The Perk (34 page)

"Maybe so, Beck, but no one complains
'cause if they did, they'd be treated like an Amish slut come home for the
holidays. No one would do business with them, their boys wouldn't make any
sports team at school, their girls wouldn't make cheerleader—that's how things
work in a small town."

"So what do you think they're up to?"

Grady shook his head. "Don't know. But they're
up to something … something to stop you from signing that order Monday
morning."

"Well, there's nothing they can do to stop
me."

"Beck … don't bet the ranch on it."

Grady drove off, and Beck walked around back. Fifty yards south
of the house, his father was driving a bulldozer like he knew how. Beck waved
at his father. J.B. shut down the dozer.

"What are you doing?" Beck said.

J.B. flashed a big grin. "She's a peach,
ain't she?"

"What are you gonna do with it?"

"I'm building a baseball field."

"For Luke?"

"Build it and he will come. I saw that in
a movie a while back, on cable. Guy builds a baseball field so his dad'll come
back. Worked for him, figure it might work with Luke."

"That was a movie, J.B."

"Good one."

J.B. fired up the dozer again, and Beck walked
down to the winery to collect the children and Frank. Luke was working with
Hector, and Meggie and Frank were playing with Josefina, so Beck went upstairs
to J.B.'s office. He sat at the computer, but this time he did not read
Annie's emails. Instead, he searched for information on steroids. He found
eighteen million web hits. For the next hour, he read.

Anabolic steroids … injection … carried
to muscle cells … receptors transport the steroids to the cell nucleus … react with DNA to stimulate the cell's protein production … protein plus
exercise results in increased muscle mass. Bulk.

But you're messing with your DNA.

Mega-dosing … one hundred times normal
testosterone level … cycling … stacking … pyramiding … one
million high school athletes use steroids in the U.S. Side effects: acne,
baldness, high cholesterol, high blood pressure, heart damage, cancer, mood
swings, depression … homicidal rage.

Beck sat back and stared at the last two words
on the screen: homicidal rage.

Five hours later, J.B. was driving his rocker on the back
porch. Beck said, "You still take your truck to Claude Krause?"

"Yep."

"Would Claude lie for Kim?"

"Claude wouldn't lie for himself. That's
why he's the poorest mechanic in town." J.B. looked up from the
newspaper. "Never asked—how'd it go with Gretchen?"

"It didn't."

"You had second thoughts?"

"She did."

"Oh."

"She was worried she'd get fired, if she
was seen with me. After yesterday."

J.B. nodded. "What are you gonna do?"

Beck shrugged. "Nothing. If she doesn't
want to—"

"No. About Slade."

"Oh. I'm sending Slade to the grand
jury."

"Judge, if you send Slade to the
grand jury, you're sending those Mexicans back to Mexico."

Beck had been wrong: there was something they
could do to stop him. He had arrived that Monday morning to find Bruno Stutz, Quentin
McQuade, and the D.A. in his chambers.

"Those Mexicans will never get to Main Street," Stutz said. "ICE will raid the turkey plant before Thanksgiving
weekend."

"Immigration and Customs Enforcement,"
the D.A. said.

"You're going to call in the Feds to deport
those people?"

"
Ja
. Creates
a nice little diversion, don't you think?" Stutz said. "The Mexicans
getting arrested and deported. Puts Julio on the back-burner."

"Delgado can still stage his protest."

Stutz laughed. "There won't be five Mexicans
left in town … Hell, I figure Julio won't even be here. He'll take his
brothers and sisters and follow his folks to Mexico. The Julio problem goes away—literally."

"You'd have those poor people deported just
to keep Slade's football career on track?"

"
Just?
"
Quentin McQuade said. "Slade's gonna make more money his first year in
the NFL than all the Mexicans in this town will make in their entire lives
combined."

"You deport the Mexicans, that'll close the
turkey plant. A lot of turkey farms will close, too. German turkey
farms."

Stutz shrugged. "Collateral damage."

"Here's the deal, Judge," McQuade
said. "My offer to the boy still stands. One million dollars to settle
all civil claims against Slade, and you and the D.A. here dismiss the criminal
charges. That's a good deal. Let's get it done."

