"He's not gay. The Mexican doctor."
Jim Bob raised his eyes to Eddie Jones standing in the doorway holding a large envelope.
"How do you know?"
"He's got a woman. A married woman. Nice looking broad."
"How do you know she's married?"
"Wedding ring."
Jim Bob gestured at the envelope.
"You got photos?"
Eddie stepped forward and dropped the envelope on the desk. Jim Bob opened the clasp and removed a stack of photos. He stared at the images a long moment. He blinked hard then stared again. They were photos of the doctor and a redheaded woman; they were drinking wine, holding hands, and dancing in each other's arms. A man and a woman who looked very much in love.
"Shit."
"What's wrong?"
"She's working for Jesse Rincon."
"Who?"
"You don't recognize this woman?"
"No."
"That's the governor's wife."
"You're kidding?"
"Do I look like I'm kidding?"
"You look like you're passing a kidney stone."
"I might be."
"The boss's wife, she ain't been around much since I hired on."
"She's been down on the border."
"Those unforeseen, unexpected, unpleasant things are starting to pile up, Professor. Figure I'm gonna start earning my pay pretty soon. Where's the boss?"
"At the Capitol, for his press conference."
On the fifth day of July, the governor of Texas stood alone in his office on the first floor of the State Capitol. He never actually worked there; it was just a convenient place to meet legislators and lobbyists and give interviews to the press. The national press. They had all journeyed to Austin, Texas, to meet Bode Bonner, American hero. The man who would be president.
One big play.
A game changer.
And it had changed his game. Three months before, he couldn't pay the press to attend his weekly press conferences. Now his office had to issue credentials, so many media outlets wanted in on the action. No less than one hundred reporters and two dozen cameras awaited him in the press room. He was the most popular, most admired, most handsome, and most followed man in America. His favorable rating exceeded ninety percent and his negative was less than five percent. The world was waiting for him to announce his run for the presidency. He was waiting for the best moment to announce. But announce he would. His Super PAC now held pledges totaling $750 million. The Professor was hiring a campaign staff.
President William Bode Bonner.
Three months before, he wore Armani suits and French-cuffed shirts. Today, he wore what had become his trademark attire: buttoned-down, long-sleeved, starched shirts-white, blue, yellow, green, ecru, and even pink on Breast Cancer Awareness Day-jeans, always creased to perfection, a black silver-tipped cowboy belt, and black handmade cowboy boots.
No hair spray.
Two months before, three Mexican sicarios had attempted to assassinate him. No second attempt had come. El Diablo had apparently given up on killing the governor of Texas. Of course, he now traveled with a half dozen Texas Ranger bodyguards. Mandy still served as his aide, but not as his mistress. He had expected tears when he broke the news that Jim Bob had ended their affair, but she had only said, "We can wait." He wanted to ask, "For what?", but she had already exited his office. Becca still slept in the Mansion, but she had returned to volleyball practice at UT. And the governor's wife had returned to the border. She had been gone forty-six days.
"Governor, we're ready."
A young man stood where Mandy should be standing.
"Where's Mandy?"
The man shrugged. "I don't know, sir."
"Jim Bob here?"
"Yes, sir. He just arrived."
Bode strode across the foyer with the same jaunty cockiness he had exhibited twenty-five years before when running onto a football field. Of course, it was easy to be cocky when God was your teammate. But Bode Bonner was about to learn that politics in America, like football, is a contact sport.
The Border Patrol agent named Rusty tackled the skinny Mexican boy.
The boy had raced past the front door of the clinic, where Jesse and Lindsay stood, as if he were running a race. He wasn't. He was being chased. By a green-and-white SUV driven by another Border Patrol agent. The boy glanced back, only to be slammed to the ground by Rusty, who had cut around the back side of the clinic. Rusty now punched the boy in the face numerous times.
"Rusty, he's just a boy!" Jesse said.
"He just shot a Border Patrol agent in Laredo!"
Rusty removed a gun from the boy's baggy pants and tossed it aside. Next came a switchblade. Then a baggie of a black substance.
"Mexican black tar heroin," Rusty said.
He turned the boy over and cuffed his hands behind his back then yanked him up. The other agent loaded the boy into the SUV then returned to Rusty. He slapped him on the back.
"Just another day in paradise."
Two hundred thirty-five miles north, Governor Bode Bonner stepped to the podium and smiled at the sea of reporters. Network. Cable. Wire services. Newspapers. They had all come to him.
"Good to see y'all today. Questions?"
Hands shot into the air. Bode searched the sea of reporters and spotted a cute gal from cable waving as if desperate to be plucked from obscurity by Bode Bonner and put on a national stage. Why not help her get ahead in the world? He pointed at her, and she stood. If he weren't a religious man, he'd say she had a nice body.
"Governor, are you worried about another assassination attempt?"
"No."
"But they killed your bodyguard and your daughter's best friend. It was a miracle that you and your daughter survived."
"Yes, it was."
He thought it best not to elaborate.
"You really are an American hero."
