Home Invasion

by William W. Johnstone

  Alex hoped that was true.

  She had left the station with the other officers before she realized she had forgotten to call Jack and let him know she was back from the county seat.

  He would be all right, she told herself. He had long since learned that with his mom being the chief of police, there would be times when he was on his own. He’d probably make himself some supper, then spend the evening doing homework, watching TV, surfing the Internet, or listening to music … or all of those options at the same time. Jack’s generation had learned to multitask while they were practically still in their cribs.

  No, Alex told herself, she didn’t have to worry about her son.

  CHAPTER 20

  “It’s gonna be historic,” Rowdy said. “We don’t want to miss it.”

  “I don’t know,” Steve said. “It sounds to me like there could be real trouble.”

  Rowdy made a disgusted face. “Ah, you’re just a wuss. What do you think, Jack? The rest of the team’s gonna be there to show support for Mr. McNamara.”

  Jack understood that. There was a lot of anger on the football team about what had happened. Most of them had played Little League in Home, which meant Pete McNamara had either coached them or coached against them, and either way, they knew him and liked him. He was a big supporter of high school athletics, too, always at the games, no matter what sport it was. Sometimes he even announced the games when the regular PA guy couldn’t be there.

  “I don’t guess it would hurt for us to go,” Jack said. “Just to see what happens.”

  “Now you’re talking,” Rowdy said as he slid off the bench in the Dairy Queen booth. “Maybe we’ll be on TV. There are still some news crews around town.”

  The Dairy Queen was busy this evening, and all the talk was about what had happened in the trial at the county seat that day. It was loud, angry talk, too, Jack noted as he and his friends left. Several people had already grabbed the booth they’d vacated.

  People were mad, and that made Jack worry a little about his mom. She knew how to take care of herself, though. She was the chief of police, after all. Sure, she annoyed him sometimes, and he didn’t understand why she had to be such a hard-ass, but sometimes being a hard-ass was good. She would keep things under control. He was confident of that.

  They didn’t bother getting into Rowdy’s pickup but started walking downtown instead. Home wasn’t so big that you couldn’t walk all the way from one end of Main Street to the other if you wanted to. There was a lot of traffic, both on the road and beside it. Cars, trucks, and SUVs clogged the asphalt, while people walked along the shoulders and sidewalks, all of them converging on the center of town.

  Jack saw a couple of police cars in the parking lot of the supermarket, but they were both empty. He supposed the cops were out on foot, mingling with the crowd so they could keep order. Rowdy saw some of their teammates from the football team and called out to them. As the two groups moved to join each other, a pickup with half a dozen more teenage boys in the back pulled to the side of the road next to them. The kids piled out.

  “This is the biggest thing to hit this town in a long time,” one of them said.

  Another gestured toward the water tower at the edge of town, which was lit up at night. “Biggest thing since the state championship.”

  “Yeah, but that was a good thing,” Jack said. “This sucks. It’s not right, what they’re doin’ to Mr. McNamara.”

  That brought a burst of profanity-laced agreement from the other boys. One of them added, “It’s all because of those damn wetbacks.”

  Several of them turned to look at the boy who had spoken, whose name was José Gonzales. He spread his hands and said, “What? My family was here when Stephen F. Austin was. We’re Texans. I got no use for those criminals and drug smugglers from south of the border.”

  “Yeah, well, I feel sorry for the honest people who have to live over there,” Steve said.

  “There’s not many of those anymore,” Rowdy put in. “We oughta go to war with Mexico, that’s what we oughta do. It’s gonna take our army to put all those damn cartels outta business.”

  Jack said, “The politicians will never do that. You can just forget it.”

  José nodded. “Yeah. They don’t got the cojones for that.”

  Rowdy nudged Jack with an elbow and nodded toward a blond woman in a dark blue dress making her way through the crowd toward them. He said, “Look at that babe. She’s gotta be one of the reporters. Anybody that hot must be on TV.”

  “Yeah, and the guy behind her with the camera is probably a clue, too,” Jack said dryly.

