The unofficial persecution might be a different matter.
Stark looked at Hammond. “Can I expect a better job of protecting me the rest of the time I’m here, Sheriff?”
“I’ll increase the guards,” Hammond said bitterly. “To tell you the truth, I’ll be damned glad when you’re out of here, Stark.”
Stark nodded. “You and me both.” He had more confidence in his own abilities to protect himself than he did in the sheriff’s.
“That’s all,” Wilfredo said. “I’ll be in touch with Sam Gonzales and cover the same ground with him.” He turned to leave but paused to say, “I hope you’re proud of yourself, Mr. Stark. Because of you, the whole valley is in an uproar.”
“That’s what’s wrong with the whole thing,” Stark shot back. “The valley should have been in an uproar long before now over everything that criminals like Ramirez have gotten away with.” He switched his gaze to Hammond. “For example, Sheriff, do you have any leads to the man who attacked me and killed those other men?”
“We’re investigating,” Hammond snapped.
“But when it turns out the guy works for Ramirez, you won’t do anything about it, will you?”
“I told you before, Stark—I do my job.” With a big hand, Hammond jerked the door open and stalked out before Stark could say anything else. Wilfredo followed, a worried look in his face.
Stark settled back against the pillows behind him. Wilfredo, in his opinion, was an honest man, but one trapped in a corrupt, ineffectual system. Hammond was just rotten, right to the core. Both of them were a danger to the honest people of the valley.
Of course, Stark thought, some would say the same thing about him.
Hodge Purdee came in around lunchtime. Elaine was back and was sitting in the chair leafing through a magazine.
“Hello, John Howard,” Purdee said as he shook hands with Stark. “Sorry I haven’t been by to see you before now. We’ve been mighty busy lately. I suppose you know that, though.”
Elaine got to her feet. “Would you two like me to leave?”
“No, that’s all right,” Stark told her. “Anything I’ve got to say to Hodge I can say in front of you.”
“And I certainly have no objection to your presence, Mrs. Stark,” Purdee said. “With all due respect, you make even a hospital room look better, ma’am.”
She smiled and sat down again.
Stark chuckled and said, “Stop flirting with my wife long enough to answer a question for me, Hodge.”
“Sure, if I can. Answer the question, that is. I can stop flirtin’ with Mrs. Stark, but it’ll take an effort.”
Stark grew more serious and asked, “Did you send me an e-mail a while back?”
Purdee frowned. “An e-mail? No, I don’t recall ever sending you an e-mail, John Howard.”
“Not even an anonymous one?”
“No. What’s all this about?”
“I’ve got another question first. Do you know a man in his late forties, early fifties, still in very good shape, with red hair and kind of a rawboned face? He’s not fair-skinned like most redheads, either, but dark enough that he could have some Hispanic blood in him.”
Purdee thought about it for a moment and then shook his head. “I don’t think I’ve ever run into somebody who looks like that. Who is he?”
“The fella who tried to kill me last night. I thought he might work for you.”
“John Howard!” Elaine exclaimed.
Purdee’s face purpled with anger, and his hands clenched into knobby fists. “Damn it, I thought we were friends!” he exploded. “By God, if you weren’t shot up and in a hospital bed, I’d—”
Quickly, Stark held up his hands, palms outward. “Hold on, both of you. I didn’t put that very well. Just listen for a minute, and I’ll explain what I’m talking about.”
“It better be good,” Purdee snapped.
Stark talked for several minutes, starting with the mysterious e-mail he had gotten that put him on the trail of Tommy’s killers, the trail that had led him to the Blue Burro. He went on to explain about the man he had talked to in the strip club and how he had taken him for one of Purdee’s informants. He finished up by saying that the same man had been the one who’d attacked him the night before.
“I wasn’t really accusing you of anything, Hodge,” Stark concluded. “As soon as the guy showed up here and started shooting at me, I knew you hadn’t sent him.”
