The Austin Job

by David Mark Brown

  He swallowed, letting the emotion of his own experiences well up in his chest and lump in his throat. “And that’s when it strikes you. You thought only you were ashamed of what you’d become.” Utter silence fell across the financial district, the stillness broken only by the grey bellies of rain clouds drifting overhead.

  “God knows, the man in the big house has taken more than his due, and the devil’s yet to take his. But no one takes a man’s good name. You can still leave here with your heads held high. Character, dignity and honor. Don’t throw all that away in an hour of lawlessness.”

  He scanned the crowd. Guns lowered. Stones dropped back to the pavement. Only the clump of students still bristled, but they lacked the inner fuel that years of oppression baked into lumps of angry coal. The tide had turned, but the fuse continued to burn. “Truth and dignity are on your side, even if the law isn’t. And God knows you’ve got every right to be angry. It’s a fact that God expects us to be angry at injustice. He commands it.”

  Starr shook his head theatrically. “But not like this. These shops you’re destroying. Sure they belong to wealthy men, greedy men even, like the kind that takes the food from your tables.” He took a therapeutic breath, realizing he’d never shared the pain of his fifth birthday, nor the pain he’d seen in his father’s eyes when he’d rejected the gift born of his father’s love. Instead he’d born his own private shame from then till now.

  Letting the guilt wash over him and lift for the first time in thirty years created a weightlessness. Teetering on the edge of the balcony he continued, “But you’re only hurting men like yourselves—men who lease the storefronts, and hand over their profits in exchange for the right to work for a living. When hail ruins your crop, who pays for it the next winter? The man in the big house? Or you and your kids?”

  A shout ripped through the crowd, “We do!”

  “That’s right. And when you smash these windows, who pays for the repairs? The man in the top of the tower? Or the small businessman and his kids?”

  A single horse’s hoof scuffing the pavement echoed across the stillness until a single small voice picked up the refrain, “We do.”

  Starr nodded slowly. “That’s right. You’ve made your voice heard. I’ve heard it. Governor Hobby—” hisses from the students. “Governor Hobby will have to call a special session. You’ve accomplished that. Now let me take it from here. Together, we’ll fix this. We’ll get the truth and the law back on the same side, your side. I promise it.”

  He paused. He’d turned them back, stopped the destruction. But he hadn’t mended the grief. And the students weren’t finished. He glanced at Lickter, who held his finger over the switch, his eyebrows raised. Starr shook his head and put the microphone back to his lips. He spoke addressing the local law first. “As long as no one’s been seriously injured,” he paused. No one interrupted. “Good. Then there’s no reason for any arrests. If those of you with cooler heads and who have a shorter distance to travel home wouldn’t mind hanging back to help me clean up this mess, we’ll start fixing it right now, side by side.”

  Temporarily he’d forgotten about Oleg. “And we need you students to escort the venerable Professor Medved back to campus safely, just in case an angry shopkeep wants to get even.” He nodded to Lickter who cut the power and took the microphone as Starr removed his jacket, rolled up his sleeves and lowered himself down the curtain.

  He believed his words—knew them to be true. But he also knew words couldn’t put food on the table. And prayers couldn’t make it rain. He’d snatched peaches as a kid, eaten rotten fruit, worms and all. Knowing full well diarrhea would flush it all by morning, he’d done it just to hush his angry stomach enough to sleep. Words had to turn to actions soon, just like clouds had to bring rain, or the violence would return.

  By the time the greenhorn state senator reached the ground a smattering of farmers had begun to load a wagon with broken glass. Starr breathed deep, grateful he’d managed to scarf down two eggs, a roll and half a sausage on Rodchenko’s dime. He watched as the professor marched a beat northward up San Jacinto, back toward campus. Overall, it looked like a few had been injured and several shops damaged. Remarkable, considering the potential for loss. He accepted some gloves from an apologetic young farmer, no older than the students. Time for some honest work.