He smiled. No need to over-talk the obvious. He'd just hero his way through this nationally-televised press conference. The little gal looked like a star-struck teenager. She had another question. He nodded at her.
"Governor, how are you going to reduce the federal deficit as president when Texas is facing a twenty-seven-billion-dollar deficit with you as governor? When you're going to fire tens of thousands of state workers and perhaps a hundred thousand teachers? How are you going to save a broke nation when you're governor of a broke state?"
" What? "
Right before his eyes, the cute reporter had transformed into Katie Couric, like that guy in the werewolf movie.
"Well, uh, the, uh, thing is…"
He glanced at Jim Bob by the door, who shielded his face from the reporters and mouthed, "No deficit."
"There is no deficit."
"But-"
He turned away from the Katie Couric clone and searched for friendly faces. He found none, so he pointed at a familiar face, Carl Crawford, the reporter from the alternative Austin newspaper.
"But, Governor, I've obtained confidential documents written by your political advisor, Jim Bob Burnet, that prove the State of Texas is in fact facing a massive budget deficit and that you knew this when you said there is no deficit, as you just repeated."
"There are no such documents, Carl, because there is no such deficit."
Carl held up a stack of papers.
"Yes, Governor, there is a deficit and there are documents that prove it. One of your former employees, Jolene Curtis, gave these to me. You lied."
Damn. The frisky gal betrayed him.
"Governor, she also gave us documents that prove you replaced the entire Board of Pardons and Paroles after they opened an investigation into the execution of Billy Joe Dickson to determine if the state executed an innocent person in order to derail their investigation."
"She did?"
"She did. That's a cover-up."
"A cover-up? That had nothing to do with any investigation, Carl. I just didn't want them to think it's a career."
"Some people think Jesse Rincon might end your career as governor of Texas."
"Who?"
"Jesse Rincon-he might be your Democratic opponent."
"Jesse Rincon? Never heard of him."
"I think you'll hear about him soon enough."
Carl was grinning, as if he had finally found a scandal. Lying about the deficit, executing an innocent man, those are the best scandals he can come up with against an American hero? Please. Bode nodded at the reporter from the Houston paper.
"Governor, have you heard of Hoot Pickens?"
"Sure."
"You appointed him to the Texas Commission on Environmental Quality even though he's in the refinery business?"
"Shouldn't the industry being regulated have a voice?"
"They shouldn't write their own regulations."
"Lawyers do that."
"Their lawyers."
"Do you have a question or are you campaigning? You sound like my Democratic opponent."
"Yes, Governor, I have a question: Can you explain how you made a half-million-dollar profit on a land deal with Mr. Pickens?"
"What land deal?"
"You bought a lot on Lake Austin from him two years ago, and you recently sold that lot to his son, and you pocketed five hundred thousand dollars."
"I did? Look, I put all my assets in a blind trust when I was first elected governor, so I don't know anything about that."
"But you know Mr. Pickens is active in Texas politics?"
"My auto mechanic's active in Texas politics."
He smiled and moved on to the next reporter-but he was getting a bad feeling. This wasn't the hero's welcome he had expected. He pointed at a San Antonio reporter.
"Governor, did you appoint Joe Jack Munger to the UT Board of Regents in exchange for a million-dollar donation to your campaign?"
"No, absolutely not. I think it was only two hundred thousand."
He chuckled, but no one else did. His bad feeling increased. A little help here, God. He acknowledged the reporter from Fort Worth.
"Governor, we've learned from Democratic state legislators that you're personally rounding up votes for a special bill that would grant your biggest campaign donor-John Ed Johnson, a billionaire-the power to condemn rural land for his water pipelines. Is that true?"
"You're getting your information from Democrats? Those guys will say anything to discredit me because they know we're going to bury them in November."
"But is it true? Are you supporting Mr. Johnson's attempt to condemn ranchers' and farmers' land for his pipeline?"
"No, of course that's not true."
"So you'll veto the bill if the legislature passes it?"
"I can't answer a hypothetical question."
"Sounds like you're dodging the question."
God, feel free to step in anytime and smite these reporters down.
He gave up on Texas reporters and gestured to a network reporter.
"Governor, is it true that you employ illegal Mexican immigrants at the Governor's Mansion?"
"No, that's not true."
"What about Guadalupe Sendejo?"
"Lupe? She's family. She's been with my family since I was a boy."
"But she's undocumented. As are the Mexicans you employ at your ranch."
"They're family, too."
"But they're residing in the U.S. illegally. You're employing illegal immigrants while demanding that the president secure the border to keep illegal immigrants out-isn't that hypocritical?"
Please, God. A little help here.
A good-looking broad bounced up and down with her hand in the air. Surely she wanted to ask him about the shooting. He pointed to her. She jumped up.
"Governor, did your wife leave you?"
" What? Of course not."
"Well, where is she? She hasn't been seen at her regular charitable duties in weeks now-the food bank, the homeless shelter, the AIDS clinic. Everyone is wondering where she is."
