Winning Texas

by Nancy Stancill

  She liked his lopsided, friendly smile. He was thin and wiry with close-cropped dark hair and a ski-jump nose. She guessed he was about 40.

  “Great to meet you, Senator Wurzbach,” she said, appreciating his direct gaze and firm, but not bone-crushing, handshake.

  “Annie, please call me Sam,” he smiled. “I’ve been researching the Nation of Texas group and it sounds like you’re the go-to expert.”

  “That’s flattering, but probably not true,” she said. “My experience with the secessionists was four years ago, but I’m happy to talk about it. Shall we get in line first?”

  She’d only had to walk a few blocks from her office to Treebeards. The Houston café, located beside a leafy square, served generous plates of spicy Cajun food to downtown workers at lunchtime. It was too far north of the main commercial area to attract casual visitors or tourists, but it thronged with lawyers and government workers from the courthouse complex a few blocks east.

  She and Wurzbach joined the cafeteria-style line that snaked from the outside entrance all the way to the back of the cavernous restaurant. It was a bit dark inside, but nicely appointed, with dark-green walls and rows of wooden tables and chairs.

  She rarely took time for a real lunch because it was so much easier to duck into the tunnel under the newspaper building and grab a salad or sandwich at one of the outlets underground. She could eat while she edited stories, updated budgets and dispatched paperwork that sucked time from an editor’s day. It was a treat to be out, even in the blazing sun, and spend an hour with someone new.

  “Did you say you have business in town?” Annie said. “What brought you to Houston?”

  “I’m meeting with an old friend this afternoon,” he said. “It’s kind of a long day trip, but I’m driving back tonight.”

  Annie was curious. “Who’s your friend in Houston? Anybody I might know?”

  He laughed and evaded her question.

  “Annie, I can see why everyone says you’re a great reporter. But I’m not willing to give up all of my secrets yet. Let’s get to know each other first.”

  “You can’t blame a reporter for trying,” she smiled. “I understand you own a chain of German bakeries?”

  “Yeah, we started Wurzbach Bakery in Fredericksburg and we’ve expanded to ten locations around the Hill Country,” he said. “Hopefully, we’ll cover the whole state before too long. You haven’t tasted our apple strudel?”

  “No, but I’ve heard it’s delicious. Next time I’m in the area, I’ll look for it.”

  As they moved to the head of the line, Annie ordered a salad, a dish of collard greens, jalapeno cornbread and iced tea.

  “That cornbread looks amazing,” he said, looking at the thick slab with a big glob of butter. He asked for it too, along with red beans and rice topped with a sausage.

  They unloaded their trays at a table for two and began to talk above the din of a few dozen animated conversations.

  “My best friend in the legislature is Jake Satterfield,” he said. “You two were engaged a few years ago, right?”

  “Yep. I’m surprised you know about Jake and me,” Annie said. “We broke up, he remarried his ex-wife and had another child. End of the line for us.”

  “You probably haven’t heard that he and Jeannie separated recently. Second time wasn’t exactly the charm for them,” he said, pausing for her reaction.

  “Really,” Annie said as coolly as she could manage after hastily swallowing a lump of cornbread. “Should I care?”

  “Maybe you don’t, after all this time,” Wurzbach said. “Just thought I’d mention it because he speaks so warmly of you. He was the one who told me I should talk to you.”

  “Nice of Jake. Tell him hello.”

  Despite her attempt to play it down, Annie felt excitement deep inside her body. Just thinking of Jake affected her powerfully and that didn’t end when she broke up with him three years ago. She tended to find other men pallid in comparison. He’d been a wildly electric lover, with a knowing confidence about her needs and wants that she’d found in no one else. She still dreamed about having sex with him, reveling in his imagined closeness and waking up desolate.

  “Sorry, didn’t mean to dwell on a sore subject,” Wurzbach said. “Jake’s told me more than once he should have married you instead of reconciling with Jeannie.”

  “He made his choice,” Annie said. “But that’s another story. Let’s not waste your time. Tell me why you’re interested in the Nation of Texas.”

  “Can you keep this information confidential for the time being?” He leaned forward and looked at her intently. “When I’m ready to go public, your newspaper can have it first.”

  She nodded, noting that his smile had vanished. He looked around quickly before lowering his voice, though no one was looking their way.

  “I’m a proud German Texan whose ancestors came to the Hill Country in the 1840s,” he said. “Growing up in Fredericksburg, my family’s heritage was really important to us, as it is to most people in the area with German ancestors.

  “About three months ago, I started meeting with business and civic groups about trying to get the state to designate ten counties as German Texas,” he said. “A bunch of us have talked about the idea for years, but it was the first time we’d gone public with it to the local media.”

  “What exactly would that mean?” Annie asked.

  “We’d get the legislature to do certain things, like requiring signs in German and English and emphasizing German language and cultural education in schools. We’d ask for money to help make those things happen.”

  “Nothing wrong with that, I guess,” she said.

