The Austin Job (7 page)

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.

“I don’t mean to be bull-headed, ma’am, but I’ve seen plenty of heatstroke in the cotton fields, and this is that. We’ve gotta get you cooled down.” Careful of her flowing evening gown, he continued toward the gala, now with Austin’s most powerful woman cradled in his arms.

“I must protest,” she huffed, “much too,” panting between every word, “undignified.”

“Undignified or not—” a tortured scream worse than a rabbit in the jaws of a coyote interrupted him as chaos descended over the Capitol lawn. “What in God’s name?”

At the opposite end of the outdoor gathering, a human tongue of flame burst from a scattering clump of guests before stretching its arms toward the evening sky. Blue plumes of fire shot from its thighs and stomach, arching the person impossibly backwards. In a final quake, the flames pulsed outward in every direction until, with a
whoof
, the charred remains tumbled to the scorched grass.

Silence blanketed the scene for a single, sick second. Then the paralyzing spell of terror broke, scattering the crowd like ripples in a pond. Starr clutched Gwendolyn tighter and bolted toward the refreshments. Shouts punctuated the spreading darkness. Then came the flames.

One after another, fountains of flame burst from the crowd amidst horrible screams. Starr swallowed his own bile, focusing on the life he held in his arms, the pulse of which thumped against his chest like a hummingbird hammer. At a labored sprint he punched a hole through the edge of the panicked crowd, cutting cross-grain toward the ice chests while stumbling through the surging river of humanity.

His gimpy knee struggled with the extra weight, threatening to buckle. The rising swell of sounds and smells reminded him strikingly of the rodeo arena during the singular moment of being thrown. The moment that as a rider, you lock onto the one thing that will bring you through.

Daisy
. He scanned the faces as they poured past, until a burning man charged him blindly. Diving clear, he tucked his shoulder and struck the ground hard, lightning extending from stem to stern. Still cradling the nearly unconscious Ms. Lloyd, he crashed into the leg of an icebox, bringing the insulated tin container down on both of them.

As the ice scattered across the grass causing a human pile-up, Starr caught glimpse of familiar faces. “Daisy! Sheriff!” Flipping over another icebox, Starr created an oasis in the midst of the human stampede. Daisy strained under the weight of her six-foot-four father whose face had turned redder than her dress.

Starr hoisted the sheriff off of her, flopping him down next to Ms. Lloyd and propping the two of them up against the overturned iceboxes. Finally all four of them were sheltered within the cool, moist air created by the ice and evening breeze.

He squeezed Daisy and pulled her close. “Sheriff, what the hell’s happening?”

“Attack,” he grunted in between labored breaths. “Has to be Oleg.”

“But how?” Starr searched their surroundings for clues. An increasing number of people were passing out before they could flee—hitting the ground with dull thuds.

“I don’t know.” The color in Lickter’s face improved gradually. “Poison?”

Daisy grabbed Starr by the wrist, “James.” She pointed with her expression, having seen what he’d missed—a single man walking calmly toward them, unlabored amidst the anarchy. “He’s holding something.”

“An umbrella?” Encased in shadow, the man’s silhouette slowly raised the tip of a parasol until it pointed straight at them. With a sinking stomach Starr simultaneously recognized the man and the truth of his horrific design. “Down!” The senator tossed himself across the others lengthwise as a searing hot pain stung his right buttock.

Jaws clenched, the sensation of liquid flames surged through his body with every fluttering pulse of his heart. But before the suffocating cocoon of pain could sever his senses, he swore he heard laughter fading in the distance.

“James!” Daisy heaved his rigid body off of them. Her crystalline eyes came into Starr’s view, dripping tears onto his burning hot skin.

He gripped her by the shoulders. Jerking with seizure, he feared snapping her in two. “Go.” Trembling, she shook her head. “Go! Dammit. Your father and Gwendolyn.” His eyes twitched, his muscles jerking with spasm, the scar a red-hot iron branding his face. "Go!” He felt his brain swell from pressure as the pain finally paralyzed him, rigid as a board.

Shaking her head and gripping him with her cool embrace, Daisy shifted him onto his side. Then staring into his eyes and holding him so close he feared they’d fuse together, she rolled the two of them clear of the others.

EIGHT

The Gambit

His body jolted and frizzed with searing pain. The surface of his skin flashed red in desperate effort to expel the overwhelming heat generated from the projectile. Daisy's presence forced him to fight the pain when every nerve demanded he beg sprouting flames to consume him. Through blurred vision, Starr kept his eyes riveted on her as the tears streaking her face evaporated between her skin and his.

A wave of sweat overcame him, expelling the heat through his pores and stabilizing his core temperature. As suddenly as the pain had begun, it subsided. The seizures released him and his swimming vision sharpened. A gentle sobbing reached his ears. He loosed his grip on Daisy’s arms where he’d left burn marks in the shape of his hands.

“Daisy.”

She opened her eyes. “James?”

“I’m sorry.”

She burst into a combination of laughter and tears, resting her head on his chest. His excessive sweat stuck the two of them together. “Sorry? You’re alive.”

“I’ve hurt you.” He ran his hands along her arms as a gunshot startled the pair.

She stood, helping him up. “Daddy!” Several feet away Lickter staggered before falling to his knees, smoke rising from the barrel of his .38. Starr lunged unsteadily in his direction, but Daisy beat him to the sheriff’s side.

“I’m fine. Get him!” As he sagged to the earth, Lickter pointed with his chin toward a figure cloaked in black and staggering into the shadows. Starr shook the popping lights from his vision and corrected course, but the inflammation around his gimpy knee locked it in place. On pins and needles he collapsed, smacking the side of his head into the turf.