Authors: William W. Johnstone

The Bleeding Edge (25 page)

BOOK: The Bleeding Edge

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C
HAPTER
F
ORTY-NINE

Election Day was cool and cloudy, but any rain was supposed to hold off until that evening, after the polls were closed. Stark arrived at the community center early to cast his vote. The protesters were already on hand, chanting and singing and waving signs. The Black Panthers, though, appeared to be sitting this one out. Stark supposed they were somewhere else protesting some other perceived injustice that probably had no basis in fact.

Mitchell Larson walked up while Stark was standing in front of the building with some of his friends. Stark gave him a polite nod and said, “Morning, Mitchell. How are you today?”

Larson didn't answer the question. Instead he said, “Can I talk to you for a minute, in private?”

“I don't see why not,” Stark said.

The two of them walked over to a small area at the side of the building, where several picnic tables were located. Some of the reporters tried to follow them, but Stark motioned them back. Somewhat to his surprise, they stopped. The cameramen still had their cameras trained on him and Larson, though. No doubt they were hoping that the two mayoral candidates would start throwing punches at each other. That would be great footage to lead a newscast with.

When they were out of earshot of the others, Stark said, “What can I do for you, Mitchell?”

“Why are you being nice to me?” Larson asked, sounding a little annoyed. “I've said some pretty raw things about you during the campaign.”

Stark shrugged.

“Things get said in a political campaign,” he replied. “Maybe they're sincere, maybe they're not, but I'm not going to hate a man just because of his politics. It takes more than that.”

“Well, then, you're a very rare creature. I don't know anybody on my side of the argument who doesn't hate all of you. Some of them even think that the world would be better off if all of you were to die.”

“I feel sorry for anybody who thinks like that,” Stark said. “On either side.”

“Well . . . what I wanted to say . . . I'm only doing what I felt like I had to do. You understand?”

Something about the man's voice, some tiny note of desperation, made Stark search Mitchell Larson's face. He saw what might have been fear and was definitely worry in Larson's eyes, and that made him wonder if the theory he had expressed to Hallie was right. The cartel might have pressured Larson through his family. Stark still thought that Larson was sincere in the beliefs he had expressed, but that would have just made it easier for the cartel to make use of him.

“Look, Mitchell, when this is all overâ”

“Don't say we'll be friends,” Larson broke in. “I think you're a dangerous man, Stark. Dangerous to yourself, dangerous to those around you, dangerous to this whole country if so many people actually look up to you. But . . . it's just an election. I don't wish you any ill. That's all I wanted to say.”

“Fine,” Stark told him. “We'll leave it at that.”

“Yeah.” Larson turned and walked away.

“What was that about, John Howard?” Hallie asked when Stark rejoined his friends.

“A man who's realized that the world's too big for him, and he doesn't know what to do about it,” Stark said.

There were no instances of would-be voter fraud in this election, no disturbances at all other than the continuing irritation of the protesters and a reporter who occasionally got too pushy when it came to interviewing the voters leaving the community center after casting their ballots. The polls closed on schedule at seven o'clock. A gentle rain began to fall about eight, and the protesters disappeared instead of waiting to find out the outcome.

Stark thought that they probably weren't being paid enough to stand out in the rain.

A little before ten o'clock, one of the election judges came out of the meeting room where the votes were being counted and said, “Congratulations, Mayor Stark. You won by a three-to-one margin.”

Stark felt no real elation at winning, only a sense of relief that the election was over. He asked, “What about the city council races?”

“All that candidates from the retirement park won as well,” the election judge said. “The percentages were about the same as the mayor's race.”

The people who had gathered to wait along with Stark and his friends broke out in cheers and applause. Stark smiled, looked at his newly elected city councilmen, and said, “We'll have our first meeting Monday evening, if that's all right with you fellas.”

“That's fine, John Howard,” Nick Medford said. “What's the first item on the agenda?”

“Hiring a police chief,” Stark said. “It's time we had some real law and order in Shady Hills.”

According to the Good Book, Sunday was supposed to be a day of rest, but it was a busy one for Stark as he kept fielding interview requests. He figured his plain talk was at least partially responsible for his victory in the election, so he wasn't going to stop speaking plainly now. He hadn't been completely forthcoming about his plans, though, despite the fact that reporters kept badgering him to tell them exactly what he was going to do now that he was the mayor of Shady Hills.

