As soon as he landed on the lawn, men gathered around him and strong hands lifted the elderly man from him. Some of the other volunteers grabbed Reuben and hauled him to his feet. They all moved away from the burning mobile home as quickly as possible.
“Did you see anybody else in there?” somebody yelled in Reuben’s ear.
He shook his head and glanced toward the mobile home. It was completely engulfed now, and he prayed that the elderly couple were the only ones who’d been inside.
If anybody else had been in there, it was too late for them now.
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
As it turned out, Mr. and Mrs. Roy Devereaux lived by themselves, without even any pets, so no lives had been lost in the attack. Their mobile home was a total loss, but insurance would cover it. The money wouldn’t replace everything that had gone up in smoke, of course, but it was sure better than nothing.
As soon as they were both released from the hospital in Devil’s Pass, where they were treated for smoke inhalation, they moved to Houston to live with their daughter and her family. Jack Kasek offered them a special deal on their lease if they wanted to start over again in Shady Hills, but they were adamant about getting far away from the lunatics who were making it impossible for good people to live there.
“The bad part about it,” Jack told Stark later as they stood and surveyed the ruins of the Devereaux home, “is that I wasn’t completely sure if they meant the cartel . . . or us.”
“Some people consider us lunatics for fighting that bunch, all right,” Stark admitted. “Sometimes the only right thing to do seems crazy, though.”
“I’m just glad that rocket hit the utility room in the back of their house,” Jack said. “If it had hit the living room where they were sitting . . .”
“It didn’t. And we can be thankful for that.”
Over the next week, there were no more attacks on the retirement park. The damage was done, though, and not just to the Devereauxs’ mobile home. A dozen more couples moved out of the park, taking their mobile homes and everything they owned with them. The transport companies were doing a brisk business these days.
The filing period for the election was over. Mitchell Larson was the only other person to file for the mayor’s position, but Nick Medford and the other candidates all had opponents now, from the area outside the park that was taken in by the city limits. They had a real election on their hands, Stark thought as he looked at a sample ballot pushpinned to the bulletin board outside the entrance to the community center. He wondered why those five men had decided to run.
He didn’t have to wait long to find out. Ten days before the election, a forum to introduce the candidates and allow them to state their views was held in the community center.
Despite the fact that a number of people had moved out of the retirement park, the rows of folding chairs in the center’s main room were packed that evening. As Stark stood at the back of the room with Hallie, he saw Ben LaPorte and some of the other people from Dry Wash. A lot of people in their thirties and forties were on hand, too, and Stark knew they had to be from the housing developments around the high school.
Several men stood beside the table at the front of the room where the candidates would sit. One of them, a tall, lanky man with graying brown hair, looked vaguely familiar to Stark. He leaned over to Hallie, nodded toward the man, and asked, “Is that Mitchell Larson?”
“That’s right,” she said. “How do you know him, John Howard?”
“I don’t. But I’ve seen his picture in newspaper ads for his real estate company.”
“Well, that’s him, all right. Why do you think he decided to run against you?”
Stark shook his head and said, “Beats me. But I wouldn’t be surprised if he tells us tonight.”
Jack Kasek called the forum to order and motioned for all the candidates to take their places at the long table, which was actually two folding tables pushed together. A podium was set up at one end of it.
“If no one objects, I’ll be acting as moderator tonight,” Jack began when the candidates were seated and the audience had quieted down. “As you know, we’re here to meet the men who are running for mayor and city council of Shady Hills. I’m not trying to be sexist by saying that, by the way. It just so happens that no women are running in this election. I’m sure there’ll be plenty of female candidates in the future.”
A few reporters and cameramen were in the back of the room, covering the forum for their media outlets, but overall it hadn’t drawn much attention. The same wasn’t true of Antonio Gomez’s murder, the random shots fired into the park, and then the all-out attack that had destroyed the Devereauxs’ mobile home. That violence had gotten exhaustive coverage, nearly all of it slanted to make it seem as if none of those things would have happened if the citizens of Shady Hills weren’t a bunch of bigoted vigilantes. On the other hand, a candidates’ forum for a municipal election, even one in Shady Hills, wasn’t nearly as sexy and ratings-grabbing as all that death and destruction.
“We’ll start with the candidates for the office of mayor,” Jack went on. “And in the interests of fairness, we’ll do it alphabetically. That means the first candidate to speak will be Mitchell Larson.”
Jack waved Larson to the podium. There was polite applause from the audience as Larson stood up, certainly not an overwhelming reception but not hostile, either. Larson looked a little uncomfortable as he gripped the sides of the podium and nodded to the people gathered in front of him. A lock of brown hair fell over his forehead, and he let go of the podium long enough to raise a hand and brush it back.
“Thank you,” he said. “I’m very glad to be here tonight. Some of you already know me, but for those who don’t, my name is Mitchell Larson. I own the Larson Real Estate Agency in Devil’s Pass and have for the past five years. My wife Jeanne and I live in the Amber Trails development down by Joseph P. Gonzalez High School. We have two children, a son who attends the high school and a daughter who’s in junior high. I’m a member of the Devil’s Pass Chamber of Commerce.”
So far Larson seemed about as normal as normal could get, Stark thought. Downright boring, in fact.
“You’re probably asking yourselves why I want to run for mayor of Shady Hills,” Larson continued, which of course was exactly what Stark wanted to know. “The answer to that is very simple, actually. I don’t want to be the mayor of Shady Hills.”
That drew a confused murmur from the crowd. Stark frowned, and so did quite a few other people.
“The reason I don’t want to be mayor of Shady Hills,” Larson forged ahead when the audience had quieted down again, “is that I don’t believe the town should exist at all. I was against incorporation, and I still am.” He had to raise his voice because people were muttering again. “We don’t need a bunch of extra taxes, and we don’t need to have the course of our lives determined by a bunch of racist, gun-toting, geriatric vigilantes!”
CHAPTER FORTY-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. Wha
t 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 not—” 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 cartel—”
“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 ‘mister’ 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. Stark—”
“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 powe
rs 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.
The Bleeding Edge Page 22
