Chapter 31
Time to Raise a Little Hell
I arrived at the sheriff’s office at eight-fifty-five, early enough to get a cup of coffee from Carolann. I was surprised to see she was the only one there. “Where’s everybody?”
She shrugged. “Some fella with the FBI showed up about fifteen minute ago and told Doug they were meeting offsite.”
“What? Doug specifically told me to meet him here at nine. What’s going on here?”
“Don’t have a clue, darlin’. Sugar? Cream?”
“Shit!” I paced the office. Doug was playing games with me again.
“Hey, there. I know the coffee’s no good ‘round here, but I wouldn’t recommend adding shit to it.” She grinned at her own stupid joke.
I handed the cup back to Carolann. “Thanks. Your coffee’s not all that bad. What’s bad around here is your worthless deputy.” As I headed for the door, Carolann stood at her desk holding my cup in both hands, her mouth agape.
# # #
When I stormed into the newspaper office I must have been surrounded by a cloud of brimstone and fury as Mabs followed me. “What’s got in to you, girl?”
Then we both stopped in our tracks.
For there before us, sitting in mother’s chair, was father.
“Good morning, you, fair and gracious daughter. And you, too, Mabrey.” he said. “Have I thought long to see this morning’s face, and doth it give me such a sight as this?”
“Father. What are you doing here?”
Mabs added, “And how did you get in?”
“I still have a key. Helped myself in last night. Wanted to do some uninterrupted research, and a little writing. That’s all. The hours wore long, and I fell asleep.” He handed me some sheets of paper. “I took the liberty of writing up an editorial, in your name, assuming you approve, of course. This can’t come from me.”
“Okay. What’s this about?”
He looked at Mabs. “I’m mighty hungry. Any chance you can order out some breakfast, and I sure could use a cup of your fine coffee.”
“Why, yes. Yes, of course. Your usual?”
“Two scrambled, sides of bacon. Hash browns and whole wheat.”
“You got it.”
Soon as Mabs left, Father said, “Go ahead. Read it, hon.”
I pulled up a chair, spread out the pages, and read the following:
Today, the city of Standard, Kansas sunk to a new and historic low. This used to be a quiet community of about two thousand people, give or take, built by ranchers and farmers and earnest business leaders working together to build a thriving and safe community for her residents, her children, and future generations. And yet, that standard of safety and promise to live a life unencumbered by fear has quickly eroded.
This has been going on now for the past two weeks.
Even if we had built a brick wall around the community and county of Standard, I’m afraid we still could not have prevented the recent spate of murders, and the unprecedented rising number of farmers and ranchers selling out their heritage and land to a conglomerate known as Grain/Ag.
Standard, once the garden of the Midwest, has lost its soul.
Not only have we lost our soul, but we’ve also lost money. Our prized farmers and ranchers, and now a line of small business owners in town are getting out while the getting’s good. In the last weeks, money has drained from Standard, taking along with its exodus, the livelihood of families. A town cannot thrive without capital, and a community of citizens looking after the interests of our combined fiduciary responsibilities and the good fortunes of our fellow citizens.
You might well ask what is the root cause of this sudden change?
The root cause in this newspaper’s opinion resides at city hall where our feckless mayor, and aimless city council twiddle their thumbs. Time to throw the bums out and elect citizens who give a damn about Standard.
The other offending root cause lies in the little brick structure sitting under the old oak tree behind our city hall. If you’re not familiar with that building, that’s the office of our sheriff. Our sheriff, who by the way is AWOL, and whose home was firebombed the other evening. (See the related story in these pages.)
We have a capable, and I use that world loosely, deputy sheriff, who has abdicated his duties to enforce the law. When asked on numerous occasions, what progress he’s made in finding our AWOL sheriff, in progress on the bombing and murder of our employee Yancey Clark, the suspicious murder of my mother, publisher of this newspaper, and other recent suspicious activity in the city and county, his response has been vague as a summer cloud, and his actions either slow as molasses, or frozen in amber.
While the Kansas Bureau of Investigation and FBI have hovered around the edges, they have been even more less forward with a response.
If this murderous malfeasance continues, Standard will be virtually off the map within a generation. Who would want to live here under these conditions? Who would dare to try and grow a business here under these conditions? Who would want their children to grow up here in this lawless wasteland?
Take it by any standard you please, Standard, Kansas has lost her soul.
If we endeavor to keep our soul, it’s time to raise a little hell.
# # #
“Father?”
“A little harsh?”
“Uh, no. It’s. It’s on the nose.”
“Good. Give it your byline. Then print it and send it to all media outlets around the state. Let’s raise some hell and bring light to this darkness.”
Mabs returned with father’s breakfast and poured fresh coffee all around. “What’s that?” she pointed to father’s pages.
Father piped up. “That my dear, is a treatise on truth. Truth hath a quiet breast. But this sonofabitch will wake the dead when it’s printed.”
I was still reeling at my father’s written words and his unabashed ability to speak the truth. I honestly don’t think I would have the nerve to say this out loud, in print, to who knows how many might read this. “You do know that your sister, the mayor, city council, and Deputy Doug will not only come unglued but might sue us for defamation.”
He waved a hand indifferently while forking a load of hash browns with the other. “Let ‘em. Let’s start a goddammed war. Let’s see how brave they are when the stdate and national media descends on Standard and starts asking more questions.”
“Oh, boy,” Mabs said. “Can I read that?”
I handed her the pages. “But you better sit down.”
Father dug into his breakfast. “Ah, mighty fine. Mighty fine. Mabs, you serve a dish for the gods.” But she didn’t hear him. She was engrossed in reading.
I watched Mabs read Father’s opinion piece. Her eyes grew wider with each paragraph. I sincerely hoped the gods served us a dish of grace and protection. This was going to get ugly.
Malfeasance. What a lovely word l would never attempt to use as I'm sure l would use it incorrectly. I get such a kick out of father.
clap clap...let the games begin!