He hoped he wasn't sweating through the armpits of his powder-blue shirt for all the world to see. He felt a single bead of sweat pop from a pore on his forehead. He couldn't reach up and wipe it off-the cameras would catch him sweating, just the kind of photo op he didn't need. So he ignored the sweat bead as it started its slow descent down his broad forehead. He tried to frown it off, but it hung tight to his skin. He finally reached up as if to brush his hair off his forehead and swiped the sweat bead with his palm. But his sweat pores erupted like Mount St. Helens with the next question.
"Governor, does your wife's absence have anything to do with the rumors that are running rampant around Austin that you're having an affair with your aide, Mandy Morgan. Is that true?"
" Mandy Morgan? She's barely older than my daughter-who's probably watching this press conference on TV. You should be ashamed of yourself for asking that question."
"Which you haven't answered."
He glared at her, which usually worked, but she held her ground. Oh, God, your good buddy Bode is in deep doo-doo here!
"Obviously, my political opponents have fed y'all with a lot of rumors so you'll air this on your shows and print it in your newspapers. Getting me to deny an affair with an aide is almost as good for ratings as me admitting it, right? This is exactly what is wrong with the liberal media in America today. You live for scandal because scandal drives ratings. So even if there's no scandal, you create scandal. And nothing drives ratings higher than a sex scandal involving a political hero, right? But the people of America will see this for what it is, a left-wing media attack. This is exactly what the liberal press does when the people embrace conservative heroes, when the liberal media's power to influence the people is challenged: you launch personal attacks. Tea Partiers are racist, Sarah Palin is dangerous, I'm an adulterer… It's disgusting, and the people hate you for it. But worse than that, it's a cancer on democracy, a cancer that's destroying this country. I'm a tough guy, I played football, I took big hits, I'm used to cheap shots. But only football games were at stake. Our country, our way of life, is at stake now. And the press-so important an institution that it is protected by the First Amendment-goes down into the gutter to report filthy rumors like this. You can't hurt me. But you're hurting my wife and my daughter, and you should be ashamed of yourselves."
But the reporter didn't seem the least bit ashamed.
"So it's all a lie? Your wife hasn't left you, and you're not having an affair?"
Bode jabbed a big finger at the reporter.
"It's a goddamn lie."
Sorry, God, I'm winging it here. Alone.
He walked away from the podium and out the door. Jim Bob caught up with him a few steps down the corridor. Two Texas Rangers shadowed them as they marched down the Capitol corridor and out the east doors and climbed into the waiting Suburban. Bode exhaled.
"What the hell was that all about?"
"That," Jim Bob said, "was the national press. See, Bode, you've played politics only in the friendly waters of Texas, where the press is compliant and we've only got two liberal media outlets in the whole state. Now you're playing politics in the big waters, where all the media are liberal and vicious."
"And who's this Democrat, Jesse Rincon?"
"Your wife's doctor."
"Her gynecologist is a Democrat?"
"No… well, I don't know, he might be… but this isn't about him. Jesse Rincon is her Mexican doctor."
"She goes to a Mexican gynecologist?"
"Not her goddamned gynecologist! The doctor she works with, down on the border. He's a Latino named Jesse Rincon. He's getting a lot of good press for passing up a big-city practice to take care of those poor people in the colonias — "
"Oh, the liberal media love that, don't they?"
— "and Latino leaders around the state are pushing him for governor, they see him as the savior. Like the San Antonio mayor."
"Gutierrez? I gave him state environmental funds to clean up the riverwalk."
" New York Times did a front-page profile on him. Rincon."
"No one in Texas reads the New York Times, and no one in New York can vote in Texas. As long as he's not on Fox, we're okay. You think he's gonna run?"
Jim Bob shrugged. "He hasn't said yes, but he hasn't said no."
"Maybe he doesn't want to be a politician?"
"Everyone wants to be a politician."
"I wanted to be a pro football player."
"I mean, after they grow up."
"Maybe he won't run."
"They put kids in a TV shot with him."
"Damn, he's running. A Latino. You figure the Latino vote will come out for him?"
"Does the Democratic vote come out for a tax increase?"
"Shit."
"He'll sweep the Latino vote."
"Which means he'll win."
"They'll vote for him. And there'll be a Latino in the Governor's Mansion doing more than cooking. On my watch."
The Suburban exited the Capitol grounds and turned right on Eleventh Street.
"How the hell did they find out about Mandy?"
"Jolene, probably."
"Damn. I thought she wanted to screw me."
"She just did."
"Maybe they found out from Mandy. Maybe she told a friend. Or texted someone." He stared out the window. "Jesus, this day can't get any worse."
The Suburban entered the gates to the Mansion and stopped in the rear driveway. Bode bolted out and marched inside the Mansion and down the corridor to Mandy's office. He barged in without knocking on the closed door. Because he was pissed. Excuse me God, but I am pissed. Because his mistress had been talking out of turn.
"Damnit, Mandy, did you-"
A loud gagging noise interrupted him. Mandy was bent over behind her desk. Another gagging sound, and she sat up. She was holding the trash basket. The smell of puke permeated the small room.
"You sick?"
She spit into the basket, put the basket down, wiped her mouth with a tissue, and shook her head.
"I'm pregnant."