A Novel by Kawika A. Stafford

Chapter 50

Bob stood staring at himself in the bathroom mirror. He had not shaved in several days. His eyes were beyond bloodshot. Bob had perhaps three hours of sleep in the last day and a half. A cigarette hung from his mouth. He had to close one eye as smoke was stinging the other one shut. He grabbed it from his mouth, and tossed it in the toilet.

He stumbled down the diminutive hallway and now sat at his shabby dinette table. He poured another shot of whiskey but did not drink it. His whole world had collapsed, taken down and away, just like that.
He reached for the shot of whisky and threw it back nonchalantly. However, as he sat in his tiny travel trailer his anger had continued to toss and roll.

Like a man atop an over turned boat in a dark storm, Bob remained captive to his foamy seething; a servant to his unrelenting animosity.

He had no intention of attending the press conference. Moreover, Bob had told Shane he would not. He had promised Shane he would leave town,

but this feeling;

this desperate feeling of being powerless, overwhelmed him.

Between Notah, and that Sonny Ray what’s his name, he simply could not accept the fact that he had been done in by a couple of minorities.

It was a feeling he was neither familiar with, nor comfortable to have to acknowledge to himself.

After all, he was an American, this was his country, there was an order of things; a predetermined course that had been plotted out centuries ago by his forefathers.

This was a way of life designed for men like him. To thrive, to succeed. And by god, this was as far as it was going to go.

He had been pushed around long enough.

Bob was going to that damn press conference.

He was going to shoot that big harwaiian, and that damn Notah too. And if he could kill that Apache trouble maker Nadia, and her smart ass Puerto Rican friend, he’d get them too.
As he slammed the door of his trailer palace for the last time,
Bob vowed never
to watch
another seventies
rerun of
Harwaii 5-0,
as long as he lived.

The Mayor sat at his desk reading over his speech for the impending press conference. However, like any good politician worth his salt, he would have to get some mirror time. He had a luxurious private bathroom to practice for the next fifteen minutes or so. The media had finished setting up their cameras.

More of the local citizenry began to filter in, merging with the growing crowd. In a half hour the Mayor would deliver perhaps one of the most crucial speeches of his political career. The Mayor wanted this controversy to go away as quickly as possible.

Mayor Meekham was peeved when he got wind that local enforcement had loosed the net on their former colleague. He knew many of his cops liked Bob, but Bob was now officially a fugitive.

The Mayor promoted the long tenured Captain William Logan, to be the new Chief of Police of Antelope Springs.

The Mayor was understanding about the whole thin blue line thing, but he wanted extra uniforms at the press conference in the event Bob was ignorant enough to show his face.

Truthfully the Mayor didn’t believe Bob would show, but he wanted a show of force for all the media to see.
He anticipated many of the respected members of the various indigenous nations of this region to be present. He knew that these tribal nations all had members who had been brutalized by former officer, Bob Fritz.

Mayor Meekham was concerned that things could get ugly.

He thought it prudent to ask the various tribal nations to send members of their respective police force, to assist with crowd control, and to provide a show of force.

It also gave the citizenry of Antelope illusion that he cared.

It was almost time for the press conference. The Mayor looked down at his cell phone. He tossed his phone on his desk. A buzz came from his secretary. “Yes?”
“Chief Edwards is here Mr. Mayor,” his secretary replied.

“Send him in Rachel,” Mayor Meekham replied.

It was the last time he would be called Chief of anything

in the small town of Antelope Springs, Arizona.