The Perk

by Mark Gimenez

  "Look, Beck, I test a football player, I'm fired that day. Their daddies, they run this town."

  "You should stand up to them."

  "Did you stand up to your corporate clients in Chicago? Beck, no one wants to go there. Easier to look the other way."

  "Aubrey, looking the other way, that's the same as telling them it's okay to cheat."

  "Beck, they don't need me to tell them that. They see the pros getting paid real good for cheating. Why shouldn't they?"

  "Because it'll harm their long-term health."

  "Long-term is next week for these boys."

  "Then because it's wrong."

  "It's only wrong if they get caught."

  "That's a hell of a thing to tell your players, Aubrey."

  "I'm not telling them that, Beck, the world's telling them that. They got TVs, they can read the paper … well, most of them. They see businessmen, politicians, athletes cheating, breaking the law and getting rich. Why can't they? That's what the world's telling them to do—get rich. Do whatever it takes, but get rich." He exhaled. "The state put in a no-pass, no-play law so kids gotta pass their classes before they can play. So the school board just exempts a bunch of classes so the kids can fail and still play. What's that but cheating? Cheating to win. That's the real world, and these kids ain't stupid. They get it."

  "Did you look the other way so you could win state, get a college job, and get Randi back?"

  "Maybe. Not that I could've stopped them."

  "You should've kicked Slade off the team."

  "Tell you what, Beck—I'll kick Slade off the team the day you put him in jail for beating up that Mexican boy."

  "That might happen."

  "Not in this life, Beck. And not in this town."

  "I'm not going to roll over for Quentin McQuade … or the Germans."

  "Nope. They're gonna roll over you."

  "How?"

  "I don't know, Beck. But they will. That's how they do things around here. That's how they get their way … with football coaches and judges."

  Aubrey pushed himself up and finished off a beer and threw the can into a trash bin.

  "Hell, Beck, I don't know why you're worried about a bunch of boys taking steroids. Worry about finding Heidi's killer. We only got eighty-six days left!"

  Beck was mad at his old friend, he was mad at himself, and he was mad at Kim Krause.

  "Why would Kim lie to me?"

  When Beck drove up to the house, he found Grady Guenther leaning against the side of his Gillespie County Sheriff's Department SUV and chewing on a toothpick. The kids jumped out and went running down the caliche road toward the winery; Frank the goat ran to catch up with Meggie. Beck walked over to the sheriff.

  "I hear Chicago's nice this time of year," Grady said.

  Beck smiled. "It is."

  Grady nodded toward the front gate. "J.B. really got pit bulls?"

  Beck shook his head. "He put up that sign to run off the real-estate brokers."

  "J.B.'s a piece of work, those shirts he wears, buying a bulldozer."

  "What bulldozer?"

  The loud roar of a diesel engine sounded like a tornado rising from back of the house. Grady yelled over the noise: "That bulldozer! The hell's he gonna do with a dozer?"

  Beck yelled back: "Beats me."

  They walked down the caliche road so they didn't have to yell. Grady took in the land.

  "Nice place. Never been out here. What's J.B. got, a thousand acres?"

  "Eight hundred. They combined the Hardin and Dechert places when he married my mom. Peggy Dechert. Did you know her?"

  "Sure. Knew her old man, too. Surprised he let her marry an outsider. That didn't happen much back then."

  "Why not?"

  "The land. Germans came to Texas 'cause they could own land here. So the land became the family jewels. The old-timers, they fought like hell to keep the land in the family."

  "You mean, in Germans?"

  "I mean, in the family. There was a lot of intermarrying here, cousins marrying cousins—I'm talking first cousins—to keep the land in the family."

  "I never heard about that."

  "It's our little secret. It was pretty much the deal right until my time. Still happens some. Joke is, nobody can afford to have a family reunion 'cause you'd have to invite the whole town." He chuckled. "Hell, my mama and daddy were cousins and so were their folks. Guess that's why I try hard not to act like an idiot, afraid I might actually be one."

  "I think you escaped that fate."

  "Crazy, ain't it?"

  "What's that?"

