The Perk (48 page)

"Nope. We decided not to have accidents
anymore. Mommy says you and J.B. are here to take care of me and I don't have
to be afraid just because she's not."

December 22nd, and still no Chase Connelly. Nine days left,
and Wes wasn't going to Africa to get Chase's DNA sample.

"Speed limit's sixty," J.B. said.

Beck was driving the Navigator. Riding in the
third seat were Libby (reading the newspaper), Danny (listening to an iPod),
and Luke (playing the Gameboy); in the second seat were Jodie, Janelle, and
Meggie in the middle (holding the doll). J.B. was wearing another Tommy Bahama shirt ("Maiden Monaco"), riding shotgun, and giving driving instructions
to Beck; he didn't like to back-seat drive, so he had sat up front.

"I know the speed limit," Beck said.

"Car must not. It's running
sixty-five."

"J.B., you and that shirt can ride in the third
seat on the way home. Jodie can ride shotgun."

"She's worse than J.B.," Janelle said.

They were driving to San Antonio along with most
of the residents of Fredericksburg for the state football championship game.
Slade McQuade and the Gallopin' Goats were overwhelming favorites to beat the
team from Houston. The caravan of SUVs and pickup trucks stretched down
Interstate 10 for miles. From the back, Libby said, "Mom, can we go to Austin next Saturday?"

"Why?" Jodie said.

"To go to a golf course."

"You want to play golf?"

"I want to watch Chase Connelly play
golf."

Beck steered the Navigator to the shoulder and
braked to a stop. He turned in his seat and said to Libby: "Chase
Connelly is going to be in Austin next Saturday?"

"That's what it says here."

"May I see it please?"

Libby held out the paper. Jodie handed it
forward to Beck. He read. Chase Connelly was scheduled to appear in a
celebrity golf tournament next weekend at the Barton Creek Resort in Austin to promote AIDS awareness. Chase was an avid golfer and planned to arrive a few
days early to practice. He would fly into Austin directly from Africa. His manager was quoted as saying, "Chase loves Texas. He can't wait to get home."
He was also the newly crowned "Sexiest Man Alive."

Before dawn on March 6, 1836, eighteen
hundred Mexican soldiers led by Santa Anna attacked one hundred eighty-nine men
defending the
Misión San Antonio de Valero
, commonly known as the Alamo. By first light, the defenders were dead, including James Bowie, Davy Crockett, William B. Travis, a dozen Englishmen, eight Irishmen, four Scotsmen, one Welshman, and nine
Tejanos
.
"Remember the Alamo" became the Texas battle cry, and the word
"Alamo" came to symbolize all that was great about Texas. One
hundred seventy-one years later, it was the name of a football stadium.

The Alamodome was built by the City of San Antonio in 1993 for $186 million as a state-of-the-art 65,000-seat football stadium
for the specific purpose of attracting a pro football team to town. Build it
and they will come.

They didn't come.

Today the Alamodome
hosts home and garden shows, boat shows, dog shows, motocross and monster truck
rallies,
American Idol
auditions, evangelical crusades, the Dallas
Cowboys summer training camp, the Alamo Bowl, and the high school championship football
game.

Few of the 65,000 seats were empty that day. The
stands on the far side of the field were solid gold, the color of the Houston team; the Goats side of the field was solid plaid. The Goat band in their black-and-white
uniforms was out on the field performing as part of the pre-game festivities.
The Goat cheerleaders were performing stunts on the sideline, and the Goat Gals
were doing dance routines. Television cameras surrounded the field; the game
would be televised live across the State of Texas. Colorful advertisements for
cars, trucks, soft drinks, and sneakers decorated the arena. It was the super
bowl of Texas.

The two best high school teams in Texas were playing, but everyone had come to see the best high school football player in
the country. Everyone had come to see Slade McQuade.

Quentin McQuade was standing before a TV camera
and giving an interview. Slade was warming up on the sideline. He had
single-handedly won all five playoff games by lopsided scores; and with each
game his on-the-field behavior had become more bizarre. Taunting, fighting,
cursing, spitting—he was a football player coming undone. Each time he ran the
ball, he wasn't just trying to score; he was trying to hurt someone.