  FOUR

  Clarity of Communication

  Willy snorted and stamped as Starr swung himself over the stable railing, landing ankle-deep in sawdust. “I know, boy. It’s been one of those days.” The horse tossed its head, flaring his nostrils twice more to punctuate his complaint before settling down and accepting the late daily grooming.

  Starr ran the curry comb over the horse’s dappled grey shoulder, gratefully absorbing the earthy odors. No scent of the modern world could compete with the mixture of grain, seasoned leather and the dander of horse hide. It was perfume to him—a window into his stint as a bronc rider in a world with simpler rules.

  There had been competition, sure, but no good guys and bad guys. And the only enemy had been the clock. He closed his eyes and felt the pregnant ticks of time slow and swell to absorb the very confines of his skull. Only on the back of a bristling beast, a chain reaction of angry energy, could a single second expand so infinitely. Those eternal ticks of the second hand had claimed him hundreds of times, plunging him under the surface of conscious life and whisking him to places of conquest and possibility.

  In those moments a raw giftedness pervaded him, possessed him—like a cosmic understanding of time and space. Mastering those tiny fragments of eternity against chaos itself had empowered him. And when the chaotic forces of his new life began to tug him under, the mere memory proved calming.

  “God, I loved to ride.” He slapped Willy on the rump. “But politics is a whole different animal, boy.” He ran the comb along the animal’s flank. “I don’t know if I’m cut out for it. Don’t get me wrong. I was good today, damn good. But I can’t figure the rules.” He scratched at some crusted mud on Willy’s hide. “I can’t catch its pulse like the old days.”

  The horse snorted. “Ah, don’t pretend you’re still sore. You never were much count as a bronc anyway.” Willy pawed the ankle-deep sawdust. Starr consoled his companion, “But you’re a good friend. The best I got.” He added the last words with a sense of resignation, slipping out of his calming reverie and back into the stress of the present.

  He’d anticipated life to lunge left and dip its shoulder, but instead it had spun on its heels. And he felt that same sick feeling. His center of gravity gone, only a sudden reverse could put him back in the saddle. He methodically ran the comb over Willy’s hide, allowing his thoughts to coalesce.

  Less than an hour after the riot an invitation had come via Ms. Lloyd to meet his mysterious boss of the last six months, but he couldn’t decide. Was this the direction he needed? Or was he about to get caught up under the hooves? A part of him wanted the eventful day to end—bail out and live to ride another day.

  But he couldn’t help it. There was still a chance to ride it out—still a chance to take the purse and win it all. If the farmer’s ground swell could sweep Hobby out of office, he could be an appealing replacement. But he lacked backing among Austin’s powerful. Enter his boss, the man at the top of the tower, G.W. Lloyd. He hadn’t met a single person other than Ms. Lloyd, the boss’s spinster daughter, who’d actually seen G.W. The old man was a rumor and a legend. But he was also power—power to tear down, or power to build.

  Starr switched instruments and brushed out the horse’s mane and tail. “What do you think? Push for the purse?” Willy shook his mane, pawing the ground with his front hoof and nodding. “Yeah, ride big or go home. I know.” Starr slapped the horse playfully. “And I don't wanna go home, so I guess its time to ride.”

  Willy was literally his oldest friend. Now sixteen years old, they’d been together for the last ten. Willy had washed out and Starr blown his knee on the same day. Now one-time rivals ha
d grown to need each other more than ever. As Starr pondered Oleg’s words from the morning, along with all the twists and turns of his ride up to this point, he felt a piercing need for a friend a bit more bipedal. “Maybe we can go for a ride tomorrow.” He clapped the animal on the shoulder.

