'You should've gotten a hotel van. Okay, let's get in before they take too many pictures.'
They all jumped into the limousine, safe from the cameras behind blacked-out windows. Hank rode shotgun, and the kids took seats down both sides; Mandy made sure they were buckled in, then joined Jim Bob and Bode on the rear seat. She squeezed tight and said, 'Gosh, honey, you're almost as popular as Kim Kardashian.'
It was eighty degrees in L.A., so they stopped on Rodeo Drive-Alejandro was disappointed; he thought they were going to a real rodeo-and bought swimsuits for the boys at Brooks Brothers and the girls at Ralph Lauren. While Bode signed autographs and took photos with the cute clerk and shoppers, he noticed Josefina staring at a yellow dress and touching it as if it were gold. The 'Bode Bonner Reelection Campaign' bought the $600 dress for her.
They were now poolside at the hotel in Beverly Hills. Jim Bob's pale flesh glowed in the sun, so they found lounge chairs in a shady corner and ordered sodas and strawberry daiquiris. Ranger Hank stood guard, as if Bode Bonner were a movie star, Mandy stood by the pool, looking stunning in her new black bikini, and the kids stood at water's edge, as if they had never before swum in a pool.
'They haven't,' Mandy said.
Bode dove into the pool then coaxed the children in. The boys finally jumped in, but Josefina sat on the ledge and dangled her feet in the water. Mandy sat next to her, and they shared a little girl talk. Jim Bob fiddled with his phone. Bode tossed Carlos into the deep end. He came up sputtering and splashing wildly 'They can't swim!' Mandy cried.
— so Bode plucked him out of the water and carried him to the shallow end.
'Sorry about that, Carlos.'
'Bode!'
Mandy pointed at Filiberto. He had climbed the steps and was unzipping his swimsuit, apparently to pee in the pool.
'No, no, Filiberto!'
Bode waded through the water and over to the boy.
'No peeing in the pool.'
'?Que pasa? '
'Mandy, what's the word for peeing?'
'I don't know.'
Bode motioned to the cabana with restrooms.
'Toilet.'
'Ah.'
Filiberto trotted over to the restroom. A Latino waiter approached their position; Hank blocked his path. He had been as jumpy as Jim Bob since the shooting.
'Hank, he's just bringing our daiquiris.'
Bode got out of the pool and grabbed a daiquiri and the lounge next to Jim Bob. But he noticed a group of women on the far side who didn't seem pleased to see brown-skinned kids in the pool, especially in light of the fact that they were probably peeing in the pristine water at that very moment. The Professor opened his black notebook.
'We had a good overnight. Your Twitter followers topped a million, and the CNN poll puts you at twenty percent among Republicans. The shooting went down 'approve' with Independents, 'strongly approve' with Republicans, and 'holy shit, shoot some more Mexicans' with the tea partiers. It even polled positive with thirty percent of Democrats.'
'Good.'
'Except now you're in the cross hairs. Any Republican who looks like he could challenge Obama, the liberal media goes gunning for him, hard, because they want Romney. They know Americans will never elect a Mormon president.'
'Which means…?'
'They'll try to make you look stupid, like they did with Bush and Palin.'
'It worked.'
'Difference is, you're sneaky smart.'
'Sneaky smart?'
'You're a lot smarter than folks figure.'
'Thanks… I think.'
'It's a good thing to be underestimated, Bode, especially in politics. Bush and Palin, they're sneaky stupid- they're both stupider than everyone figured and everyone figured they were pretty stupid. So making them look stupid on national TV was easy. You being a Texan, everyone's going to naturally assume you're just as stupid. But you're not. You're a helluva lot smarter. So they'll underestimate you and-BAMM! — you prove you're smarter than they thought. Which makes you look real smart.'
Bode nodded. 'It's like sneaky fast. I hated sneaky fast receivers. They look like they should be slow, then- BAMM! — they blow right past you and leave you holding your jockstrap.' He sipped his daiquiri. 'Sneaky smart. I like it, Professor.'
Bode checked on the boys; they were apparently trying a Mexican version of waterboarding on Miguel-'Hey, let him up!' — and then he checked on the women across the way. They waved the pool attendant over.
'Now, so you don't look sneaky stupid, we've got to prep for the talk shows.' The Professor launched into his positions… Bode's positions… on the political issues of the day. 'Remember, Bode, the federal budget is four trillion dollars, and there's a voter who's vested in every single dollar. You cut a dollar, you lose a vote. The calculation is that simple. And primary states depend on federal spending…'
Bode's attention drifted away from the Professor and over to the women across the pool. The attendant had come over and then departed. He now returned with a man in a suit. The women seemed quite animated. The suit listened, looked over at them, listened again, looked again. He headed Bode's way.
'… The entire state of Iowa is planted in corn to feed the ethanol plants not people, so you go there and tell those corn farmers you're cutting the ethanol subsidy, your presidential campaign ends in Des Moines.'
Bode felt his blood pressure ratchet up, and not because of the ethanol subsidy. He knew the hotel suit was going to tell him the kids must vacate the pool.
'So, Bode, your position on the federal budget and spending is, A, you support a balanced budget amendment; B, we need steep cuts in federal spending; and C, we need to secure our border and deport those damn illegal Mexicans.'
Bode's eyes were locked on the hotel suit.
'Okay?'
Bode's thoughts returned to the Professor. He didn't want to confess to having checked out on his prep talk, so he said, 'You're the boss, Professor.'
The hotel suit arrived and stood over him and blocked out the sun. Bode didn't like being talked down to, so he stood and towered over the suit. Those snotty Beverly Hills women weren't going to keep his Mexican kids out of the hotel pool.
'Uh, Governor…'
'Look, bud,' Bode said, pointing at the children in the pool, 'those kids are guests just like those women over there-I'm paying for them, they're with me-and they're gonna swim in that goddamned pool as long as they want to, you understand? And no one's gonna-'
'Governor'-the suit held out a pen and hotel stationery-'the ladies just wanted me to ask you for your autograph… and if you'd take a photo with them.'
'Governor, after you killed those Mexican hombres, weren't you afraid there might've been more of them who could've come after you? With guns?'
'Aw, hell, Jay, I still had a hundred rounds of ammo and a fast horse.'
Twelve hundred miles away in Laredo, Texas, the governor's wife stared at the television in disbelief. Her husband was on the Leno show. And even more unbelievable, he wasn't wearing Armani and French cuffs, but instead a powder blue Oxford shirt, jeans, and cowboy boots. His blond hair wasn't sprayed in place; it fell onto his forehead as if he could care less. He looked liked the man she had fallen in love with in Comfort, not the politician who had cheated on her in Austin. He held a long rifle with the butt embedded in the chair seat next to his leg like a