  The woman came to a stop and held out a cordless microphone toward them. “Could I ask you boys some questions?” she asked with a dazzling smile.

  Rowdy didn’t bother trying to tear his eyes away from her cleavage as he nodded and said, “Sure.”

  “Do you go to school here in Home?”

  “Yeah, we’re all members of the varsity football team.”

  She looked like she was impressed by that. Jack would have been willing to bet that she wasn’t, not really, but she knew what she was doing and how to get what she wanted.

  “Do you know Pete McNamara?”

  “Of course, we know Pete,” Rowdy said. He had taken over as the spokesman for the group. “He coached Little League when we were all playing.”

  “So you consider him a friend, a mentor?”

  “Yeah, he’s a great guy.”

  “Are you upset about the things being said about him?”

  “Wouldn’t you be, if somebody claimed that a friend of yours shot some people without good reason?”

  “Do you think he had a good reason?”

  “Of course, he did! Those Mexicans broke into his house and killed his wife.”

  Jack saw a momentary gleam in the blonde’s eyes. Rowdy had played right into her hands by using a phrase like “those Mexicans” and sounding so contemptuous. He had just sent out the message to whoever watched this footage that the citizens of Home were ignorant racists.

  Never mind the fact that Jorge Corona and Emilio Navarre actually were Mexican citizens. Truth didn’t matter much anymore.

  “But it’s been established that Emilio Navarre never fired his weapon,” the reporter went on. “How could he have been a threat to Mr. McNamara?”

  “He had a gun,” Rowdy replied with a frown.

  “A lot of people have guns. If they don’t use them, they can’t hurt anybody.”

  It was hard to argue with a statement like that, even though the logic behind it was false. And the blonde knew that.

  “But they broke into Pete’s house,” Rowdy protested. “And they shot Mrs. McNamara.”

  “She was injured only after Mr. McNamara fatally wounded Jorge Corona. So isn’t it possible to say that Mr. McNamara was responsible not only for the death of Mr. Corona, but also for what happened to his wife?”

  Jack had had as much as he could swallow. More, even. He stepped forward and said, “Listen, lady, Mrs. McNamara wasn’t injured. She was killed. She’s dead, you understand that?”

  The blonde’s face turned cold. “Of course, I understand that, young man. I’m well aware of the tragedy that happened here.”

  “Then you ought to understand what a tragedy it is that Pete McNamara’s being blamed for something that’s not his fault at all. At least, you would if you weren’t a moron.”

  The cameraman lowered his camera and said, “Don’t worry, Stacy, that didn’t go out on a live feed. We can edit it. “ He glared at Jack. “And you, kid, you’d better watch your mouth.”

  “Why don’t you make him?” Rowdy demanded, stepping forward. “Or even better, why don’t you tell me what to do, mister?”

  The man sneered as he lifted his camera again. “You can’t touch me, punk. I’m protected by freedom of the press. Ever heard of it, you dumb hick?” “Freedom of the press this, you Yankee mother—” “Rowdy, no!” Jack yelled as his friend lunged at the
cameraman, swinging a punch.

  It was too late. Rowdy was an offensive tackle and plenty of size and strength were behind the blow. It landed on the side of the cameraman’s head and knocked him sprawling as the blond reporter screamed. The cameraman managed to hang on to the piece of expensive equipment.

  The blonde had screamed, but she had also whipped out a cell phone and was recording video on it even as Rowdy started after the fallen cameraman, obviously intent on stomping him. Jack grabbed his friend’s arm and tried to hold him back.

  “Rowdy, you’re just doing what they want,” Jack said urgently, trying to get through the anger Rowdy was feeling. “Let it go.”

  “Too late,” Steve said. “Here come some more guys, and they don’t look happy.”

  Jack turned his head and saw several men jumping out of the back of a nearby truck that belonged to one of the cable news networks. The fleeting thought that they were awfully big and burly for audio and video technicians had time to cross his mind, and then José and the other guys whooped in excitement and lunged forward to meet the rush. Shouts filled the air as fists began to fly, and like ripples emanating outward from a rock tossed in a pond, the trouble started to spread through the crowd.

