Allegiance: A Jackson Quick Adventure (33 page)

The bus lurches as the driver brakes. There are still a few stops until I’m at the television station. A couple of people shuffle past me to exit and a few more climb on board.

None of them have any idea what’s about to happen. They’re all oblivious to the plotting and the scheming and the killing. My life is full of conspiracy and betrayal. I’m waist deep in blood and oil. They’re listening to their iPods and texting on their smartphones, happily unaware of the mayhem.

Ignorance is bliss.

***

The crowd is already gathering when I step off of the bus at a bland looking complex of three buildings that essentially comprise the University of Texas media center. Toward the southeast corner of the complex is the local PBS television station KLRU. Inside their portion of the building is studio 6A.

I’ve been here before. Inside 6A, they tape a public affairs program called
Civic
Summit
. The Governor has appeared two or three times.

A small group of protestors, at least that’s what I think they are, are holding poster boards and chanting. There are UT police at either end of their rally.

“No more blood for oil,” they harmonize, unaware of the irony. “Wind, solar, and water that boils.” A couple of them are wearing overplayed Guy Fawkes masks which make them look comical rather than politically witty. Their signs read CLIMATE FRAUD and MOTHER FRACKER.

I walk past a row of bicycles and up a small ramp toward the open plaza that bridges two of the complex’s three buildings. There’s a rope line for people to enter the television station that leads to a pair of walk-through metal detectors. In front of the detectors are two collapsible tables, onto which people are emptying their pockets and dropping their jackets. Burly, barrel-chested men in dark suits are rummaging through handbags and turning on cell phones.

On the other side of the detectors stands more muscle, presumably Texas Rangers, holding black wands with the name Garrett written in neon yellow. Those who don’t make it through the first sentry unscathed get a T.S.A.-style pat down and a wave of the wand.

I recognize one of the Rangers from the Governor’s detail and approach him at one of the tables. He looks like the actor Tim Roth. He could be his twin brother.

“Hey,” I nod. “How’s it going?”

“Fine,” he says without looking up from a bag he’s searching. “The line starts back there.” He picks up his head, and only then recognizes me. “Oh! Sorry. Didn’t know it was you. You’re Quick, right?”

“Yeah,” I smile. “You’re Rushing?”

“Right.” He slides the purse past the detector to its owner on the other side. “What’s up?”

“I need to get inside, but I don’t have time for the line. Is there a staff entrance or something?”

“Aren’t you a little underdressed?” He eyes the jeans and baseball jersey.

“I am. Charlie Corday has my suit. You know her right?”

“Tall red head?” Everybody knows Charlie. Nobody knows she’s dead. “Looks like Nicole Kidman before she redid her face?”

“That’s her,” I smile. “She’s got my clothes and she’s already in there. Can you help me out?”

“You have your staff I.D.?”

“I think so,” I fish around in my jeans pockets, knowing I don’t have it. “Uh, I guess I left it at home. Been a really crazy day, you know?”

“Yeah,” he says. “Okay. Cut in line here and go through. Give me your backpack. I’ll check it.”

I hand him the backpack and start to slide past the man to my left when a woman, his wife maybe, blocks me. She’s glowering at me and my baseball jersey.

“Where is he going?” she huffs, pointing at me. “We’ve been in line for thirty minutes. He walks up and gets a pass?”

“Ma’am,” Rushing steps toward us, “he’s with the Governor’s staff. He’s running late, and I’m giving him a pass.”

She folds her arm and doesn’t move.

“Ma’am,” Rushing takes another step and pinches the bridge of his nose in mock frustration. “I’m sure you don’t want to do this right now. Please move aside and let the young man past you.”

She gives me a disapproving glare, shares it with Rushing, and moves aside with the help of a gentle tug from her husband.

“Thank you,” I slip past her and through security. Rushing hands back my bag.

“Figures he works for the Governor,” the woman sneers. “Exactly the sort of thing that has me voting for Buell.”

I ignore her and start looking for anything out of place.

The crowd is filtering into the studio, which has room for maybe a couple of hundred people. Most of the guests are still in the large lobby.

