Mobley's Law, A Mobley Meadows Novel (28 page)

CHAPTER 42

The Colorado River shimmered in the afternoon sun, moving its cargo of red mud and silt to the Gulf of Mexico. The majesty of the river held him as he gazed out the hotel window. Nothing could stop it. It just kept rolling on and over or around everything in its path.

Mobley had felt like that once, invincible, unstoppable. Today, he felt totally alone, a failure. He’d thought his actions had been for the public good, and perhaps they were. But he’d never considered how his methods might look or be characterized by a vicious critic.

Lydia was gone. He’d fouled that up, too. The only real chance at love he’d ever had. She was gone, and all he could do was think about her. Her angelic face, there when he’d needed her. Strong hands, used to hard work, soft on his face. Whispering in his ear, rubbing his chest, her breasts swelling to the rhythm of her warm breath.

A copy of
The Austin Telegraph
lay at his feet. He knew the story by heart. “
MAD DOG JUDGE
accused of murder in attack on alleged raiders; shoots Judge Oliver in drunken rage during illegal trial; responsible for death of train passengers in resisting robbery; Chief Judge Hooks overturns decision on reappraisal law, suspends Meadows pending investigation of charges; Governor Davis appalled at malfeasance, demands federal investigation.”

Mobley hadn’t eaten in two days. There was nothing left for him to do. He’d angrily stomped off to see Judge Hooks, to demand an answer. The man had no power to suspend him, nor overturn his decision on the reappraisal decrees. But Hooks was nowhere to be found. Not in his office, not at his home. He’d disappeared.

Jack and Edson were still out looking for Ferdie Lance, so Mobley had retreated to his room. He was unable to ride, but his wound had improved dramatically. In a few more days, he would leave this vile town, this
Sodom
of Texas.

He turned from the window and walked to the dresser. A bottle of whiskey stared at him.
Why bother
? It did no good. He’d been kidding himself. It did nothing but cloud his thinking, didn’t help the pain in his side for long, did nothing for the heartache. It would not solve his problems and would not bring Lydia back. For an instant he thought to throw the bottle out the window, and then stopped. A knock at the door drew his attention.

“Come in,” he yelled.
A stupid thing to do
. It could be a murderer, another snoopy reporter, anyone. But he no longer cared. Had there had been a dog around, he might well have kicked it.

Yancy Potts pushed the door open carefully and peered into the room. “Judge Meadows?”

Mobley glared down at the bald man who stood no more than five foot two inches in height. “Yes. What do you want? I’m busy.” He walked to the leather chair next to his bed and flopped down, arms and legs akimbo.

Yancy looked around to see if any one else was present in the room. He stepped inside.

Mobley quirked up the corner of his mouth. Now, what did this weasel want? He could feel his temper rising, at the edge of control. Yancy Potts was nothing more than another Judge Oliver, a paid lackey for Davis. He also had big ears. Mobley glanced at his pistol, laying on the dresser beside the bottle of whiskey.

“Sit down, Mr. Potts. Make yourself comfortable. Would you have a drink?”

Yancy relaxed his shoulders slightly and moved toward the dresser. He quickly scanned the room. It was badly in need of service. The maids had probably been ordered to stay out, either by Meadows or the hotel management. He stepped over a pile of dirty clothes and reached for the bottle. There was no glass. No matter, he needed fortification for what he was about to do. He turned the bottle up, locked his gaze on Judge Meadows and took a long manly swallow. He allowed a smirk to cross his face, saw that Judge Meadows recognized the contempt written in the expression, and reminded himself to be careful. The man had proven dangerous and resourceful on several occasions. He was down at the moment, but it would not be wise to underestimate him.

Yancy carried the bottle with him as he sat down on the sofa. “Judge Meadows. Governor Davis has asked me to convey his support and good wishes. He thinks the newspaper attacks on you are totally unwarranted and wants you to know if you need anything, he will be there for you. He thinks Judge Hooks has been wrong to suspend you and feels he may be of some service in that regard. Judge Hooks is an old friend and supporter.”

