Yancy sat in the small side chair and dropped his stove pipe hat on the floor. “You’re going to have to speak with your supporters, especially those hot-heads over in Fredericksburg. They’re making noises about your campaign—or lack of it. They’re beginning to think you’re not trying.”
“Why should I try? Haven’t you told them about my petition to Grant to cancel the election?”
Yancy lowered his gaze. “We received a message from Grant today. He’s refused to call it off.”
Davis dropped his head onto the desk and did not move for several minutes.
Yancy shifted impatiently, got up and walked to the bar. Yancy could not abide self pity. So far, Davis had shown strength and resiliency no matter the crises. Now, he seemed to be losing everything, even his backbone.
Governor Davis saw his life pass before his eyes. He’d fought all his life for the things he held true, to hell with method. The end justified the means. In his entire career he’d never known a politician who did not subscribe to that Machiavellian philosophy. Few would admit it, but most considered themselves superior beings and measured success by how effectively they managed the ignorant masses. His friends in Washington knew this, but President Grant was not one of them. Grant had achieved his popularity as a general in war. He knew nothing of practical politics.
Shrugging his shoulders, Davis let out another long breath, and then turned in his leather chair to stare out the window. “Damn that Judge Meadows. He’s probably responsible for this, too.”
Yancy looked at the Governor, but said nothing until he was sure the man was listening. “Sir, things are bad, I agree. But there’s still hope. I’ve heard from my informants in San Antonio about this man Jack Lopes. If what they say is true, we may have Judge Meadows right where we want him. I’m still waiting for confirmation.”
Governor Davis looked at Yancy expectantly. “Well, are you going to tell me or let me sit here like a moron?”
“Frankly, sir, I’d rather wait. It sounds too good to be true, and you know what they say about that. If I’m to get your hopes up, I’d rather do it with something else.”
“Like what?”
“Like the idea I have for you to get the election nullified if you lose, and you surely will.”
“Is it that certain?” Davis knew his chances were not good but he’d still held out hope. Now even Yancy had given up—or had he?
“Hear me out, sir. It’s bound to happen. You know it. With all the rebels coming in from Georgia and Alabama, and with no way for us to stop them all from voting, it’s inevitable. But we’re still in control. We just have to figure out a way to appeal the election to the State Supreme Court when it happens. I mean, after all, you appointed all of those judges, so they’re bound to do as you say. Especially if we make it look like you are not involved in the case they have to rule on.”
Davis leaned back in his chair, and looked at Yancy skeptically. “Yes, I appointed them. And, under normal circumstances I might expect each of them to return the favor in some limited way. But overturn an election? I don’t think so. And how would we make it look like we were not involved?”
Yancy nodded, a smirk on his face. “I have it all figured out, sir. We arrange to have someone arrested for voting twice, which, as you know, is bound to happen because both sides will be stuffing the ballot boxes as fast as they can. Then, as part of the man’s defense to the criminal case, we make sure he argues that he cannot be prosecuted because the election law, as set forth in the new constitution, is itself unconstitutional. I’ve looked it over and there are several arguments they could rely on to make such a ruling. The Court will see it as an opportunity to rule on the election law without it being a direct challenge sponsored by the sitting government—meaning you.”
Yancy paused. “And, of course, if Richard Coke tries to appeal their decision, it would have to be in the federal court where Judge Hooks sits. You know how he would rule, since he’s in your pocket.”
Davis nodded. “It might work, but still, if those judges are thinking about the future, they might try to turn on us in the hope of keeping their jobs under Richard Coke.”
Yancy smiled. “Sir, I have enough on each one of them to guarantee they will not do that. Every last one of them has been compromised by their dealings with our reappraisal people. They have all become land barons by buying up tax forfeited properties. They’re vulnerable. Criminally vulnerable. All it will take is a gentle reminder of the fragility of their positions.”
