Excalibur Editions        -      Where the pen is mightier

Prologue

Austin, Texas Return

They all favored The Hearth, just north of the glittering Capitol dome;  the highly visible Legislators, and  the almost always invisible Brokers of Power...the real shapers of success and destiny for that "select few."  The elected would always come and go with a planned obsolescence rivaled only by the automobile industry, while the real powers become  even stronger with each election washout.  On any given day around noon, there was enough wealth represented in The Hearth's continental dining room to run a small country.  But then, Texas was a small country, both literally in the past tense and figuratively in the present.

"The sheer power and the goddammed glory...!"

Ryland Whitley had to smile at the regional flavor of his luncheon guest's conversation.  At the same time, he did not underestimate the big Texan.  There were some who said that Farris Dodge had survived the vicissitudes of eight administrations because his political brutality shook your hand by day, and your convictions by night.  Ryland knew it was true.  Dodge was the most respected of the fat cats, if for no other reason than his uncanny ability to spot political winners.  A candidate wanting to know whether to plan on a four year stint in Austin, had only to ask Farris.  Deep within, they knew that he could make or break the chances of even the incumbents.  What chance then, for a mere tenderfoot?  A hopeful?  Run the gamut from monarchy to democracy, and it matters not a whit!  There would always be the puppets, and, just as surely, always the puppeteers.

"I'm tellin' you, Ryland, that's what it's all about! Most of those nit-wits we've got down on the floor don't know how to blow their noses, let alone finance a budget for the whole damned state, now that oil is down.  It's just about enough to make a grown man cry, then climb up on his horse and ride plumb across the border."

Ryland nodded thoughtfully.  "I know exactly what you mean.  If they had any brains at all, they'd be floating municipal industrial revenue bonds and setting up  incentives to bring in new industries to diversify what economy we've still got left.  They'd concentrate on broadening the tax base, instead of raising taxes on a people close to being destitute.   Now is the time that they need to point out to world industrialists that our deflated housing costs, surplus office space, cheap land, and unemployment of the highly skilled make the timing perfect  for moving in and investing in the future of our state."

"Son, you're absolutely right!   All those boys  do is cry about the status quo and try to make everybody think they're not to blame."   Farris Dodge leaned his long body back from the table and laughed with the hollow echo of certain disappointments;  a lifetime's worth.   "It never changes, Ryland.  I guess you know that, now.  The Democrats blame the Republicans.  The Republicans blame the Democrats, and together, they both blame 'Oil,' as if the ground owes us all those megabucks.  The dinosaurs have been feeding this state's tax coffers  for a lot longer than I've been around."

Ryland Whitley's dark eyes sobered.  There was often irony in the way things turned out in life.  It would  be extremely funny, if it didn't cause so many people so much pain.   Still, he couldn't help but feel that it was strange  knowing exactly what this man of power thought,  and somehow strangely wonderful that they were in agreement.  "You know, Farris, the ridiculous part of this is that there's so damned much about Texas for them to sell.  For example, there isn't even any state income tax -- personal or corporate -- to take a bite out of any of their profits.  Very few states can make that claim.  But what do these cretins do?  They cry so damned loud that they're wetting the handkerchiefs in every major city in the western world, and scaring away the new business and investment that is the only real answer to the problems...most, at least, if not all of them.  They're making  sure their prophesies of doom become reality."   From the look on Dodge's face, it was easy for the impassioned attorney to see he'd made headway in impressing this politician's politician.  He was on a roll, and he knew it.

"Young man, you're talking my kind of language, now!  I tried to get the Governor to appoint a task force of  leaders from different industries and Chambers of Commerce to help bring in new industry and create jobs.  Look how well George Wallace did it in Alabama.  We laughed at them, you know,

but when it came right down to it, they  led the entire sun belt in attracting the new business that they needed, and they have for three years now."

Ryland nodded to acknowledge Farris Dodge's grasp of things, but there was a vital concept the senior statesman wasn't mentioning.  "Frankly, Farris, a college freshman in economics knows that any city, state, or country  dependent on one industry, whether it's cars in Detroit or tourism on Miami Beach, will eventually suffer from that industry's  cyclical downturns.  I don't know one industry that's immune, in all reality, to cyclical gyrations.  Let's face facts.  That's one of the main reasons that the smarter corporate directors started to diversify and, many years ago, sought out compatible but different businesses to smooth things  and take up  slack during the downturns in their main businesses.  That's been the simple rationale behind companies going the conglomerate route from day one.

If these idiots don't watch their step, they'll get killed in the next election.  They deserve it, of course, but they're taking the whole damned state down with them."  Even as he spoke, Ryland studied Dodge's face; the epitome of a power broker's face, as smooth of expression, as inscrutable as a Buddhist monk's.  Sometimes, you just had to wait for the words to be said.  And Farris Dodge complied.

"I've tried telling 'em.  The state wouldn't be in this mess if we had men like you in there.  But we don't!"

The older man had heard the rumor, after all!   Despite his complaining, Dodge loved to play the game, and no one  baited hooks any better than he did.  But Ryland Whitley had been a top attorney and officer of the court much too long  to take bait, unless it suited his own plan.

He didn't mind letting his campaign plans be put out on the table, though.  After all, his main purpose in being  here was to test the political waters with Dodge.

"Farris, you just might get your wish.  I suppose you've already heard.  I've been asked to run for State Attorney-General.  In fact, I've been wanting to talk to you about it."