Mobley looked at Yancy with disgust and kicked the newspaper lying at his feet. Yancy had the pasty face of a man used to sitting at a desk, the eyes of man born to the lurk, dedicated to plot. On top of that, he smelled of cheap cologne.

“What is it exactly, Mr. Potts,
Governor
Davis thinks he can do for me?”

Yancy stood and walked casually about the room, dragged his finger through the dust on a lamp table, looked at his finger, nose held high, and continued his wandering inspection.

“You must understand, Judge Meadows, Governor Davis is a very powerful man. If he decides to take your side in these matters, you can be sure the newspapers will retract everything they’ve said. Hooks will reverse himself, except for the reappraisal decrees of course. Your honor will be completely restored. Then we can all work together to bring this state back into the civilized world.”

Mobley stared at Yancy. His anger faded as his mind began to grasp the plot being revealed. The man was as wily as they came. They had Judge Hooks in their pocket, and now they wanted him. Mitchell Marsten had been right. Governor Davis could not share power. He had to have it all. Mobley smiled. “Well,
blow me down
—if you’re not trying to bribe me?”

“Oh, no, that’s not what I’m doing at all.” Both of Yancy’s hands came up in mock surrender. “Bribery of a public official is a crime, as you well know. We would never stoop so low as to do such a thing.”

Mobley snorted and coughed. What a load of horse pucky. He looked at Yancy with contempt. “My boys tell me you and the Governor have been trying to kill me. That’s against the law as well. Am I to suppose you consider murder of less import than bribery?”

Yancy stiffened, a look of challenged innocence on his face. “Sir, that is ridiculous. You have no evidence or you would have done something about it already. I don’t know where you got your information, but let me assure you it is not true. As far as bribery is concerned, there is no need for such a thing. Politics is the business of power and manipulation, Judge. You know that, or at least you should.

We don’t need to bribe people, especially people as vulnerable as you. You are your own worst enemy. We need do nothing other than tell the truth as we see it. That is what Tom Dooley at
The Telegraph
is doing. If we thought you might be a friend, we would simply convince him he was in error. If you choose to be friends with us in return, well, so be it. We’ll all work together.”

Mobley pulled himself to his feet, took the bottle from Yancy’s hand and examined it carefully. “And—If I choose not to be
friendly
?”

“Then we tell the truth about some other things. All’s fair in politics, Judge. Your deputy, Jack Anthony Lopes, for example. He’s an interesting fellow, I understand. Speaks perfect English with a British accent. Perfect Castilian, even border Spanish when he wants to. He’s reputed to be a fantastic long range rifle shot.”

Mobley felt a pang of anxiety shoot through his chest as Yancy looked down his nose, turned and wandered casually to the window.

“My people down by the border tell me they know a man like that who’s been seen running with revolutionaries in Mexico. He has some connection with the former dictator,
Juan Antonio Lopez de Santa Anna
. He does have an interesting name, doesn’t he?
Jack Anthony Lopes?

Mobley could feel his blood turn cold. But he could show no response. Any sign of weakness now would encourage Yancy to go even further. “If you add something like that to all of your other lies, you’ll be a dead man.”

Yancy looked calmly into Mobley’s eyes. “Come, come, Judge. You’re the last person in the world who would kill someone for something as simple as telling the truth.”

Mobley forced a wry smile. “Thank you, Mr. Potts. You’re quite right.
I
wouldn’t kill you. But Jack Anthony Lopes
would
, and I couldn’t stop him even if I wanted to. He is a man of honor from an old country noted for its men of honor. He’d hunt you down, Yancy. And you’d better believe he’s
real
good at it.”

A flash of concern crossed Yancy’s face, quickly controlled. “That’s a bluff, Judge. I’ll give you time to think it over. A few weeks at most. You really have no choice, for if this were to get out, that your famous marshal is the son of the most hated man in all of Texas history, you would lose every bit of credibility you have ever had in this state. You’d be f
inished, and you know it
.”

