On The Border

Chapter 2

Chapter Two

    John Reid scanned the newspaper article and dropped the paper on the bench in disgust.  News needed to be reported, he understood that, but if they spent almost the entire article dwelling on the details of a poor man and his family butchered, how could they expect anyone else to work up the nerve to come forward?  This reporter, this... he checked the name again... Luna-Cruz couldn’t have done much of better job of scaring people away from standing up for what’s right if she had tried.  She almost seemed to be enjoying relating the bloody details.  Reid made it his business to read the papers from across the border when he could, both to keep his Spanish sharp and to see what they were saying.  More and more, it seemed to be bad news.  The cartels were winning the drug war, if it could be said to be fought anymore.  Greedy coyotes were getting people into the American desert and then leaving them to die at the slightest hint of Border Patrol.  He shook his head.  There had to be more good people than this in the world, didn’t there?

    He got up from the bench he’d been sitting on and paced, his long legs carrying him down the hallway quickly.  Reid was just over six feet tall, with the build of a man in great shape from regular hard work.  He ran a hand through his black hair and sighed. Of course, if everyone did what they were supposed to do, he’d have to get another job.  His badge, a simple star inside a circle, identified him as part of the Department of Public Safety, but also carried the group’s better known name, the Texas Rangers.  He adjusted his belt, acutely conscious of the missing firearm at his hip.  Like almost everyone else entering the courthouse, he’d had to lock his weapon away before coming up to the courtrooms.  This was just a part of why he was so uneasy.  He’d testified dozens, if not hundreds, of times before, and simply walking into a courtroom was something he was long ago accustomed to.  However, this was the first time he was testifying against a fellow Ranger, and that very concept roiled his stomach.  Reid’s decision to testify wasn’t one he’d made quickly, and had made him very unpopular.  Cops didn’t turn on cops was the mentality pretty much world-wide. 

    But, at the center of his being, Reid was a simple man, with some simple beliefs.  Something he’d read once by William Penn had stuck with him, and made this decision easier for him: “Right is right, even if everyone is against it, and wrong is wrong, even if everyone is for it.”  He hadn’t wanted to believe it when he’d first begun to suspect that Patricia Dalton was crooked.  She was a well-liked woman, with a first rate mind, impressive arrest record, and a body that turned heads.  Along with many of the Rangers that worked with her, he’d considered asking her out, finally deciding it wouldn’t be professional.  Later, an arrest he’d made had let some hints drop about a Ranger on the take.  After some careful footwork with his Captain and the local District Attorney, as well as the boys in Internal Affairs, he’d been allowed to offer a deal.  Normally, IA would have taken over the entire matter, but the man, Jimmy Rolenz, would only deal with Reid. 

    Rolenz, his long sentence for his third arrest shortened to time served if the information proved useful, sang like the proverbial bird.  He named Dalton specifically, and provided a lot of details.  A few other witnesses were located, and somewhat reluctantly agreed to testify, most with deals like Rolenz’.  Finally, one of the IA investigators found Ranger Dalton’s hidden bank accounts, and it was all over.  Reid was dismayed that a Ranger had gone bad, and betrayed the long history of heroism the name carried.  He was even more unhappy when most of his fellow officers turned on him, as though he had done something wrong.  He understood that no one liked it when one of their own went bad, but as far as Reid was concerned, the oath you swore when you pinned on the badge and put on the gun was more important than covering up for a friend, or co-worker.  Apparently, many disagreed.  Reid paced back to where he’d been sitting.  He’d been in the hallway for a few hours now, waiting his turn to testify.  He wasn’t looking forward to it, but was hoping to simply get it over with, like pulling a Band-Aid off quickly.  Finally, the bailiff opened the doors to the courtroom, looking around, eyes alighting on Reid.  “Ranger Reid?  You’re up.”