  "It was all about the land for our folks and their folks, keeping it in German hands. Now we're selling out to Californians." He chuckled. "The Baron's turning over in his grave." He shook his head, then said, "You were pretty good yesterday, with Nikki."

  "She's a kid."

  "You're a pro."

  "I've crossed pros—politicians and corporate executives."

  "You figure out why Kim's lying?"

  "No."

  "You figure out what you're gonna do with Slade?"

  "He's going to the grand jury."

  "That final?"

  "Will be Monday morning when I sign the order."

  "Quentin know that … the Monday morning?"

  "Yeah."

  Grady kicked dirt. The white dust covered his boot.

  "Makes sense then."

  "What?"

  "One of my deputies driving by Quentin's place this morning, said it looked like a big powwow going on. Recognized Stutz's truck and the D.A.'s SUV. That's how they do things."

  "Who?"

  "The old Germans. City hall, that's where they announce in public what they already decided in private."

  "Grady, I've been gone a long time, but even Texas has an open meetings law."

  "Maybe so, Beck, but no one complains 'cause if they did, they'd be treated like an Amish slut come home for the holidays. No one would do business with them, their boys wouldn't make any sports team at school, their girls wouldn't make cheerleader—that's how things work in a small town."

  "So what do you think they're up to?"

  Grady shook his head. "Don't know. But they're up to something … something to stop you from signing that order Monday morning."

  "Well, there's nothing they can do to stop me."

  "Beck … don't bet the ranch on it."

  Grady drove off, and Beck walked around back. Fifty yards south of the house, his father was driving a bulldozer like he knew how. Beck waved at his father. J.B. shut down the dozer.

  "What are you doing?" Beck said.

  J.B. flashed a big grin. "She's a peach, ain't she?"

  "What are you gonna do with it?"

  "I'm building a baseball field."

  "For Luke?"

  "Build it and he will come. I saw that in a movie a while back, on cable. Guy builds a baseball field so his dad'll come back. Worked for him, figure it might work with Luke."

  "That was a movie, J.B."

  "Good one."

  J.B. fired up the dozer again, and Beck walked down to the winery to collect the children and Frank. Luke was working with Hector, and Meggie and Frank were playing with Josefina, so Beck went upstairs to J.B.'s office. He sat at the computer, but this time he did not read Annie's emails. Instead, he searched for information on steroids. He found eighteen million web hits. For the next hour, he read.

  Anabolic steroids … injection … carried to muscle cells … receptors transport the steroids to the cell nucleus … react with DNA to stimulate the cell's protein production … protein plus exercise results in increased muscle mass. Bulk.

  But you're messing with your DNA.

  Mega-dosing … one hundred times normal testosterone level … cycling … stacking … pyramiding … one million high school athletes use steroids in the U.S. Side effects: acne, baldness, high cholesterol, high blood pressure, heart damage, cancer, mood swings, depression … homicidal rage.

&n
bsp; Beck sat back and stared at the last two words on the screen: homicidal rage.

  Five hours later, J.B. was driving his rocker on the back porch. Beck said, "You still take your truck to Claude Krause?"

  "Yep."

  "Would Claude lie for Kim?"

  "Claude wouldn't lie for himself. That's why he's the poorest mechanic in town." J.B. looked up from the newspaper. "Never asked—how'd it go with Gretchen?"

  "It didn't."

  "You had second thoughts?"

  "She did."

  "Oh."

  "She was worried she'd get fired, if she was seen with me. After yesterday."

  J.B. nodded. "What are you gonna do?"

  Beck shrugged. "Nothing. If she doesn't want to—"

  "No. About Slade."

  "Oh. I'm sending Slade to the grand jury."

  TWENTY-ONE

  "Judge, if you send Slade to the grand jury, you're sending those Mexicans back to Mexico."

  Beck had been wrong: there was something they could do to stop him. He had arrived that Monday morning to find Bruno Stutz, Quentin McQuade, and the D.A. in his chambers.

  "Those Mexicans will never get to Main Street," Stutz said. "ICE will raid the turkey plant before Thanksgiving weekend."

  "Immigration and Customs Enforcement," the D.A. said.