The D.A. was nodding like a puppet on a string.

"That's civil. This is criminal."

"Well, Judge, if the criminal case isn't
dismissed, there won't be a civil settlement. But there will be an ICE raid.
My money can buy that, too."

"I'll come back with a written request to
postpone your order," Stutz said, "right after I give Delgado the
good news."

The three men stood.

"Judge, once we make the call to ICE,"
McQuade said, "there's no stopping that train. The Feds are coming to
town, and those Mexicans are going home."

"Julio gets beaten up, but his parents get
deported. That's his justice?"

Quentin McQuade shrugged and said, "Life
ain't fair."

"Son of a bitch!"

Beck had just ruined Sheriff Grady Guenther's Kraut
dog lunch.

"That's Stutz's doing. He's been wanting a
raid more than George W. wanted Saddam."

Beck was sitting in the visitor's chair in the
sheriff's office. Grady was shaking his head.

"Sorry I got you into this, Beck. Should've
just let things go like they've gone around here for a hundred and sixty
years. You figure just once something ought to go the right way."

Grady stuck a toothpick in his mouth.

"Grady, the Mexicans do all the manual
labor in this town. Without them, the Germans will have to pay higher
wages."

"Yep. White people won't work for the
Mexican wage."

"You really think they'll deport those
people if it costs them money?"

"Money is what's been keeping them from
doing it before now. But like I said, it wouldn't be the first time the
Germans pulled the trigger without drawing first. And you know how it is,
Beck, when it's Anglos versus Mexicans in Texas, common sense ain't part of the
equation."

"You think maybe Stutz and Quentin are
bluffing?"

"Don't know about Quentin, but Bruno
ain't. He's a scary bastard 'cause he never bluffs. He'll make that call to
ICE, and when he does, it's a done deal. Those Mexicans will be bused to Mexico."

"Only way to stop that is to dismiss the
criminal charges."

Beck could only think of two words: homicidal
rage.

"What if Slade hurts someone else?"

"I swear to God, Beck, I'll arrest him and
break his throwing arm myself." Grady spit the toothpick into the trash
can. "Look at it this way, Beck. Two months from now Slade'll be
enrolled at UT. He'll be their problem then. He beats up someone in Austin,
even Quentin don't have enough money to buy off those crazy liberals. They'll
crucify him."

"He beats the hell out of Julio, and now
he's going to walk because his daddy's worth two hundred million dollars."

"Quentin's a
dumme
fool
to pay a dime to that Mexican boy," Bruno Stutz said. "Was me, I'd call
in ICE and be done with the bunch of them. But Quentin's a businessman. He likes
settlement agreements with confidentiality clauses."

Stutz had returned with the postponement
request.

"What did Delgado say?"

Stutz chuckled. "He wasn't a happy
Mexican."

"He threatens protests, you and McQuade
threaten ICE raids."

"You shouldn't make threats the other side
can trump."

"Bruno, an ICE raid would destroy this
town."

"
Gut
. I
don't like this town anymore."

"Then leave."

"
Nein! Ich
bin Deutscher!
I am German! This town is German! I want the
Ausländers
to leave,
die Mexikaner
and the Californians and those Main Street folks from Austin. Nothing but a bunch of goddamned liberals, bringing their
politics and tattoos to my town. And good Germans are selling out to them so
they can buy a goddamn Lexus."

Stutz stood.

"Hell, I've been
wanting to get rid of the Mexicans for thirty years, but everyone else just
wanted to let things be—because we're addicted to the Mexicans' cheap labor.
Man my age, I don't give a damn what everyone else wants. I want the Mexicans
gone. The tourists, too. I want this to be a German town again. Used to walk
up and down Main Street, everyone
sprechen Deutsch
. Now only a few
old-timers like me speak the language at home, over at the goat auction.
Everyone else speaks Spanish."

"Bruno, you like Mexican food?"

