Authors: William W. Johnstone

The Bleeding Edge (24 page)

BOOK: The Bleeding Edge

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C
HAPTER
F
ORTY-SEVEN

By the time those last words came out of Mitchell Larson's mouth, his voice was booming and filled the room like that of a brush arbor, hellfire-and-brimstone preacher. Stark wouldn't have thought that the man's skinny body had that much volume and power in it.

But even that wasn't enough to drown out the outpouring of angry shouts and boos that came from the audience. Larson fell silent and just stood there holding on to the podium, looking as mild and boring as ever despite the inflammatory sentiments that had just emerged from his mouth.

Only part of the audience was booing, Stark realized. Some of the others were on their feet applauding and cheering. They agreed with Larson. All of them were younger, residents of the housing developments closer to Devil's Pass.

Stark knew from the number of votes in favor of incorporation that the majority of the people who lived down there had been on the same side as the residents of the retirement park. Which meant that quite a few of the people cheering Larson now must have supported incorporation before. What had happened to change their minds? The attacks on the park? The news media coverage?

Or had Larson been doing some quiet but intense campaigning down there since filing to run for mayor?

Either way, Stark realized, this could be a problem.

Jack Kasek got to his feet and slapped his open hand on the table until he got the audience to quiet down a little.

“Stop it!” he shouted. “There aren't going to be any demonstrations like this here tonight!”

It was a little late for that, Jack, Stark thought wryly. The demonstration was already going on.

“Everybody sit down and be quiet!” Jack went on. “Sit down, do you hear me?”

Mitchell Larson lifted his hands and motioned for his supporters to do what Jack said. Gradually, the audience got back under control. It helped when Stark stood up and said, “Take it easy, folks.” The residents of the retirement park all respected him too much not to do what he said.

When it was reasonably quiet in the room again, Jack asked the man at the podium in a taut, angry voice, “Do you have anything else to say, Mr. Larson?”

“As a matter of fact, I do,” Larson replied. He faced the audience again. “You can see for yourselves, right here in this room, how divisive it is to establish a town that's a sanctuary for those who hate people who are different from themselves.”

“That's notâ” a man in the audience began.

“Let me speak!” Larson's voice boomed out again. “We have rights in this country, rights that apply to everybody, no matter what color their skin is or what language they speak. Over the past few months, incident after violent incident has taken place here at Shady Hills. Why, just a few nights ago, a couple's home was destroyed. All this because a bunch of reactionary old people have declared this area off-limits to everyone they disapprove of. And now they want to drag the rest of us into that cycle of violence they've caused!”

Nick Medford surged to his feet and yelled, “Those are lies, all lies! We didn't start this trouble! It was the cartelâ”

“That's right,” Larson broke in with a condescending look on his face. “Whatever's wrong, blame it on the Mexicans.”

“That's crazy!” Henry Torres called from the audience. “That's not what we're doing. Half the people who live in the park are Hispanic! The only prejudice any of us feel is toward that bunch of drug-smuggling criminals!”

Larson shook his head smugly.

“You're just blinding yourself to the truth, my friend,” he said. “Just because you're Hispanic doesn't mean you can't be just as bigoted as anybody else.”

The room was starting to get loud again. Jack said, “You still haven't told us what you plan to do if you get elected, Larson.”

“No âmister' now, eh? Well, I can't say I'm surprised.” Larson raised his hands. “You want to know what you'll get if you vote for me and I'm elected mayor? Here it is, plain and simple. My friends who are running for city council and I will hold one vote at our first official meeting . . . and that vote will be to abolish the town of Shady Hills.”

Stark wanted to ask Hallie if they could do that legally, but he would have to wait to get her opinion until after the forum.

“Vote for us and things will go back to being the way they were before all this trouble started,” Larson went on. “We enjoyed excellent police and fire protection from the county. Now what services do we get? Nothing! It's anarchy, people, anarchy! It's the Old West all over again, every man for himself and if you've got a problem, well, just solve it with a gun! I don't want to live like that. I don't want to raise my children in a place like that. I want to live in a place where they're safe and protected, and if there's a problem, the government takes care of it, not some crazed vigilantes! If you feel the same way, then vote for me and my friends . . . the sane, reasonable choices.”

To a deafening mixture of boos and cheers, Larson left the podium and moved back to his seat. He sat down on the folding chair looking pleased with himself.