  “Why not today? That is if he’s okay with us riding double.” Starr turned to see Daisy perching her chin in between her hands on the top rail of the stall.

  ~~~

  “Why Miss Lickter, we meet again.”

  “Not by coincidence, I assure you.” Daisy winked. “You’re a hard man to find, holed up with your horse. Tell me, Senator Starr, what are you so afraid of?”

  “Excuse me?” He ran his hand through his hair.

  “And another thing. Why don’t you wear a hat?” She stared him down. Her brown, wavy hair draped over the umber skin of her shoulder where her blouse hung unevenly due to the strap creeping down her arm.

  “I, uh…”

  “A man who matches wits with a dangerous anarchic revolutionary, talks down an angry mob, helps clean up the mess, and then disappears to confide in his horse is afraid of something. I’d be able to tell what that something was by your style of headwear, if you wore a hat. But frankly, I’ve never met a man with such mediocre hair who chose not to, and it’s thrown me off balance a bit.” She winked again.

  This time he recognized his own expression being thrown back at him. He rubbed his temples to buy time. She was sparring, reversing the roles by dipping his pigtails into the ink well. He swelled his chest. It felt good to spar with someone whose intentions felt earthy and straightforward.

  “There’s your answer.” He gave her a twinkle, but held back the roisterous glibness that infused it with its true power. “Balance is critical in this business.” He frowned. “And what’s wrong with my hair?” He’d only met Sheriff Lickter a handful of times, and only known the sheriff’s daughter since the evening before. Already she’d confounded him multiple times with her brash honesty. Where other women batted their eyes and lurked behind theatrical niceties, Daisy lunged into a matter like a bronc from a chute.

  The effect made her more human than woman—more than curves, hair and desire. He'd never considered a woman a friend, but the fragrance of the livery and the spark of human warmth between them induced the thought. Instantly he longed for it.

  “Ah. So you’re unaware of the cowlick in the back.” She gestured with her hand until he ran his fingers over the back of his head self-consciously. “Now it makes sense.” She lifted her chin from her hands and drubbed her lips with her forefinger. “You’ve no one to trust.”

  He reeled, yet again dazed by her brutal insight. Suddenly it struck him that perhaps her directness served as the most formidable smokescreen of all. All the classic feminine gestures drew attention to themselves. I’m coy and mysterious, look at me. But Daisy’s posture flipped the focus. He felt so disarmed and vulnerable around her that he never managed to scratch past her surface.

  She smiled as if she understood he’d finally made her game, but his recognition of it wouldn’t help. He sighed, surrendering to his emotional state. Even though his need made the act all the more dangerous, he wanted to confide in her. “Have you ever been given a gift that required you to become someone more, someone better, just to be worthy of receiving it? A gift so impossibly undeserved that it filled you with a trembling fear to accept it?” She nodded slowly, offering for him to continue.

  “A poor tenant farmer once gave me a gift like that. Not even a blood relative.” Starr shook his head, still struggling to comprehend the generous act Big Eddy had made right before he died. “Since I was a kid, he took me under his wing, gave me advice when I needed it. After being forced to quit the rodeo,” he slapped the outside of his bum knee, “he pulled me aside. Told me that God had intended me to be a leader of men, to make the world better. Then he gave me his life savings, an entire lifetime of thrift.” He shook his head and shrugged. “Here I am.”

  “You don’t want to disappoint him.”

  “It’s not an option. With rodeo, there was always the next town. In politics you get one shot, one big ride, and every twist and turn along the way is a chance to get thrown.”

  Daisy nodded. “Or a chance to thrill the crowd.” She stepped up on the bottom rail, her eyes closer to his level. “So it’s failure you fear.” He nodded tentatively, rolling the word around in his head, but keeping it clear of his heart. “You meant what you said this morning. About knowing yourself as the son of tenant farmers.”

  He nodded easily this time. “You were listening.”

  “But you want to be more.” He didn't respond. Narrowing her eyes, she continued, “Anyone with such a trustworthy confidant isn’t going to fail.” She held her stare long enough for Starr to wonder whether she meant Willy or herself. He blinked. She swooped up a basket at her feet before climbing to straddle the top rail. “Now how about some lunch?” And like that she’d dispelled the tension, soothed his fears and dismissed them in a single gesture—gone from serious to soft in a heartbeat.

  He offered her an outstretched hand, which she took as her delicate frame lighted next to his with a puff of sawdust. Her closeness swelling in the space next to him forced him to acknowledge more than an emotional weakness for the young woman. He swallowed. “Miss Lickter, are you inviting me on a date, unescorted?”

  “Eh, my daddy could have shot you already, but he hasn’t. So I figure you’re safe.”

  “As in you’re safe with me? Which you are by the way,” Starr swung a saddle onto Willy’s back, “or I’m safe from getting shot?”

  Daisy twinkled. “I was thinking more that you’d be safe with me. But if you get shot on your own time, there’s little I can do about that.”

  Starr tightened Willy's girth. Daisy Lickter would either terribly complicate the matters at hand or greatly strengthen his chances to conquer them, but he couldn’t escape her. “Good enough, and I suppose old Willy here will protect my honor.” He stroked the horse’s neck while addressing the animal, “What do you say? Willing to accept an extra burden for a ride down by the river?”

  “Extra burden?” Daisy interrupted. “Are you calling me fat, Senator Starr.”

  Willy tossed his head and snorted his agreement while Starr swung himself into the saddle. “I’d no sooner take spurs to Willy.” He winked, giving her his best twinkle and offering her a hand up onto the back of the saddle.

  “I like you, Jim Starr.” She winked back. “You make me laugh.” Lifting her left foot into the stirrup, she bumped Starr’s out of the way. “Pardon me, Willy.” Lightning fast she vaulted into Starr’s lap, clutching the horn with her hands.“Now if you don’t mind ooching back just a bit.”

  Wide-eyed and holding his breath, Starr obliged. Daisy squeezed behind the horn with her legs hugging the horse high like a jockey. The stunt would have been uncomfortable with anyone else, but as she leaned back into his chest, he wasn’t about to complain.

  “Much better.” She flicked the reins from the horn and turned Willy toward the exit before leaning over to slide open the gate latch. “Relax, Senator. I assure you, I’ve done this before.”

  “Really? Should I be jealous?” She turned Willy in order to close the gate behind them. The horse’s movements, out of his control, sparked his rodeo awareness alerting him to the endless possibilities of the moment.

  “That depends on what happens next.” She shifted her shoulders, settling into him.

  He laughed, his stomach bouncing her in the saddle, before wrapping his arms around her waist. “As long as it’s only one next at a time.”