Yancy walked around Mobley and headed for the door. He opened it part way and looked back. “This information will stay with me until you make up your mind. Not even the Governor knows about it.”

“Now, have another drink. I think you need it.”

CHAPTER 43

Jack leaned against the stately Sycamore, arms and legs crossed, enjoying the cool breeze as it shushed through river reeds and rattled leaves in the small grove. Light sugary scented smoke drifted by as Edson stoked the campfire. Jack was reminded of his early days as a bandit, sitting around with friends, telling wild stories and living off the land. It would not be a hard life here. They were no more than twenty miles from Austin.

Edson had chosen their camp well. Tall trees—Sycamore, Cottonwood and River Birch—shade and firewood. Tall grass provided graze for the horses on a flat slope to the river. It was like a park, peaceful and serene. The Colorado River wound around in a short loop giving protection on three sides, fresh water, and fish to eat. They could stay a long time with a few supplies, but those were running low. Soon, one of them would have to go into town.

He could see Mobley sitting on the grass by the river, staring off into space, thinking or moping, Jack did not know which. They’d finally convinced him to leave the City of Austin and brought him here to raise his spirits, but so far he’d done nothing but sit and stare. He’d put up little resistance, as if he no longer cared. Jack knew the feeling. A sense of failure, of stupidity, lost love, all encompassing melancholy. Life for him had been a constant struggle. But Mobley had never experienced such suffering. He’d been raised in the woods, taught to live off the land, but could have reached out for family at any time. He’d been successful at everything he’d ever tried. Failure was something new, something he’d never experienced.

Edson finished fussing with the fire and came to sit next to Jack. Jack acknowledged Edson’s presence with a nod. Their friendship had grown enormously the past few weeks. Edson was phenomenal. Never seemed to tire, always ready. The most intuitive man Jack had ever met. During the first few days of Mobley’s silent ordeal, Edson had hovered around, trying to get him involved, to get him to talk. Edson had thought Mobley had overdone the whiskey. Now, he believed it an over-reaction to the loss of Lydia.

“What do you think we ought to do, Edson? He’s still looking terrible.”

“I think we need to start talking to him. Find out what this is all about. He doesn’t want to talk, but we need to force him to it.”

“Well, if talking is the answer, let’s get on with it.”

Jack uncrossed his legs and stood up. Edson did likewise, brushing dirt and leaves from his pants. Jack looked at Edson, and then walked toward the river. He sat down on Mobley’s left side. Edson did the same on the right. Mobley did not move.

It was cool and pleasant at the riverbank. A breeze rustled the cattails as the clear water swirled in chaotic patterns. Jack could understand Mobley’s choice of territory. It reminded him of his early life, before his mother had died, fishing with half-brothers in a pond, running and hiding in the aromatic clove orchards, hiding in tall grass.

“Good morning, Mobley. We’ve come over to see if we can help you figure it out.”

Mobley lifted his eyes and glanced in Jack’s direction, his mouth a thin line. Edson put his hand on Mobley’s shoulder, snatched it back as Mobley pulled away and uttered a growl. Jack looked at Edson and nodded. They both then squeezed in close so Mobley could hardly move.

“It won’t do you any good to fight, Mobley.” Jack said. We’ve decided you need to talk this thing out. And by all the saints, we’re going to sit here until you do. So, stop resisting.”

Mobley shrugged away. “
Dang you all
. I don’t need your help.”

“Sure,” Jack said, “like you didn’t need the maggots or Lydia’s nursing care, or us covering your back. You know, I’ve moped over a lot of
señoritas
and suffered my share of grief, but you take the prize. I’ve seen men struck down by love for a woman, never like this. You’ve gone totally out of your gourd and we’re going to help you get back in.”

“Yeah,” Edson said.

Mobley was silent for a moment, then hostile. “What do you two know about it? What makes you think it’s about Lydia?”

Jack looked at Edson. He had a quizzical look on his face.

“Well, if it isn’t about Lydia, what is it about?”

“None of your danged business, that’s what.”