He shrugged. "Enchiladas. And those
little rolled-up things, fried with chicken inside …"

"
Flautas?
"

"
Ja
, those. And
sopapillas
.
I like their food, Beck, but I hate them. I hate what they've done to my
town."

"What? Roofing German houses? Processing
German turkeys? Picking German peaches?"

"Killing German girls.
I guarantee you, it was a
Mexikaner
that raped and killed her."

"Heidi? She wasn't raped. Sex was
consensual."

"He drugged her, and that's not consent.
Kids here, they used to drink beer … I don't need to tell you that. Then
the Mexicans came to town and now kids use marijuana, cocaine, meth—that's why
I sent every Mexican I could to prison."

"Like Miguel Cervantes?"

Stutz laughed.
"
Ja
, I remember you in the courtroom that day, the star quarterback
crying for his spic buddy. You know where he ended up? Dead in Dallas. Drug deal gone bad."

Miguel Cervantes was dead.

"Maybe being sent to prison for smoking a
joint when he was eighteen put him on that path."

"Being born Mexican put him on that
path."

"And what did you do to German kids?"

"I sent them
back home to
der Vater
. Believe me, once their old man got through with
them out in the goat shed, they wished I had sent them to prison. Like Merle
Fuchs, our local Congressman."

"So you figure it's okay for Slade to beat
the hell out of that boy?"

"Not in
public." A grin. "We always took them out to the country." A
pointed finger. "That boy, he was romancing little Nikki, they call it
machismo
.
You seen all those barrio bastards they sired? Born sucking off the government's
tit."

"German goat ranchers sucked off the
government's tit for forty years."

"That was different. We're citizens."

"Those Mexican kids are citizens, too.
Born in the USA."

Stutz snorted. "Just like your daddy, a
man of principle."

"Thanks."

"It wasn't a compliment."

"Does your boss really want a raid?"

"He wants his
Sohn
in the NFL." He shook his head. "Never met a man got football on
the brain like him. But truth be known, Beck, I don't like McQuade either,
coming in here with his money and buying everything in town."

"He bought you."

"
Nein
.
He's renting me."

"You're a mean man, Bruno."

That thin smile. "
Danke
.
But you don't how mean I am. You push me, Beck, and you'll find out. And so
will those wetbacks."

After court closed for the day, Beck drove straight to the winery
to pick up the kids. He walked through the tasting room and into the tank
room. Luke was working with Hector.

"Luke, where's Meggie?"

"In the vineyards with Josefina and
Butch."

"J.B. upstairs?"

"He is up at the house," Hector said, "riding
the bulldozer. J.B., he likes to build things. Beck, may I have a word?"

Hector led Beck to the open barn doors. From
there they looked out upon the fifty acres of vines. He saw the girls playing
under Butch's watchful eye.

"Beck, word of the Espinoza boy has
traveled throughout the Mexican community. The Mexicans, they have faith in
you, that you will do the right thing."

"Problem is, Hector, I don't know what the
right thing is."

"There are rumors of a raid. People are
nervous."

"I'm not going to let that happen, Hector. I'll find a way.
I'll figure out justice in this case."

"You are the judge, Beck, so you decide
what is the law. But only God decides what is justice."

"Well, Hector, you might be right about
that, but if ICE raids our town, those Mexicans will be deported. Not even God
can stop the Federal government."

The children were asleep, and the Hardin men were in their
rockers on the back porch.

"What are you gonna do?" J.B. said.

"I don't know. A settlement would help
Julio and his family and keep ICE out of our town. But if Slade hurts someone
else, that'd be on my watch."

Homicidal rage.

"It'd be a damn shame to see those Mexicans
deported."

"What about Hector?"

"He's legal. We got his green card, then
his citizenship."

"How?"

"If a Mexican's got a half-million bucks to
invest in a business, government puts him on the fast track."

"Hector had a half-million dollars?"

"Nope. But I did. From selling the goats. So I loaned him
some and folks from his hometown put together the rest. Hector sends half his share
of the profits down to Matamoros."

"A Mexican with money can buy his way in,
but a Mexican who just wants to work has to sneak in. You'd think politicians
could see how stupid that is."