The Final Chapter Page 14

The nun’s words might have been misinterpreted by someone who didn’t know her or the colorful way she phrased things.

  But her words were words of praise and respect for Sharp and the way she handled things.

  As for John, he merely smiled.

  He’d known Sister Mary Beth for several years now. She was one of the people he worked with when he was on the force. She helped him track down thugs who were killing people so they could claim their victims’ meals.

  He was well aware that Sister Mary Beth sometimes used what they once called “salty language.”

  But it was still funny, hearing a nun utter the word “badass.”

  “Only time will tell,” John said. “Unfortunately, I won’t be around to see what happens.”

  “Where are you going, young man?” Sister Mary Beth asked.

  “I’m headed back to Kerrville in a couple of hours.

  “If one of you will brief Rhett Butler, he’ll let me know if it worked.

  “I hope it does, because the next step is the wrecking ball. And I suspect people will rebel and many will die.”

  “Huh?”

  The query came from Officer Luna, who up to this point didn’t say much. She saw herself in the same role John did: as backup.

  John suddenly realized he almost disclosed the city’s secret plan to dislodge the project’s residents should their efforts fail.

  “Nothing,” he said. “Never mind.”

  He made a quick pit stop at the Palacio del Rio, since he was in the neighborhood anyway, and said goodbye to his old friend Julio and his new friends Jason and Jessica.

  He felt an odd premonition this was the last time he’d see the wiry little man everyone thought was loco and called him such.

  Julio was a strange little guy who was just as sane as John, but who had some very peculiar habits.

  John had had premonitions in the past with mixed results.

  Sometimes they played out, sometimes they didn’t.

  He hoped he was wrong this time.

  He and Julio started out on rocky ground, with the older man yelling at John from a balcony and calling him names before he even met him.

  Most people at least met John before they called him names.

  He made a point of telling Julio now that the city was returning to normalcy he’d come back once a year to check up on things.

  John must have been transparent.

  His concern for Julio must have been apparent on his face.

  Or perhaps Jessica just read his mind.

  “Don’t worry,” she said as she hugged him. “We’ll take good care of him, I promise.”

  John crawled into his pickup truck and headed to the northwest, confident his hometown would recover.

  It wouldn’t be easy.

  It hadn’t been easy for a very long time.

  The surviving San Antonians still had a very long way to go.

  But they were working together now, and they were sharing their food and their knowledge.

  They were once again watching out for one another. Once again helping one another.

  Once again greeting strangers not as enemies or competitors but as potential friends.

  It was the way of San Antonio, which had always been one of the friendliest cities in the world.

  Of course, John thought as he drove along, there were always exceptions.

  He’d said nothing when he and the others went into the projects on their rescue mission.

  He could have.

  But he sensed Angela Sharp had a handle on it and saw no reason to get in her way.

  He hoped Sharp’s logic and friendly banter would do the trick.

  He didn’t know, as he exited the city limits and increased his speed a bit along Interstate 10, that she had scored a major victory.

  The following day, when she would show up in the VC at 2 p.m. sharp as promised she’d have not one, but three residents ready to go with her to the old post office.

  Sharp had a plan she hadn’t told the others about.

  She hadn’t told them the trips she made to the post office weren’t to be one-way affairs.

  No, she planned to drop the residents off, tell them to have a meal at the Alamo and to get their paperwork in order, and that she’d pick them back up at five p.m. when she got off duty.

  “I will take you back to the VC,” she’d tell them.

  “I want you to tell your neighbors what the city has done for you so they can finally see the truth for themselves.

  “Then I will help you gather your belongings and I will take you to your new home.”

  John didn’t know it now, but Project Wrecking Ball would never take place.

  That in the weeks ahead she would single-handedly clear all the residents out of the VC. That it would be left to the gangsters, for they deserved no better.

  In the months ahead Officer Sharp would be awarded San Antonio’s Medal of Honor for her efforts in the VC and other projects like it.

  In the years ahead she would be elected Mayor of San Antonio.

  And John didn’t know it now, but he’d be in attendance at her swearing in.

  By then they’d be the best of friends.

  -44-

  John was looking forward to a happy homecoming in Junction.

  He wanted Hannah to greet him with open arms and warm kisses and he wanted to give both his daughters huge bear hugs.

  He wanted to relax beneath a shade tree and watch the clouds roll by, Hannah’s head upon his chest.

  Talking about the old days.

  And yes, they qualified as the old days now, more than seven long years after that fateful day when everything stopped working.

  The blackout had aged them… all of them, prematurely.

  They were old people in their forties now, or at least they felt that way.

  Any survivor over sixty was considered ancient and wise.

  Someone told John not long before that the “elders” in old Indian tribes were in reality men of just fifty winters or more.