Davis screwed up his lips, twisting them around like a cow chewing cud. It might work. If Coke refused to accept the court decisions, they could demand help from the army to crush them. Grant would have to approve. He nodded. “All right, Yancy. Good thinking. That’s about as good a plot as I’ve ever heard out of you. It’s very sound, based on reality, and gives us plenty of outs. Let’s do it.”
Yancy bobbed his head, allowed a smile to form for an instant, and then suppressed it. It had taken years to get all of the judges in compromising positions, but he’d known instinctively it would pay off some day. Greed was such a wonderful tool. Every one of the judges had jumped when offered seized property at low prices. Now they would pay the piper.
Yancy stood and began to pace back and forth. “As far as Judge Meadows is concerned, I think we should do nothing. If he survives his wound, Ferdie can still get him. If Ferdie fails, we can still try to get close and see if we can turn him to our side, like we did with Judge Hooks and all the rest. If he won’t go along, we destroy him politically so the people will see him as the buffoon he is. Tom Dooley at The Austin Telegraph has prepared a campaign against him that will curl your hair. We’ll see if the good judge can stand the heat.”
Governor Davis chuckled. “Yeah, at the least he’ll find out what it’s like being in the public eye.” Davis put his arm around Yancy’s shoulder and moved toward the bar. “Yancy, let’s drink a toast.” He poured them both a shot of whiskey and held up his glass. “Here’s to four more years.”
Yancy bobbed his head. “Four more years.” He clinked his glass against the Governor’s and downed his drink. Time to get back to work. He set the glass on the bar and turned toward the large oak door. Ferdie Lance opened it first, almost knocking Yancy down as he arrogantly stomped in without invitation. Yancy glanced briefly at the Governor, walked out, and closed the door behind him.
“Ferdie,” the Governor said in a surprised tone as he stood up and extended his hand over the desk. “How good to see you.”
Ferdie ignored Davis and went directly to the liquor cabinet. Davis felt his face flush, but maintained his composure. Turning slightly to keep an eye on Ferdie, he considered taking refuge in his wingback, decided against it, and casually walked onto the balcony overlooking the front gate. He could see the new capitol building in the final stages of construction a block away and admired the beautiful pink stone growing from the rubble.
As he stared out over Austin, his thoughts focused on Ferdie Lance, alternating between abject fear and unrestrained anger. He wanted desperately to throw the vile shrimp of a man down on the floor and stomp the life out of him, but, again, restrained himself. Was it self-preservation, need, or both?
All I would have to do is walk to the desk, take out my service revolver and blow this miserable little shit to hell. I’d be praised from here to Washington. But I can’t. I need the bastard.
Ferdie walked onto the balcony and stood beside the Governor. He took a long drink from his glass and poured himself another from the decanter still in his hand. Davis eyed him carefully, but said nothing for the moment, feigning interest in the view.
Ferdie studied the Governor warily. The man’s scared to death of me. Last time, he almost wet his pants when I told him what we were doing. Now he’s trying to act nonchalant. Damned politicians, they always have to be on top, no matter what the circumstance. He’s scared to death, but won’t show it.
“They’re calling that fiasco down by Round Roc
k Station the Battle of Armstrong’s train,” Davis said softly. “Hell, it wasn’t much of a battle, was it?”
Davis paused. “How could it happen, Ferdie? There were twenty some-odd killers in Kinch West’s gang. How could it happen?”
“I don’t know, Governor. I know only what I hear, and that’s coming from a lot of drunken passengers who’re blowin’ the thing out of proportion. At any rate, the judge and his marshals somehow managed to organize the people on board to fight back. Our boys were slaughtered. That’s the fact of it.”
“But Kinch survived, I’m told, along with a few other men. Do you think he’ll be able to put another gang together?”
“Kinch is resourceful and still has plenty of money. He’ll try to join up with some other gang, probably up along the Colorado River or west of Fredericksburg. But we won’t know until he comes out of hiding. I’m trying to get a message through, but it’ll be several days before we know if we can still count on those boys to fight for us. If we can’t, I’m afraid you’ll have to give up this terror idea for the time being.”
