'Like sheep lining up to be slaughtered,' Jim Bob said. 'American citizens letting a government employee violate them, just because they're scared.'
'This is bullshit,' Bode said.
' Caca de toro, ' Miguel said from behind Bode.
Not an exact translation, but close enough.
'It is indeed,' Jim Bob said. 'All a president has to do is promise to make these sheep safe and secure, and they'll hand over their constitutional rights. Just to fly on a plane.'
'Not that,' Bode said. 'That I've got to fly commercial, go through security like everyone else.'
'Oh. Yes, you do.'
'Why can't we take the state jet?'
'I told you, Bode, you can fly the Gulfstream all over Texas because Texans don't care. You're Republican, they're Republican, they're gonna vote for you no matter what. Democrats and Independents are irrelevant in Texas.'
His phone rang. He checked the caller ID-'MSNBC… as if'-then muted the ringer.
'But if you want to play politics on a national stage, we've got to change your game for a national audience. It's a different market. For some reason-mental illness, lack of education, bad parenting-not everyone in the other forty-nine states is Republican. So things that wouldn't raise an eyebrow in Texas go viral in other states.'
'What's that got to do with flying commercial?'
'Because that national audience got mad as hell when they saw Pelosi flying around the country on private jets at taxpayer expense and Boehner skirting the security lines at Reagan Airport. But Pelosi and Boehner did it anyway, because they're tone deaf to the people. Because they think they're better than the people. Bode Bonner doesn't.'
'I don't?'
'No. You don't. Bode Bonner is a populist, a man of the people. He flies commercial, he stands in the security line like everyone else, he goes through the scanner like everyone else, he gets felt up like everyone else…'
'He does?'
'He does.'
Bode sighed. 'Jim Bob, you sure about this?'
The Professor pointed at the security line.
'The path to the White House starts at the back of that line.'
'Are we at least flying first class?'
The Professor now regarded Bode as he would a D student.
'Hell, yes, we're flying first class. You and me. Mandy and the kids and Hank are back in coach. We'll go through security with this rabble, but we're sure as hell not sitting back in coach with them for four hours.'
But it was a long journey from where he now stood to a safe seat in first class. He had to go through security, walk down the terminal to the gate, loiter among the citizens for an hour, subject himself to possible verbal abuse-a Republican governor out among Democratic voters-and otherwise expose himself to enemy fire. This was his first public appearance since he had shot three Mexicans dead. How would the public react? More specifically, how would the liberals in Austin react? Would he again be greeted with 'You're a fucking Nazi!'? Would they toss the f-word and perhaps fast food at him? Would they shoot angry glares and middle fingers at him? And he couldn't exactly hide; he stood six-feet-four-inches tall, and everyone in Texas knew Bode Bonner on sight.
'Jim Bob, you really think this is a good idea? This ain't Lubbock.'
'Trust me.'
Bode felt as if he were taking the field against Oklahoma-in Oklahoma. He took a deep breath and squared his shoulders.
'Let's do it.'
As soon as they took their place at the back of the security line, Bode knew why the Professor had earned a Ph. D. in politics. An obese woman smelling like McDonald's and wearing a stretch sweat suit-why do they do that? — just in front turned to Bode, stared up at him as if in disbelief, and then cried out in a shrill voice.
'Oh, my God! You're Bode Bonner!' She held up her cell phone. 'I'm one of your followers!'
The man in front of her turned and stared at Bode. His eyes got wide, and he cried out, 'Bode Bonner!' The woman in front of him turned and shrieked, 'Bode Bonner-in line with us!' Word ran up and down the serpentine security line and people turned to him like dominoes dropping 'Bode Bonner!'
'He's in line with us!'
'Can you believe it?'
— until every person standing in line was staring at him and pointing at him and grinning at him with faces as bright as Becca's when he had surprised her with a pony for her fifth birthday. Their hands instinctively came up armed with cell phones. Hundreds of little lights flashed like machine-gun fire and voices called out to him.
'You the man, Bode!'
'Way to go, Governor!'
'We got your back!'
'Send all them Mexicans home in body bags!'
And then the chant rose up from the crowd.
'Bo-de! Bo-de! Bo-de!'
His worries evaporated like spit on the sidewalk in August. He stood there and took it all in and let the people's admiration wash over him like a star athlete who had just won the big game-or a war hero home with victory in hand. And maybe he was. Maybe this was a war. A culture war. The Second Mexican War. A war the American people wanted desperately to win. Maybe they had found their hero.
'Bo-de! Bo-de! Bo-de!'
Stubby arms suddenly clasped him around his waist and put him in a death grip.
'Take my picture, Earl!'
Aw, shit, the fat woman wanted her photo with him.
Bode cleared security first after enduring the full-body scan; he hoped his manliness made him proud on the screen. He put his boots and belt back on and pushed his wallet and other personal items into his pockets. Jim Bob emerged next, grumbling something about 'Russia and the goddamned KGB.'
'How'd you know these people would react like that?' Bode said.
'I didn't. I had a hunch. Now all those cell phone photos will be posted online, picked up by the news outlets. Bode Bonner, man of the people.'
Two of those people, round white-haired women, waddled over in their bare feet and wrapped their Michelin man arms around Bode and squeezed tight. They released him, and one said, 'You're even better looking than Regis Philbin.' They turned and went over to the conveyor belt to retrieve their personal items.
'Cat ranchers,' Bode said.
'Cat ranchers?'
'You go to their house, I guarantee you they got two dozen cats each.'
'You're a cattle rancher. You got what, five thousand head?'
'Yeah, but I can eat a cow.'
'Never know with those women.'
The kids trickled through next. Then Ranger Hank emerged. Even a Texas Ranger could not carry weapons onto a commercial flight, so he had to empty his holster and pockets. Out from the holster came the nine-millimeter handgun and two spare ammo clips, the Taser, the Mace, the cuffs, the flashlight (actually a sledgehammer with a light on the end), and the sap (an eleven-inch leather strap with a lead weight at one end); from one cowboy boot came a. 22-caliber pistol; from the other boot came a compact serrated knife with a T-type push grip; and from his pants pocket came a rolled-up sleeve of quarters, a substitute for brass knuckles, which were illegal in Texas. Hank walked over in his white socks and carrying his cowboy boots and looking as if he had just undergone a body cavity search.
'Think you got enough weapons there, Hank?' Jim Bob said.
They all gathered around and waited for Josefina and Mandy, who was sticking close to the shy girl now. The TSA screeners waved Mandy through.
But they stopped Josefina.