“No, and I didn’t send you that e-mail, either. I’m a little disappointed that you believed I’d try to make an end run around the law that way, John Howard.”
Stark shrugged. “I had just talked to you not long before, and I knew how frustrated you were by the whole situation along the border. I just figured you were trying to do something about it the only way you knew how.”
“Well . . . I’m not saying I might not have done something like that . . . but in this case, I sure didn’t.”
Elaine asked, “But then who sent that e-mail? The man in the Blue Burro?”
“That’s my best guess,” Stark said with a nod.
“Who is he?”
“He must work for Ramirez. His top killer, maybe.”
Purdee shook his head. “That doesn’t make any sense. Why would he set up three of Ramirez’s own men like that?”
“Maybe he wasn’t setting them up,” Stark said. “Maybe they were just the bait in the trap.”
“To lure you in,” Elaine said. “And you went, just like a mouse to cheese.”
Stark smiled. “Yeah. And the redhead could have figured that if Ramirez’s men weren’t able to kill me, he’d have a better idea of just what he was up against.”
“Like a test,” Purdee said. He thought it over and nodded. “It makes sense, sort of, anyway. Who knows how a cold-blooded killer’s mental processes work? He could have considered the lives of three men a small price to pay to see you in action, John Howard.”
“Lambs to the slaughter,” Elaine murmured.
“Not lambs,” Stark said. “Those three tortured and killed Tommy. They had it comin’.”
“I’m not arguing with you about that. But it’s starting to look like this man may have been manipulating things all along.”
“Yeah, and I don’t like bein’ anybody’s puppet,” Stark said. “But he’s seen now what I can do. From here on out, it may be him against me, pure and simple.”
“You’re in no shape to have some crazed killer after you,” Purdee said. “You’ll need guards around the clock . . . better guards than Hammond can provide. I’ll see what I can do, John Howard.”
“I’m obliged,” Stark said. “But only until I’m back on my feet.”
“What happens then?” Purdee asked.
“Then I start taking the war to Ramirez,” Stark said grimly.
Before Purdee left, Stark asked him about Kelso, the DEA man. Purdee knew him and didn’t think much of him. “Officious prick,” were his exact words, and Stark concurred with that judgment.
“Still, you don’t want to get too far on the bad side of the DEA,” Purdee had warned him. “They’re bad boys to have as enemies.”
“So am I,” Stark had said.
Now he was nervous, as nervous as if he were about to go into battle, maybe even more so. From the door of the hospital room, Elaine said, “Are you ready?”
Stark took a deep breath. “As ready as I’ll ever be. Let ’em in.”
Elaine opened the door to admit the network news correspondent and the camera crew that followed her.
The reporter was an attractive brunette woman in her mid-thirties. She wore a stylish pair of glasses, as if that would make her seem more intelligent and serious, but her skirt was also short enough to show off a good pair of legs. She began the report the camera crew was taping by saying, “I’m here with Del Rio, Texas, rancher John Howard Stark, who finds himself in the hospital as the result of an attack on his home by gunmen working for the leader of an infamous Colombian drug cartel.” She turned to Stark
. “Mr. Stark, as I understand it, you’re not safe from these criminals even here in the hospital.”
“That’s right,” Stark said, feeling a little uncomfortable as he looked into the camera. The red light on it was annoying. “Last night a man working for Ernesto Ramirez, better known as the Vulture, got into the hospital and tried to kill me. He murdered four men on his way in.”
“And how do you know this assailant works for Senor Ramirez?”
“Because Ramirez has sent men to try to kill me before. Some of his men succeeded in murdering my uncle, Newton Stark, and one of my ranch hands, Chaco Hernandez. Before that, Ramirez had my neighbor and friend Tomas Carranza tortured and killed.”
The reporter lifted the microphone back to her mouth. “These are serious charges. What are the local law enforcement agencies doing about them?”
“The sheriff’s office is investigating . . . so Sheriff Hammond says.”