  "You're going to call in the Feds to deport those people?"

  "Ja. Creates a nice little diversion, don't you think?" Stutz said. "The Mexicans getting arrested and deported. Puts Julio on the back-burner."

  "Delgado can still stage his protest."

  Stutz laughed. "There won't be five Mexicans left in town … Hell, I figure Julio won't even be here. He'll take his brothers and sisters and follow his folks to Mexico. The Julio problem goes away—literally."

  "You'd have those poor people deported just to keep Slade's football career on track?"

  "Just?" Quentin McQuade said. "Slade's gonna make more money his first year in the NFL than all the Mexicans in this town will make in their entire lives combined."

  "You deport the Mexicans, that'll close the turkey plant. A lot of turkey farms will close, too. German turkey farms."

  Stutz shrugged. "Collateral damage."

  "Here's the deal, Judge," McQuade said. "My offer to the boy still stands. One million dollars to settle all civil claims against Slade, and you and the D.A. here dismiss the criminal charges. That's a good deal. Let's get it done."

  The D.A. was nodding like a puppet on a string.

  "That's civil. This is criminal."

  "Well, Judge, if the criminal case isn't dismissed, there won't be a civil settlement. But there will be an ICE raid. My money can buy that, too."

  "I'll come back with a written request to postpone your order," Stutz said, "right after I give Delgado the good news."

  The three men stood.

  "Judge, once we make the call to ICE," McQuade said, "there's no stopping that train. The Feds are coming to town, and those Mexicans are going home."

  "Julio gets beaten up, but his parents get deported. That's his justice?"

  Quentin McQuade shrugged and said, "Life ain't fair."

  "Son of a bitch!"

  Beck had just ruined Sheriff Grady Guenther's Kraut dog lunch.

  "That's Stutz's doing. He's been wanting a raid more than George W. wanted Saddam."

  Beck was sitting in the visitor's chair in the sheriff's office. Grady was shaking his head.

  "Sorry I got you into this, Beck. Should've just let things go like they've gone around here for a hundred and sixty years. You figure just once something ought to go the right way."

  Grady stuck a toothpick in his mouth.

  "Grady, the Mexicans do all the manual labor in this town. Without them, the Germans will have to pay higher wages."

  "Yep. White people won't work for the Mexican wage."

  "You really think they'll deport those people if it costs them money?"

  "Money is what's been keeping them from doing it before now. But like I said, it wouldn't be the first time the Germans pulled the trigger without drawing first. And you know how it is, Beck, when it's Anglos versus Mexicans in Texas, common sense ain't part of the equation."

  "You think maybe Stutz and Quentin are bluffing?"

  "Don't know about Quentin, but Bruno ain't. He's a scary bastard 'cause he never bluffs. He'll make that call to ICE, and when he does, it's a done deal. Those Mexicans will be bused to Mexico."

  "Only way to stop that is to dismiss the criminal charges."

  Beck could only think of two words: homicidal rage.

  "What if Slade hurts someone else?"

  "I swear to God, Beck, I'll arrest him and break his throwing arm myself." Grady spit the toothpick into the trash can. "Look at it this way, Beck. Two months from now Slade'll be enrolled at UT. He'll be their problem then. He beats up someone in Austin, even Quentin don't have enough money to buy off those crazy liberals. They'll crucify him."

  "He beats the hell out of Julio, and now he's going to walk because his daddy's worth two hundred million dollars."

  "Quentin's a dumme fool to pay a dime to that Mexican boy," Bruno Stutz said. "Was me, I'd call in ICE and be done with the bunch of them. But Quentin's a businessman. He likes settlement agreements with confidentiality clauses."

  Stutz had returned with the postponement request.

  "What did Delgado say?"

  Stutz chuckled. "He wasn't a happy Mexican."

  "He threatens protests, you and McQuade threaten ICE raids."

  "You shouldn't make threats the other side can trump."

  "Bruno, an ICE raid would destroy this town."

  "Gut. I don't like this town anymore."

  "Then leave."

