all this shit out?"

  "A bit at a time."

  Thalma allowed herself to enjoy a small, warm flush of pride. It felt undeniably good to share her achievement – her life – with someone else. At least it does right now, she scolded herself. It wouldn't feel so great if he betrayed her or screwed up in some major way. For either of them.

  "Remember, I've been working on this for years," she added. "For many years, I was putting in twelve to fourteen hour days. Only in the last few years have I trimmed it down to around ten hours."

  Louis' admiring smile acquired a sickly edge. "I've never worked that hard
in my life. Don't you ever, you know, take time off? Go on a vacation?"

  "Sometimes." Her own smile slipped. "Not often."

  Louis scratched his beard and nodded. "So, is there another room?"

  "Yes. One more – but it's not for growing things."

  They stepped through another four by eight steel door into a concrete-walled room that extended fifty yards, ending in a dirt wall. A rack of various weapons was mounted on the wall beside a wooden stand. Body-shaped targets on steel cables perched at the end of the room.

  "My gun range," said Thalma.

  Louis's face lost some of its color as he eyed the gun rack. "I gotta be honest with you, dude," he said. "I mean, Thalma. I really am not into guns."

  "I didn't think you would be. But I 'gotta' be honest with you, too, Louis, dude. If this place is ever raided, guns will probably come into play. Are you okay with that?"

  "I don't know, man." He shook his head. "Violence is definitely not my thing. I figure if you do something where you might have to shoot someone, you oughta be doing something else, you know?"

  "Violence is not my thing, either. But if someone tries to take away my freedom or threaten my life, I have no moral qualms about taking them out."

  Louis was still shaking his head.

  "Are you in favor of gun control?" she asked.

  "Yeah, I have to say I am, even though I live in South Dakota where everyone and his pets own guns. I know, I know – guns don't kill people, people do – but guns make it a hell of a lot easier. Especially automatic weapons."

  "It's funny, because the very same government that's crying for gun control and controlling horrible gun violence is stocking up on machine guns, ammunition, and military armored vehicles. You know that the Breton police department just purchased, with a DHS subsidy, two MRAPs?"

  "What's an 'MRAP'?"

  "Mine-Resistant Ambush Protected armored vehicles. Lenco Bearcats, in this case."

  "They're like tanks, right?"

  "In that they're both armored vehicles. MRAPs don't have heavy cannon, but they do have machine gun ports, and can be outfitted to fire 40mm cannon."

  Louis's face turned a shade paler. "That's not cool, man."

  "Do you see an inconsistency?"

  "Yeah, but I'm not in favor of anyone using guns. I like the British policy where cops don't even carry them."