Secession II: The Flood

by Joe Nobody

  Statuesque at nearly six feet tall, Chey had spent her high school years uncomfortable with her external appearance and the attention it garnered. She was a rancher’s daughter and wanted nothing more than to be accepted as such. Yet the popularity was a temptation.

  Prodded by expectations and still trying to find her way, she’d been coerced and funneled in directions not of her choosing. Rather than showing her prize longhorn heifer at the annual fair, she’d relented to external pressures and entered the competition to be the 4-H queen. She’d won, hands down, but Zach knew her smile at the crowning was forced. He found her in the stables a short time later, still wearing her gown and sash as she brushed the award-winning cow.

  A string of similar events followed, each seeming to pull Cheyenne further away from where her heart resided. She was the prom queen, waving to the crowds that lined Main Street from the back of Mr. Schlesinger’s red convertible during the 4th of July parade. The local chamber of commerce wanted her image on a poster. The local newspaper couldn’t seem to print enough pictures of her smile.

  One day, a man from Austin tracked her down. He owned a car dealership and had noted the beauty’s picture while passing through town. He’d pay her $100 per day to greet customers as they entered his showroom. Cheyenne had an aunt who lived in the distant city, and with a teary goodbye, she disappeared from Zach’s summer.

  Not that the Texan was without his own distractions. He’d discovered baseball, or more appropriately, his whip-like arm found a 95mph fastball. While Cheyenne was off greeting car shoppers and drawing the attention of every male on the north side of the state’s capital, Zach was talking to college scouts and striking out every farm boy that stepped up to the plate.

  When Cheyenne appeared at Texas University two years later, Zach hardly recognized his childhood friend. Gone was the guileless girl next door, the one who could cast a Zebco fishing reel clear across Miller’s pond. She had been replaced by a jaded, young lady who had been exposed, seduced, and manipulated by the world beyond.

  “Life in the big city drew me in, chewed me up, and spit me out,” she once confessed. “I lost my innocence, love of the simple life, and trust of mankind. Maybe I’m better for it, maybe not. The only thing for certain is that I’ve been changed by the experience.”

  Romance between the young coeds proved far more difficult than either would have expected. Zach was tall, thin, athletic, and desirable. Cheyenne was stunning by practically any measure. Their relationship, however, struggled to overcome their respective journeys through adolescence. Often, they acted more like siblings than potential mates.

  Over the years, they were pulled apart by commitments, careers, and life in general. Zach often wondered if there was any future with the gorgeous tomboy from his youth. Chey had the same doubts and insecurities about a man who kept so much of himself bottled up and hidden from everyone else.

  Yet, they both refused to move on. One would call or send a text, seeking the other’s company. Sometimes it was all passion and heat, other encounters profound and emotional.

  No matter what, each refused to push the other away.

  Zach decided brushing his teeth would be the next priority. Indulging one last admiring glance at Chey’s seemingly endless legs, the Texan noted, “I’ll be right back. I’ve got morning breath that would choke a goat.”

  “Go ahead and take a shower while you’re at it,” she announced, tossing her head, peering over her shoulder, and winking seductively. “I figure to have my way with you at least twice today, and since your best days are behind ya, you might need a little extra recovery time. I’ll keep the food warm.”

  Zach grunted but didn’t bother with a comeback. Without coffee, he didn’t stand a chance of one-upping the beauty in a mental joust, and twenty years of experience confirmed the effort would be futile.

  After a quick sequence of hygiene, Zach was enjoying a first-rate breakfast.

  “I hope you don’t mind my wrangling up that sourdough toast. It was the only thing edible I could find in the kitchen,” she teased. “Such is the life of a bachelor, I suppose.”

  “There’s no time to go to the grocery store these days,” he replied. “I’ve been in East Texas so much lately, I was lucky to have bread instead of a science experiment in a Pepperidge Farm bag.”

  Chey started to ask what was keeping him in the eastern part of the Republic… but didn’t. She knew he wouldn’t or couldn’t tell her. It was a wall he maintained, and she despised.

