Don Winslow - The Kings Of Cool

(“King me.”)

So what he needs is a fed.

Not easy, not easy.

For one thing, the feds are notoriously honest.

(Chon would object to the pairing of “notoriously” with “honest,” but he’s in Afghanistan, so fuck him.)

Two, the feds are also notoriously paranoid (clears with Chon) always checking on each other, and

Three, Ben has no clue how to approach a fed, or

Four

Which fed to try.

He’s walking on the beach pondering this dilemma when he sees a fisherman jam a small fish on his hook and then cast it deep in the water.

You can Google anything.

You can even Google a federal drug agent.

What Ben does is he goes on Google and enters

“Federal Drug Busts+California” and gets three million twenty thousand hits.

Your tax dollars at work.

He scrolls through, rejects most of them, and then he hits

“Massive Marijuana Seizure in Jamul.”

Sees a photo of triumphant narcs standing beside bales of ditch weed and a story about this being a massive blow against the Sanchez-Lauter Cartel, the “massive blow” quote coming from a DEA agent named Dennis Cain, who has a particular look of triumphalism (“Mission accomplished”) on his grille.

Dennis, Ben decides, looks like a candidate.

Ambiguity intentional.

Ben gets on a pay phone and waits for Special Agent Dennis Cain to answer. When he does, Ben says simply, “5782 Terra Vista in Modjeska Canyon. Grow house. Premium hydro.”

“Who is this?”

“You want it or not?”

“Can you repeat the information?”

“Come on. The call is recorded.”

Ben clicks out.

Then he calls his grower at 5782 Terra Vista in Modjeska Canyon.

“Bail.”

“What?”

“Bail,” Ben repeats. “Take as much of the good shit as you can get into your car and leave the rest. Do it now, Kev.”

Dennis listens to the recording, doesn’t recognize the voice.

He’s not big on anonymous sources.

Usually it’s a practical joke, someone trying to harass an exgirlfriend or wife, or it’s a new player. Tracking the call, he finds out it came from a pay phone at John Wayne Airport. He thinks about giving it to the OC Task Force, let them waste their time, but it’s a slow day so he decides it’s worth a ride up to Orange County to check it out. Always a nice drive along the ocean up through Camp Pendleton, and he feels like getting out of the office, so what the hell.

The anonymous source proves to be pure gold.

Well, pure marijuana.

Ben waits for ten days and then hits him again, this time from the Amtrak station in downtown San Diego.

“Who are you?” Dennis asks.

“The guy who’s going to get you your next promotion,” Ben answers. “Unless you keep asking me who I am.”

“Let’s meet.”

“Let’s not.”

“I can guarantee your security,” Dennis says. “No surveillance, no wires.”

“Trust you?”

“You absolutely can.”

“You want this tip or you don’t?”

Dennis does.

Ben mixes it up next time.

Sends Dennis a typed letter with a fake return address “Orange County Register-Classified Ads-Houses for Rent-You’ll figure it out.”

Dennis figures it out-there aren’t that many houses for rent, and only two that have the potential to be grow houses. One turns out to contain a retired couple, the other turns out to be a grow house.

Dennis is falling in love.

But who with?

It’s kind of fun having a Secret Admirer; at the same time he’s a little sick of the flirtation. So far the guy has given him product, but no people.

Confiscations, not arrests.

He’s getting dope off the street, but no dealers.

He tells this to Ben the next time he calls.

INT. DENNIS’S OFFICE — DAY

DENNIS is on the phone with BEN.

DENNIS

Look, I know you’re getting your rocks off moving a federal agent around like your personal sock puppet, but that game is over. I’m not your right hand-go jerk your self off.

BEN

Hold on-I have to set the phone down.

DENNIS

It’s that little skinny thing in your shorts. I’ll wait.

BEN

Jesus, what has your panties in a wad?

DENNIS

Let me lay this out for you, you can tell me if I’ve got it right. You have some beef against a dope operation. I don’t know-they’re not paying you enough, they canned you, the boss fucked your girlfriend in the ass and she never let you, who cares. Doesn’t matter. You decide to get even, you want to fuck the man, but you don’t want to hurt your old friends and coworkers. So you give me the grow houses and then phone in a warning. How am I doing?

BEN

Not even close.

DENNIS

Yeah? Then how come every time I pop one of your tips, it’s a neutron bomb? The stuff is there, but all the people are gone.

BEN

I don’t know. Maybe you make a lot of noise going in.

DENNIS

You know what else makes a lot of noise going in? A hollow-point into your brain. Which is what you’re going to get when these people figure out it’s you, which they probably already have. You need protection, which I can’t offer you unless you give me a meet. You need to put these people behind bars. I’m trying to save your life here.

BEN

You’re trying to make cases.

DENNIS

So call it a symbiotic relationship.

symbiosis (n.) A close and often long-term relationship between different biological species.

For example-narcs and drug dealers.

Truth is, neither can live without the other.

Ben agrees to meet Dennis.

Don Winslow

The Kings Of Cool

O comes through the door; Paqu is in the kitchen.

“Have you been out looking for a job?” Paqu asks.

“I want to meet my father.”

Ben sets a lot of conditions He’s not coming into the freaking DEA office in Dago. They’ll meet at a place of Ben’s choosing.

Dennis comes alone-no partners, no surveillance.

It’s off the books-Dennis doesn’t open a CI (Confidential Informant) file.

Ben will never testify, never appear in court.

Dennis agrees to all of it, because Why not?

End of the day, he’ll do what he wants and the CI can’t do shit about it.

Dennis drives slowly back and forth across the Cabrillo Bridge in San Diego’s Balboa Park.

On his third pass, a young man opens the passenger door and gets in.

“This is where gays meet,” Dennis says by way of introduction, “to suck cock.”

“I’m disturbed you know that,” Ben says. “Drive down to the airport.”

Dennis takes Laurel Street down through Little Italy to Lindbergh Field, where Ben has him park in the cell phone lot.

“So talk,” Ben says.

He isn’t who Dennis was expecting. Most marijuana types are scruffy retro-hippies-this guy looks like he could have stepped out of an Up with People rehearsal.

“Right up top,” Dennis says, “if you won’t testify, I can’t offer you immunity.”

“This isn’t Survivor, ” Ben answers. “I’m not asking for immunity.”

“Got it. I’m just obligated to tell you.”

“You need me to sign a release form?”

“Maybe down the road,” Dennis answers. “You have a name?”

“Ben.”

“I need arrests, Ben.”

Ben shakes his head. “That’s not your problem.”

“What is my problem?”

“Self-absorption,” Ben answers. “You haven’t asked me what I need, Dennis.”