  "Nein! Ich bin Deutscher! I am German! This town is German! I want the Ausländers to leave, die Mexikaner and the Californians and those Main Street folks from Austin. Nothing but a bunch of goddamned liberals, bringing their politics and tattoos to my town. And good Germans are selling out to them so they can buy a goddamn Lexus."

  Stutz stood.

  "Hell, I've been wanting to get rid of the Mexicans for thirty years, but everyone else just wanted to let things be—because we're addicted to the Mexicans' cheap labor. Man my age, I don't give a damn what everyone else wants. I want the Mexicans gone. The tourists, too. I want this to be a German town again. Used to walk up and down Main Street, everyone sprechen Deutsch. Now only a few old-timers like me speak the language at home, over at the goat auction. Everyone else speaks Spanish."

  "Bruno, you like Mexican food?"

  He shrugged. "Enchiladas. And those little rolled-up things, fried with chicken inside …"

  "Flautas?"

  "Ja, those. And sopapillas. I like their food, Beck, but I hate them. I hate what they've done to my town."

  "What? Roofing German houses? Processing German turkeys? Picking German peaches?"

  "Killing German girls. I guarantee you, it was a Mexikaner that raped and killed her."

  "Heidi? She wasn't raped. Sex was consensual."

  "He drugged her, and that's not consent. Kids here, they used to drink beer … I don't need to tell you that. Then the Mexicans came to town and now kids use marijuana, cocaine, meth—that's why I sent every Mexican I could to prison."

  "Like Miguel Cervantes?"

  Stutz laughed. "Ja, I remember you in the courtroom that day, the star quarterback crying for his spic buddy. You know where he ended up? Dead in Dallas. Drug deal gone bad."

  Miguel Cervantes was dead.

  "Maybe being sent to prison for smoking a joint when he was eighteen put him on that path."

  "Being born Mexican put him on that path."

  "And what did you do to German kids?"

  "I sent them back home to der Vater. Believe me, once their old man got through with them out in the goat shed, they wished I had sent them to prison. Like Merle Fuchs, our local Congressman."

  "So you figure it's okay for Slade to beat th
e hell out of that boy?"

  "Not in public." A grin. "We always took them out to the country." A pointed finger. "That boy, he was romancing little Nikki, they call it machismo. You seen all those barrio bastards they sired? Born sucking off the government's tit."

  "German goat ranchers sucked off the government's tit for forty years."

  "That was different. We're citizens."

  "Those Mexican kids are citizens, too. Born in the USA."

  Stutz snorted. "Just like your daddy, a man of principle."

  "Thanks."

  "It wasn't a compliment."

  "Does your boss really want a raid?"

  "He wants his Sohn in the NFL." He shook his head. "Never met a man got football on the brain like him. But truth be known, Beck, I don't like McQuade either, coming in here with his money and buying everything in town."

  "He bought you."

  "Nein. He's renting me."

  "You're a mean man, Bruno."

  That thin smile. "Danke. But you don't how mean I am. You push me, Beck, and you'll find out. And so will those wetbacks."

  After court closed for the day, Beck drove straight to the winery to pick up the kids. He walked through the tasting room and into the tank room. Luke was working with Hector.

  "Luke, where's Meggie?"

  "In the vineyards with Josefina and Butch."

  "J.B. upstairs?"

  "He is up at the house," Hector said, "riding the bulldozer. J.B., he likes to build things. Beck, may I have a word?"

  Hector led Beck to the open barn doors. From there they looked out upon the fifty acres of vines. He saw the girls playing under Butch's watchful eye.

  "Beck, word of the Espinoza boy has traveled throughout the Mexican community. The Mexicans, they have faith in you, that you will do the right thing."

  "Problem is, Hector, I don't know what the right thing is."

  "There are rumors of a raid. People are nervous."

  "I'm not going to let that happen, Hector. I'll find a way. I'll figure out justice in this case."

  "You are the judge, Beck, so you decide what is the law. But only God decides what is justice."

  "Well, Hector, you might be right about that, but if ICE raids our town, those Mexicans will be deported. Not even God can stop the Federal government."

  The children were asleep, and the Hardin men were in their rockers on the back porch.

  "What are you gonna do?" J.B. said.