On the Lone Prairie

Trey Jackson was well on his way to leaving McGee Chalmers, LLP. And he knew it. None of the MC partners had told him that yet, so perhaps, arguably, he didn’t technically ‘know.’ And it wasn’t something he wanted to do. He liked most of his colleagues, and he needed the healthy paycheck.

But this he knew, because he was nearing the end of his third year with the firm. And in all that time, his only assignments had been to draft up ultimately-useless interrogatories, and every so often to attend functions at law schools around the region as living proof that, its reputation notwithstanding, MC really did, sometimes, hire associate attorneys of his complexion.

Beyond all that, Trey spent too many hours churning out documents to bring in any new business, and the partners never let him meet their big clients. So, he knew he wasn’t within sniffing distance of the partnership track. He was either on the “three years and wash up at the county attorney’s office” track, or the “call a friend at the public defender’s office and go” track. And there wasn’t a darned thing he could do about it.

Trey wasn’t the only one who knew he wasn’t long for Minneapolis’ toniest firm. His friend Maria, who’d been something of a mentor to him in school and had preceded him at MC, never let one of their monthly downtown lunches go by without bringing up his career prospects.

“You know what they’re gonna do,” she’d say. “If you don’t line something up before they run you off, you’re gonna be screwed.”

He knew she was right. He didn’t argue, much. But as his third recruiting season was coming to a close, Trey hadn’t yet made a serious effort to find another job before MC’s main use for him came to an end. So, by the time he’d braved the sleet-riven mid-November winds and made his way to the Capital Grille at 8th and Hennepin, he was already bracing himself for another round of Maria’s kibitzing.

But that wasn’t what she brought to the table. To their second table, that is. When she arrived, she asked the host to move them to the restaurant’s quietest corner. And when she sat down, she took an extra look around before she leaned in and spoke.

“I’ve got a client who just went into federal witness protection. What are you doing around midnight tonight?”

Trey didn’t see any connection between those items. “Sleeping, probably. What gives?”

Maria took a sip of water and shook her head. “No, you’re not. We’re taking a drive. We’re rolling before midnight, with enough gas in your tank for about a 300-mile round trip. And you’re paying cash for the gas. No credit cards.”

She paused for the waitress to take their orders, and then she continued in hushed tones. “I know where to find $250,000 in cash, just laying by the side of the road. But it has to be tonight. And that’s all I’m gonna say ‘til we’re in the car. Are you in, or out?”

Trey thought for a moment. He took his own look around the restaurant for potential eavesdroppers before he replied. “OK. Let’s meet at my place. But are we gonna need –

She cut him off with a curt wave. “No. Nothing. 11:40 tonight. You don’t need anything but your coat and gloves, your license, and a full tank of gas. And leave your phone at home. I’ll handle the rest.”

Trey managed to make it through lunch, and through an afternoon and evening of forgettable work and dinner at his desk, without becoming any more excited than he could manage. But after filling up his car and paying cash inside the EZ Mart, his attempt at a quick nap back at his apartment was utterly futile. By the time Maria put three quick raps on his door, he’d imagined umpteen disastrous ways the two could’ve wound up dead or in jail by morning. He was already dressed for outdoors when he opened up to greet her.

Maria wasted no time. She had a briefcase, and she pointed to it as she turned to lead him toward the parking lot. “All we’ll need is right here,” she said. “Let’s get going. I-35 south, and then the best legal speed you can manage.”

The two didn’t speak as they found and brushed-off Trey’s car, or while he steered it south through a snowfall that let up around the time they reached Fairbault. With that town’s lights behind them, Maria opened the briefcase and removed a pair of binoculars.

“OK. Here’s the deal. My client. The one going into WITSEC. Well, he might be gone by now. I called Hennepin County. He’s not in jail anymore. I know he didn’t make bail, so, probably, he’s got a new name in Montana or someplace tonight. Anyway, he was a player in a coke ring. Biggest one north of Omaha. They were gonna kill him, so he ratted everybody out. Or, maybe it was vice-versa. I just know he got arrested, he was desperate, and I sat in on some heavy late-night negotiations with the Feds.”

Trey couldn’t help butting in. “Wait, wait... You wanna rip off some drug dealers? With a pair of binoculars?”

Maria shook her head and tossed her briefcase in the back seat. “Not exactly. See, he told me how their transactions happen. When we get where we’re going, there’ll be a bright-red duffle bag laying on the ground, just off the interstate. Should be a quarter-mil in it. See –”

Trey interrupted again. “Yeah, well, if there is, there’ll definitely be a carload of Feds watching to see who comes to pick it up, right?”

She shook her head again. “Nope. The client told me this part. But he never told the Feds, or the locals, or anybody about it. When he first got arrested he wanted me to go get the bag, and then parcel it out among some bus-station lockers and whatnot and send the keys or the directions or whatever to the gang. Buying his safety over time, I think his plan was.”

