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counties beyond Olympia. They were on a modern freeway, but the fir
forests crowded up on both sides, and there were logging roads that
snaked through stands of trees so thick that they shut out most of the
sun. Kevin was gripped with a bleak kind of curiosity. He sensed that
this trip was not one of their boyish adventures. Now he suspected that
Scott was manufacturing crystal meth on a massive scale. Scott turned
his 1972 red-and-white Ford pickup a truck indistinguishable from any
logger's again and again until they were speeding along some logging
road so far off the beaten path that Kevin would never be able to find
it again. Scott slowed and pointed to a beat-up sixties' model Ford van.
A man got out and walked toward them. He was a good twenty-five years
older than they were, bald-headed, wiry, almost emaciated, with sweat
beaded on his flushed face. He didn't look particularly menacing,
though. He was grinning. "This is Captain Pat, " Scott introduced the
stranger. "He works with me." Kevin nodded.
The guy had the twitchy look of a longtime drug addict. Captain Pat gave
Scott a package wrapped in a garbage bag and sealed with duct tape.
Scott took it and tucked it down between the truck's seats as he drove
off. When they were some miles away, Scott pulled over and peeled off
part of the wrappings. "It was $250,000! " Kevin recalled. "That man
gave Scott a quarter of a million dollars. Scott told me he had a whole
network of people working for him. He gave them the crystal meth, and
they went out and sold it. Out of Olympia. Up to Seattle. Over to the
coast. Even Virginia." Kevin was amazed.
Why wouldn't a druggie with $250,000 in his hands simply have taken off
for parts unknown? But this guy had been so proud to give it to Scott.
He sighed, wasn't that the way everybody felt about Scott wanting to
please him and to be part of his inner circle? Kevin had always wondered
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if Scott was bragging when he had hinted about the scope of his drug
business.
Now, seeing the money, he saw with sickening clarity that Scott had not
exaggerated. He was making a fortune. And Kevin knew "Hawk'scott's
contact back in Reston, Virginia, too, he had always figured the guy was
a legitimate businessman who was making such a good salary that he could
pay for the new house he had custom-built. Now he realized that Hawk had
to be part of what was going on in Washington State. Who else might be
involved? Scott could be so seductive. Kevin knew that Scott would die
for him, they had come close many times before. He also knew that
somehow Scott had the ability to corrupt, to ferret out other men's
weaknesses and entice them with money. Something in Scott needed to make
others beholden to him. Kevin winced. Now he was beholden. He'd accepted
Scott's offer to pay his mortgage that summer.
He had accepted Scott's generosity for their trips to Nicaragua and
Xalapa. He wondered what he would owe Scott. They stopped near a beach
on the Pacific Ocean and skipped rocks and ate lunch. Kevin could hardly
digest his food knowing that Scott had a quarter of a million dollars
hidden in the ratty upholstery of the truck. While Kevin had begun
tentatively to move toward a more spiritual life, Scott's journey was
just the opposite. It was a reality that ate at Kevin when he allowed
himself to think about it, he longed for a return to the world they had
once known.
But once Scott told him about his crystal meth operations, he seemed
obsessed with telling his old friend everything about it.
It was soon apparent that most of Scott's close coterie of friends knew
about his crystal meth business. He was proud of the money that was
rolling in. Another friend recalled that one day, Scott climbed the
stairs to the treehouse and plunked down a shoebox that had been
decorated with buttons, glitter, sequins, and bows.
"Scott set it down on the table, " the man recalled. "He lifted the lid
and there was more money in there than I'd ever seen in my life." Scott
had another "partner" in the business, apparently a man a half dozen
years older than he. Where Captain Pat looked the part of delivery man,
the "partner" dressed in three-piece suits with expensive ties. He was a
silent contributor, matching Scott dollar for dollar when they purchased
the raw materials.
Apparently this man had ways of obtaining the basic ingredients and the
necessary apparatus from drug-supply companies without arousing
suspicion. He wasn't anyone Kevin knew, or wanted to know.
Scott was into another world, a dangerous world. "Scott always had to be
the best at everything, " Kevin explained. "Whatever it was sports or
money or whatever. But success had to come fast for him. One time, he
invested a little money in the stock market, but he had no patience, and
he lost money. I think it bothered Scott that one of the guys we went to
school with in Reston was a millionaire in computers while the rest of
useven Scott were way behind." Scott always kept meticulousif phony
records.
Notations of his "purchases" and "expenses" were all filed in neatly
labeled folders in a cabinet in the gray house. He told Kevin that he
always paid his taxes, too. That is, he paid taxes on what he declared
as his income, the income of a carpenter. As far as the IRS knew,
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Scott's annual income was about $24,000. He was careful never to buy a
new car, preferring nondescript used models. He never wanted to be in
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