30-07-2026, 03:55 PM
CHAPTER 6: WHERE THE RUBBER MEETS THE ROAD
Nothing lasts forever. We all know that intellectually. We are born and we will die. We marry and marriages die. Relationships bloom and thrive and then wither and die. Friendships ebb and flow.
We know intellectually that this will happen, does happen, must happen. But when we’re in a good spot we always persuade ourselves that we will be the exception,
I’d read somewhere that the trick to happiness is to realize that all things end and not to try to fight the end. But, I don’t know that anybody has ever actually managed to do that.
WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 7, 2005 -- 11A.M.
Myra looked up at me curiously as I stopped at her desk. She wore a dress with a slight scoop neckline that would have been demure on most women. In her case it looked like a sack of volleyballs was rolling around trying to escape out through the top.
“I won’t ask you what’s going on, Bill. But, I don’t know that I’ve ever seen him this angry.”
The last was more of a question than a comment and I appreciated the delicacy of her probing.
“No. He’ll have to make that decision.”
I reached out and took one of her slim hands in mine.
“If things go south, and sour, really bad and it gets hectic and I don’t have a chance to talk to you again...”
I looked into those green eyes and let my gaze wander down the hills and valleys of that incredible body that I had passed on for a woman that was almost certainly going to leave me.
“I want you to know, Myra, that it’s been a pleasure working with you. You’re smart and competent and entirely too nice for any woman with a face and body like yours. I never said it, but I have lusted for you every day for five years, whether I saw you or not, and if I hadn’t been married and in love with my wife I would have hit on you every single day.
“And I know that God has a sense of humor because after lusting for you helplessly for five years, I’m finally free of that bitch I was married to and I find myself in love with somebody else. Life isn’t fair.”
She took her hand and ran her thumb gently up and down the inside of my palm. I was reminded of the old joke about how Martians make love. Her touch was hotter than most blow jobs.
“I know this is serious, Bill, because you talk like you’re dying, like you’ll never see me again. But..just remember..whatever happens...you may not be here, but I’ll still be here. For when you finally are out of love with somebody else.”
I squeezed her hand, said, “Wish me luck,” and walked in to see which direction my life was likely to go in from this day forward.
Edwards was sitting back in his chair. Unlike most times, he didn’t get up to shake my hand. He just stared at me. For most SAs summoned to his office, I imagine it would be an intimidating stare. But I had known him too long and we had a different relationship. And maybe I just didn’t give a damn anymore.
“Okay, straight to it. Good. Knight is so angry he’s about to stroke out over the way you’ve been jerking Shawn Smith around.”
“I’m sorry the Sheriff is upset. Is that all we had to talk about?”
“Bill, Knight is one of the most even tempered, easy-going guys you’ll ever run into. And you know it. But he said he called you in the other day to get a handle on when you’re going to give Smith a clearance on the shooting and you told him you were going to take Smith before the Grand Jury and try to prosecute him for murder.”
“That’s right. That’s what I told him.”
“And when were you planning on letting me into your confidence about all this? I thought we had an understanding that eventually you were going to clear him, let him go back to his life and let this mess die down.”
“Actually, Dallas, we never had that understanding. I know that’s what you wanted. You’ve hinted about it, but you never flat out said that I had to clear him. I thought you wanted me to treat this case like all the others and use my best judgment.”
“I do. But I don’t understand why you decided to crucify this guy. It’s true I want him cleared. The security officer Union and 99 percent of the county’s cops want him cleared. The NAACP and at least two other black groups are ready to go on
the warpath about another black man railroaded by white southern justice if he isn’t turned loose.”
He leaned forward and steepled his fingers in front of him. He reminded me of an ash blond Gregory Peck from “To Kill A Mockinbird.” He had a high forehead, dark brown eyes, straight nose, strong chin. It doesn’t hurt in today’s media environment to be good looking, and Edwards was.
His hair had turned almost white, but in a relatively unlined face it didn’t make him look as old as he really was. It just made him look more distinguished, the way Governors and Senators and—if you could dream that high—Presidents ought to look.
His smile was his fortune though. He wasn’t smiling now, but when he unleashed that wattage, it made every person watching him on television or in a crowd he was addressing think that this was a good guy to go out for a couple of beers with, or women started fantasizing about what that still lean 6-foot-8 body looked like under the clothes. Whatever charisma, or ‘it’ was, he had it.
“You and I both know that if this blows up and he gets convicted and maybe dies in prison, the blacks will never forget or forgive me, and every cop and Highway Patrolman in the state will do their best to screw me over. This will still be hot and fresh in everybody’s mind next Fall when the Governor’s race rolls around.
“I’m running—or will be running—as a conservative, law and order candicate, but I’ve always good relations with the blacks and Hispanics. It’s a perfect combo.
