That’s How I Roll

ust as the local bears got their first turn at me, the local boss bear—the District Attorney himself—took his before anyone else.

He came to the jail alone. Well, not really alone. He had a couple of assistants with him, and the Sheriff’s men were real close by all the time. They weren’t there to protect him; it was their job to bear witness to the act of Christian charity that the big boss was going to deliver.

When everybody was in place, he reached down and shook my hand.

“You’ll never face the death penalty in this county, Esau,” he said. “Folks around here, we all know what you’ve been through.”

He never specified on that, but he sure as Satan knew why I hadn’t stood up when he’d held out his hand.

I knew he would never try for the death penalty anyway. Not around here. Not for someone like me.

I’d read up on this, and I knew the defense could ask for a change of venue—that’s moving the trial to another part of the state. But if I had planned on actually putting up a defense, I’d’ve never let that happen. I knew what the DA knew—no matter who they picked for the jury, as long as it was from folks around here, they’d never vote to execute me.

They’d never vote to elect that DA again, either. They take insults like that real personal around here.

That’s why the words tumbled out of his mouth like a rolling bakery line of fresh lemon tarts, with a little strand of barbed wire hidden in each one.

I knew they’d come that way—you can’t use a harpoon when you’re fly-fishing.

But they kept using the wrong bait. I couldn’t come right out and tell them what to use, either. I did that and they’d all think I was the one holding the casting rod.

’d known this time was coming. I’d known it for many years. The only excuse I had for the hive not being fixed up just right was that I hadn’t planned on those other visitors—there wasn’t any reason to expect them.

The design did just what it was supposed to do: the more the bears dug at it, the stronger the hive got. Pull off one layer and the others would fold in on themselves, only wrapped much tighter. I was sure I’d made that honey armor-plated.

But, like I said, I hadn’t built it expecting the Feds. I had counted on never having to deal with them, because I’d been so careful to stay away from anything that might draw their attention.

It’s not like TV. This place could be home base for a dozen serial killers, and still the local Law would never call on the Feds for help. Around here, you could be anything from a U.S. marshal to a census taker; you’d still be a Fed.

Nobody likes the Feds. That goes back a long way, and its roots are deep.

But I shouldn’t have counted on all that to keep me safe.

tep Two kind of came by itself. Once the Feds took over, they acted just as smug and arrogant as you’d expect. Came straight out and said it, first words. Anything anyone in this whole state could do for me, the Feds could do better. A lot better.

They could even fix it so I’d never spend another night behind bars.

When the locals were trying to get me to hand over the honey, they called it “cooperating.” That word tastes foul in the mouth, just saying it. Like collaborating with the enemy.

The Feds were much smoother. They called it “debriefing,” like I’d been out on an undercover mission. That didn’t taste as bad. If I’d been with them all along, all the talking they wanted me to do wouldn’t be a killer pointing the finger at the people who’d hired him. No, it would be a special kind of federal agent, reporting in from the field.

They even said they’d get that put in the papers, so everyone would know what a hero I’d been.

I knew that what people would think of me had nothing to do with what they might read in the papers.

Maybe that’s why the Feds can never get in deep enough—all they ever have is a bunch of paper reports. If they needed someone to infiltrate a terrorist network, they had to recruit one who was already inside. Never occurred to them that they should put their own terrorists out there, and let the networks recruit them.

It’s not just that they aren’t patient enough, they’re too … disconnected, I guess is the best way to put it.

They know how to put their own people in with certain groups, but they can only pull it off when their agents are the same as the people in the group. White, I mean.

Maybe that’s why it never crossed their minds that I might have killed some of those people for my own reasons.

t least the Feds were honest enough to tell me that they were determined to fill their basket, and they had a whole shopping list. But my name wasn’t on it. Never been on it, they swore.

I did believe that last part.

When I say “Feds,” I’m using that blanket to cover a whole slew of them. It seemed as if a new agency hatched every day. FBI, DEA, IRS, ATF … the only one they always called by its full name was Homeland Security.

Way too many of them to accomplish anything. All they did was get in each other’s way. They kept telling me how they were all on the same side, but they kept going at each other like they were blood enemies … even right in front of me.

I started seeing them all the same way I do preachers: real good at telling other people how to act—but they had some special, private deal with God, so they were exempt from those same rules.

You want to buy yourself a real chance at salvation, well, you make sure you throw something in the collection plate. And chip in to buy the preacher his new car every year, too.

I guess it sounds like I hate men of the cloth. I don’t, not really—I generally liked those I met personally. Except for the fat old swine who had hinted that what had happened to me and Tory-boy was God’s punishment for some sin.

If any of the people I’d done work for had wanted that one killed, I would have given it to them cut-rate.

The more I thought about that man, the more hate came into me, like lungs gasping for air when you’d been underwater too long. Whatever sin had been committed didn’t belong to me or Tory-boy. Anyone who couldn’t see that was too dirty in his own mind to be allowed to call himself a man of God.

he way it ended with all those different Feds was when one of them told me that their task force was being disbanded because of “cooperation issues.” That was pretty funny.

What happened was what always happens: the strongest bear drove the rest of them off.

You’d think that would be Homeland Security, but it was the FBI team who came out on top. Didn’t even break a sweat doing it, either. It wasn’t a blood-drawing fight; hardly a tussle, in fact. You could see who had the real muscle just by listening to them say “good morning” to each other.

ATF was the toughest to push out. They only left after telling the FBI team that they “expected a complete report.” But the way they said it, it was the same way some guys mumble threats under their breath as they’re walking away after backing out of a fight.

tep Three was revealed to me as soon as they trimmed down to one agency. The FBI couldn’t stop saying “RICO.” They soft-spoke it, like it was sacred.

They told me I would be serving the people. Protecting thousands, all over the country. Doing the right thing.

One of the older agents even told me that giving them what they wanted was my only path to forgiveness.

I knew I was past any forgiveness. And if forgiveness was going to come from them, I didn’t even want it. Had this same government that now was trying to make me talk done the right thing when it had the chance, none