  The Indians didn’t live long back then, he was told. It was a harsh world where people died young, either through violence or by one of the rampant diseases which passed through and took no prisoners.

  A man of fifty winters was considered a man who’d survived it all… battles against nature and other tribes. Wars with the white man who came to steal their land. The scourges no one could explain which felled them, young and old alike.

  It was said that a man who made it through fifty winters and still walked upon the earth was a tough warrior indeed. And by default a wise one too, for one cannot live so impossibly long without absorbing great knowledge.

  Such men in Indian culture were considered wise and revered with a special esteem.

  It was they who made the important decisions for their village.

  When to go hunting, when to stay home and defend their camp. When to break camp and move to a better place, and where to find such a place.

  Whether to fight the white man or go placidly into the white man’s reservation.

  John wasn’t quite fifty, but he knew how those elders must have felt.

  People came to him for guidance.

  He’d survived it all.

  In an Indian tribe he wouldn’t yet have earned the right to be called an elder, but he was close enough to imagine what it must have been like.

  This was a world where men seldom looked into a mirror.

  All semblances of vanity in men, and in most women too, were gone.

  Vanity had taken a back seat to simply surviving from day to day. Women no longer wore makeup or colored their hair.

  Most men wore their hair short and few carried combs anymore.

  Hair that was half an inch long tended to stay in pretty much one place, combed or not.

  The last time Hannah had cut his hair she’d made a comment he should grow it long again.

  “You’d look good in salt and pepper hair,” she commented nonchalantly. />
  “Why? Do you see a gray hair?”

  She’d smiled and said, “A gray hair? Honey, my love… try hundreds.”

  John thought he was teasing and went in search of a mirror.

  He borrowed the only one in the house, from daughter Misty, for she was the only one who was vain enough to still use one.

  Hannah and Rachel brushed their hair by feel, as their ancestors once did.

  Sure enough, his hair was a mixture of the black it had always been and a good number of gray hairs as well.

  Hannah had been kind and hadn’t told him his forehead was rising and he was developing a bald spot on the back of his head.

  She supposed that would have been too much for him to handle at one time.

  In the end she told him not to worry about it.

  “You’re still the handsomest man I’ve ever met in my life, and I think you’re even more so with a bit of gray.

  “In fact, I think gray hair is rather sexy.”

  He couldn’t tell if she was serious or just trying to placate him, but he accepted her words at face value.

  Occasionally, though, her words came back and occupied a prominent place in his thoughts. As well as odd things like how Indians earned the right to be called elders and how few old people there were left.

  John had been through many trials and tribulations in his life.

  His parents had died young. So had an older brother he’d relied upon to get him through his parents’ deaths.

  He’d served his country with honor and distinction, leaving a leg on the battlefield in a hundred pieces.

  He’d fought again with the San Antonio Police Department, this time merely to be given a chance.

  As an officer he battled a rogue cop who wanted to kill him and steal his dear Hannah.

  He battled bad guys who also wanted to kill him in a variety of ways.

  He survived it all.

  And he rose to the second highest rank in the SAPD before deciding enough was enough and moving his family to a better place.

  He battled Mother Nature and even the almighty sun itself.

  He was still standing, bent but still upright.

  Now he just wanted to relax.

  Not forever, but for a few days anyway.

  As he neared the compound he planned just the right words to Tom, who besides being his best friend was also his boss.

  “Sheriff’s Office, this is Deputy Castro.”

  “Go ahead, Castro.”

  “Would you let the Sheriff know I’m back in town?”

  “Ten four.”

  A minute later, “Deputy Castro, the Sheriff wants you to come by the office before you go home.”

  John Castro wanted to kick back and relax a few more days before heading back to work.

  His boss had other ideas.

  -45-

  Tom Haskins had been just a little bit of a pain in the butt lately.

  Oh, it wasn’t his fault.

  Ever since he was elected Mayor of Kerrville he’d been the self-professed “busiest man on the planet.”

  At least in his own opinion.

  He’d won by a landslide, partly because the townsfolk considered him something of a hero.

  He’d been a steadfast and capable sheriff for more than six years.

  He’d seen the county not only through the worst of the chaos; he was credited with personally killing or running off most of the marauders.

  He was credited with finding Sara Harter when she went missing and was held hostage by a brutal serial killer.

  He led the search to find two young boys lost in the woods for six days, and carried the youngest one in his arms six miles to safety.

  He performed CPR on the former mayor when he collapsed at a city council meeting and brought him back from certain death.

  The mayor decided a week later, from his hospital bed, that the stress of the job was too much for his bad heart and perhaps it would be best to retire.

  Tom Haskins ran for the position because many of his friends pressured him to do it. They said he’d be the best mayor the city ever had.

  Yes, he was elected by a landslide because the county worshipped him and had faith in him…

  … And because nobody else wanted the job.

  He ran unopposed.