The first-ever city council meeting was held at the community center, which for now at least would serve as the unofficial city hall. Further down the road they would have to consider moving to a modular building that could be a permanent home for the city offices. Since the meeting was public, as required by law, the main room was packed again, although not quite as much as it had been for the candidates' forum. Now that the election was over, some people had lost interest.

The first item on the agenda was to certify the election results and have Stark and the rest of the council sworn in. Judge Oliveros took care of that, then turned the meeting over to Stark, who said, “Thank you, your honor. And thanks to all you folks for turning out tonight to see what we're going to do. I hate to disappoint you, but we're going to go into closed session now to discuss personnel matters.”

That brought mutters of surprise and disappointment from the crowd. Stark raised a hand to quiet them and went on, “If you'll be kind enough to wait a few minutes, we might have an announcement for you.”

That mollified the audience a little. Stark and the other four councilmen, along with Hallie, who was now officially the attorney for the city of Shady Hills, withdrew into one of the small meeting rooms.

“Is this about the police chief, John Howard?” Hallie asked when the door was closed.

“That's right. I've got a good man for the job, if the rest of you will go along with the idea. Reuben Torres.”

Nick Medford frowned and said, “I like Reuben, John Howard, and I think he got a raw deal. But he's a convicted felon. Can he even be a police officer?”

“He can,” Hallie said with a nod. Obviously she had researched the matter. “His service with the Border Patrol meets some of the qualifications. If he's hired as chief, he'll have to complete some other courses within a certain amount of time, but he can do that. But here's the thing: he can't carry a gun. That would be illegal.”

“No rule saying the chief of police has to carry a gun,” Stark said. He was well aware that Reuben had carried a rifle while he was volunteering for guard duty, so technically he had been breaking the law then. From here on out, though, if Reuben was hired he would adhere strictly to the letter of the law.

Hallie smiled and said, “No, there's no rule like that. Just be sure the other police officers you hire can carry guns legally.”

“I'm hoping Reuben will have some ideas about that. He told me he knows quite a few former Border Patrol agents and other peace officers who've given it up and gone into private security work. With any luck, he can talk some of them into coming and working for us.”

“Shady Hills probably can't match what they're making in the private sector,” one of the other councilmen said.

“Yeah, but these are cops who'd rather be doing actual police work instead of being bodyguards and things like that,” Stark said. “Somebody want to make a motion that we hire Reuben Torres as police chief?”

“I'll make that motion,” Nick said. Stark and Hallie seemed to have won him over.

“Second,” one of the other men said.

“All in favor?” Stark said.

Five hands went up.

“It's unanimous, then. We'll move back into public session now.”

As they left the meeting room, Hallie commented, “You seem to have a knack for this, John Howard.”

Stark grimaced. “People keep accusing me of being good at this politics business,” he said. “I'm not sure I like that.”

“Better get used to it. You're in charge now.”

Stark thought about that and muttered, “Lord, what's the world coming to?”

C
HAPTER
F
IFTY

Once everyone was seated again, Stark called the meeting back to order and announced, “The council has voted to offer the job of chief of police of Shady Hills to Reuben Torres.”

Reuben was sitting in the audience with his father, not really paying much attention until he heard Stark say his name. Then he lifted his head and said in surprise, “What?”

Stark smiled.

“You heard me, Reuben. The job of police chief is yours if you want it. Unless you had something else lined up . . .”

“No,” Reuben said quickly. “No, I don't. But . . . I don't understand. I was in prisonâ”

“And fair or not, that disqualifies you for a lot of things The town's legal counsel says you'll have to take some courses, but I figure you can handle that. What do you say, Reuben? You don't have to give us an answer tonight . . . but the sooner you say yes, the sooner you can start doing your job.”

Reuben looked over at his father. Henry nodded and said, “It sounds like a fine idea to me, son. I know the town couldn't get a better man for the job.”

A dubious frown appeared on Reuben's face.

“I can't carry a gun anymore,” he said.

“We know that,” Stark told him. “Can you lead men who are armed?”

The frown disappeared, to be replaced by a look of resolve.