Jack looked back at Edson. “I think he needs to be thrashed a bit, to rearrange a few of those obstinate brain defects. What do you think?”

Edson’s mouth dropped open.

Mobley looked up, eyes afire. He forced his way out of the pincers and stood up. “You boys’re feeling real tough, is that it? You think you can whup on me and that’ll be it? Well, I’ve got news for you. I’ve been listenin’ to you two flap your gums long enough. If you can whup on me, then do it. But I’ll tell you right now, there ain’t two men in this whole world can whup on me when I’m riled, and
I am riled
.”

Jack stood, backed up, regretting his words. “Hold it there; you’re in no condition to fight. That wound has barely healed.” He raised his hands, as if to push Mobley back. “Now sit back down. We’re only joking.”

It was too late. Mobley wailed into Jack, arms and elbows flying in all directions. Jack was surprised by the suddenness of the attack and went down, dirt, mud, and grass flying.

Edson jumped up. He was reluctant to join in, uneasy about fighting with friends. Mobley clearly needed an outlet for whatever he was feeling, but a
fight
? Edson danced around the two wrestling men, looking for an opening, not wanting to find one. Jack screamed at him, “
Grab him, Edson. Damn it
.”

Edson stopped, took a deep breath, and then piled onto Mobley’s back, trying to pinion his arms. It was no use; Mobley Meadows was a six-foot-six inch whirlwind of elbows, kicking knees and dangerous fists that looked the size of gold pans. Edson took an elbow in the mouth, rolled off the pile, and felt his upper lip begin to swell.

Jack managed to lift his knee into Mobley’s crotch, expecting him to go flying off in agony. Mobley grunted, but kept on swinging both arms in great roundhouse circles, most of which ricocheted off Jack’s forearms.

Edson threw himself back into the fight and clamped his teeth down hard on the back of Mobley’s leg. The man howled, and Jack was able to roll free.

Mobley came at Edson like a madman. Edson saw the maniacal look in his face and backed away to gain fighting room.

Jack bounded to his feet and threw himself at Mobley’s knees just as Edson came charging back to grab him in a neck lock. Mobley went down hard, but was clearly not out of the fight.

* * *

Jack thought he’d been in some good battles in his life, but there’d never been anything like this. Mobley possessed a level of energy surpassing anything Jack had ever seen. They’d fought for half an hour, dry mouthed and dying of thirst, blood and gore splashed on faces, clothes in shreds. By unspoken agreement, neither he nor Edson had taken advantage of Mobley’s chest wound, making sure no blows were landed on his rib cage.

For an instant, Jack thought he detected a weakness he could exploit. Edson was grappling with Mobley in a wrestler’s grip, forehead to forehead, arms locked on necks. Jack had stepped back to catch his breath, but he now careened back into the fray.

He grabbed Mobley by the left arm and twisted it back and up behind his head. He managed to turn the man’s big hand back and around and was able to control him by forcing the hand to bend forward farther than it was designed to go. He then pulled the arm straight and planted his free hand on Mobley’s elbow.

Mobley tried to resist but grimaced in pain each time Jack lifted the arm and applied more pressure to the wrist. Jack could now lead him around bent over double wherever he wanted him to go.

“
Dang you, Jack. That’s not a fair hold
.”

“What do you mean,
fair
? There are no rules to this fight.” Jack reached around and rapped Mobley on his wounded rib. He immediately regretted the act. A small spot of blood still stained the bandage.

Mobley groaned in pain, his energy draining quickly. The fight had been taken out of him. Jack knew he could control him at will.

“
Uncle
,” Mobley said, his face a mask of pain.

“
What?
”

“
I said uncle, dang you. Now let me be
.”

Jack looked at Edson who shook his head. “I don’t think so. Not until you tell us what’s wrong. Now start talking.”

Jack forced Mobley’s hand farther forward and could see he was in great pain.

“
All right—all right. Oh, Lord Jesus. Where did you learn that hold?”

“I don’t know. It just came to me.” Jack maneuvered Mobley to the campfire and forced him down by the tall Sycamore. “Now,
talk
.”