  After the results came in and the election chairman counted a single vote, he declared the results final and announced Tom the victor.

  According to city charter, a newly elected mayor was to be seated twenty one days after the election.

  It had been that way for a long time.

  So long, in fact, that no one could remember the logic behind what everyone referred to simply as “the twenty one day clause.”

  Most speculated it was to give the outgoing mayor plenty of time to tie up loose ends and say his goodbyes to his coworkers and staff.

  Or maybe it was to let the incoming mayor tie up his own loose ends, shutter any business he might have, or say goodbye to his wife and kids. For certainly as the mayor of Kerrville, he’d likely seldom see them.

  In Tom Haskins’ case, one of the biggest loose ends was to appoint a new sheriff.

  The first man he went to was Charlie Sikes.

  Charlie was a good man, and the department’s senior deputy. He had over twelve years’ faithful service to the county.

  But he didn’t want the job.

  Paul Thompson, the next deputy in line for the job, was ineligible.

  All men make mistakes.

  Some can be forgiven more easily than others.

  Deputy Thompson made a terrible blunder some years before when he decided he was sober enough to drive home from a local bar.

  He wasn’t.

  His Driving While Intoxicated conviction was the only black mark on an otherwise exemplary record.

  And while for most people it wouldn’t be a career-killer, it most certainly was for a cop.

  Thompson, no matter how good he was, would always be a deputy and never a sheriff.

  John Castro made it known before he was even asked that he wasn’t interested in the job.

  As the former Deputy Chief of Police for the massive San Antonio Police Department he’d have been a logical choice for the position.

  But he didn’t want it either.

  “I’m on the downhill slide,” he said. “I’m at the stage of my life where I want to slow down. Stop and smell the roses. Teach my grandkids how to walk and talk and read and catch trout.”

  Reminded that he didn’t have any grandkids, he responded, “Soon. Very soon.”

  The only other deputy on the force was Sara Harter.

  She wasn’t quite a seasoned veteran, but she was no longer a rookie either.

  She’d never attended a law enforcement academy.

  Never had a degree in criminal justice.

  But she was faithful, loyal and worked harder than any man in the county.

  Tom could have advertised for the position.

  Everyone in the county was now looking for work, and there were a lot of out-of-work former cops with a lot more experience than Sara had.

  But none of them could top Sara in Tom’s mind.

  He laughed as he told the story to his friends and anyone else who would listen. How he went to Sara a week before and said, “Would you like to be…”

  And how she didn’t even let him finish.

  How she blurted out, “Yes!” halfway through his sentence and then hugged his neck and kissed him on the cheek.

  Granted, it wasn’t the most professional way to make and accept a job offer, but this was Sara. She was almost a daughter to him, and he was convinced she was more than capable of handling the job.

  Yes, John was hoping to get back to Kerrville and relax a few days before going back to work.

  But it wasn’t meant to be.

  The election had been a little more than a week before.

  Tom was under the gun, having only eleven days to button things up before he sta
rted his new job as mayor.

  Once he was seated in office, he expected to work sixty hours a week. He’d probably do at least a few hours in his office seven days a week for the foreseeable future.

  Vacations? No way.

  Like it or not, he had just a few days left to finish something big he’d been planning for months and still hadn’t gotten around to.

  It had nothing to do with the sheriff’s office, though; nothing at all.

  -46-

  John pulled into the parking lot of the sheriff’s office not really knowing what to expect, but suspecting it would be a pain in his neck.

  He knew about the election and the twenty one day clause.

  He helped Tom celebrate his election victory a couple of days before he left for San Antonio.

  Tom took him aside the night before he left and bemoaned all the unfinished projects he had in the works, and wondered aloud how he’d get them all finished before Sara took over.

  There were stacks and stacks of paper reports that had been completed since the power went out and took all their computers with it.

  Tom and Sara had been working on them for months, a little at a time, whenever things were slow and they had nothing better to do.

  One sheet at a time they were sorting them by report type, then putting them in alphabetical order by claimant’s name, then sorting them again by date.

  John wasn’t a betting man.

  But if he was he’d place his money on Tom asking him to help finish the thousands of sheets that were left so that Sara wouldn’t be stuck with the project after he left.

  Or maybe not.

  Maybe it was the backlog in the evidence room.

  The evidence room clerk used to be a quiet librarian-type who seldom spoke to anyone and who liked her solitude.

  So much so that she bit the head off of anyone when they interrupted her to ask for this piece of evidence or that.

  No one at the department knew her well.

  Her name was Betsy Nolan, but most of the other employees crassly called her “bitch” behind her back.

  She simply wouldn’t let anyone into her life. She kept everyone at arm’s length.

  Rumors ran rampant she was mentally ill and drove people away so she wouldn’t have to deal with them.

  Then the power went out and she stopped coming to work.