“I can,” Reuben said. “And I know some hombres who might be happy to sign up.”

“That's exactly what we were all hoping to hear you say, Reuben,” Stark said. “Nobody here has forgotten how you went into that burning mobile home and saved Roy Devereaux.” He stood up and started to applaud. Within seconds all the citizens in the room had joined in.

The members of the news media who were on hand, standing in the back of the room, took it all in, obviously glad they had been there to get this story.

“In a surprising move, the newly elected leaders of the town of Shady Hills, Texas, have voted to hire a convicted felon as their chief of police. Former Border Patrol agent Reuben Torres was sent to prison for violating the rights of a suspect he was arresting. On second thought, maybe it's not so surprising that a town founded because its citizens believe in vigilante justice would hire such a man to enforce their laws.”

Hallie glared at the TV and said, “Damn it, that's not reporting the news. That's editorializing! It's rabble-rousing, that's what it is!”

“All the same thing, this day and age,” Stark told her. “I wouldn't worry about it. The media's made fun of us and condemned us every step of the way, and they haven't stopped us yet. They haven't even really slowed us down.”

“I know it. It's just so infuriating, listening to their lies.”

“Then don't listen to 'em. Go for a walk. Read a book. There are plenty of things that'll be better for your blood pressure than listening to them spout their claptrap.”

“I know,” she sighed. She moved closer to him on the sofa in Stark's living room. “Or you and I could make out.”

“If we were thirty years younger.”

“The hell with that,” Hallie said. “There's no rule that says people our age can't make out.”

“Except that it grosses out the young people.”

“I don't see any young people here. Do you?”

“No,” Stark had to reply honestly. “Come to think of it, I don't.”

By the time a week had passed, Reuben had hired four police officers. Since the city hadn't collected any taxes yet, their salaries would be paid by a group of the citizens who had banded together to provide some operating funds for Shady Hills. For the moment, the police department's communication system consisted of walkie-talkies and cell phones, and the officers provided their own vehicles, although the city was able to afford detachable flashing lights of the sort that were placed on the roofs of unmarked vehicles in larger cities.

It was far from an ideal situation, but the officers, all of whom were friends of Reuben's, were willing to put up with the disadvantages for the time being if it meant they would be able to do some real police work with the actual backing of their employers.

“We don't have any city ordinances yet,” Reuben explained to them, “so we'll concentrate on enforcing the state laws.”

“What about the speed limit on the highway?” one of the new officers, Dave Forbes, asked. “Will it be lowered?”

“So Shady Hills will get a reputation as a speed trap?” Reuben said. “No way. As far as I'm concerned the speed limit stays sixty, like it always was.”

In addition to Forbes, the other officers were Miranda Livingston, Luiz Garcia, and Keith Hamlin. Forbes, Hamlin, and Garcia were former Border Patrol agents like Reuben. Miranda Livingston had worked for the San Antonio PD and the DEA. All of them were looking forward to working in a small town and maybe making a real difference, as well as to working with Reuben as their boss.

With such a small force, the shifts would be long and the officers would have to cover quite a bit of ground. From the high school in the south to the Dry Wash community in the north was about seven miles. The city limits were shaped somewhat like a dumbbell with a bulge in the center, that bulge being the retirement park itself.

They were all considered to be on-call twenty-four hours a day, to serve as backup for each other if needed. Hamlin and Forbes rented a trailer in Dry Wash together, while Livingston and Garcia both lived in Devil's Pass.

The first week on the job, all the officers did was stop a few speeders on the highway. Then Livingston answered a burglary-in-progress call in Dry Wash. She happened to be fairly close, and she got there in time to see the suspect running across a field in an attempt to escape. Livingston drove after him, cut him off with her car, and then tackled him. She had him restrained and in custody by the time Reuben got there to help.

“I've got this, Chief,” Livingston said as she manhandled the suspect into the backseat of her car. She was a petite blonde who looked about as dangerous as a high school cheerleader, but Reuben knew better. Miranda Livingston had a gung-ho reputation, and she lived up to it.

“Good job, Officer Livingston,” Reuben told her with a grin. “You can take the prisoner to Devil's Pass and turn him over to the sheriff 's department. I'll talk to the people who called in the complaint and handle the paperwork up here.”