  She decided to come in from a slightly different direction. “How’s Sam doing?”

  “She’s hanging in there,” Zach began, and then relayed the story of his partner’s dreading the trip home.

  “Aww. I feel sorry for her. A couple of my friends are having the same issues with their kinfolk. People get too wrapped up in this stuff sometimes.”

  “Yeah. Sam’s no lightweight, but you would have thought she was about to face Godzilla the way she was talking. I hope she’s okay.”

  “You should go with her!” Cheyenne announced. “I’ve got to head back to Dallas first thing Sunday morning. You could be in Houston before she leaves.”

  “No way,” Zach responded immediately. “I’m her partner, not a babysitter. She’s a big girl. She’ll be fine.”

  But Chey wouldn’t let it go. “Zachariah Bass, you always drone on and on about how rangers never let a partner down... about how the people who wear badges are a family. You should go with her and at least keep her company on the drive. If she doesn’t want you tagging along, she’ll tell you.”

  Zach feigned a hurt look before responding, “It sounds like you’re trying to get rid of me or something.”

  Chey grinned, rising from her chair and sashaying around the table to wrap her arms around his neck and climbing on his lap in the process. After a warm kiss, a twinkle flashed in her eyes. “Don’t be silly. I’ve got all kinds of plans for you, cowboy. I figure after I’m done with you today, the last thing I’ll need to worry about is another woman.”

  True to her word, Cheyenne was up before sunrise, gathering her things and brewing coffee. Sedated by a full day of grilling, movie, tequila, and the lady’s insatiable attentions, Zach struggled to wake up and see her off.

  The beckoning aroma of the caffeine-in-a-cup tempted him a little, but his head still refused to leave the pillow.

  The sound of Chey’s voice drifted into the bedroom. His foggy mind soon realized she was talking into her cell phone. A mild curiosity prompted the ranger’s eyes to flutter. Who’s she calling at this time of the morning?

  “He’s probably going to be a little tuckered. I kept him pretty busy yesterday,” Cheyenne giggled. “I know he was worried about your trip today, and I’m going to send him with you. Besides, he’d just sit around here all day, watching football and drinking beer.”

  Who the hell is she talking to? Besides, what’s wrong with drinking beer and watching football? That’s what I had planned… for….

  Despite an overindulgence in BBQ ribs and the exhausting physical exertions of the previous day, Zach managed to focus his sharply honed, crime-fighting mind and patch the clues together. She’s talking to Sam! They are plotting out my day!

  He was up and out of bed in a flash, moving toward the kitchen with haste, building up a head of steam with every step. Cheyenne heard him coming, turning with a smile and saying, “Oh, here he is now. I’ll let you two figure out the logistics.”

  And with that, she held out her cell phone like a matador pinning a bull with a sword. “It’s Sam. She’d really appreciate your company today.”

  Zach didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t unleash the verbal onslaught primed in his chest – not with Sam listening on the phone. That, or refusing the call, would raise more questions on Monday than he cared to answer. With a sheepish grin that acknowledged, “You got me this time,” Zach accepted the device.

  “Hello.”

  “Zach, Chey said you were worried about
my trip. She also mentioned you might be willing to tag along and keep me from shooting a family member. And… well, that sounds like a pretty good idea… if you’re sure you don’t mind….”

  There was something in Sam’s voice that killed every excuse Zach had queued. She really was dreading the trip. Having someone along would make it all easier. Damn it, the Texan thought, flashing a grimace at Cheyenne for interfering.

  “Sure thing, I wasn’t going to be doing much today anyway. I mean, if you really want some company.”

  “I know I’m being silly, but I would feel better about the whole ordeal. Besides, traveling to the U.S. isn’t as safe as it used to be.”

  Zach quickly made arrangements for the time and place to meet and disconnected the mobile. Cheyenne was standing by the door with her bag. “I realize you’re ticked off at me,” she began, “but you should know that Sam and I talk all the time. She told me two weeks ago how anxious she was about this trip. You and I both are doing a friend a favor.”