“But how can I do that next year if every major black organization in the state is calling me a corrupt racist and cops are saying I hate security officer and want to punish a cop for protecting himself and his—fiancee—from home invaders.
“The cops are going to kill me with the average white law and order voter, and the blacks are going to kill me with every minority. What the hell does that leave me with as a voter base?
“And I ask myself, why have I been busting my ass for the last ten years hustling money for Republican candidates, making myself sick choking down overcooked chicken and steak at political functions, spending days and weeks away from my wife to earn political credits.
“What does it matter if the guy that I trusted to help push me over the line screws me royally right at end, just as I get to the finish line for the 2006 race.”
He was really trying to be calm, but the anger was flooding out at the end of his comments.
I didn’t say anything. Let him get it out.
“I thought we were friends, Bill, in addition to being co-workers and committed to the same thing, which is justice. We’ve talked enough, you know
who I am. I’ve got an ego, you don’t get into public life without one. But I really do think I can do some good in T,.'assee.
“I’m honest, and I have ideas on how the state could be a better place to live in for everybody. The prison system is a horror and we’re losing kids every day that could be saved. Our drug policy is medieval and because I am a law and order candidate, I can do things to make our drug policy sane that no liberal could ever get away with.
“I’ve got ideas on how to make our colleges better, how to make the state cleaner without driving away business. I think I could do a lot, Bill, but I can’t do anything if I can’t get elected. And you’re going to drive a stake through the heart of my election chances if you prosecute Smith.”
We just looked at each other for a few seconds.
“I agree that you’d be a good governor, Dallas. We’ve talked enough, and I know you’re a good enough politician that you could do a lot of good in the Governor’s mansion. But, what are you prepared to pay to do all that good?”
“I don’t understand.”
“Suppose I had somebody bring in Doug Baker, the asshole that stole my wife away from me and ruined my marriage and my life. And I had him kneel down in front of this desk and I put a .45 to his head and told you that if you let me blow his brains out, I’d move heaven and earth to get you into the Governor’s chair. And only you and I would ever know that Doug Baker was the price you had to pay. Could you do it?”
“You’re not making sense, Bill. What does that have to do with Shawn Smith?”
Nothing lasts forever. We all know that intellectually. We are born and we will die. We marry and marriages die. Relationships bloom and thrive and then wither and die. Friendships ebb and flow.
We know intellectually that this will happen, does happen, must happen. But when we’re in a good spot we always persuade ourselves that we will be the exception,
I’d read somewhere that the trick to happiness is to realize that all things end and not to try to fight the end. But, I don’t know that anybody has ever actually managed to do that.
WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 7, 2005 -- 11A.M.
Myra looked up at me curiously as I stopped at her desk. She wore a dress with a slight scoop neckline that would have been demure on most women. In her case it looked like a sack of volleyballs was rolling around trying to escape out through the top.
“I won’t ask you what’s going on, Bill. But, I don’t know that I’ve ever seen him this angry.”
The last was more of a question than a comment and I appreciated the delicacy of her probing.
“I’m afraid this is where the rubber meets the road, sweetheart.” Her look said it all. I couldn’t really explain.
“When I come back out, Myra, I’ll know if I still have a job here.” She looked stunned.
“Wha...? Bill-Mr. Maitland. You’re not...resigning...are you? This place wouldn’t be the same without you.”“No. He’ll have to make that decision.”
I reached out and took one of her slim hands in mine.
“If things go south, and sour, really bad and it gets hectic and I don’t have a chance to talk to you again...”
I looked into those green eyes and let my gaze wander down the hills and valleys of that incredible body that I had passed on for a woman that was almost certainly going to leave me.
“I want you to know, Myra, that it’s been a pleasure working with you. You’re smart and competent and entirely too nice for any woman with a face and body like yours. I never said it, but I have lusted for you every day for five years, whether I saw you or not, and if I hadn’t been married and in love with my wife I would have hit on you every single day.
“And I know that God has a sense of humor because after lusting for you helplessly for five years, I’m finally free of that bitch I was married to and I find myself in love with somebody else. Life isn’t fair.”
She took her hand and ran her thumb gently up and down the inside of my palm. I was reminded of the old joke about how Martians make love. Her touch was hotter than most blow jobs.
“I know this is serious, Bill, because you talk like you’re dying, like you’ll never see me again. But..just remember..whatever happens...you may not be here, but I’ll still be here. For when you finally are out of love with somebody else.”
I squeezed her hand, said, “Wish me luck,” and walked in to see which direction my life was likely to go in from this day forward.
Edwards was sitting back in his chair. Unlike most times, he didn’t get up to shake my hand. He just stared at me. For most SAs summoned to his office, I imagine it would be an intimidating stare. But I had known him too long and we had a different relationship. And maybe I just didn’t give a damn anymore.