  Yeah, it was all hitting the fan, Jack thought, and he was right in the middle of it.

  His mom was gonna be royally pissed.

  CHAPTER 21

  Alex was circulating through the crowd in front of the hardware store, trying to calm them down, when she heard the commotion break out down the street. She had to lift herself on her toes and crane her neck to see what was going on. All she could tell was that there was some sort of fight in the supermarket parking lot.

  She bit back a curse. This was exactly the sort of thing she had been worried was going to happen.

  As she started pushing through the crowd, hurrying toward the disturbance, she keyed the mike on her shoulder and said, “Supermarket, now!” sending out a call to all the other officers to meet her there unless they were already involved in some other incident.

  She wasn’t the only one whose attention the fight had attracted. Quite a few people began streaming in that direction, and some of them even yelled, “Fight, fight!” just like they were on a junior high school playground.

  When Alex got closer, her heart plummeted for a second as she recognized Rowdy Donovan in the middle of the brawl. If Rowdy was involved, there was a good chance Jack was, too.

  A second later, her fear for her son was mitigated somewhat by her anger at him. He knew better than to get mixed up in something like this, she thought.

  So much for believing he would go home after football practice and do his homework.

  A part of Alex wished she could pull the 9mm from the holster on her hip and blast a few shots into the air. That would settle things down in a hurry. Those Old West lawmen in books and movies had some advantages the modern police didn’t. Right now Alex wouldn’t have minded having a.45-caliber Peacemaker and a double-barreled shotgun.

  Instead she settled for raising her voice and shouting, “Hey! Break it up! Everybody stop fighting! “ as she plowed into the melée.

  She had a strong voice and experience at crowd control, but she had trouble making herself heard over the racket. A couple of guys were rolling around on the cement at her feet, wrestling. Disgusted, she reached down, grabbed the shirt collar of one of them, and hauled him to his feet.

  “Mom!” Jack yelped as Alex found herself looking into her son’s face.

  Before Alex could say anything, a siren snarled loudly somewhere nearby. After a couple of bursts of near-deafening sound, it shut down, only to be replaced by J. P. Delgado’s voice amplified through a bullhorn. “Break it up! Break it up! Or you’ll all be placed under arrest!”

  Delgado had managed to get into one of the police cars parked in the lot, and between the bullhorn and the siren, he stunned the crowd into submission, at least for the moment. Alex gave Jack a little shake and said through clenched teeth, “Stay here. Do not throw another punch. You understand me?”

  He jerked his head in an angry nod. His arm was bleeding from a scraped place and a bruise was already starting to come up on his jaw, but he didn’t appear to be badly hurt.

  Alex shoved her way through the crowd to the police car. Delgado stood beside the open driver’s door, the bullhorn in his hand. She took it from him and lifted it to her mouth.

  “Everyone disperse right now,” she ordered. “Off the streets! Go home! I’m declaring a curfew in effect!”

  From the crowd, somebody yelled, “You can’t do that!”

  Alex glared in his direction, swung the bullhorn toward him, and barked through it, “You wanna try me?”

  Evidently nobody did.

  The mob began thinning on the edges as people who hadn’t been directly involved in the fight decided it might be best to do as she said and go home. Alex lowered the bullhorn and asked Delgado, “Do you have any idea what started this?”

  Before he could answer, a woman’s strident voice said, “I can tell you what started it. Those young racists you have growing up here attacked my cameraman!”

  Alex turned to see an attractive blonde in her twenties standing there. Her clothes were a little rumpled and her previously perfect hair was in slight disarray. She had a microphone in her hand, and a man with a video camera was pointing it at her.

  “That cameraman?” Alex asked.

  The guy gave her a hostile glance. He had dried blood on his face from a split lip.