Jack Kasek turned to Stark and said, “Do you want to try to follow that, John Howard?”

“Somebody's got to,” Stark said.

He got up and moved to the podium, and the cheers and the boos switched places. Stark motioned for quiet. It took a couple of minutes to get it, but the audience finally settled down again.

“Most of you know me,” Stark began. “For those of you who don't, I used to have a ranch, farther out in West Texas. I moved down here because keeping up with the place had gotten to be a little too much for me, and I wanted to spend my retirement in someplace quiet and peaceful. I sure didn't come looking for trouble . . . but I'm not the sort of fella to run away from it, either.”

That brought applause and cheers from his friends, along with scattered boos from Larson's supporters. The reaction didn't last long, though.

“It's no secret that some bad things have happened here,” Stark went on. “The trouble came to us; we didn't go to it. Once it was here, we've dealt with it as best we could. Remember this: this country was founded by folks who didn't take kindly to being pushed around. When somebody tried to hurt them, they stood up and fought back.”

More cheers came from the audience.

“I've heard it said that nobody hates war more than a soldier, because he knows the true price people have to pay for it. Well, nobody hates trouble more than those who are forced to deal with it, like we've been during the past couple of months. All we want is to be left alone to enjoy our lives, and the only reason Shady Hills is now a legal town is to help us do that.”

Stark's voice rose as he continued, “Mr. Larson there said we want to keep out anybody who's not like us. That's just not true. There are quite a few vacant places here in the retirement park right now, and I've got a hunch that Jack Kasek would be glad to lease them to anybody who comes along who can afford it and is willing to be a good neighbor. Black, Hispanic, Asian, or white, it just doesn't matter, does it, Jack?”

“Not at all,” Jack said.

“What about restrictions and zoning requirements that keep out minorities?” Mitchell Larson asked. “I've seen those used time and again for racist purposes.”

“I didn't know this was supposed to be a debate,” Stark said with a smile.

“If you're afraid to answer the question, Mr. Starkâ”

“That's not what I said.” Stark addressed the audience again. “Shady Hills doesn't have any ordinances or restrictions or zoning requirements . . . yet. We probably will, at some time in the future, because to be honest, folks, you can't run a town without some sort of rules and regulations. You all know that. It's just common sense. But will they be used to treat people unfairly?” Stark shook his head. “Not while I'm the mayor, and I'd be willing to bet that the other residents of the park who are running for city council feel the same way.”

Nick Medford and the other candidates nodded in emphatic agreement.

“As for the drug cartel being behind the trouble we've had, do any of you doubt for a second that the cartel exists? You think they're just some racist boogeyman that a bunch of bigots dreamed up?” The audience was quiet now as Stark shook his head. “You'd have to be blind to believe that if you've spent more than a day or two within a hundred miles of the border in the past ten or twenty years. You
know
the cartel is out there. You
know
they're bringing drugs across the border into this country every day, three hundred and sixty-five days a year. You
know
they've smuggled in terrorists who want to destroy our nation. Even the people in Washington, D.C., who insist on leaving our borders open for their own political reasons will acknowledge that.”

Stark turned his head and looked along the table at Mitchell Larson, who was sitting there red-faced, obviously seething but silent for the moment.

“And speaking of the government, which Mr. Larson did . . . there's a big difference between wanting to restrict the powers of the government, as this country's founders did, and wanting to do away with it completely. The question is, who knows the best way to handle a problem? Some bureaucrat more than a thousand miles away in Washington, or somebody who lives right here, somebody who has to deal with those problems every day? Nobody in Shady Hills is advocating anarchy. All we're asking for is the freedom to deal with our problems efficiently, in a way that works. Mr. Larson said that we had police protection from the sheriff's department. Ask Sheriff Lozano himself and he'll tell you that he doesn't have the money or the man power to cover the entire county the way it should be covered. That's not his fault; it's just the way things are. Most of the time, the best the deputies can do is show up after the trouble is over. Sometimes well after. That's the real reason we wanted Shady Hills to be a real town, so we can hire a police force of our own to stop some of these problems before more people are hurt. That's not anarchy, folks. That's the farthest thing from anarchy. And that's what we'll do if the slate of candidates from here in the park is elected. Our first job will be to hire a police chief and some officers for him to lead. After that, we'll see, but I can promise you this . . . the city government of Shady Hills will do its level best to
leave you alone
. If that's the sort of government you want . . . you know how to get it.” Stark smiled again. “That's the most I've talked in ten years, so I think I'm gonna go sit down.”