  “We’d also revive a lot of traditional clubs with German dancing, shooting and games,” he said. “The state’s biggest outlay would be for a German Texas museum and cultural center in Fredericksburg.”

  “That all sounds like a quaint throwback in today’s world,” Annie said. “Do you think many folks in the Hill Country really care about its German heritage?”

  “Absolutely. We’ve done private polling and the idea is a hit. So many people have German ancestry and strong ties to their roots. But even those who don’t are excited about the economic possibilities.”

  “Like what?”

  “Tourism, Annie,” he said. “German Texas could attract more visitors and industry to our small towns. We could use our new status to bring in businesses like German-style craft breweries and maybe German industries like Mercedes-Benz.”

  “Sounds intriguing. So what’s the problem?”

  Wurzbach slumped in his chair and lowered his voice again.

  “We believe the Nation of Texas is doing everything it can to sabotage us.”

  “Do you have any evidence?” Annie asked. “The secessionists are operating underground since the scandal. Have any members contacted you?”

  “Indirectly, yes. I’ve gotten hate mail from people who claim proud membership in the Nation of Texas. Most is unsigned, but it all contains the same thread of bigotry.”

  “Can you give me examples?”

  “Most emails talk about fulfilling the state’s destiny, vowing that nothing will stop the Nation of Texas from making Texas an independent republic, like it was after the Texas Revolution.”

  “They’ve been saying that for years,” she said.

  “But they go much further, saying the new country of Texas won’t tolerate German Texans, who are just Nazis in disguise. One message even threatened death to any German Texan who dares to interfere in the Nation of Texas’s goal of winning Texas.”

  “Winning Texas? That’s an interesting way to
put it,” Annie said. “The Nation of Texas hasn’t come close to winning Texas – and probably never will.”

  “They’ve left no doubt where the group stands.”

  “Sounds ugly,” she said. “Have you gotten the local police involved?”

  “Not at first,” he said. “But then bad things started happening, mostly to me since I’m the person out front. Several of my bakeries have been vandalized and my car damaged. But the worst thing that happened was to my dogs.”

  “Your dogs?”

  “My wife has raised Portuguese Water Dogs for years. It’s a fairly rare and expensive breed. The dogs look like big poodles, but poodles’ coats are curly and the Portuguese have wavy coats. The Obama family got two Portuguese a while back and their dogs attracted some publicity.”

  “Yeah, I remember the pictures. Good-looking animals.”

  He stopped, took a deep breath and continued.

  “We had three full-grown Portuguese that were our family’s pets. One morning, I found them dead in our back yard. Their throats had been cut and their bodies mutilated. My wife and daughters – well, all of us – were devastated.”

  “That’s horrible,” Annie said, noticing that Sam’s eyes had grown wet. She felt shaken. She loved her cats and felt that people who abused animals were twisted in some unspeakable way.

  “Was anyone arrested?”

  “No, they were careful not to leave evidence.” He was quiet for a moment, trying to regain his composure.

  “Since all of this happened, the Fredericksburg police have kept an eye on things as best they can,” he said. “We’re moving ahead to formally open our campaign for German Texas soon. But I’m worried about what might happen next.”

  “Why do you think the secessionists see German Texas as a threat?”

  He trained his eyes on the sidewalk outside the restaurant for a moment. Finally he spoke again.

  “The German Texas culture emphasizes military weapons and marching. One of our major proposals is to develop an active gun club in each county whose members could serve as auxiliary police.

  “That’s designed to help short-staffed departments, but a lot of the hate mail focused on how wrong it would be to arm the filthy Nazis.” He shook his head.

  “Isn’t that a fairly controversial idea?” Annie asked. “The Nation of Texas always bragged about creating its own militia, which made people nervous. Aren’t you suggesting the same thing?”

  “Not necessarily,” he said. “We see German Texas as a special enclave inside our state. We could help make it safer. We’re not suggesting that our territory be independent of state control.”

  Wurzbach looked at his watch. Annie wondered if he wanted to short-circuit the interview.

  “I didn’t realize how late it’s getting. I need to get to my other appointment,” he said. “Shall we go?”

  “Sure. One of my reporters heard something about your German Texas campaign,” she said as they walked out. “Maggie Mahaffey’s tied up with the legislature right now, but she plans to contact you for an interview.”

  “I’ll be more than happy to talk to her,” he said. “Why don’t you come up to Austin? I’ll bet Jake would enjoy seeing you.”

  “I’m not so sure about that,” Annie said. “But I enjoyed our lunch and want to keep in touch. One thing – please don’t underestimate the Nation of Texas. Those folks may have gone underground, but they’re still ruthless and could be deadly.”

  “I promise I’ll be careful, Annie,” he said, grasping her hand. “I’ll keep you posted.”