  “That’s right, Chief,” the reporter said. “You are Chief Alex Bonner, aren’t you?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Do you have any comment about the riot that broke out here in Home this evening?”

  “It wasn’t a riot—” Alex began.

  “With all due respect, Chief, you weren’t right in the middle of it. Those rampaging citizens were out of control, and I was afraid for my life.”

  With all due respect, Alex thought bleakly. That was what leeches like this reporter said to people they didn’t respect at all.

  The blonde went on, “That young man assaulted my associate, and I want him arrested.” She turned to point dramatically at Rowdy, who was standing now with Jack and Steve.

  Alex narrowed her eyes at him. “Rowdy, what did you do?”

  Before he could answer, the reporter said, “Excuse me? Rowdy? Did you say his name is Rowdy?” Her condescending smirk spoke volumes.

  “Hey, there’s nothing wrong with that name, lady,” Rowdy protested. “If it was good enough for Clint Eastwood, it’s good enough for me.”

  The blonde never stopped smirking as she said, “What about it, Chief? Are you going to arrest this young man and his friends?”

  It was clear she meant Jack and Steve.

  Alex faced the three boys. Steve had a hangdog expression on his face, but Jack and Rowdy still looked defiant.

  “Did you start this?” Alex demanded of them.

  “No, they did,” Jack replied. “She said that Mr. McNamara was to blame for everything that happened, including his wife getting killed.”

  “We couldn’t let that go,” Rowdy said. “We just couldn’t, Mrs. Bonner.”

  “I’m not Mrs. Bonner right now,” Alex snapped. “I’m Chief Bonner, and I’m putting all three of you in custody.”

  Jack’s eyes widened. “Mom!”

  Through gritted teeth, Alex said, “I told you, I’m not Mom right now. I’m the chief of police.” She turned to Delgado and added, “Put them in the backseat of your car.”

  He nodded and said, “Come on, fellas.”

  Jack still looked aghast at this turn of events. “You can’t be serious,” he argued. “They’re the ones who ought to be arrested. They came in here where they aren’t wanted and stirred up all this trouble!”

  The blonde sneered and said, “There’s such a thing as freedom of the press, young man. You may not have heard of it, considering the sort of education you p
robably get in a place like this where all they teach you is football and hate.”

  “Don’t push your luck, lady,” Alex snapped. She pointed to Delgado’s police car and said, “Go!”

  They went, ushered over to the car by Delgado, who opened the back door and watched as they slid into the uncomfortable confines of the backseat.

  Alex nodded to the reporter. “Now, are you satisfied?”

  “That you did your duty as the police chief? I suppose. But I heard one of those boys call you Mom. Are you satisfied, Chief Bonner, with the job you’ve done of raising him?”

  For a second, Alex thought about the days of the Old West again, when troublemakers could be tarred, feathered, and ridden out of town on a rail.

  It sure was an appealing idea right now.

  She took a deep breath and said, “I don’t comment on personal matters. I can promise you, though, that there’ll be a full investigation of what took place here tonight, and anyone who’s at fault… anyone … will face the full penalties allowed by law. Now get off the street.”

  “You can’t—”

  “I declared a curfew, remember? That goes for all civilians, including the press.”

  The reporter glared at her. “I’m going to file a formal protest with the mayor and the city council.”

  “Go ahead.” Alex hoped that Ed Ruiz and the other members of the council would support her on this, but even if they didn’t, it would be after the fact. The important thing was to get the streets cleared now, so there wouldn’t be any more trouble tonight.

  “And my viewers are certainly going to hear about this injustice.”

  “I’m sure they will. I don’t have any further comment.”

  Alex turned away and surveyed the street and the parking lot. A few pockets of people still stood around looking surly, but they began to break up as Alex stared at them. The reporters were still there, too, of course, chattering away. Alex told her other officers to shoo them back to their motel rooms, then climbed into the passenger side of the front seat of Delgado’s patrol car.

  “Mom, this is just wrong!” Jack protested through the wire mesh that separated the front seat from the back. “We shouldn’t be under arrest.”