He did, and even some of the people who'd been applauding for Larson earlier were clapping for him now, he saw.

“Lord, that was a great speech, John Howard,” Nick leaned over to say to him. “You're a born politician . . . and I mean no offense by that.”

Jack Kasek stood up and said, “All right, we'll hear from the council candidates now.”

After the fiery verbal clash between Stark and Larson, the comments from the other candidates were rather anticlimactic. As if sensing that, all the men on both sides of the issue kept their remarks short and to the point, the candidates from Shady Hills promising to support the positions laid out by Stark while the others backed up Larson's call to abolish the city.

Nobody could ever say that the voters didn't have a clear choice to make in this election, Stark thought.

When the forum was over, a lot of people came up to Stark to shake his hand and tell him that they appreciated what he'd said and the stance he had taken. Gradually the room cleared out, leaving Stark and his group of friends and supporters.

“Can Larson and his bunch do that, Hallie?” Stark asked. “Can they have one vote and do away with the town?”

She shook her head and said, “I don't think so. I believe there would have to be another election, this one to vote on whether or not to disincorporate. But for all practical purposes, they could accomplish their purpose just by doing nothing. If they refused to hire a police force or set a tax rate or conduct any other city business, it would be like Shady Hills isn't a town at all.”

“We can't let that happen,” Jack Kasek said.

“We can campaign, but in the end it's not up to us,” Stark said. “The voters are the ones who'll have to decide what they want.”

“You're right, John Howard, but heaven help us if they don't make the right decision. Heaven will have to, because Larson and his bunch sure won't.”

C
HAPTER
F
ORTY-EIGHT

Over the next few days, fliers went up on telephone posts and campaign signs sprouted in yards in Shady Hills, Dry Wash, and the housing developments around the high school. Stark was glad to see that most of the signs in the retirement park supported him, although there were a few bearing Mitchell Larson's name. The same was true in Dry Wash, although Larson had a little more support there. In Amber Trails, where Larson lived, the situation was reversed and he had most of the support, but in the other areas the voters seemed to be about evenly split between the two mayoral candidates.

The city council races seemed almost like an afterthought. It was a foregone conclusion that everybody, or nearly everybody, who voted for Stark would also vote for the other candidates from the retirement park.

The protesters showed up again several days before the election, and with them, naturally, came the news media. The whole traveling circus had returned. Stark did his best to ignore it, but it was hard to shut out the racket coming from the front of the park.

He had a number of requests from the media for interviews. Most of them he turned down, but he accepted a few of them, although he knew that the reporters would probably try to ambush him and would distort the answers he gave to their questions. He surprised his friends by accepting the requests from some of the most notoriously liberal TV networks and newspapers.

“I'm not ashamed of anything I have to say,” he explained, “and you never win anybody over if you only talk to people who agree with you to start with.”

“They'll use this against you, John Howard,” Hallie warned.

“They'll try, I suppose.”

“And they're experts at it.” She smiled. “But John Howard Stark doesn't run from fights, does he?”

“Never have,” he said, “and I'm a little too old to start now.”

The interviews went like he expected them to: cleverly worded questions designed to make him give inflammatory answers that could be used for sound bites, all of which he deflected by speaking the simple truth. It was sort of amusing, he thought, to watch the reporters growing more frustrated but trying not to show it.

Then one of them surprised him by asking, “What about the allegations that your opponent, Mitchell Larson, is just a puppet of the drug cartel that hates you so much?”

The interview was taking place in the community center. Stark leaned back a little in the folding chair where he sat and frowned.

“I hadn't heard anything about that,” he said. “To tell you the truth, I'm not sure I believe it. I disagree with Mr. Larson's views, of course, but they seem genuine enough to me.”

“Mr. Larson is a small businessman, though,” the reporter insisted. “When was the last time you heard a small businessman support the government?”

“Well, I'd say it was the last time we had an administration in Washington that didn't seem bound and determined to make it impossible for small businesses to turn a profit,” Stark said. “But that doesn't have anything to do with this little local election.”

“Doesn't it? You've been a thorn in the side of the federal government for years now, Mr. Stark, just by being yourself: a homegrown American hero who won't take being wronged by anybody.”

