“I heard you had a rendezvous with the Mad Russian this morning.”
Starr interrupted. “I believe he’s Ukrainian, ma’am.”
Ms. Lloyd smiled broadly, an expression revealing the chasm between her casual smirks and the genuine article. “To borrow a horse-related analogy, I always bet on the winning pony. Rodchenko is a flash in the pan. A brilliant flash, but not the future of Texas. Certainly his anarchical views could prove disastrous for the financial district as well as the Capitol. His people’s rebellion needs to end.”
“And me?”
“The people who like the professor, will like you more. I promise it.” Again she blossomed with a genuine warmth Starr found difficult to resist.
But he’d made up his mind before the meeting had begun. “Back my plan, and I’ll win the race.”
“Good. I’m glad we agree.” Ms. Lloyd stood, ending the first closed-door meeting of Starr’s suddenly limitless career. As she ushered him back into the lavish receiving area she continued, “now, there are a few more things you need to know about our friend, Professor Rodchenko, that will be best explained by my chief of security, Sheriff Lickter. If you’ll excuse me.” She stepped back into her office and closed the doors.
Lickter waved him toward the couches without getting up. “How does it feel, Senator?”
Starr made for the service bar first. “I’m going to need more sugar in that coffee.”
SIX
Put Your Dying Shoes On
“I don’t like it.” Lickter dropped into the wingback chair and ran his fingers under the brim of his hat. “Hell yeah, there are risks.” Tossing his Stetson onto the bed, he cupped the phone’s receiver around his mouth. “Not the least of which is to my daughter. And why shouldn’t I make this about Daisy? I didn’t object to pairing her with Starr, but Oleg’s unstable.” He swore under his breath. “He’s a God damned madman. What am I saying? I’m saying we pull the plug.”
He listened for several seconds while rubbing his temples. “You pay me to advise in matters of security. Well I’m advising. There are too many variables unaccounted for. My mole can’t find egg in an omelet and Rodchenko isn’t some hooch hound with a chemistry degree in bathtub booze.” He plucked the splintered toothpick from his teeth. “Be more specific? You want me to be more—” he flicked the chewed up piece of wood out the opened balcony door. “Tomorrow’s auction in and of itself is a disaster waiting to happen. How do we know he won’t pull the job then and there?” He stood. “Because we’d be expecting it? You’re damn right I’m expecting it.” He sat.
“Alright, I’m sorry.” He nodded his head. “It’s just that—yes she’s my—” A heavy rapping on the door interrupted him. “Sorry, gotta go. Fine. Yes, you’ve got my word.” He hung up. “Coming, baby girl.” But the door opened before he could get there.
On the other side stood a man holding a gun, blood oozing from the right side of his face, his clothing and skin charred. “What in Sam Hill?” Lickter lunged forward, knocking the gun to the ground and clutching his mole by the shoulders before he could collapse on the Persian rug. Tugging him inside, he shut the door.
“I,” the mole gasped for breath, but cooked flesh around his mouth, chin and neck had stretched to constrict his airway.
“Daddy?” Daisy’s voice drifted from the hallway.
“I ain’t decent. I’ll be right out.”
“What’s new?” She huffed.
Lickter snatched his towel from the back of the door and threw it down, lowering the man onto it. “Say it, boy. What happened?” In response, a gurgling exhale of foul gases escaped through a hole in his throat. Lickter shook his head and winced as he grabbed the man’s head and snapped it to the side. “No man deserves this.”
He pulled the towel tight and hefted the corpse onto the balcony. Low in the sky, the sun reflected off the underbellies of the remaining clouds and bathed the city in a fiery hue. He shifted a large potted plant to obstruct the body from the upper floor windows of the Grandview building. Experience told him more bodies would pile up before this Austin job was through, and he briefly pined for the simple border violence of his beloved Del Rio. But the life of intrigue proved a lurid mistress always drawing him back. He’d seen the slaughter house, and when he ordered a New York strip he knew exactly where it came from.