  She walked the two blocks back to the office, oblivious to the heat that shimmered through airless caverns between the tall buildings. She usually enjoyed views of the skyline, but today she was distracted. She thought about the secessionist threats Wurzbach had described, but her mind kept coming back to Jake Satterfield’s breakup with his wife. For a heady few months four years ago, she’d been the fulcrum of a love triangle involving Jake Satterfield and secessionist candidate Tom Marr. Marr had dazzled her with his looks, intelligence and charm, but she couldn’t accept his secessionist views. She’d broken off their friendship and cemented her relationship with Jake Satterfield. She still wondered sometimes if she’d made the right choice.

  CHAPTER 5

  Kyle Krause sat with his laptop open on a polished-wood, round table at his Texas Girls strip club a few miles west of downtown Houston. He’d located most of his establishments farther north or east, out in the boondocks where the laws were ignored and the neighborhoods more acquiescent to the presence of adult businesses.

  Krause stayed out late most nights visiting his clubs, so he’d slept in as usual. He’d eaten a light breakfast after exercising for two hours with his trainer at his condo. He’d put in a roomful of equipment when he bought the showy unit, including a stair stepper, treadmill and weights. He worried about pushing 40 and had stepped up his routine to shed weight.

  He needed to look good to feel confident. He was lucky to be tall, but he disliked his big-boned structure and squared-off frame. If he gained a few pounds, he looked too much like the meathead bouncers at his clubs. Of course he’d started out as a bouncer in his early twenties in Houston, but he’d be damned if he ever had to make his living that way again. Growing up poor in the Hill Country was bad enough. He guessed that’s why he could never fully embrace the University of Texas, with its deep-pocketed fraternity boys and pointless football rivalries. Dropping out and coming to Houston showed him a career path that was unorthodox but lucrative. He’d become a strip club manager in his twenties and bought his first club as he neared thirty. Houston still excited him. Like Las Vegas and a few other places in this country, it was a frontier for those who didn’t mind taking chances. He’d return to the Hill Country some day when he had enough money. At this point, he wasn’t sure how much was enough, but he knew he didn’t have it yet.

  He looked around, assessing the crowd. Crowd wasn’t really the right word, since at 4 p.m., the Westside club had just a handful of customers. Everyone in the large room, including the staff behind the two bars and the woman dancing on the catwalk, knew that he was the club owner. He didn’t mind that. He believed that owners should maintain a vigilant, noticeable presence and he liked the way he looked today. He could see himself in the stage mirrors and his brushed-back brown hair with its distinctive widow’s peak looked professional. He was wearing a new custom-made, dark-gray suit, with a blue striped shirt and royal blue tie. He always dressed up for these outings, believing that it showed he took his ownership seriously.

  Krause tapped into the late-afternoon stock closings on his laptop, checking on the NASDAQ results for Rick’s Cabaret International Inc. He’d followed a pattern of buying failing clubs and turning them around, always using management techniques he’d copied from Rick’s, Houston’s hometown chain. One of just a few adult businesses traded on U.S. stock exchanges, it routinely drew praise from analysts as one of America’s best small companies. Rick’s operated about two dozen clubs and restaurants (breastaurants, some analysts leeringly called them) in large cities and had diversified into adult websites.

  Damn, the stock had climbed again. Krause believed that his Texas Girls chain eventually could surpass the size of Rick’s empire, but growing his adult business empire was just one of several goals right now. He had several secret businesses and a political agenda as well. Luckily, he had a willing partner in both his professional and personal life, his fiancée, Juliana Souza. He expected her to show up soon.

  He wondered how much it would cost to update the big room’s beige, brown and peach color scheme and change those gold chandeliers to more modern-looking bronze or pewter fixtures. Since this club was located in the business district off Ric
hmond Road, it had to be a little classier than his others. He’d inherited, rather than chosen, the décor, and he noticed that it was outdated. He could visualize how much more sophisticated the room would look in shades of silver and black, with a touch of purple. He made a notation to ask Juliana to work on it, to get some estimates. He regarded himself as the idea person and his fiancée as the implementer.

  Besides the main room with the stage and bars, there were a few, more secluded rooms where patrons could pay for a private lap dance. Lap dances were lucrative, though potentially troublesome. Bouncers had to make sure customers didn’t get too carried away. Offstage, dancers also mingled with patrons in other ways, sometimes sitting down at tables, making conversation and accepting exorbitantly priced, watered-down drinks. This club also included a boutique out front, where patrons could buy scanty underwear and other flashy clothing for their wives or lovers.

  Krause closed his laptop and sat for a moment massaging his forehead, but his solitude was short-lived. Club manager Tessa Rhodes came scurrying to his table. In her mid-forties, Rhodes had honey-colored hair and a pleasant face, but her thickening body had long passed prime time for the strip stage. He’d brought her into management ten years earlier and paid her well to keep trouble at bay when he wasn’t around. She was more than grateful for the difficult but well-paid position, and constantly anxious that he’d change his mind. She was so overeager to please when he was around that it irritated him.

  “I’ve got your Riesling cooling on ice, Mr. Krause,” she said. “Can I bring it over and pour you a glass?”

  “Bring it over, but I’ll wait to drink it when Juliana comes,” he said. “Who’s the new girl on stage?”