I recognize a few of them as having paid visits to the Governor’s mansion over the last few months. Others are well-known philanthropists, and maybe one or two political types. Mingling amongst the growing crowd, trying to remain inconspicuous, are the Rangers.

They’re easier to spot than they’d like to be, with their earpieces winding their way around their ears and down the jackets of suits that cost a third of most of the guests’ shoes. I spot five of them.

I circle back through the crowd to the studio where a dozen people are seated now. Bathed in light in the middle of the studio sits the debate moderator at a round table. A couple of other people are sitting with him and they’re chatting softly, going through notecards. Opposite them are two empty chairs.

There’s a member of the production crew with her hair tied back in a ponytail, a pair of headphones around her neck. She’s biting a fingernail on her left hand, and scanning a clipboard in her right.

I recognize a man standing near the crew member. He’s part of the Governor’s policy team. His name is Kelly. I don’t know if that’s his first or last name. We don’t like each other, but I need his help.

“Kelly,” I call to him as I walk past the first row of seats in the audience. He’s scrolling through his Blackberry. “Hey, what’s up?”

“Nothing,” he says. He looks up from his phone and smirks. “Aren’t you underdressed for this, Quick?”

I look down at the jersey. “Need to go change backstage. Do you know where the Governor is?”

“Yes,” he says returning his attention to his email. “I do.”

I don’t have time for his crap. “Where is he?”

“He’s through that door over there, down the hall to the left, last door on the right,” he nods in the direction of the door. “But he’s busy.”

“Rethinking your policy advice I imagine.” I turn to the door without waiting for his reaction. “Big debate tonight, Kelly. Hope you didn’t hang him out to dry.”

He shouts something crude in my direction and I scoot through the door, down the hall, and to the last door on the right where a Ranger standing is watch.

“May I help you?” “Yes,” I offer my hand. “I’m Jackson Quick. I’m an aide to the Governor. I need to see him.”

“Jackson Quick,” he repeats.

“Yes.”

He raises his left wrist to his mouth and speaks in a soft voice. “I have a Jackson Quick here to see the Governor, says he’s an aide.” He pauses. “Just a moment,” he tells me. “They’re checking.”

The phone in my pocket buzzes. It’s George. I ignore it. I’ve got nothing to say to him.

The door opens. It’s my boss. He’s all smiles.

“Jackson,” he reaches out and grabs my shoulder. “Good to see you. But
oh
my
! You’re a little underdressed for the occasion.”

“So I hear,” I say. “Ran out of time.”

He pats my shoulder and pulls me into the room. “It’s not a problem. Now come on in and sit with me. We have a few minutes until the debate starts.”

In the room is the Governor’s wife, a couple of high level assistants, and a uniformed Austin police officer. The Governor nods in the officer’s direction.

“This here’s the extra help you thought I might need tonight,” he laughs. “All is well with the world.”

Everything seems as it should be. It’s not, I know.

Crockett is here. Somewhere. If I don’t find him the Governor’s as good as dead, along with my chance at a normal life.

***

I don’t remember much in the hours, days, or even weeks after the vice principal told me why my parents weren’t coming to get me. They were dead.

I learned later they’d traveled in my mother’s car. She was driving. The uninsured driver of a pickup truck ran a red light and plowed into them. I was always told they died instantly and felt nothing, but I don’t know if that’s really true.

I do know it was my fault. They died together. The last thing they knew about me was that I was in trouble at school.

If I hadn’t taken Hank to school, they wouldn’t have raced to come deal with it. If they hadn’t been dealing with it, they’d still be alive. If. If. If.

If I had a dollar for every time that word had dominated everything in my life.

My life. For a long time after my parents died, I didn’t have much of one.

After their funerals, I went to live with an older cousin. She was my only family and didn’t have much time for me. She was decent but absent.

My parents had life insurance. She spent most of the payout on herself. Thankfully, they’d put money in a trust she couldn’t touch.

The criminal charges against me were dropped. The prosecutor said I’d been through enough already. Still, I was expelled for bringing the gun to school and was sent to an alternative school. It was there I learned Blair Loxley was nothing compared to real bullies. It was brutal. I learned how to take care of myself.