Just before he closed the balcony doors, he doubled back to check the mole’s pockets. The right side of his clothing had been burned or melted into his skin, but the left side remained intact. Lickter found a piece of paper, folded several times. He hoped to God it would be worth a man’s life, even an arrogant little snot’s. Shoving it into his own pants’ pocket, he hurried inside.
His reflection in the mirror revealed a bloody mess. He tore his shirt off, scattering buttons in the process. Kicking it under the bed, he muttered to himself, “Damn nice shirt, too.”
Daisy pounded on the wall between their rooms. “We’re going to be late. Starr’s probably waiting. Speaking of Starr, I’ve got a bone—”
“Hold your damn horses!” Lickter wiped his face with a cloth from the basin and tidied himself in the mirror. Why the hell am I still doing this? But he knew the answer; he just hoped it wouldn’t cost him his daughter. She still believed in right and wrong and day and night and good and bad. She still hoped for love in life, and her hope was all he had left.
Her room door slammed shut, followed by the click of angry heels in the hall. As she flung the door open, he spotted his mole’s weapon still on the floor and kicked it out of the way. One eyebrow raised, his little girl silently gave him the ugly. “The expression doesn’t match the outfit,” he said, trying to soften the situation.
Daisy craned her neck to see past him into the disheveled room. “What are you up to, Sheriff?” He opened his mouth to respond. “I don’t want to hear it. Whatever it is, I don’t like it.” She pushed him back into the room and shut the door behind them. “You know what I do like? I like James Starr, and I told him as much today. What I don’t like is that you like him.”
“Honey—”
“Honey nothing. You and whoever it is that you work for,” she rolled her eyes while poking her finger into his chest, “like Senator Starr for something involving selfish gain, I’m sure. And you want me to like him too.” She pushed him again. Putting his hands up, he plopped onto the foot of the bed. She looked slowly around the room, making him nervous he’d missed something—a spot of blood.
“It stinks in here.” Daisy wrinkled her nose before gripping the Sheriff with her stare. “I’m playing along for now, but I’m warning you. I really like him, and I won’t let you or the voice on the other side of the telephone,” she paused enough to cause him worry again, “turn him into some sort of twisted political monster. Clear?”
Out of all the puckey he'd given, taken and stepped in throughout his life, somehow God had seen it fit to give him Daisy as a daughter. He had no idea how he hadn't screwed it up, but she'd become something infinitely better than him. His current actions gambled all that. And for what?
He didn’t completely understand Gwen’s intentions for Starr, but had to admit that twisted political monster might be among them. He cursed himself mentally. Of course Daisy's fate would be caught up with Starr's. But all of that would have to wait. Currently the pot threatened to boil over and everyone but himself seemed intent on turning up the heat. She tapped her foot, waiting for him to respond.
“Clear.” He stood while adjusting his hat and allowed Daisy to straighten his tie. “Now I’ve got a message for you, missy. As you witnessed today, this town’s dangerous. Just because it’s dressed up nicer than Del Rio don’t mean it can’t be just as deadly.” He ushered her toward the door, eager to get further from the dead man on the balcony. “I don’t mind you being out and about with Starr. You’re right about one thing. I like him.” He flashed her his only smile, the one her mother says looks like a grimace.
“Lord willing, he’ll take you off my
hands for good.” Her eyes flashed. “But watch yourself. This town’s hotter than a chili cook-off.” The reference to cooked meat in such close proximity to his charred mole caused him to choke. “Just remember what I taught you, and when I say jump, you jump.”
“Fine.” She stepped into the hall. “But I’m not doing any jumping in these shoes.”
~~~
Head spinning, a snooty gala had been the last place Starr wanted to spend his evening. The course of the day’s events had stoked his righteous anger, and these people were the logical target. But more than pointing blame, he longed for space to think. He'd landed waist-deep in muck with nearly a half dozen strangers’ hands offering to pull him free.
Granted, at the moment one of those hands looked infinitely more appealing than the others. Having exited the carriage first, he turned to stabilize Daisy. Her legs hid beneath a flowing evening gown the color of red wine. While she descended the three steps to the ground the dress worked its effect on him, her hips swaying against the tight yet not restrictive fabric. The garment rose to a high waist tucked beneath her breasts and ended with straps perched precariously on the verge of shoulder and upper arm.