Stark shook his head and said, “I'm no more a hero than any average American is. You think it's not heroic just to get up in the morning and go about your business, do your job, and take care of your family, when all the while you're being belittled by the elitists and crushed by a tax burden that you'll never get out from under? Shoot, I'm retired. The real heroes are the folks who are doing their best just to get by from one day to the next and hoping that someday their kids will have it better. As for the federal government, if the people running things in Washington really are worried about who wins an election for mayor in a little ol' town in Texas . . . then the whole country's got something to worry about.”

“Stark's right,” the chief of staff said as he sat across the desk from the president in the Oval Office. They had just watched the interview, which had aired uncut and in its entirety.

The president frowned and complained, “Can't the FCC do something about that? They were only supposed to show selected clips from it.”

“I guess the network decided the whole thing would play better and get bigger ratings,” the chief of staff said. “They've been plugging the hell out of it.”

“Even though they're supposed to be on our side!”

The chief of staff sighed.

“We've talked about that before, sir. There's only so much we can control what the media does.”

“Yes, I know, and I'm getting damned sick of it.” The president shook his head. “So you think we should leave Stark alone?”

“Yes, sir, I do. His fifteen minutes of fame will be up sooner or later.”

“It's gone on a lot longer than fifteen minutes,” the president said caustically.

“Yes, sir. But it
will
run out. You can count on that.”

The president sighed.

“All right. It'll be hands off, at least for now. Spread the word.”

“Yes, sir.”

“This fellow Stark, though . . . he's damned annoying. If something were to happen to him . . .” The president stopped and held up his hands in surrender. “I know, I know. I'm not supposed to even talk about such things.”

“You're not supposed to even
think
about such things, sir. You're the president of the United States, and you represent a party that would never, ever resort to anything resembling such . . . such . . .”

“That's enough,” the president snapped. “Don't presume to lecture me.”

The chief of staff took a deep breath and nodded.

“Of course not, sir. Sorry.”

Anyway, it didn't really matter, he thought. He suspected that the attorney general had put a plan in motion weeks ago to deal with John Howard Stark. To tell the truth, the chief of staff was more than a little surprised that Stark was still alive . . . although such things were never to be discussed, of course.

“Besides,” the president went on, “those drug smugglers have to be getting pretty annoyed. It won't take much more for them to declare open warfare against Stark and his cronies, will it?”

“Probably not, sir.”

The president leaned back in his big chair and smiled in satisfaction.

“Let Stark win the damned election,” he said. “We'll just see what it gets him.”

“I wonder if there's a chance Larson is working for the cartel,” Hallie mused as she and Stark sat in lawn chairs on Stark's front deck the night before the election, enjoying a beautiful fall evening.

“I suppose it's possible,” Stark said. “He might not be actually
working
for them, though. I think there's a better chance he's scared of them.”

“How do you mean?”

“He said he's got a boy in high school,” Stark pointed out. “We both know the cartel has kids working for it. If somebody threatened Larson's son and passed the word that it would be a good thing for Larson to run against me and win . . . well, I can see something like that happening.”

“So can I,” Hallie agreed. “It's terrible, though.”

Stark shrugged and said, “Or it could be that he's just like a lot of other folks. He's listened to the media go on and on about how anybody who's a conservative is bad and all their ideas are evil until he actually believes it. It must be hard not to get brainwashed like that, the way things are today.”

“The way things have been for a long time, you mean. The media has
never
told the complete truth in my lifetime, John Howard. I can look back on it now and realize that. Back in the sixties and seventies, they crowed about how the anti-war protesters ended the Vietnam War, when the North Vietnamese officials themselves admitted that the war went on longer
because
of the protests. They said over and over again that George W. Bush lied, when what Bush really did was act on faulty information from an intelligence apparatus gutted and hamstrung by Bill Clinton. And you know what they said about the president who wanted to use nerve gas on American citizensâ”

Stark held up a hand to stop her. Hallie laughed and said, “I know, I'm preaching to the choir, aren't I? I just get so frustrated sometimes when people just refuse to open their eyes and really see the truth, beyond the little bits that they're spoon-fed by the newspapers and the TV networks.”

“I understand,” Stark said, “but fixing that is a bigger job than any of us can take on by ourselves. What we can do for starters is to win this election tomorrow.”

“We're going to, John Howard. I can feel it in my gut. Then you can hire a chief of police.”

Stark nodded slowly and said, “I've been doing some thinking about that.”

BOOK: The Bleeding Edge

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