Trey wasn’t warming to the idea in the least. “What’s this been, two weeks? Somebody must’ve picked the money up by now. Sounds like a Snipe hunt, my friend.”

Maria reached in her pocket and found a piece of gum. She unwrapped it quickly and started chewing before she spoke again. “I’ve thought of that, T. Here’s the thing. This is not a one-off. It’s a regular exchange. The first of every month, well, the night after, so, technically, the second, it happens near mile-marker 101 on I-94, northwest of the Mini Apple. On the 15th, tonight, it’s I-90. Southwest of town. Mile 115. Get the system?”

He nodded quickly. “I see it. Top half of the month is north, bottom half is south, one versus fifteen. And nobody ever has both the drugs and the money at the same time. Middle of the prairie, no cops, no cameras, no confrontations, fine. But how do they –”

Maria popped a gum bubble and continued. “The supply car drops the product in a green duffle, at one of those dirt turn-around roads in the median. Then it heads back westbound. The money car from Minnie uses the turn-around, drops the cash bag, picks up the drugs, and returns east. There are truck stops, this side of both exchange points. This one, tonight -- it’s in Blue Earth. Those places still have pay phones. So when a page from the correct phone number sets off a beeper in the supply car, that car comes back for the money. Then it scrams.”

Trey didn’t reply for a long while. He just drove, and thought. Maria didn’t have to tell him to take I-90 westbound at the interchange outside Albert Lea. Half an hour later he saw the exit sign for Blue Earth, and everything suddenly seemed both very real, and very possible.

There was a rest area a couple of miles outside of town. Trey pulled the car in off the highway and found a parking spot, as far from the building as he could. Maria was instantly upset.

“What’re you doing?”

He clicked off the engine and looked at her. “I just want to take a minute and do some thinking.”

She made a face and folded her arms. “Fine. But you’ve just blown our chance for tonight. Rest stops have cameras, and you have license plates.”

Trey shrugged. “OK. I get it. Caution matters to me, too. A lot. But, what’s the actual plan? We could do a dry run maybe. No?”

Maria saw the wisdom in that. “Yeah, well... Here. The turn-around’s two miles farther west. I figure we can drive to binocular range. Then you pull over and jack up the car like you’re changing a tire, and I’ll watch from in here. If a car goes through the turn-around between 2:00 and 2:15, we’ll know this is a real thing.”

They chatted a few more moments in the cold, quiet dark, waiting. Then they drove west, and stopped across from a frozen pond in the median, and did what they’d planned. Sure enough, at 2:07 Maria saw a pair of headlights leave the eastbound lanes, travel slowly through the turn-around, and depart westbound. She knocked on the window to Trey. He let the car back down off the jack and climbed inside.

“We’re in business,” she said. “Let’s get out of here.”

Their drive back to Minneapolis that night, and their more-frequent lunches over the following ten days, were filled with planning and precautions and occasional bouts of cold feet. The day after Thanksgiving the two drove northwest on I-94, out past Sauk Centre, and they scouted the next exchange point in broad daylight. It was isolated on the prairie, with no trees for miles. Nobody would be able to see them without being seen first. It looked perfect.

But, still, Trey harbored some second thoughts, and many outright doubts, about whether he and Maria could, or would, go through with the heist.

The following Monday morning Trey had just sat down at his desk when his secretary came to get him.

“Trey? Some of the partners need to see you in main conference. Right now, please.”

He hadn’t heard from Maria since their last drive. He was suddenly very, very nervous. Wondering how, or how much, any of his bosses could possibly have known about the plan kept him thinking, all the way up the back stairs and across the 53rd floor to a large glassed-in conference room, where three men in suits sat talking.

Trey knocked politely; the partners quickly waived him inside. Andy, the only partner Trey knew personally, motioned toward a chair. He began as Trey sat.

“Morning, Trey. I’ll get right to it. No point beating around the bush, right? Listen. We like you an awful lot. But we’re making some changes, so, basically we’re going in a different direction, as far as associates this coming year. Of course we’ll have great recommendations for you. We’ll pay you through December, plus your bonus, and there’s a severance package and COBRA and all that stuff too.”

For more than one reason, Trey was immediately, completely relieved. He just smiled and shrugged as Andy passed him a severance agreement to sign. “Thanks for the opportunity, guys. Really, I appreciate it. So. When’s my last day?”

Andy collected the agreement from him. “That’s today, sir. Now. We’ll have your personal stuff sent by messenger later this afternoon. OK?”

Trey nodded, and smiled, and stood to leave. The partners all came to shake his hand; Andy had one more question.

“So, uh, any thoughts on what you’ll do next?”

Trey shook hands all around, and smiled again. “Well, actually, right now... I’m thinking I’ll just take a drive out west, and see what happens.”