half-Comanche lawyer in Dallas whom Rufus had met in the army when Carlos had been working off his student loans in the JAG. Now he was part of a firm. He’d helped Rufus over a few of the humps associated with his separation from Mariel and starting his business. Once he and Carlos had spent a few minutes catching up and shooting the breeze, Rufus had explained the nature of what was happening at the Flying S Ranch, and of his proposed role.
Carlos gave Rufus due credit for never having a dull moment in his life and promised to look into it. This had taken a little longer than expected because Carlos had had to reach out to attorneys in his firm who knew about things like the Federal Aviation Administration. But yesterday Carlos had called him back and briefed him.
“Legality-wise,” Rufus began.
“A contract should come through with your name on it,” Tatum said with a shrug. “Not my department.”
“Of, of course not, sir, that’s understood.”
“Then what is your question?” Tatum asked.
Rufus stuck his tongue out briefly, then remembered his manners and pulled it back in. “In terms of T.R.’s overall strategy here—which has a bearing on our jobs, yours and mine—as I understand it . . .” And at this point all he could do was repeat what Carlos Nooma had told him over the phone. “There’s no actual law against what T.R. is doing here.”
“If you have ever met a legislator in the flesh . . .” Tatum began.
“I have not had that honor.”
“Let’s just say it is not in their nature to even conceive of something like Pina2bo. Much less concoct a law making it illegal.”
“Right. Understood,” Rufus said. Again quoting Carlos Nooma: “And if they did? It would be a bill of attainder.”
“I have no idea what that means, Red.”
“According to my lawyer friend, Congress can’t just pass a law targeted specifically at one person. That’s called a bill of attainder and it’s unconstitutional. They’d have to pass a general law against certain activities. And even then, T.R. could argue that it’s just a thinly veiled bill of attainder.”
Tatum made his hand into a blade and whooshed it past his head, indicating total lack of comprehension and total lack of fucks. “Sounds great. What are you worried about?”
“Well, but T.R. is violating FAA regulations on airspace and whatnot.”
“He actually did apply for a permit, believe it or not.”
“Like with the model rocket club launches.”
“Yes, and the FAA granted it.”
“Because they didn’t know what he was actually going to do,” Rufus said. “But now that they know . . .”
“It’s probably just a matter of time before they cancel the permit,” Tatum agreed. “After that, further operation of the Pina2bo facility will constitute a violation of FAA regulations.”
“Understood, sir. But according to my lawyer friend—who was looking into it—the FAA enforces those rules by imposing fines.”
“What I have been told,” Tatum said, “is that they—the FAA—have no boots on the ground capability whatsoever. They can bring an enforcement action through the courts, and levy a fine if that is successful. There are limits on how high the fine can go. And my understanding is that T.R. has got lawyers who have been keeping their powder dry for this eventuality. They have got ways to slow the process down and drag it out in the courts for years. If the fine gets upheld in the court, T.R. could simply write a check for the full amount.”
“Just part of the cost of doing business.”
Tatum nodded. “But by that point Pina2bo will have been up and running for a couple of years and its beneficial effects will be known.”
“And the bullets ain’t gonna hit no planes because—”
“Because the gun don’t move. What pilot in his right mind would fly over the muzzle of that thing? The FAA will just put out a warning—declare it a no-fly zone.”
Rufus nodded, momentarily distracted by the thought of what one of those shells would do to an airplane. “So as far as our duties are concerned—”
“First of all, everything you and I are gonna do is strictly legal,”
Tatum said, “in case that’s what you are worried about. We’re not pulling the trigger on the Pina2bo gun. We are just securing a piece of private property. Second, the worst-case scenario is that the feds levy a huge fine against T.R. and he goes bankrupt a few years from now and stops paying us. We go out and get other jobs. And the thing is, Red . . .” Tatum held his hands out, palms up.