Cold Wind

“So I had to divest what I had, and fast,” Smith said. “If the secretary of state would have just stayed out of my business, I’d still be doing it. I never would have gotten involved in this thing the Feds said I did. Not that I did it, you understand,” he said with another glance toward the glass.

“Rope the Wind,” Joe interjected.

Smith paused and sat back. “One of my best,” he said. “It could be used for a dozen kinds of industries or products. I have to honestly say I wasn’t thinking wind energy at the time I came up with the name. Nobody was.”

“So that’s how you met Earl Alden,” Joe prompted.

“Not quite yet. That came later.”

“Later than what?” Joe asked.

Smith squirmed in his chair, and rubbed his hands together.

“I saw the writing on the wall,” he said, “a new president, a new administration. Their big talk about ‘breaking our addiction to oil,’ renewable energy, solar and wind. I could see it coming because it was right out there in front of us. They were talking about it all the time during the campaign.

“So by then,” Smith said, “I couldn’t create any more new companies without all the hassle, but I still had all the company names I’d already registered. I did a little research and figured out where the windiest places in the state were located. So instead of waiting for entrepreneurs to knock on my door, I decided to get proactive. To hit the road and talk to businesspeople and landowners about what was coming down the pike. You see, I could see it plain as day. Those fools in Washington earmarked eighty-six billion dollars for ‘green initiatives,’ including forty billion dollars in loan guarantees and grants for renewable energy projects. But convincing anyone—that’s where I just . . . failed.” He spat out the last word, and dropped his head to stare at something on the top of the table between his hands.

Joe shook his head, confused. “But Rope the Wind . . .”

“One guy actually showed some interest for a while, but he was just an ignorant rancher and he couldn’t make a decision. He strung me along for months and then he stopped taking my calls. I hadn’t heard anything from him for a couple of years and then he calls me a few weeks ago out of the blue and said he wished he would have done it. He tells me he was sick and going over what he’d done in his life and he realized not pulling the trigger on the wind project had been a mistake. Now he realizes, the dumb son-of-a-bitch.”

Joe asked, “Was his name Bob Lee?”

Smith shook his head. “I remember Bob Lee. He wasn’t interested at the time and told me to get the hell off his property.”

“Who was it?” Joe asked.

“His name was Bud,” Smith said. “Longstreet, or something like that.”

“Bud Longbrake?”

“That sounds right.”

Joe just shook his head. “Where was he calling you from?”

Smith waved Joe off. He said, “It was Calvin Coolidge who said the business of America is business. You ever heard that?”

Joe nodded.

“Not anymore,” Smith said. “It’s a thing of the past. That’s what I found out when I took my concept out on the road. Nobody wants to take a risk or work hard. Nobody wants to own a business anymore because if they succeed they become a target of the politicians. Everybody’s sitting back, scared, keeping their head down and waiting it out until the storm passes. If it ever does.”

“So,” Joe said, trying to get Smith to refocus. “No one was interested in investing in your companies?”

“That’s what I’m saying,” Smith said, annoyed.

“So why not do it yourself?” Joe asked. “Why not use Rope the Wind yourself? Or why not start your own business and provide something people want to buy? You seem to have a gift for all this stuff.”

Smith simply glared at him. He said, “Don’t be so simpleminded. Where have you been? That’s for suckers. That’s not how people make money these days. Owning a company is for suckers. Employing people is for idiots. Making money in the free market means you’re a douche bag ripe for plucking.”

Joe sat back, confused.

Smith said, “Today it’s about winners and losers, determined by folks in Washington. The winners—God bless ’em—are cleaning house. If you’re a winner, you get the money funneled to you and you can’t fail. And if you do fail, they’ll bail you out. But if you’re a loser, well, you end up in the hoosegow wasting your time talking with a damn game warden.”

“Bud Longbrake,” Joe said. “The one who told you he’s sick? Where did you say he was calling from?”

After the questions and answers continued throughout the morning—Earl Alden came up in a lot of them—Joe excused himself by asking Orin Smith to “hold that thought.”

Joe found Chuck Coon in the hallway where he’d been observing the interview from a stool.

“Can I borrow a legal pad or something from you?” Joe asked. “I filled up my notebook.”

“I’ve never heard him talk so much,” Coon said, shaking his head. “You’re actually pretty good at this.”

“He’s proud of his achievements,” Joe said. “He wants someone to know about them. He’s kind of a twisted genius in his way and he’s done a lot, and it frustrates him that all anyone asks him about is the Ponzi scheme that brought him down.”

“Are you getting what you need?”