for his soul:
I need an answer for McCall. Now.
Are the po-lice gonna kill my mama, too?
And he heard Bobby’s voice: She needs someone strong to protect her…someone like you used to be. Gut- check time for Scott Fenney.
“No, baby, they’re not gonna kill your mama. I’m not gonna let them.”
“What?”
Scott removed his hands from his face and turned to Dan, who was looking at him oddly. Scott realized that when his gut had answered the call, it had done so out loud. He said, “Tell McCall no.”
Dan removed his hand. “That’s not the right answer, Scott. Try again.”
“My answer is no.”
Dan stood, walked across the room, and sat behind his desk. He folded his hands on the mahogany top.
“Scotty, Mack McCall’s a U.S. senator now. He dresses nice and talks nice on those Sunday morning political shows…but underneath that politician’s demeanor, he’s still just a Texas roughneck. He grew up poor in the West Texas oil fields, started working the rigs when he was fifteen. It’s a hard life, it makes a man hard-it makes some men mean. Mack’s one of those men.”
Dan picked up a pen and studied it a moment; then he said, “Back in college, we were at a party at Martha’s sorority house. She was Mack’s fiancee then, a pretty girl and wealthy. She was Mack’s ticket, and he wasn’t about to let someone else punch it. Well, a football player got drunk and made the mistake of flirting with Martha. Mack told him to leave, but he said no. So Mack told him to step outside. Now, that boy outweighed Mack by fifty pounds, but he didn’t stand a chance. Mack beat him with brass knuckles, might’ve killed that boy if I hadn’t pulled him off. I said, ‘Mack, why the hell did you do that?’ All he said was, ‘No one takes something that belongs to me.’”
Dan shook his head in apparent disbelief at the memory.
“Scott, I learned three things about Mack McCall that night: he doesn’t take no for an answer; he doesn’t fight fair; and he’s the meanest son of a bitch I’ve ever met.”
Scott let out a nervous chuckle. “So what’s he gonna do, beat me up?”
Dan sighed. “I don’t know what he’s going to do, Scotty. Forty-two years, I’ve never said no to him.” He paused, then said, “But I do know one thing, Scott: Mack McCall thinks the White House belongs to him.”
SIXTEEN
'Usted me lo prometio, Senor Fenney!Usted me lo prometio!”
Consuela’s brown face was wet with tears and contorted with fear as she cried out- You promised, Senor Fenney! You promised! Her eyes were begging for help, her round body was shaking uncontrollably, and her arms were held behind her colorful Mexican peasant dress by handcuffs. INS policy, the agents had said.
Two agents from the Immigration and Naturalization Service had arrived at the Fenney residence at exactly 6:30 A.M. that Monday morning. Consuela had collapsed into Scott’s arms when they flashed their INS badges. The fear that had haunted her always now possessed her. All her protections had failed her: the crucifixes, the prayers, the candles, the Town of Highland Park…and Senor Fenney.
Ten minutes later, the agents were departing with Consuela de la Rosa in federal custody. Scott stood by helplessly as the agents escorted her to their waiting car. He shouted, “INS doesn’t come into Highland Park, that’s the deal! This is gonna cost you your jobs!”
One agent smiled and said, “I don’t think so, sir.”
“Half the homes in Highland Park employ Mexican maids! Why’d you come to my house?”
“Anonymous tip, sir,” the same agent said over his shoulder.
Scott gave the agent the best glare he could work up in his boxer shorts.
“Anonymous tip, my ass!”
Boo pushed past Scott and ran barefooted in her nightie down the walkway shouting, “Consuela! Consuela!”
Consuela turned back just as Boo threw her arms around the older woman’s wide waist and clutched her tightly. Consuela bent over and said, “Oh, nina.” Boo reached up and wiped tears from Consuela’s face. After a moment, one agent tugged at Consuela’s arm, so she kissed Boo and motioned for her to return to the house. Boo ran straight into Scott’s arms, her face frantic.
“You promised they wouldn’t come to our house! You promised! Where are they taking her? What’s gonna happen to her?”
Pajamae was now standing next to them. “That’s how they do it,” she said. “They just come and take you away.”
Finally Rebecca appeared. She punched her fists into her hips, sighed, and said, “That’s just great. Who’s gonna cook now, me?”
One agent put Consuela in the backseat of the dark sedan while two morning joggers stopped and gawked. Down the street, less noticeable than a soft breeze on this warm summer morning, a truckload of brown men, young and middle-aged and old, arrived for work, just as a hundred other truckloads of brown men were arriving at grand residences on quiet streets throughout the Town of Highland Park: the yardmen. Mexican men just up from Matamoros or Nuevo Laredo or Juarez, willing to toil under the cruel summer sun for the chance at a better life.
The second agent was standing at his open door, but turned back when Scott yelled at him: “You want to bust illegals?” He pointed down the street at the yardmen. “Go arrest them! You can drive all over Highland Park this morning and arrest a hundred more Mexican nationals! But they mow the lawns of the richest men in Dallas, so you’re not going to their homes, are you? I know why you came to my house! I know the asshole giving you orders!”
“It’s McCall.”
An hour later, Scott was standing in front of Dan Ford’s desk, his adrenaline still pumping hard.
Dan sighed and said, “Perhaps. Perhaps you should reconsider your decision.”
“What, this is a warning from McCall, that he can hurt me? He didn’t hurt me, he hurt a poor Mexican girl! Who didn’t do a goddamned thing to him!”
Scott headed to the door, but stopped and turned back. “Oh, Dan, when you call the senator, tell him I said to go fuck himself.”
Scott stormed past Sue and into his office where he found Bobby stretched out on the sofa.
“Mr. Fenney?” Sue was at the door, pink phone slips in hand. “Reporters. They won’t stop calling.”
“No reporters.” Sue disappeared. Scott wiped sweat from his forehead, looked over at Bobby, and said, “They took Consuela.”
Bobby sat up. “Who?”
“INS. They showed up this morning, anonymous tip.”
“From McCall.”
Scott slumped. “Jesus, Bobby, her face. She was so scared.”
His anger rose again, and he desperately needed to hit something, so he kicked the trash basket across the room.
“That son of a bitch doesn’t know who he’s messing with!” He pointed a finger at the blowup of himself on the wall. “I got a hundred and ninety-three yards against Texas!”
“Football’s got rules, Scotty. Game McCall plays, ain’t no rules.”
“We’ll see about that.”
Bobby climbed up from the sofa and said, “I’ll be in the library if you need me-briefs for Shawanda. Lunch?”
Scott nodded. Bobby turned to leave but stopped dead in his tracks when Karen Douglas appeared in the door. They looked at each other like two preteens, then Karen broke eye contact and entered the office. Bobby left and Karen said to Scott, “He’s cute.”
“Yeah, that’s what I always tell him.”