“Really?” Livingston said. “But you're the chief.”

“Yeah, but I've got to have something to do to keep from sitting on my butt all day and getting fat.”

Livingston grinned and shook her head, as if she thought that possibility was pretty unlikely.

Despite the easy start, worry nagged at the back of Reuben's brain. He knew things weren't going to stay so calm. It was only a matter of time. . . .

And he was right, of course.

He was at the community center about ten o'clock one night, sitting in the meeting room that was serving temporarily as his office and working on a proposed budget to be delivered to the city council, when the walkie-talkie lying on the chair beside him gave its familiar chime and then crackled to life. He heard Keith Hamlin say, “Got a suspicious vehicle out here on the highway, Chief. I'm going to check it out.”

Reuben picked up the walkie-talkie, keyed it, and asked, “Suspicious how, Keith?”

“It's stopped on the side of the road. Looks like four passengers. All male, I think, but I'm not sure of that.”

Reuben came to his feet and asked, “What's your location?”

“Three-quarters of a mile north of the park entrance.”

Reuben was already headed for the door.

“Do not approach them until backup arrives, Keith,” he said. “Repeat, do not approachâ”

“Too late, Chief, I'm right behind themâ”

A sudden discordant racket make Reuben's hand clench hard around the walkie-talkie. He said, “Keith! Keith, do you read me?”

Nothing but static came back at him.

Reuben burst out of the community center and ran for his dad's Jeep, which he'd been borrowing for police work until he could get something of his own. The car he'd had before he went to prison had been sold, along with just about everything else he owned, to help pay for his legal bills.

As he piled into the Jeep, Reuben said into the walkie-talkie, “Miranda! Luiz! Dave! Anybody copy?”

“I heard Keith's call,” Luiz Garcia responded. “I'm on my way!”

“So am I,” Dave Forbes said. Reuben heard the fear in Dave's voice, fear for Keith, who was his best friend.

Reuben was glad that two of his other officers were responding to the potential emergency, but it would take them several minutes to reach Keith's position.

He, on the other hand, was less than a mile away and could get there in a matter of seconds.

He cursed that felony conviction under his breath. He'd feel a lot better about charging into trouble if he had a shotgun or a revolver. Maybe the approach of more flashing lights would scare off anybody intent on causing trouble, he thought as he clamped the magnetized light on top of the Jeep.

In this flat country, a person could see a long way. Reuben spotted the lights on Keith's car as soon as he pulled onto the highway from the retirement park. His foot came down hard on the gas and sent the Jeep surging forward. He saw more flickers of light up ahead and knew they were muzzle flashes. There was a gunfight going on.

That meant Keith was still alive, anyway, Reuben thought desperately. The suspects wouldn't still be shooting if he were dead.

As he came closer Reuben saw that the driver's door of Keith's car was open. Keith hadn't taken cover behind it, though. He had retreated all the way to the back of the car, where he crouched now, occasionally leaning out to send a couple of rounds at the other vehicle.

With a shower of sparks, a bullet
spang
ed off the hood of Reuben's Jeep. They had seen him coming and at least one of them was shooting at him now. He swerved the Jeep back and forth to make it a harder target to hit. The aluminum baseball bat that lay in the passenger seatâsomething that it
was
legal for Reuben to have in his possessionârolled from side to side because of the violent movement.

A cloud of dust billowed into the night sky as Reuben skidded the Jeep to a stop on the shoulder behind Keith's car. He grabbed the bat and rolled out on the passenger side, then scrambled to his feet and went in a crouching run to join his besieged officer.

“Reuben, what are you doing here?” Keith asked as Reuben dropped to a knee beside him.

“Backup,” Reuben said.

“No offense, Chief, but I don't think that slugger's gonna do much good against four guns.”

“They opened fire on you just as soon as you pulled up, right?”

“Yeah.”

“They're bound to have something in there they didn't want you to see.” Reuben turned his head to look over his shoulder toward Devil's Pass. He saw flashing lights in the distance.

“Luiz is on his way. He'll be here in a couple of minutes.”

“They're not gonna wait that long,” Keith said. “Here they come now!”

BOOK: The Bleeding Edge

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