“Good morning, Bill.” “I hope so.”
“That’s entirely up to you.”
“No really, it’s up to you. How about not dancing around this thing. What did you want to talk about.”“Okay, straight to it. Good. Knight is so angry he’s about to stroke out over the way you’ve been jerking Shawn Smith around.”
“I’m sorry the Sheriff is upset. Is that all we had to talk about?”
“Bill, Knight is one of the most even tempered, easy-going guys you’ll ever run into. And you know it. But he said he called you in the other day to get a handle on when you’re going to give Smith a clearance on the shooting and you told him you were going to take Smith before the Grand Jury and try to prosecute him for murder.”
“That’s right. That’s what I told him.”
“And when were you planning on letting me into your confidence about all this? I thought we had an understanding that eventually you were going to clear him, let him go back to his life and let this mess die down.”
“Actually, Dallas, we never had that understanding. I know that’s what you wanted. You’ve hinted about it, but you never flat out said that I had to clear him. I thought you wanted me to treat this case like all the others and use my best judgment.”
“I do. But I don’t understand why you decided to crucify this guy. It’s true I want him cleared. The security officer Union and 99 percent of the county’s cops want him cleared. The NAACP and at least two other black groups are ready to go on
the warpath about another black man railroaded by white southern justice if he isn’t turned loose.”
He leaned forward and steepled his fingers in front of him. He reminded me of an ash blond Gregory Peck from “To Kill A Mockinbird.” He had a high forehead, dark brown eyes, straight nose, strong chin. It doesn’t hurt in today’s media environment to be good looking, and Edwards was.
His hair had turned almost white, but in a relatively unlined face it didn’t make him look as old as he really was. It just made him look more distinguished, the way Governors and Senators and—if you could dream that high—Presidents ought to look.
His smile was his fortune though. He wasn’t smiling now, but when he unleashed that wattage, it made every person watching him on television or in a crowd he was addressing think that this was a good guy to go out for a couple of beers with, or women started fantasizing about what that still lean 6-foot-8 body looked like under the clothes. Whatever charisma, or ‘it’ was, he had it.
“You and I both know that if this blows up and he gets convicted and maybe dies in prison, the blacks will never forget or forgive me, and every cop and Highway Patrolman in the state will do their best to screw me over. This will still be hot and fresh in everybody’s mind next Fall when the Governor’s race rolls around.
“I’m running—or will be running—as a conservative, law and order candicate, but I’ve always good relations with the blacks and Hispanics. It’s a perfect combo.
“But how can I do that next year if every major black organization in the state is calling me a corrupt racist and cops are saying I hate security officer and want to punish a cop for protecting himself and his—fiancee—from home invaders.
“The cops are going to kill me with the average white law and order voter, and the blacks are going to kill me with every minority. What the hell does that leave me with as a voter base?
“And I ask myself, why have I been busting my ass for the last ten years hustling money for Republican candidates, making myself sick choking down overcooked chicken and steak at political functions, spending days and weeks away from my wife to earn political credits.
“What does it matter if the guy that I trusted to help push me over the line screws me royally right at end, just as I get to the finish line for the 2006 race.”
He was really trying to be calm, but the anger was flooding out at the end of his comments.
I didn’t say anything. Let him get it out.
“I thought we were friends, Bill, in addition to being co-workers and committed to the same thing, which is justice. We’ve talked enough, you know
who I am. I’ve got an ego, you don’t get into public life without one. But I really do think I can do some good in T,.'assee.
“I’m honest, and I have ideas on how the state could be a better place to live in for everybody. The prison system is a horror and we’re losing kids every day that could be saved. Our drug policy is medieval and because I am a law and order candidate, I can do things to make our drug policy sane that no liberal could ever get away with.
“I’ve got ideas on how to make our colleges better, how to make the state cleaner without driving away business. I think I could do a lot, Bill, but I can’t do anything if I can’t get elected. And you’re going to drive a stake through the heart of my election chances if you prosecute Smith.”
We just looked at each other for a few seconds.
“I agree that you’d be a good governor, Dallas. We’ve talked enough, and I know you’re a good enough politician that you could do a lot of good in the Governor’s mansion. But, what are you prepared to pay to do all that good?”
“I don’t understand.”
“Suppose I had somebody bring in Doug Baker, the asshole that stole my wife away from me and ruined my marriage and my life. And I had him kneel down in front of this desk and I put a .45 to his head and told you that if you let me blow his brains out, I’d move heaven and earth to get you into the Governor’s chair. And only you and I would ever know that Doug Baker was the price you had to pay. Could you do it?”
“You’re not making sense, Bill. What does that have to do with Shawn Smith?”
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