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.”
“Well, sir—”
“Sam Bob.”
“The truth is, I understand you were hired by the Blackfoot up on the Fort Berthold reservation in North Dakota. And I understand there was some trouble up that way, as well, in the course of more than thirteen hundred wells being dug.”
“There was indeed, Ranger, regrettably.”
“I believe the tribal chief who pushed the whole deal through, Tex G. Hall, ended up establishing his own energy consortium, with a shell company established by you, according to the paper trail. Hall’s currently facing a slew of indictments and has been implicated in a pair of murders.”
Sam Bob Jackson forced a smile, trying to look casual and undaunted but unable to disguise the edge that settled in his voice. “Does your jurisdiction extend to North Dakota, Ranger?”
“No, sir, but it does to the Balcones, and some of the Comanche have expressed concern over your involvement there, as well.”
“You’re speaking of those protesters, I assume.”
“There were protesters up in North Dakota, too, Sam Bob, who got it in their mind to draw attention to what fracking would do to their land. From what I’ve heard, they were pretty much right.”
The giddiness fled Jackson’s expression like air from a balloon. His face suddenly looked smaller, his gelled hair not as shiny.
“That’s something you’d have to take up with the oil companies Jackson Whole sold off the mineral rights to.”
“Well, Sam Bob, the protests I’m talking about happened before the drilling operation began, when your company was still running the show. And one of the leaders of the Blackfoot protest ended up in a coma after a serious car accident. Another disappeared and turned up drowned, after falling out of his skiff while fishing the Snake River. Another of the leaders had a change of heart and ended up with a brand-new home for his whole family.”
Jackson interlaced his fingers again, this time with elbows laid atop his dark wooden desk. “What exactly are you getting at, Ranger?”
“Who would have the most to lose by a protest like that gumming up the works?”
“The Natives, for sure. And the oil companies who’d bought the leases, of course.”
“And if they’d decided not to drill and pulled up stakes within a specified period, on account of not wanting to push their way past a bunch of kids standing in their way? That would leave Jackson Whole holding the bag, wouldn’t it? On the hook for the nonrefundable advance you paid the Blackfoot, and the Comanche in this case, for the rights to sell or lease mineral rights to their land.”
“You still haven’t answered my question, Ranger.”
“What question was that?”
“How I can be of service to you.”
“That’s because I came here to be of service to you. I believe it’s in everyone’s best interests here to make sure that no harm comes to those young Comanche standing their ground, ’cause we both know this’ll pass soon enough. Time and money getting lost are nothing compared to lives. And it’s in those same mutual best interests for you to tell me who might be capable of something like that—which both of us would regret. I just figured that a civic-minded man like yourself would want to do right. Make sure nobody gets hurt in a way that would reflect badly on everyone involved. Would I be correct in that regard?”
“I couldn’t agree more,” Jackson said, sounding as if he meant it.
“That’s good, sir, because Texas has one thing North Dakota doesn’t, Sam Bob.”
“What’s that?”
“Rangers,” Caitlin told him.