As much as he wanted to focus solely on her, his mind rattled with the events of the day. The whole city threatened him, concealing violent secrets. G.W. had given him more information than he had wanted to know, even while concealing most of it. Lickter had filled him in on the evening’s events and the auction to be held the next day. Told him about Oleg’s dark past and his monstrous weapons of war about to be sold to the highest bidder. Now it was his responsibility to convince the citizens of Texas the truth about Oleg Rodchenko before it was too late. But no one knew how late too late was or what it meant.
The truth about Rodchenko remained the biggest mystery. Was he an anarchist manipulating the masses? Or a mad scientist profiteering weapons of war? The two hardly seemed compatible. And why the compartmentalization? Ms. Lloyd had referred solely to the politics while Lickter spoke to the rest. Could the timing of the auction and the strikes be coincidence?
Holding Daisy’s gloved hand, the couple waited for Sheriff Lickter to unfurl his lengthy frame from the cramped carriage and replace his hat.
“How come the bigger the city, the smaller the carriage?”
“Don’t be such a grump, Sheriff. It’s a party after all.” Ms. Lloyd’s voice made Starr shiver. She glided up to greet them. “Miss Lickter, I hope these barbarians have told you how dazzling you are.”
Starr swallowed. “It’s hard to find the words.”
Ms. Lloyd tutted.
“They’ve both been perfect gentlemen, Ms. Lloyd. But I believe my father has been saving his poetic fervor for describing your unrivaled beauty.” Daisy cleared her throat.
“Unlike these impetuous youths, age has given me both humility and wisdom.” Lickter bowed toward Ms. Lloyd while still working the kinks out of his legs. “Both of you have beauty and grace beyond description, so I think I’ll get us some drinks. Starr?”
“I don’t drink. Not anymore.”
Lickter shrugged before addressing his daughter. “And nothing for you, missy.” He offered his arm to Ms. Lloyd, and the two of them took their leave.
Starr scanned the faces of the partygoers nearest them, imagining them as killers or spies, each maintaining their own web of lies. Why would an anarchist auction his military inventions to these people? Oleg’s words suddenly squeezed his brain. Think about this question tonight at fancy party among corrupt and wasteful men and women of power. At the time Starr hadn’t even been invited to the party, or known what Oleg had been talking about.
Dangerously, everyone knew more than him. He didn’t even know the answer to the question Oleg had posed. What would I do if I were governor?
“Shall we go smell the money?” Daisy nudged him with her elbow, concern in her eyes.
“Sorry.” He gave her a weak twinkle. “That bit you said earlier today, about being a confidant.” She nodded, squeezing his arm. “Good. There’s some stuff I need to process out loud. But first,” he pulled his arm away from her embrace, “and believe me, I hate to do this. But I need a minute to untangle my thoughts. I know you’ve been looking forward to this party—”
“Nonsense. I’ve been looking forward to you.” She stood on tiptoes to kiss his cheek, the warmth of her breath a single spark of restoration.
“Thanks, Daisy.” It was the first time he’d called her by her first name and it helped loosen the tightness in his chest. “I’ll meet you by the refreshments in a few minutes.”
SEVEN
Back to the Beginning
“Renaissance Revival.”
“Ma’am?”
“The architectural style. And don’t worry your pretty little head, Senator Starr. Revival will come to Texas soon.”
Without dropping his gaze from the sunset-red granite of the Austin Capitol Building, James Starr addressed the woman who’d recently caught his life up like a twister through a cotton patch. “Me, worry?” He’d smelled Ms. Lloyd’s sandalwood perfume seconds before she sidled up beside him, stopping just outside his peripheral vision. She snorted, an auditory version of rolling her eyes. It was a talent he’d noted in many of Austin’s elite.
“A party like this after the day you’ve had. Let me see. You’re asking yourself if your parents would approve—if you’ve betrayed your roots.”