  ~~~

  Minutes later they were riding south along the bank of the Colorado River as it hugged the western edge of town. Starr enjoyed the clash of modern city with the unchanging elements of nature.

  “There’s where the rains of 1900 took out Austin Dam. It used to be the sole source of electricity for the town, including all the moonlight towers.
Congress has been talking about rebuilding it or building another further downstream. If we survive this mess, we’ll need the hydro-electricity.” Starr played tour guide to have something to do.

  “What are your thoughts about the Motorcycle Mexican?” Daisy changed the subject.

  “It’s hard to tell what’s true and what isn’t, but I like him.”

  “Oh? You’ve met him?” Daisy half-turned her head.

  “No, no. Just rooting for the underdog, I suppose. Don’t have much of an opinion on marijuana, but it hardly seems—”

  “Because I have.” She interrupted.

  “Have an opinion?”

  “No. I’ve met him.”

  Starr made the connection. “That’s right. He’s from outside Del Rio, isn’t he?”

  Daisy nodded. “I was there the day it all started. So was my father.” She placed her hand over Starr's, snugging his embrace. “Chancho Villarreal. He’s a gentleman, like you, but more of a romantic. He wears a beat up, oversized sombrero. I knew the moment I saw him he could be trouble. A hat like that says a man will be exciting, funny, passionate, but moody and unstable.”

  She breathed deep and glanced toward the sky. The clouds broke overhead, allowing the sun to illuminate the city in a mottled fashion. “He’s the type to make a girl want to fix him. He held me once, similar to how you’re holding me now.”

  “Oh?” Starr shifted in the saddle.

  “Well, except my father was pointing a gun at him.” She twisted a little in his lap. “Typical for my father, but so was Ranger McCutchen.” She shivered. “Now there was a man I thought I liked.”

  Starr frowned, unsure of why she continued describing men from her past, and increasingly aware that it bothered him. But at least she offered information about herself. “What made you think twice?”