“Do you think Sheriff Hammond isn’t handling the matter properly?”
Stark shook his head. “I’d prefer not to comment on that.”
Hammond would be furious when he saw this tape, Stark thought, but that was just too damned bad. Ramirez probably wouldn’t be happy, either.
“You’ve had your own legal troubles . . .” the reporter said, letting the statement trail off so that it turned into a question.
“Yes, I have,” Stark admitted, “but they all stem from the fact that I stood up to Ramirez. You see, Ramirez is used to getting his own way around here. He moved in across the border a while back, and he’s been smuggling tons of drugs into the United States ever since. Hardly a night goes by that one of Ramirez’s shipments doesn’t come across the river somewhere. In fact, that’s what started this whole mess. Ramirez wanted to pay Tommy Carranza to look the other way while Ramirez’s drugs crossed Tommy’s land. He wanted to turn the Carranza ranch into a narcotics superhighway, I reckon you could say. But Tommy said no, and he decked the lawyer that Ramirez sent to talk to him. That made Ramirez mad enough to have Tommy killed.”
“You know all of this for a fact?” the reporter asked.
“I’m completely convinced it’s the truth.”
“Then why don’t the authorities do something about it?”
“Some of the federal agencies are trying, but they’re understaffed and underfunded. I guess stopping the poisoning of America isn’t as important as some pork barrel project somewhere else or the latest round of social engineering experiments that the government wants to pawn off on us. Some of it’s just a matter of too much red tape. As for the local law enforcement agencies . . .” Stark shrugged. “You’d have to ask them about that.”
“We will,” the reporter promised, and Stark imagined that Norval Lee Hammond would be starting to squirm even more. She went on, “What about this so-called citizens’ patrol you’ve started?”
“Now hold on a minute,” Stark said. “I didn’t start that. I support it a hundred percent, but I can’t take any credit for it. That’s just an example of folks standing up for themselves and taking some responsibility back into their own hands instead of relying for everything on a government that’s too big and uncaring to get the job done anymore.”
“Some people say they’re taking the law into their own hands, not responsibility.”
“If the legal authorities did what they’re supposed to, the people wouldn’t have to take such extreme action to look after themselves. Look, I know the men who have organized these citizens’ patrols. I’ve known them for years. They’re good men, honest men, law-abiding men. But they’re tired of their homes, their livelihoods, and their families being threatened by a bunch of no-account thugs whose every breath is a waste of perfectly good air.” Stark knew he was getting wound up, but he couldn’t help it. He hadn’t rehearsed what he was going to say. He was just speaking from the heart. “None of them want to take up a gun and kill or even injure somebody else. These are peaceable men. But they’re just tired of what’s going on down here. This is Texas. This is America. We don’t just let evil people come in and attack us without striking back. Sure, there’s an element in the press and in the government that wants to blame us for everything, to say that if somebody comes after us, we must’ve done something to deserve it. That’s bull! This is the best country on earth, and the one most likely to just let folks live and let live. This mess here in Val Verde County, it’s just one example of what’s going on all over the country. The will of the people is supposed to mean something, but it doesn’t anymore. We sit back and let the criminals and the drug smugglers and the terrorists do as they damned well please and wring our hands and complain that somebody ought to do something about it.” Stark paused and took a deep breath. “Well, down here on this stretch of the border, somebody is doing something about it. The people are standing up for what’s right.” He nodded grimly at the camera. “That’s all. I’m talked out.”
The reporter looked a little stunned. She had probably gotten more of a response than she was counting on. And as a member of the media, she had probably heard some things she didn’t want to hear. Slowly, she raised the microphone to her lips again and said, “Ah, thank you, Mr. Stark. Very eloquently put.”
Stark knew there wasn’t a damned thing eloquent about what he’d just said. But eloquent or not, it was the truth.
And when that tape hit the airwaves, he thought . . . well, the old saying about the fan and the shit came to mind.