Homicidal rage.

When Slade took the field for the first time,
the sea of plaid seemed to hold its collective breath, as if waiting for him to
explode. They didn't have to wait long. Slade's first play was a thirty-five
yard run; he got up and pushed the defender who had tackled him. He scored on
the next play. He threw the ball in the tackler's face. The referee threw a
yellow flag.

Slade scored four more times in the first half.
He taunted the other players, he started fights, he cursed, and he got four
more unsportsmanlike penalties. He came off the field and pushed one of his
teammates, kicked over the Gatorade table, and threw his helmet at the mascot.
Aubrey came over to calm him, but Slade pushed him away and walked twenty yards
down the sideline. He stood there by himself until the half ended.

Slade's game ended with the first play of the
second half. He ran the ball around end for sixty-seven yards and another
touchdown. Then he stood over the last defender lying on the ground and
taunted him; then he kicked him. The Houston players on the sideline ran onto
the field en masse; Slade attacked the bunch of them. He punched players who
weren't wearing helmets, he grabbed the facemasks of those who were and flung
them to the ground, and he picked up one boy and threw him to the ground. He
looked like something from a Schwarzenegger movie.

Police and security staff ran onto the field and
separated Slade and the Houston team. The referees ejected Slade from the
game. He walked toward the locker room, undressing along the way. He removed
his helmet and flung it onto the field. His jersey and shoulder pads were
next. Then came his tee shirt and wrist bands. Finally his doo-rag. His
massive muscular body disappeared under the stands. Quentin McQuade jogged
after his son. He didn't look like a man worth two hundred million dollars.

The drive home was quiet. Jodie rode shotgun. She said,
"You okay?"

"Slade's out of control. He's going to
hurt somebody."

When they arrived back in town, Beck cut over
from Highway 87 to Ranch Road 16 and turned north to take Jodie and Janelle and
their kids home. He drove a few blocks then abruptly turned west on Milam. He
had gotten into the habit of driving through the barrio at least once a day. He
stopped.

The barrio was gone.

The shacks, sheds, shanties, trailers, cars,
furniture, trash, and even the Nativity scene were now just a huge pile of
junk. The barrio had been scraped clean down to the dirt. Six massive bulldozers
were scooping up the barrio and loading it onto dump trucks lined up and
waiting to cart it all away to the city landfill east of town.

J.B. said, "I'll be damned."

Beck got out. He walked to where Julio's home
had been. The Espinoza family had bought five acres outside of town and a trailer
to live in until Rafael could build a house; they had moved out of the barrio
two weeks ago. They had been the last to leave. They were gone, and the
barrio was gone. And it was Beck's fault. He felt someone next to him.

"I'm sorry, Beck," Jodie said.

"I wanted to get justice for these people.
I wanted to punish Quentin for his son's sins. But I punished these people
instead."

Judge John Beck Hardin had forgotten the law of
unintended consequences.

Christmas was different that year.

Three days after the game, Meggie and the doll
woke Beck at six. Santa had found them at their new home, which had been a big
concern for her. Beck acted happy for the kids. Jodie had helped him buy clothes
and toys for Meggie, and he had bought Luke new baseball equipment and a bucket
of batting practice balls. He smiled when he saw his presents. The baseball
field was waiting. Then Meggie asked, "Will Mommy be back by next
Christmas?"

And Luke's smile was gone.

Beck gave J.B. a belt with "J.B.
Hardin" etched along the backside; J.B. gave Beck a pair of cowboy boots
to replace the ones he had ruined in the river. J.B. then handed another
wrapped present to Beck.

"From Jodie."

"She gave me a present?"

On the box was a note
card that read:
You're in a rut. Jodie.
Inside the box was a Tommy Bahama shirt called "Walk the Plank."
Beck was still in his pajamas and
robe when there was a knock on the front door. Meggie was showing J.B. her
gifts, and he was acting interested, so Beck stood and walked to the door.

"That's probably Aubrey."

It wasn't. Sheriff Grady Guenther was standing
on the porch.

"Grady. Merry Christmas. Come on in."

Grady's face was somber.