Davis turned. “Give it up? Are you out of your mind? It’s the only chance I have to convince my people to stay with me. I can’t give it up. You’ve got to bring in more men.”
Ferdie looked the governor in the eye, his anger flaring out of control. “This isn’t a damned war, Governor. I can’t just call up the troops. The only two organized gangs in east Texas have been killed by this damned Judge Mobley Meadows, and the men I hired to help Judge Oliver have been disarmed. It’ll take weeks to organize others. When we do, we’ll have to show them a good plan or they’ll all run out. Can’t you use some of your Blue Bellies, the Texas State Police?”
Davis shook his head. “You’re wrong, Ferdie. There are only two states of reality among rivals as far as I am concerned, war or diplomacy. And at the moment it certainly cannot be called diplomacy. As for the state police, I cannot use the state police as guerrilla fighters. For one thing, they wouldn’t do it. They like to think of themselves as doing the right thing, and terrorizing innocent civilians won’t be tolerated. They have to be convinced the people are traitors. I’ve been able to convince them of that so far, at least as to those folk who have joined secret societies or are clearly plotting against us, but attacking a train full of men, women and children would not go down well with most of them. And secondly, if I used them, I’d never be able to deny involvement in it.
No, there’s no way I can use the state police except to carry out official sweeps on rebel strongholds. They’ve got to look like the ones trying to resist terrorism, not committing it.”
Davis threw his glass across the room. It bounced off the carpet, but did not break. “Damn it all!” He turned back to Ferdie. “How long will it take to bring more men up from the border?”
“A few weeks.”
“Well, damn!” He paced back and forth, head down. “How about those two marshals? You can’t let yourself be seen in public now that they’re out looking for you. They’ve got a warrant for your arrest.”
“What? A warrant? Why have they got a warrant out for me?” The color dropped out of Ferdie’s face, his eyes wide. He had a scared look on his face, close to panic.
Davis felt a rush of satisfaction. It was the first time he’d ever seen Ferdie show fear. He shook his head as if disappointed in the behavior of a small child. “We don’t know.”
Ferdie walked to the door, his face a blank. He said nothing as he started to leave the room. Davis yelled after him. “It’s them or you, Ferdie. You’d better stay on your toes.” Ferdie did not turn, but continued out the door as if in a trance.
Davis walked back to his desk, sat down and put his feet up on the ottoman. All things considered, it hadn’t been a bad day. Grant had stabbed them in the back, but they had a good plan. They’d have to slow down the raids for a while, but now Ferdie Lance knew how it felt to have the wolves at his door. It would be a long time before Davis would forget the look on Ferdie’s face, or the intense satisfaction he’d felt in being the one to give Ferdie the information.
CHAPTER 32
Mary Sue Doss lay on her bed, staring first at the flowered print of the wallpaper, then the stamped metal ceiling. Ferdie Lance snuggled against the swell of her breast, snoring lightly. He’d slept more than twelve hours, and she’d dutifully lain with him the entire time.
Mary Sue knew something was terribly wrong with Ferdie Lance. He was afraid to go to sleep. Days would go by, still he would fight going to bed. Finally, about to collapse, he would come to her. She knew what he needed. If he was capable, she had to make love to him. If not, she must lay naked in her bed while he snuggled, nursed her breast, and held on as if terrified. Finally, he would fall asleep.
Often, he would thrash and mumble. Sometimes he yelled out. Occasionally he would say wild things, occasionally, something coherent. Like last night.
Mary Sue had helped Ferdie Lance in this manner for six months, since Kinch West delivered her to Austin. It had been the end of one nightmare, the beginning of another. She’d cried as Kinch West had left, tears not of sorrow, but of relief. She’d been abandoned on the prairie by the man she’d loved, Foss Scroggs. He’d taken her money, everything of any value, and left her to die. Kinch West found her and took her into his gang. If she had resisted, he would have killed her.
