The District Manager (32 page)

What am I getting at? Simple: what I’ve been through this past year was my own personal rite of passage. I am not the same person I was before. I cannot go back.

The investigation is still ongoing. Just a month into it and already a third of the Wagoneer County Sheriff ’s Department has been implicated, but not the sheriff himself. The D.A. has so far managed to slither his way out of any direct knowledge as have all of the elected officials who took donations.

Thankfully, Brenna’s boss was ignorant, so she gets to keep her job at least. Only Haliburton Crane, State Representative for the redrawn House District 100, seems to have been directly involved. In a way, he was his crime fiefdom’s district manager. He’s still in the hospital and it looks like he might make it. Brandy has left him. Thank God she hasn’t come looking for me.

Jack Clark has disappeared. No one knows where he is or much else about him for that matter.

As far as the power plant is concerned, it is still producing energy for the area. The Mexican government is aiding in the investigation. Several board members of the plant have been arrested in Monterey. Our federal government continues to muddy the water for political reasons.

Curlee was right when he said people would forget and move on. So many things have happened in the past two months to push it out of the spotlight. But for a couple of days, I was a news celebrity; they couldn’t get over my name. There was even a screenwriter from Austin who was interested in maybe getting a script going based on all that’s happened. But I haven’t heard from him since the first meeting. Likewise with employers; I’ve sent out numerous resumes and haven’t had one call back.

The good news is that I’m living with Brenna now. She even allowed my cat, Clarissa, to come too. If she hadn’t, I don’t think I could have moved in. That’s the thing with a pet, it’s a commitment for life.

Will has a new dog, a puppy. He’s named him Rook, like from a chessboard. Brenna is trying desperately to get him to change the name. I don’t think he will. I don’t think Joyce has forgiven me, either.

As for Keith, he’s living with his gamer buddy in my old apartment complex. He’s working part-time at a pet store where Brenna volunteers on weekends for a pet adoption agency. Guess who got who their respective job? He still gets high all the time, but is increasingly not in need of his wheelchair.

Still, there’s something I have to do to complete my rite of passage journey; I need a conclusion.

The Pontiac loves I-10 and the open road, even over Atchafalaya Swamp. I’m going to see Rusty’s wife in Alabama. I have to drop off his car. His fedora is sitting on the dash. I’m going to personally deliver it to her. Brenna is behind me as we cruise east.

I’ve finally moved on. I’m not looking back, but always watching my back. That’s a recipe for life right there.

The stereo is cranking jams. Surprisingly, Rusty had some music under the seat. Though I’ve brought some music of my own, it seems somewhat sacrilege not to play his music so as to keep the spirit of things. I am also a little impressed by his tastes. Sure, he has the usual for Southern men of his generation: Ray Price, Johnny Cash, Willie Nelson (who I all dig), but a couple of disks I don’t expect: Old Springsteen and The Band.

I’ve got the windows down and the breeze in my hair. I’m in the middle of “The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down” when I see the phone is ringing. It’s Brenna.

“Hey Speed Racer, I can’t see you from where I’m at. You haven’t stopped off at one of your girlfriends’ have you?” she teases.

“Oh yes, just let me get a quickie in and I’ll be right back on the road.”

“Like the Bandit!” Brenna says laughing, hysterically.

“You mean
Smokey and the Bandit?”

“Yes, silly!”

“I think you’re the one that’s silly. But I guess I am driving a Firebird. No Phoenix on the hood though.”

“Well, hey, the reason I called was not to interrupt you cruising chicks, but because I just listened to my messages and we got a call about your property.”

“Unreal! So someone’s finally interested in buying it? Who?”

“It’s a name I recognize…but can’t place…who again is John David Dothan?”

Doing the right thing means you don’t eat…

Can I amend that?

SINE DIE

Read More by Matt Minor

Matt Minor
presently serves as a Chief of Staff in the Texas House of Representatives. He has worked as a political campaign manager and is a well-regarded public speaker. Matt has authored official state publications, oversees syndicated editorials, and is a speechwriter and district radio legislative commentator. Prior to his life in state politics, Matt was a professional musician and entertainer. Matt’s hobbies are centered on the arts, including the craft of poetry, an interest that has brought academic recognition and numerous awards.

His first novel,
The Representative
was an Amazon Political Fiction Bestseller the summer of 2015. It was accepted and archived into the Texas State Legislative Library. In April of 2016,
The Representative
won an IPPY Gold medal for Southern-Region Fiction.

Matt Minor resides with his wife Stacy on their ranch property in Wharton County, Texas. He lives in Austin during legislative session.

www.MattMinorAuthor.com