84. Kangaroo Court #2
Just to have fun with it, I say, louder than necessary from my seat, “Bribing a public official is a felony. Receiving a bribe as an elected official is also a felony. You’ll have plenty of time to discuss your frustrations with one another during your prison sentences.
No need to hash it out with all these witnesses. ”
Evil eyes greet mine and are met with my smile.
The meeting has become a kangaroo court, and the Judge has lost all control.
His screams of “Order” fall on deaf ears as the gallery participants’ hushed tones become louder and louder.
The team from Enterprise Land Development turns on each other, with one exiting the room in a huff.
“There will be order. I will have order.” The booming voice is interrupted with the slamming of a gavel, but no one seems to care.
He can’t hold us in contempt. Judge Johnson won’t risk trying to arrest the townspeople for protecting the future of the county.
Not when he’s hidden something from them during a contentious election season.
“Order,” he shouts again, the gavel slamming surprises Crane and causes him to cringe.
“This Court has no other business before it today. We are adjourned. Our next meeting will be the first Monday in February at ten a.m. in these chambers.” He looks to the Commissioners as if he’s a father cleaning up their mess.
Annoyance is written all over his face as he slams the gavel one last time and stands, exiting the chamber through the back door.
The commissioners look out to the throng of people waiting, and I almost wish I could hear their thoughts or at least smell their fear. They sit behind the long table, unmoving, as if we cannot see them.
“Well, that was interesting,” I say to Kimp. “Harding is having a rough day.” I hitch a thumb over my shoulder. “Recall efforts will be underway tonight. Are you interested in being a Commissioner?”
“Son, don’t even joke with me like that.” He clasps my shoulder and turns for the door but stops at the arrival of another guest.
Ms. Thimm takes my hand, her weathered one rough from years of farming and sun. Her eyes crinkle in the corners and deep grooves line her mouth. “Thank you, Elias. It was worth the money it took to watch these goons be put in their places. No one likes a con.”
“Thank you for your commitment to the county and the land, Ms. Thimm. And for making these days fun. An ace up the sleeve is always more enjoyable than the one on the table. If you ever need anything, I’m here.”
She pats my hand with her other. “How’s the pup?”
“He’s growing like a weed and already right at home. Thank you again.”
With a wink, she turns and snakes her hand through the crook of Jose Reyes’ arm and walks out of the council chambers.
I turn back to Kimp.
“Thank you,” he offers genuinely. “Worth the acreage just on the principle of the thing and to honor old man Veramendi and his gift to our family. But to watch their faces as they realized they’d been out maneuvered…
There are days I’m petty. And today was fun.
” In his face, I can see a mischievousness that I rarely have before.
“Thinking we need to make sure Reyes and Ms. Thimm are okay. I’m fine poking a bear, but they don’t need the wrath when the bear counters.”
“Jose’s good. He can take care of himself. And I dare say, he can take care of Lisette too.”
“Let’s celebrate.”
Braxton, Emberleigh, and Willa walk up from the back of the gallery where it was standing room only during the meeting. Judge Johnson should’ve known better when he saw a packed room than to suspect all would go without challenge.
Braxton grabs my hand before pulling me into a back-slapping hug. “Damn, that was fun to watch. But I’ll be good if we never do that again.”
“Same.”
“Hoping we get a little peace and quiet now that the conservancy is no longer at risk and the court cases at home are settled,” Emberleigh adds.
The PR nightmare has died down. Kimp is a perfect face as the noble victim.
Though to call him that is to watch his blood boil.
He played the part, discussing the sanctity of protecting his family, and the desire to see his business operations not take a hit due to concerns aside from breed quality.
His stroke of genius, though, was the subtle threat that his top-quality stallions and mares would be bred less and sold for more in Kentucky if Texans decided that one of their own should be punished for being the victim of an attack.
It's hard to argue with that one.
