'After Judd died, the mayor and other movers and shakers in town, people in the game-'

'What game?'

'The money game.'

'And you don't play that game?'

Sam Walker spread his arms to the small office.

'My media empire. Professor, I publish this paper because the history of Marfa and the Big Bend needs to be recorded. I think that's important. This isn't a business to me-h.e.l.l, I barely break even most months. I expect const.i.tutional law means more to you than your paycheck.'

'It does.'

'The mayor asked me to join in, but I declined. I don't make news, I just report it.'

'Maybe I should meet the mayor.'

'Just walk around town, he'll find you. He can sniff out a celebrity like a bird dog on a hunt. Man was born kissing a.s.s.'

'You and the mayor enemies?'

'Enemies? Nah. You want enemies, go to Houston or Dallas. Me and the mayor, we just look at the world from different angles. Anyway, him and those ol' boys got together, decided to market the "Marfa concept," they call it, the art, a way to put Marfa on the map. "Marfa myth" is what it is. But the national media bought it, descended on our little town, told the art world that this is the place to be. We don't have a doctor, a dentist, a drug store, a movie theater, a McDonald's, a Walmart-'

'A Starbucks,' Nadine said.

'-but Marfa's the place to be? I don't get it. But everyone drank the Kool-Aid. Then the Triple As descended on us.'

'The Triple As?'

'Attorneys, artists, and a.s.sholes. That's what the locals call them, the Triple As, outsiders who came to town to make Marfa their own. Attorneys came first, double-barreled rich, flying out here from Dallas and Houston in their private jets, acting like they had discovered Judd's art, buying up old adobes and downtown buildings like they were buying lunch. Then the artists came, from New York, gays mostly, bit of a culture shock to cowboys.'

'I told you,' Nadine said.

'We're like L.A. now, except with artists instead of actors. Everyone making coffee, scooping ice cream, or waiting tables is an artist hoping to be discovered.'

'In Marfa?'

'Like an artist version of American Idol. They're all young and hip and hate Bush, but bottom line, they're all desperate to be as rich as Republicans and as famous as that Kardashian gal.'

'Khloe?' Nadine said.

'No. The other one.'

'Oh. Kim.'

'They're just pa.s.sing through, like the trains. But they brought a little variety to town, opened these fancy restaurants serving French food and Italian cuisine, little place called Maiya's-'

'We walked past it. Red door, in the Brite Building.'

'Gal from Rhode Island, she owns it. New Yorker came to town to design costumes for that movie There Will Be Blood, decided to stay, started a dry goods store. Others came and opened up more restaurants, galleries, jewelry shops, a bookstore, organic grocery store, coffee houses, live music bars, and that Ballroom Marfa, what they call a multimedia art s.p.a.ce. Now, with Judd's and Flavin's and Chamberlain's masterpieces installed here, they say Marfa's the new art Mecca, so New York artsy types trek out here like they're making some kind of religious pilgrimage.'

Sam seemed to reflect on his own words a moment.

'Funny how things worked out. We were a ghost town of old ranchers, old-timers, old Mexicans, and old buildings, only two places to eat, but h.e.l.l, you can't eat but one place at a time. We were here because we belonged here. On this harsh, unforgiving land. Then Judd moved here because he didn't belong in New York anymore. Twenty years, he made his art and his home here, became a bona fide Texan-I told him so the day he bought that ranch, that's every Texan's dream, to own a part of Texas. Now, twenty years after he died, the mayor and the Triple As have taken something real and made it something phony, turned this town into Santa Fe South or Marfa's Vineyard, take your pick, and Judd's art into the commerce and show business he hated. Marfa's a G.o.dd.a.m.ned art theme park, and we're just running the rides for the tourists.'

Sam returned to Donald Judd's photo.

'Don wouldn't want to live here now. All the New Yorkers followed him here-h.e.l.l, we got more Yankees than cattle. Folks fly in for the weekend, pay two hundred thousand for adobes worth twenty 'cause they think they're cute, then they triple the size and turn the places into walled compounds like they're living in Guadalajara in fear of the cartels. Drove real-estate prices and taxes up and the locals out. What you call ironic, New York liberals who profess to care so much about the poor and Mexicans, but they're buying third and fourth homes as trinkets and driving the poor and Mexicans out of Marfa. I tell them that, and they just smile and shrug their shoulders, as if it's out of their control. Like the weather.'

Sam dug at his teeth with the toothpick.

'Before the Triple As, this town was peaceful, hardly any conflict, just the normal stuff between the Anglos and the Mexicans-this is Texas-but basically everyone minded their own business and got along.'

'Not now?'

'Not hardly. Now we've got conflict. h.e.l.l, it's a G.o.dd.a.m.ned civil war. "New Marfa" versus "old Marfa." Haves versus have-nots. Anglos versus Mexicans. Mexicans versus the Border Patrol. Artists versus cowboys. h.o.m.os.e.xuals versus heteros.e.xuals. And we're all at odds with Mother Nature, trying to make a life in this desert. Now we've got the fights over fracking.'