  “So you’re claiming you didn’t violate a confidence?”

  “No. I learned my lesson the last time. Besides, you need to get out more anyway. A little day trip will do you good. I’ll catch up with you the middle of next week. Call me if you need anything, or if you’re going to be in Dallas. I’ll buy you a beer.”

  After a quick peck on the cheek, she was gone, exiting through the front door with her typical flair and rush of blonde hair.

  “I don’t have a chance if those two women start teaming up on me,” Zach whispered, staring at the door. “Even a Texas Ranger has limits.”

  The Mexican was exhausted, but there was one more assignment before calling it quits. Probably the most important task of all.

  He sat in his newly purchased Lexus, the shiny ride somewhat out of place in the Baton Rouge neighborhood that had seen better days. It was a risk, but hopefully he wouldn’t be there for long.

  Less than an hour passed before Ghost’s second in command noticed a familiar figure meandering along the sidewalk. A slight smile tugged at his lips.

  The man everyone called the “Hippie” hadn’t changed much in the last two years. Tall and skinny, with shoulder-length hair fastened in a ponytail, he ambled along with a woman at his side.

  She fit the profile as well, arms covered in dark tattoos, rail thin frame with hollow, dark eyes surrounded by circles of exhaustion – or drug abuse. The Mexican could tell it was the latter. He had developed a second sense about such things.

  He waited until Hippie was just a few car lengths away and then exited the 2-year old luxury sedan. “Waz up, Señor?”

  For a moment, the Mexican wondered if his old acquaintance’s brain was too far gone to recognize someone from the recent past. After a few seconds, a light turned on behind Hippie’s eyes.

  “Dude! How are… it’s been… oh my gawd, how long? What’s up, man?”

  With a smile and open arms, the Mexican crossed in front of his car and approached the two pedestrians. After a friendly hug and handshake, he got directly to the point.

  “I’m flush and back in business,” he explained softly, glancing around to make sure no one could overhear. “I need product.”

  “You’ve come to the right place,” replied Hippie. “Let’s go on back to my pad and catch up on old times.”

  Visions of a filthy, putrid, roach infested apartment filled the Mexican’s mind. Shaking his head and peering at his watch, he said, “I’d love to, but time’s a wasting. Why don’t you and your lady hop in my ride? The AC is blowing like an artic breeze.”

  “Sure, why not?”

  Thirty minutes later, the Mexican had negotiated a deal for $60,000 worth of cocaine, including a deposit of $30,000 bogus Texas greenbacks.

  He knew he’d greatly exceeded street value, but the money wasn’t real. Ghost would be pleased with his progress.

  He watched Hippie and his skanky señorita saunter away, a renewed bounce in the dealer’s step. “Enjoy the profit, hombre, but spend it quickly.”

  Shifting the Lexus in gear, he stole a quick glance at his map before heading to the hotel and a few hours of sleep. He’d hit the Mississippi casinos tonight.

  Chapter 8

  “Are you sure you don’t mind, Zach? I don’t want to mess up your Sunday.”

  “It’s in the ranger handbook,” he responded stoically. “A ranger never lets his partner enter a dangerous situation solo.”

  “For once I like that damned handbook.”

  They met at a truck stop just outside Texarkana. With little concern about the prospect of a speeding ticket in the light, Sunday morning traffic, he’d averaged just under 90 miles an hour. Good thing Moose is back in Crenshaw, he thought.

  They didn’t have authorization to cross the border in an official capacity, nor was there any official business necessitating their excursion. After a java refill and a quick restroom break, the lanky Texan folded his frame into the passenger seat of Sam’s sub-compact sedan. Right about that time, he sorely missed his government-issued pickup truck and its legroom. The quad cab is something I am going to miss if Putnam cans our asses on Monday, he considered.