I nod to Emberleigh but grab my phone and shoot a quick text to Jon. “Drinks tonight?”
From the far side of the public seating, I see him glance at his watch, and he nods, all without making eye contact or acknowledging me. He stands with Enterprise, not engaged in their post mortem, but on the fringe.
He’s in an odd spot. No longer DA, fully aware of illegalities and public bribes, but having been on the right side of this the whole time. It’s something no one can know, or he’ll be unhireable.
Colt toddles forward, using Willa’s index fingers for balance and then claps for his own accomplishment while giving a big toothy grin. “Up,” he says while tugging on Kimp’s pants.
“What Colt wants, Colt gets. Pop-Pop wouldn’t deny his best boy, would he?” He lifts Colt but only cradles him after tossing him in the air, his giggle echoing through the room.
Brighton slides her hand into mine, noticeably late to the party, turning her phone over and over in her free hand. “Pop, this new conservation zone you’ve established? Is it taking on any grazers?”
Kimp turns his chin to her. “What’s this about?”
“I have five sickly mares who need a home. A welfare check led authorities to a client’s house where they discovered his body. The autopsy is still to come.”
“Good riddance,” Braxton mumbles.
Our whole group turns to him, dumfounded.
“The county needs to rehome the horses, but I don’t want to bring them into our stables until we know what’s going on with them.
We have the turnout blankets and fly masks to spare, and it should be unseasonably warm for the next week so they shouldn’t need housing for several days while I figure things out,” Brighton continues as if Braxton hadn’t just celebrated a death.
“You make me proud, Brighton. Say yes to the horses. We’ll figure the rest out. If we need to erect emergency housing, we’ll make it happen.” Kimp turns to his son. “I raised you better than that. Or, at least, your Mom did. Don’t speak ill of the dead. It’s beneath you.”
“No offense, Pop, but it’s not. Lager made his horses sick and kept them that way.
And if you ask me, it was to bait Bright out there so he could prey on her.
Like Munchausen’s or something. She told me each time she went so someone knew where she was and carried while on site since she was so uncomfortable.
” His eyes spear hers. “I’m glad you’re not in that situation anymore, even if it means a man is dead. ”
My hand squeezes hers reflexively. I didn’t know she was carrying when she went or that she was that uneasy. “How many times were you that worried but went anyway because of his horses?” My tone is lethal.
She tilts her head like she doesn’t know, but she won’t make eye contact.
I squeeze again. “Brighton.”
“For a while before we talked about it, I guess. He stood too close and always watched me. He was suspicious of everything.”
“You had nightmares and talked in your sleep the nights you went there.”
Her eyes turn up to mine. “Really?”
“Rich Lager? Why didn’t you tell me?” Kimp has grown four inches during this conversation, and his jaw flexes as he clenches his teeth. Colt puts both his hands on Kimp’s cheeks and says, “Pa-Pa and Cote go.”
“I told Brax.”
“That wasn’t my question, Brighton.”
“There’s been a lot going on, and I can handle myself.”
“That’s not a good enough answer,” Kimp continues. “He preyed on your mama. Had I known he was preying on you, too…”
“What?” Brighton begins, but pauses as I squeeze her hand.
“Let’s take this someplace else. Shall we?” I interject. “No need to air our dirty laundry with witnesses if we can avoid it. Besides, we need to celebrate.”
“Excellent idea,” Willa chimes in. “What can I bring?”
“Our place or Pop’s?” Emberleigh offers.
“Mine.” Turning to Willa, Kimp adds, “Just yourself.” He turns on a booted heel and pushes open the double doors heading for the parking lot. He never looks back as he straps Colt into his car seat in his truck and pulls away.
“Did he just steal my son?” Braxton asks, staring off at the disappearing truck.
“Yup.” I push open the doors out to the dreary day to find the sun breaking through the clouds. “And I quote: ‘I’m his Pop-Pop. Rules don’t apply to me.’”
“When was that?”