He’d actually been working out how much of the truth he could share with Daisy without putting her at risk, but Ms. Lloyd’s statement uncoiled a spring in his gut. “Do you know, ma’am, what every boy’s guilty fantasy was on the farm where I grew up? For me, the Mexicans and the rest of the Anglos, it was all the same. The dream we’d never dare to admit to each other. You know what that dream was, ma’am?” He kept his eyes riveted on the ruddy granite glistening in the dying light of day as Ms. Lloyd remained quiet. She doesn’t know me.
“You see, it wasn’t enough for the children of tenant farmers to desire their own land. We wanted to own the men. Secretly we wanted to be the very thing we hated for bringing humiliation to our fathers, for pulling us away from the fishing pond to pick cotton until our fingers bled.” He breathed deep. “Any one of us would have betrayed our roots in a New York second. But you know what, ma’am?” He swallowed the lump rising in his throat.
“It wasn’t until I’d taken my anger out in the arena, until I’d born it out by blood and sweat on the backs of broncs from here to Wyoming, that I realized being poor wasn’t my roots. Being determined is my roots. It's been a hard lesson, but I've also learned that being determined for oneself is nothing more than the same childhood dream to own the souls of men. To be great, one needs to be determined for something beyond oneself."
He turned toward her for the first time. “So no, ma’am. I haven’t betrayed my roots.” Looking past her to the gala illuminated by shimmering electric lights and bubbling with hollow laughter, he sighed. “I gave you my word. I’ll stop Oleg. But we have a saying where I’m from.” She nodded. “Cutting hay brings heavy rains. I’ll cut your hay, Ms. Lloyd, but I can’t stop the rain.”
“Very good, Senator Starr. Now will you cede the floor?” He bowed, giving her a half-hearted twinkle. “As you can imagine, I’ve spent much of my adult life, which by the way has been considerably longer than yours, understanding the forces of business and politics—the weather of power, if you will. And as a woman in a man’s world,” she slid closer and took his arm, “I understand it from a unique perspective. Since you’re a new hand on the farm, I’ll overlook your misplaced concerns this once and make myself perfectly clear.”
She gazed up at the dome, recently fallen into shadow, before continuing. “Not only will you cut the hay, so to speak, but you will stop the rain.” A shiver rocked his shoulders as electric lights fizzed and sparked to life around the limestone base of the building and the parapet surrounding the dome.
The strange couple stood there in silence for several
seconds, staring at the building that housed his ideals on the one hand while proving them impotent on the other. The following morning would most likely bring more protests, the whole city one spark away from going up in flames. His two worlds were colliding. Maybe we need the rain.
“But it’s not your burden alone, Senator. Tonight enjoy yourself. Enjoy Miss Lickter. We’ll go to work in the morning. Now where were you?” She spoke over her shoulder as she glided back toward the party. “Oh yes, pondering how much of all this to share with the girl.” Starr buzzed again with shock and a humbling despair. “Take my word for it; she’s tougher than her daddy.”
Following her retreat with his eyes, he paused to glance southward past the financial district to the Colorado River glinting with the failing sun. He was worried. Only an idiot wouldn’t be. He breathed deep, mentally girding his loins.
While Starr recognized his boss’s devious use of Daisy to draw him back into her world, he didn’t care. The sharp-as-flint sheriff’s daughter was the one thing he was certain of, and she was waiting on him. The rest he’d figure out along the way, like he always had. Plus, allowing his boss, however powerful and independent, to walk the distance back to the party unescorted would be ungentlemanly of him. With a half dozen galloping strides he caught up to her, “Let me accompany you.”
She stumbled as Starr steadied her elbow. “Why Senator, I do believe the wine’s gone straight to my head.” She hooked a finger under her collar. “I feel so dry.”
He gripped her by the wrist, afraid she’d tumble face first. “Ms. Lloyd, your pulse.” The moisture had gone from her skin, way too hot to the touch. “Ma’am, you’ve got heatstroke.”
“Nonsense. In 60 degree heat? I—” she pitched forward, causing Starr to cradle her. For as tall as she was, he marveled at her slightness.
The Austin Job Page 5