Sam waved at a pa.s.ser-by outside.

'Is Mr. Barnett the only fracker in town?'

'Far as I know. He's the man in Marfa. Employs d.a.m.n near everyone in town who ain't a Border Patrol agent or an artist. Bought up leases, hired locals to work the rigs, and started punching holes. Pays good wages-some of those boys had been unemployed for years, all of a sudden they're able to buy new pickups. Art made Marfa fashionable. Fracking made us profitable.'

'So where's the fight?'

'Fights. Plural. We got the environmentalists and artists trying to stop the fracking 'cause they think it's the end of the world, and we got the cattle ranchers fighting the pipeline eas.e.m.e.nts. Can't truck gas out like you can oil, so Billy Bob's laying pipelines. If folks won't sell-and they won't-he's condemning their land, which is apparently legal in Texas.'

'It is.'

'h.e.l.l of a law.'

'Has Billy Bob filed condemnation suits?'

'Yep.'

'I a.s.sumed that didn't make him any friends?'

'Nope.'

'So what's your opinion of Mr. Barnett?'

'My opinion? Fact is, he's one of the a.s.sholes.' Sam glanced at Nadine. 'Pardon my French.' Back to Book: 'Out here, you don't mess with a man's land. It can be dangerous.'

Chapter 8.

They had seen Marfa from the outside looking in; now they saw Marfa from the inside looking out. Standing in the cupola atop the three-story, Renaissance-revival-style Presidio County Courthouse that offered a 360-degree panorama of the Marfa Plateau, they could see the entirety of the town, all the way to the edges where civilization petered out into desert. The land beyond lay stark and yellow and bare of trees all the way to the brown mountain ridges that framed the plateau.

'I'm scared of heights.'

'Ms. Honeywell, you're only four stories up.'

'I think I'm going to throw up.'

They walked back down the stairs to the district courtroom on the second floor. The courthouse had been built in 1886 for only $60,000, but the solitary courtroom was the grandest Book had ever seen, and he had seen a few. It had a ceiling twenty feet high, elaborate crown molding, and old-style seating with individual chairs secured to the wood floor. They sat and took in the s.p.a.ce.

'You let Mr. Walker go on and on about Marfa. Why didn't you question him about fracking?'

'Most folks get defensive when a lawyer interrogates them like a guilty defendant, Ms. Honeywell. They don't open up. They shut down. So I've learned to listen. Everyone has a story to tell, and they want to tell it. We learned a lot from Sam Walker.'

'We did?'

'We did.'

'I thought you wanted him to put a story in the paper?'

'I do. And he will.'

Her eyebrows crunched down. 'You say that as if you've done this before.'

'I have.'

'Why does that make me nervous?'

Book gestured at the grand courtroom that bespoke the history of West Texas.

'So, Ms. Honeywell, what's your career plan? To be a small-town lawyer and probate wills in a courtroom like this? Or a big-city lawyer?'

'I don't want to be a lawyer.'

Book turned to his intern. 'Then why are you in law school?'

'My dad didn't have a son to take into his practice, so he's making do with me.'

'What do you want to be?'

'A chef.'

'A law student who wants to be a chef? That's different.'

'A law professor who rides a Harley? That's different.'

If you want to sue over a contract, a car accident, or condemnation of land for a gas pipeline in Presidio County, you file a lawsuit in that courthouse. With the district clerk. Who smiled at Book.

'Professor Bookman,' she said. 'Sam Walker called, said you were heading my way. I'm Sadie Thomas. I think you should be on the Supreme Court.'

'You should take my Con Law cla.s.s first.'

She was a middle-aged woman with a sweet face. Which face appeared in the funeral photo.

'So what brings you to our courthouse?'

'I need some information.'

'About what?'

'Whom. Billy Bob Barnett.'

Her smile disappeared.

'I understand he filed lawsuits against landowners?'

'Pipeline condemnation cases, about two dozen so far.'

'Who represents him?'

'The Dunn Law Firm.'

'What lawyer?'

'Nathan Jones. But he died in a car accident last week.'

'He was my intern four years ago. Did he file lawsuits for any other clients?'

'As far as I know, Billy Bob was his only client. He always joked about being a one-client lawyer. Too bad his only client was an a.s.shole.'

'So I've heard.'

'You'll hear it more. Condemning folks' land for a pipeline, it's legal, but it's not right. Landowners got together, hired the same lawyer out of Santa Fe, but they always lose. Billy Bob's got the law on his side. Folks are fighting mad.'

'Mad enough to kill?'

'Him, but not his lawyer.' Sadie exhaled heavily. 'He was a sweet boy, Nathan. Brought me a red rose on my birthday. Every year. He was really excited about becoming a daddy.'

Book thanked her and turned to leave.

'Professor-'

He turned back.

'I wouldn't get in the middle of this fight. Might not be healthy.'