From the start, Mary Sue had known what she faced. She’d also known how to survive, what she had to do. It had been difficult, but she’d worked through the pain. The endless days and nights, servicing the smelly, evil men. She’d known instinctively if she ever gave up, complained, or let on she was not enjoying every encounter, they would have killed her. She’d done it well. So well, in fact, Kinch West eventually agreed to let her go.
Now, she was a business woman, running her own boutique, thanks to Ferdie Lance. He was the last vestige of her experience with Kinch West. Ferdie had come to the gang several days before they’d arrived in Austin and had taken an immediate interest in her. He’d offered to buy her from Kinch. But Kinch would have none of it. If Ferdie wanted Mary Sue, he’d have to win her over. He did. By offering her enough money to start her own business. For the first time in her life, she’d felt reasonably free. Business had been good, and Ferdie had not been a bother. He was gone most of the time.
Mary Sue shook her head as she considered the quality of men she’d hooked up with over the years. She’d been unable to resist any number of sweet talking gamblers, drunks and high-falutin’ pretenders; for in a way, they were just like her. Trying to be free, to do exactly as they pleased. But sooner or later they’d turned out mean and deceitful.
Ferdie Lance was different. He was not good looking, being skinny boned, pock faced and shifty eyed, but he knew how to make her feel good. She had agreed to the sleeping arrangement, first out of fear he might kill her if she refused, then because she’d felt sorry for him. There was something scary about Ferdie, but he’d never been mean to her.
Several times he’d talked in his sleep, mumbling of his early childhood. She deduced he’d been terribly misused as a child. Once at the peak of his pleasure, he’d even called out for his mother. Last night, he’d confessed to murder, like a small boy admitting he’d stolen candy from a store. Then he’d babbled about the governor, and a plot to kill someone named Meadows. It didn’t make sense.
Ferdie jerked and rose from Mary Sue’s warm breast, heart pounding with panic as he struggled to clear his brain. He hated sleep, for the dreams always came. The process of waking scared him even more. There was always a brief period of vulnerability. He feared it would one day cost him his life. Sleep itself was the one battle he always lost.
Ferdie Lance knew he was crazy. He’d read once about crazy people; lunatics they were called. Crazy as a bed bug, his mother had said. But he’d shown her. She shouldn’t have said that. She shouldn’t have used him like one of her customers. She shouldn’t have thrown him out of her bed.
Without a woman to
snuggle, Ferdie could not sleep. He’d been that way most of his life. He carried himself with an air of toughness, but deep in his soul, he knew he was a weakling. He could fight and win battles, spread terror with his blade, but fear—monstrous and deadly—lurked in the folds of sleep; never more than a few hours away.
He was most fearful of losing control. In his dreams he never had control. This morning, before awakening, his mind had relived that worst of deeds, the murder of his mother. Mary Sue’s warm breast undoubtedly triggered the dream, but strangely enough, he’d felt no anger. In fact, he felt a surge of passion. This time the dream had actually been pleasant.
Ferdie sat up, swung his skinny white legs over the edge of the bed. He looked back at Mary Sue, found her smiling warmly at him, large perfectly shaped breasts exposed and inviting, long yellow hair hanging loosely, sensuously, around her left nipple.
“Thank you, Ferdie,” she said softly. “I had a wonderful time last night. You were so tender, I wondered if it was really you.”
“Yeah, well—you were good too.” He stood up and looked down at her. “Maybe we ought to try it again, just to make sure we’re doing it right.”
Mary Sue giggled. “My God, Ferdie. Don’t you ever get enough?” She reached around his narrow waist with both arms, slid her left hand to his crotch. Sure enough, he was ready, but as she stroked him he pulled away sharply and walked to the dresser.
“We’ll have to finish this later, Mary Sue. I’ve got things to do. Important things with important people. I’m late already.”
Mary Sue straightened and pulled a pillow across her chest. “Important people? What important people, Ferdie?” She smiled wickedly, picked up a small red satin sham and threw it at him. “I’ve never known you to associate with important people. Have you found another girl?”
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