"You'd better come out, Beck."

Beck stepped out onto the front porch and shut
the door behind him.

"Something wrong, Grady?"

Grady stared into the distance and exhaled.

"It's Slade."

Beck's heart jumped.

"He killed someone."

Grady shook his head.

"He killed himself."

"
Slade's
dead?
How?"

"Suicide. City cop patrolling about
four this morning saw his Hummer outside the football stadium, so he stopped to
check. Couldn't find him, so he turned on the stadium lights. There he was,
spread-eagled on the fifty-yard line, with the championship trophy next to him.
Self-inflicted gunshot to the head."

"He killed himself?"

"Yep. Gun belonged to Quentin."

The strength seemed to drain from Beck's legs.
He dropped into a chair. He ran his hands over his face; the temperature was
in the fifties, but he had broken a sweat.

"Quentin know?"

Grady nodded. "Drove out there myself. He
said they had a big yelling fight the night before, about him bulldozing the
barrio. Slade was pretty upset, crying and all. I searched his room—no note,
but the place looked like a drugstore. Needles, vials, pills … and holes
in the sheetrock, where Slade had punched. Quentin broke down and cried, said
he was just trying to be a good father, pushing the boy to be better."

"I was worried he would hurt someone else.
But not himself."

"Don't beat yourself up, Beck. Nothing you
could've done."

"I could've put him in jail. I could've
gotten him off steroids."

"Beck, you ain't his daddy. Quentin is."

"And Quentin isn't the judge. I am. Slade
was my responsibility, too."

"You're just a judge, Beck. You can't make
the world right."

At sunset, J.B. drove them into town for the Santa Run. He
parked on Main Street at the finish line across from the courthouse and in
front of the Marktplatz. He lowered the tailgate, and the four Hardins sat and
waited for the Santas.

Christmas lights were strung over Main Street and wrapped around light poles and outlined every building, even the courthouse;
the grounds were lit and the Eagle Tree spotlighted. The Marktplatz had Christmas
trees and decorations and lights; every tree in the square was strung with
lights. There was even a Nativity scene.

Hundreds of people had come into town for the
run. The Santas had gathered at the starting line down Main Street at the Nimitz.
They abruptly broke ranks and raced toward them, a herd of red-suited,
white-bearded Santas stampeding their way. They cheered when Jodie crossed the
finish line; she was the first woman. She won a prize. She came over and Meggie
hugged her then Luke gave her a high-five. J.B. congratulated her, and then she
looked at Beck.

"What's wrong?"

"Slade's dead."

 
 
Dear J.B.,

Merry Christmas. Did you get
the photo? That's Beck's favorite one of me. That's how I want him to
remember me, young and alive. Put it where he'll see it always.

Oh, you'll have to remind Beck
about birthday and Christmas presents because I've always shopped for the kids
and his secretary always shopped for me. He doesn't know I know. Ruth always
called and asked what I wanted.

I gave Meggie a doll for
Christmas. She said it looked like me. I gave Luke a practice hitting trainer.
I had a dream, J.B. Luke was batting, you were pitching, and Beck was catching
the balls in the outfield. Meggie was sitting in the bleachers. J.B., build that
baseball field. Do that for me.

I have a hospice nurse now. Her
name is Julie.

Love, Annie

Beck had failed as a husband and
father. He had failed as the judge of a small rural Texas county. He had
failed Felix Delgado and Julio Espinoza and eight hundred thirty-nine Mexicans
and their children. He had failed Slade.

"It's my fault," Aubrey said.

"No, it's my fault."

"I knew he was on steroids."

"So did I. And I could've stopped
him."

"But I helped him."

It was the next afternoon. Beck had driven into
town past the high school where a TV satellite van was parked. Aubrey was now sitting
on the other side of the desk in his chambers.

"You helped him do what?"

Aubrey exhaled. "Slade introduced the
other boys to the wonders of science. I knew something was up when half the
team gained twenty pounds of muscle over the summer. I threatened to kick them
off the team, but they knew I was bluffing—their daddies run this place and
everything in it. And they liked what the stuff did to them. Bigger,
stronger, faster. Steroids work."