Mobley gasped. Jack could see the man’s eyes begin to swell. He let him go and sat down next to him. Edson did the same on the opposite side. Mobley hung his head.

A few minutes later, he began to talk. He poured his heart out about Lydia, how he’d fouled up. He’d found himself tongue-tied, embarrassed whenever she’d tried to be close. He’d wanted to treat her like a queen, but she didn’t like it.

Jack nodded. He’d once done the same thing. “Some women don’t like to be put on a pedestal like that.”

Edson shook his head. “That ain’t it. You didn’t recognize her as a competent person. You acted like she might break in two if you didn’t protect her. She didn’t like that, not one bit.”

Mobley looked up. His eyes were clear but puffy and dark. “How do you know that?”

“I heard her tell you off at the party. So did most everyone else. Weren’t you listening?”

Mobley hesitated. He’d been in such a blind panic when she’d started yelling at him he’d heard little of what she actually said. He hung his head again.

Jack looked at Mobley. “That’s not all, is it? It really isn’t all about Lydia, or you would have gone back to Waco and tried to patch things up.”

Mobley shook his head. Jack knew he was right. “Was it the newspaper articles, all those lies?”

Mobley lifted his head and stared off into the distance. “Partly, I suppose. There was just enough truth in what they said to make me ashamed. I was too arrogant. Never considered how my actions might look to others. Yancy Potts said it best. I’m my own worst enemy.”

“Yancy? When did you see Yancy?”

Mobley’s jaw muscles flexed, eyes now flat and expressionless. “He came to my room the day after the newspapers came out. He’d found out about you being the son of General Santa Anna. He threatened to tell the papers if I didn’t agree to go along with them, become part of Davis’s gang of corrupt
friends.”

Jack let out a sigh. He’d known it would end sometime. His life since joining Mobley had been the best it had ever been. But he knew it could not last. Nothing good in his life had ever lasted very long.

He stood up, slapped the dust out of his pants and hooked his thumbs in his belt. “Look here, Mobley. I’m not worried about being revealed. I hate that
cabron
,
Santa Anna
. But I’m proud of my heritage as a Mexican. You may remember I was a little reluctant about this
Jack Anthony Lopes
business, but I went along because I had no other options. I’m not about to stand in your way, or be an obstacle to your success. I’ll just get on my horse and move on.”

“No you won’t, Jack, because it wouldn’t make any difference. He could still use it against me, anytime. He could take away the one thing that makes any judge effective. Public respect. It doesn’t matter why the public loses that respect, even if the conclusion is based on mindless prejudice. If the public doesn’t respect a judge, thinks he’s stupid or corrupt, he should resign. He can do nothing but bring the entire judiciary into disrepute.

Riding circuit without you two wouldn’t be the same, so I’d give it up before I’d let either of you go. I’d give it up before I’d sell out to those skunks too, but at that moment in time, I wasn’t thinkin’ too straight. And make no mistake; Yancy Potts is real good at this extortion business. He knew how much being a judge meant to me, so he really put my feet to the fire. If I didn’t go along, he would tell. If I did go along, I’d be giving up everything I ever stood for. Either way, I thought I was up the creek. Must have been in shock for a while, trying to figure a way out. I wanted to keep the job too danged bad.”

Mobley gazed off across the river. “I’d thought about it for some time, seeing no way out; and then I found myself actually considering what would happen if I sold Jack down the river. At that moment, it dawned on me what a rotten skunk I’d become. Even thinking about turning against one of the closest friends I’ve ever had, flew in the face of everything I’d ever held dear. Truth, honesty, honor, trust, it all suddenly seemed a charade, my life a lie. There was no job, not even as a federal circuit court judge, worth that. Now, the only thing I can think to do, is resign, like I said.”

Mobley stood and started brushing off his own pants. “The consolation is that Governor Davis, Yancy, and all their cronies are doomed as well. Richard Coke is going to win the election and they’re going to be out looking for work, just like us. The only one still around will be that
damned
Judge Hooks. He should be taken out and shot.”