C
HAPTER
F
ORTY-FIVE
Almost the entire population of Shady Hills went
en masse
to Antonio's funeral, packing the church in Devil's Pass. In this time of sorrow, the upcoming election had been forgotten for the most part, although Janis Albert, who had worked as a city secretary before her retirement, had volunteered to fill the same post in Shady Hills and went to the community center every day in case anyone wanted to file to run. Stark, Nick Medford, and the other candidates had already turned in their paperwork to be on the ballot come September 28.
As Stark expected, a Border Patrol helicopter spotted the burned-out pickup in a desolate area about twenty miles up the Rio Grande. There was nothing left in it to provide a clue to the identities of the men who'd killed Antonio Gomez.
For now, the protesters and the media were gone from Shady Hills. Stark fully expected that they would be back before the election, but considering the somber mood that gripped the park these days, he was glad for the break from that annoyance.
Then one day Janis called him and said, “You've got some competition for the job of mayor, Mr. Stark. Someone's just filed to run against you.”
That came as no surprise to Stark. From the beginning, he had expected someone to run against him. He asked Janis, “Who is it?”
“Mitchell Larson.”
The name meant nothing to Stark.
“Does he live here in the park?”
“No, he's from one of those housing developments down by the high school.” Janis sounded a little tentative, as if she might have done something wrong, as she went on, “I Googled him. He has a real estate agency in Devil's Pass.”
“Well, I guess now that he's a citizen of Shady Hills, he wants to do his civic duty.”
“Maybe,” Janis said. “But I've got a funny feeling about him, Mr. Stark.”
Stark didn't know Janis well enough to have any idea whether one of her “funny feelings” meant anything at all, so he said, “I'm sure we'll get to know a lot more about him during the campaign.”
“Maybe.”
“What about the council positions? Anybody file for them?”
“Not yet. Those candidates are still running unopposed.”
Stark thanked Janis and hung up the phone.
That night, someone drove by on the highway and fired random shots into the park. No one was injured, but that was pure, blind luck. One of the bullets shattered a window and came within a few feet of an elderly woman watching TV in her living room. More windows were broken out, and slugs punched holes in walls.
The volunteer guards at the gate didn't get a good look at the vehicle involved, although they were able to send a few shots after it as it sped off; they knew only that it was an SUV. Since Shady Hills didn't have a police force yet, the sheriff's department responded to the 911 call, but the deputies weren't able to do anything except take some reports.
“We'd better get used to it,” Stark told his friends when they got together the next day to discuss the matter. “The cartel laid low for a while, but they're back now. Killing Antonio was likely just the first blow in a campaign of terror.”
“You think they want us out of here?” Jack Kasek asked.
Stark nodded and said, “That's what it's starting to look like. Have you had anybody else tell you that they're moving out?”
“I got three calls this morning,” Jack said grimly. “People are willing to break their leases and take the loss just to get out of here.”
Alton Duncan said, “Bullets flying around tend to make people worry less about money. If John Howard is right and this is just the start . . . if this keeps up every night . . . Shady Hills will be a ghost town before too long.”
“We can't let that happen,” Stark said. “Tonight we'll post guards all along the fence. If anybody comes along and starts shooting, they'll get some hot lead in return.”
“I like that idea,” Jack said. “I'll spread the word. I don't think we'll have any shortage of volunteers.”
They didn't. As night fell, two dozen armed men were posted in the shadows behind the wooden fence. They were armed with shotguns, deer rifles, and .22s, and they were ready to fight back if the park was attacked.
Nothing happened. The cartel thugs were too smart to make a move two nights in a row. They planned to keep the park residents nervous and off-balance instead. But it didn't matter how long they waited before striking again. There were enough volunteers to man the positions along the fence every night from now until the election.
Two nights later, traffic on the highway was light in the hours after midnight. The moon was only a tiny sliver providing a faint glow. Because of that, nobody saw the car running without lights until it was roaring alongside the fence. Flame jetted from the shadows inside the vehicle as automatic weapons stuttered. Then, with a whoosh of fire, a rocket of some sort exploded from the backseat. The volunteers on the other side of the fence had already started returning the fire, but several of them had to leap frantically for cover as the rocket zoomed between them. A second later it slammed into a mobile home and detonated. The concussion shook the ground and shocked the defenders so much that their shots dwindled away to nothing as the attackers sped off into the darkness.
Flames leaped high from the burning mobile home.
Reuben Torres was among the volunteers near the site of the explosion. He dropped the rifle he had borrowed from his father for this duty and ran to the front door of the mobile home. A kick shattered the lock and sent the door flying open.
Thick black smoke boiled out. Reuben drew back for a moment, tore a large piece of cloth off the T-shirt he was wearing, and pressed it over his mouth and nose as he plunged forward again. The smoke stung his eyes and blinded him for a few seconds, but then it began to clear and the leaping flames provided enough nightmarish light for him to see where he was going.
He was in the living room of the home. He spotted an elderly man lying motionless on the floor, with a woman about the same age trying futilely to pick him up and drag him. Reuben ran to her and caught hold of her arm.
“Ma'am, you've got to get out of here!” he shouted over the crackling roar of the inferno that was leaping toward them. “I'll get your husband!”
For a second the woman fought him; then she seemed to realize what he'd said. She turned and stumbled toward the door, coughing heavily. Reuben bent, got his arms around the unconscious man, and heaved him up.
At least, Reuben hoped the old man was only unconscious.
He turned and hurried toward the door. The rush of superheated air from the house was pulling the fire along with it. Reuben felt the heat pounding against the back of his head almost like a fist and knew better than to look back. He cradled the old man, who probably didn't weigh more than a hundred and thirty pounds, against his chest and made a run for it.
Flames practically exploded out the door behind him as he emerged from the mobile home. He dived off the porch and twisted in midair so he would take the brunt of the impact when he and his unconscious cargo hit the ground.
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.
C
HAPTER
F
ORTY-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!”