Twenty-three
“What do you mean the network won’t run it?”
Elaine shook her head. “They say it’s too inflammatory and one-sided.”
“God damn!” Stark slammed a fist down on the bed rail. “They’ll give airtime to every left-wing nutcase who wants to spew venom about everything he thinks is wrong with the country, and they won’t show what I’ve got to say about somebody doing right for a change?”
“I’m sorry, John Howard,” she said with a shrug. “There are plenty of other reporters you can talk to. One of those fellas who has a talk-radio show called and said he’d like to have you on.”
Stark was aware of talk radio, of course, but had never listened to it much. He was too busy and just didn’t have the time. “You think it’s a good idea?” he asked.
“It can’t hurt. You want me to call them back and say you’ll do it?”
Stark considered for a moment and then nodded. “Sure. It’s not that I think what I have to say is so all-fired important. But there’s been a lot of publicity about this mess, and I’d like to get my side of the story out there.”
Elaine nodded. “I’ll get in touch with them.”
That afternoon when she came back in, she seemed excited. “What’s going on?” Stark asked her. “Did you talk to that radio fella?”
“Yes, but there’s more happening than just that, John Howard,” she replied. “Somebody at the TV network must have seen the interview with you and thought it wasn’t right of them to refuse to air it. He snuck out a copy somehow and posted it on a Web site.”
“I’m on the Internet?” Stark said with a frown.
“That’s right, and other people have downloaded it and reposted it. You’re all over the Web, John Howard. It’s estimated that over a million people have downloaded the video in the past hour, and the number is just going up.”
Elaine picked up the TV remote and turned the set on, changing the channel over to one of the cable news outfits. A well-groomed anchorman sat there talking about Stark and the Internet video. A photograph of Stark seemed to float over his left shoulder.
“Well, I’ll swan,” Stark said as he stared at the screen.
Elaine smiled. “They say it’s going to be the most downloaded video since that rich girl’s sex tape.”
Stark reached up with his left hand and scratched his head. “I don’t know if that’s a distinction I want or not,” he mused.
“Whether you want it or not, you’ve got it. Get ready for your fifteen minutes of fame, John Howar
d . . . although I’ve got a hunch it’s going to last longer than that.”
Elaine was right about that. During the next few days, as Stark recuperated from his wounds, he did interviews with numerous magazine and newspaper reporters. More TV camera crews showed up, too. Now that the original interview was freely available on the Internet, the networks considered themselves scooped, and they were scrambling to do damage control. The big-name talk-radio hosts were after Stark as well, and he talked to them as much as he could.
Another man might have let all the attention go to his head. Stark regarded it as a necessary evil. He was worried, though, that the whole thing was taking on a life of its own and mushrooming into a media sensation. Such things were often just nine-day wonders. The public grew obsessed with them overnight, and then forgot about them almost as quickly. Hell, he thought, even the 9/11 attacks had shut up the liberal carping for only a short time before they went back to trying to tear down everything good about the country. This border skirmish was tiny compared to that.
The story seemed to have legs, though. By the time a few days had passed, the term “Stark’s War” had become part of the national vocabulary. And Stark himself was a national hero: an honest, hardworking Texas rancher smiting the evil drug lords who had killed his uncle and were polluting America with their poison.
Vengeance is mine, sayeth the Lord, according to Scripture, but for many people, that vengeance now seemed personified in John Howard Stark.
When he walked out of the hospital after being released, with a circle of his friends around him, the crowd of media was waiting, as was a large gathering of the citizens from Del Rio and the surrounding area. Cheers went up from them as Stark walked out with Elaine at his side. His left arm was healed except for a little stiffness. The right shoulder was in good shape, too, although he would have to be careful with it. His strength had returned, and despite the regulation about leaving the hospital in a wheelchair, he had walked out on his own two legs. He nodded to the reporters who crowded around and said, “No comment,” to all their questions. He had talked enough, said what he had to say.
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