  After sliding the seat back all the way, Zach nodded his head east to indicate he was ready to roll.

  “Hey, what does that handbook of yours say about legally carrying our weapons outside the Republic?” Sam asked as they got in line to cross into the United States.

  “Well, last I heard that is one of the areas still in flux for Texas citizens, but I am pretty sure rangers have diplomatic immunity,” the senior officer answered.

  “Hell, if I know. I guess we’re about to find out.”

  “Well, if our weapons are confiscated, Putnam is going to have our heads for sure,” Zach commented in an artificially exasperated tone.

  After 20 minutes of waiting at the U.S. Border Patrol crossing station, it was finally the duo’s turn. Interstate 30 had been transformed since the secession. The once unobstructed, free flowing lanes at the boundary had been expanded to nearly 10 times their original width.

  The two eastbound lanes gradually fed into an area 20 slots wide, each containing a small booth. Concrete barriers separated the approaches while LED signs notified the drivers which stations were open. Sam stopped next to the green-uniformed man and rolled down her window, passing the two travelers’ drivers licenses for review.

  “Country of citizenship?” snapped the agent as he glanced at the plastic-coated identification.

  “Texas.”

  “Both of you?” he asked, making sure the documents and answers were in alignment.

  “Yes,” Zach replied.

  The overtaxed agent tapped the touchscreen on the monitor in front of him to record the response. “And what is your business in the United States?”

  “I’m going to visit family,” the raven-haired officer responded. “My dad’s birthday party,” she offered, smiling.

  “How long will you be staying in America?” the dispassionate official inquired.

  “Just today.”

  The border guard’s eyes darted from driver to passenger twice. He then glanced at the computer monitor mounted above the lane where he studied a series of displays flashing across the screen.

  Numerous sensors had studied Sam’s vehicle while it was in line. Infrared, material density, weight, license plate and VIN scans had all been conducted electronically.

  Since nothing unusual was detected by the computers and both occupants behaved like innocent motorists, there was little more for the agent to do. “Thank you. You can be on your way, and please have a safe trip.”

  As they moved along, Sam glanced over at Zach and observed, “That is still weird. I don’t care how many times I pass through this checkpoint; it’s so strange to enter a different country just to go home.”

  “It’s even worse coming back. At least we won’t be hassled on the Texas side.”

  The remainder of the drive passed mostly in silence, both of the Texa
s residents viewing the Arkansas countryside without comment or observation. There was little difference between the two nations, at least on the surface.

  Approaching the first major exit, Zach nodded toward the towering highway sign advertising a truck stop. “Wow. Look at the price of gasoline and diesel.”

  Sam whistled, “It’s worse than when I passed through here the last time. Six dollars a gallon? I’m glad I filled up back home.”

  “How do the truckers and professional drivers make a living?” Zach wondered. “Diesel is almost $7.00 a gallon.”

  “That’s part of the reason why my family hates Texas so much. And the fact that one of my brothers is a teamster doesn’t exactly facilitate family harmony. Plus, I’m sure that Washington spins the tariff story to make us look bad.”

  In reality, both nations were hurting their citizens with what the newspapers had dubbed the Tariff Wars. Both governments had completely underestimated the economic impact of the secession. Both had been hit with a double whammy when anticipated cost savings hadn’t materialized.

  Washington started the war, identifying Texas’s unquenchable hunger for steel. Austin retaliated, slapping a fee on every refined petroleum product exported from the Lone Star Republic. At the last count Zach could remember, there were over 300 categories of products now under tariff from both nations.

  Fresh fruit in Texas had skyrocketed. Sugar was five times its pre-secession price in the States. The list continued on and on, as did the bitching and complaining by the populations of both countries.

  In addition to the difference in prices, Zach noticed another new development along the international boundary. Currency exchanges.

  Roadside billboards that once advertised greasy spoons, tourist attractions, and gas stations now displayed ads for money exchanges. Zach had heard such businesses were thriving in the border towns, just another sign of the division between the two countries.