After two years at the alternative school, my cousin got tired of me. She grew weary of the weekly teacher conferences. I wasn’t doing homework; I wasn’t paying attention in class; I got into fights. When I was at home, I dove into music and television. They were my escape. I wasn’t willing to change.

She sent me to a small boarding school in Chatham, Virginia. Somehow, my cousin and the alternative school talked the boarding school into giving me a scholarship. I was a hard luck case or something. I never found out how it worked, except that I had to maintain a C average and participate in at least one extracurricular activity per semester. I chose cross country and the technology/audio visual club.

I kept my grades up. I ran. I learned about electronics and computers. I was angry and alone, but not stupid. I knew a second chance when I saw one, so I grew up and made it work.

My roommate was a nice guy, but apparently my violent dreams were too much for him. I slept through them. He complained I would cry and talk about my parents. Once he asked me who Hank was. I didn’t tell him.

After a few months he asked for a transfer to another dorm. The school granted it. I roomed alone for the rest of my time there. It was me, my music, and late night television. David Letterman and the Velcro wall is still one of the funniest things I’ve ever seen, even if it was in reruns.

It was like I was surrounded by zombies. All the other students were there with me, but they never engaged me. They knew I was different. They sensed it. Maybe I sensed something in them I didn’t like. Either way, I was a loner.

I survived it, and because I was young enough when I got expelled, it didn’t go on my permanent school record. After four years of good grades and no trouble I got into college. N.C. State. My dad’s alma mater. Sometimes I’d go watch the rifle team practice. They didn’t have a home range on campus, but I’d drive to a nearby range in Holly Springs to see them. It made me feel close to my dad. I never picked up a gun. I couldn’t do it.

I’d listen to the pop of their .177 air rifles and with every trigger pull, flash to a memory of my dad smiling.

You’re
a
natural
.

The coach noticed me after a few of my visits and introduced himself.

“You wanna shoot?” He’d asked. “We’ve got an extra .22lr small bore you can use.”

I’d thanked him but declined. It was the last time I went.

College flew by, and before I knew it, I was a man with a trust fund. Still, I needed to work. I bounced around. No roots. No ties. No love for anywhere or anyone.

That is, until I got the job with the Governor and he put his trust in me. Until I met Charlie and she said she loved me. Austin was becoming home. Those roots were starting to take hold. I told myself I was happy. I was normal. I was special.

I wasn’t naive. I wanted to believe it. I didn’t see the truth because I wanted to believe the lie.

Not again. I’m on my own. I’ve got my own back to watch, my own life to save.

The phone buzzes in my pocket. It’s George again. I ignore it again.

From the back of the studio I can see the Governor and Don Carlos Buell seated next to one another, the moderator across from them. The other two journalists are writing on notepads. The debate is about to start. The production crew member with the ponytail points to the moderator.

“Good evening, I’m Devon Smith. On behalf of Austin’s PBS television station, I’d like to welcome you to tonight’s debate which is being presented as part of KLRU’s Civic Forum series.”

The audience is engaged, all eyes on the five people at the center table. Buell and the Governor are doing their best to avoid looking each other in the eyes. Except for the moderator’s voice, the room is silent.

“The discussion will focus on a series of public policy and political issues likely to confront the state of Texas and its Governor during the next four years. Both participants have met the criteria to participate tonight. They’ve both received their respective party’s nomination. They’ve both raised at least two-hundred and fifty-thousand dollars according to their latest filings with the Texas Secretary of State’s Office. They have an active staff in at least four of the following five cities: Austin, Dallas, Houston, San Antonio, and Corpus Christi.”

To my left, a remotely operated camera swings a few inches to focus on the panelists next to the moderator. It zooms in on one of their faces and pulls out to reveal both of them.

“I’d like to introduce our panel of journalists,” the moderator says. “Samantha Recuerda from 4 News Houston.” The audience applauds. “To her left is Luke Omala, a reporter from The Dallas Morning News.” The audience applauds again. “They will be responsible for asking the candidates a series of questions. I, as the moderator, will ask the follow up questions and keep us on time tonight. I hope.” The audience laughs politely.