Dodge grinned, setting his double scotch down to reach over and shake Ryland's hand.  "Son, I'd say that's an honor.  Yessiree!  That's big time!  And if you work it right, it could be just the beginning.  Attorney-General can be a dammed good launch pad.  High visibility, you know?  I've always said you remind me of the Kennedy boys...God rest their souls!"

Ryland shook his head.  "I think you're giving me more credit than I deserve, Farris.  At any rate, Camelots are illusions which are hard for someone like me to create.  If I run, I want to win, and if I win, I want it to be real."

Dodge was quick to agree.  "And I know you'd get an awful lot accomplished.  You've got the brains and the energy, God knows, not to mention your integrity.  This state needs more bright, young men like you around to guide it through these rougher times.  I'd say you've got a helluva future ahead of you, but when you play your cards, you've got to play 'em right.  If you want to make some changes, you'd better play them right!"  The expression in Dodge's eyes was piercing, now.

"Well, some changes that absolutely must be made, could be effected through the courts, with the precedence of certain cases on appeal, but that takes a damned long time.  And even then, judicial decisions rarely impact the overall economic and the fiscal policies of  city-state.  You, also, have to have the right kind of case and grounds to take all the way to the Supreme Court.  Sometimes, you're doomed to lose the case, because the law that's on the books has to be changed before the courts can rule differently, no matter what the justice or the logic of the cause is shown to be."

For the first time, Dodge seemed a little less convinced.  "Your ideals are truly admirable.   I'll say that for you!   But, Ryland, out there in the real world, plenty of the same stupidity, greed, and narrow-mindedness that we've elected to legislative offices, has also been elected to judicial positions

all over the state, and at all levels of the courts.  Son, don't you feel like the Lone Ranger!  This isn't just a Texas disease, but our concern, right now, is here at home.  And I say that, of course, knowing that it doesn't change the fact that it's the damnedest of the problems that we've got, here and now.  Don't get me wrong.  If anybody could make a difference, I believe you could!"

Ryland's dark head lowered imperceptibly.  "I do feel that I'm achieving a modicum of public good through some of the cases that I try in court.  I just don't think it's quite enough; at least, not by the standards that I've set for myself.  I don't think I really have to be in office to do a little for the people...but it may not be enough!"

"God, that sounds like you; a real straight shooter and a damned good attorney, to boot!  Well, if you do decide to run, you take care.  You hear me?"   The baby blue innocence left Dodge's eyes.  His spectacles magnified the underlying shrewdness in his slightly narrowing eyes now.

Ryland absorbed Dodge's ominous warning in calm silence.  The words reverberated.  After fifteen years of listening to verdicts, he knew both the sound and the smell of a death sentence.  Dodge, apparently, thought he didn't stand a chance of winning.  If that was how it was to be, he could live with it.  He had meant what he'd said earlier.

 Still, a pulse throbbed at his right temple where early silver threaded through his dark hair.  His luminous dark eyes reflected an ambivalence, too.

"Now, you've aroused my curiosity, Farris.  Which one of the other five candidates for Attorney-General do you think will take it?"

"Son, I didn't say you couldn't win.  You've got what it takes.  I just said, 'be careful.'  There's a lot of baseness underneath all the gold on that Capitol dome.  When you think about all the clout that goes with political office...well, I don't have to tell you, men have been known to murder for a helluva lot less!"  Dodge leaned back with a cigar he chewed and never smoked.

"Why do I get the distinct feeling that you're trying to tell me something, Farris?"  Ryland worked to keep impatience from his voice.  "Cat and mouse" was wearing thin.

"Maybe 'cause I am," Dodge drawled at last.  He'd taken time to flag down a waiter to order coffee and dessert.  "Phelps is an idiot, but the way I hear it, he's hell-bent and determined to win."

"So what?"

"I talked to him the other day.  He was sizing up his chances.  The incumbent, Jim, is damned good and well-liked.  And, although he hasn't officially announced, everyone knows that he'll probably run for Governor, leaving the field wide open for Attorney-General.

Until your name came up, Phelps was at the top of the list of favorites, and considered a

shoo-in.  He said he didn't want to play dirty, but if he has to, he will.  He's gonna try to carry the vote on a morality issue."  Dodge's voice dropped dramatically to a bare whisper.  His betrayal of a political confidence was dynamite in itself.  Was he playing favorites, or being superbly manipulative?

Ryland shook his head in confusion.  "You've lost me.  What morality issue?"

For the first time, Dodge managed to look abashed.  "Somewhere, Phelps got the idea that pretty, little wife of yours might come in for some adverse publicity and make you look bad.  Now, let me say here and now, Ryland, I don't know if he's got anything or not, but you might want to take a slow walk around the situation before your family gets dragged through the mud.  I told you, Phelps is a determined son-of-a-bitch."

"So am I, Farris.  So am I," Ryland said at last, his words carried on the wave of a heavy exhalation.  "Just for the hell of it, what could they possibly say about Jessica?"

Dodge's big, smooth face twisted in pain.  "That she'd had some affairs."

"Some affairs?  More than one?"

"More than one."  Dodge's voice carried the apologetic sound of a banker turning down a loan.  "Whether it's true or not, you know it's enough to bury you, politically.  Come on, Son!  What do you say, we have another drink?"

Ryland's lips twisted into a bitter smile.  "Do I look like I need one?"

Dodge nodded sadly.  He recognized the signs.  After all, he had survived the administrations of three community property wives.

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