True Allegiance

The city had gone silent and cold; many residents wanted to flee, but feared that they couldn’t get out of the city limits without being brutalized by roving bands of street gangs. The gangs had even set up roadblocks on the major traffic arteries. They were confiscating property from those who tried to leave, telling them that everyone had to be searched in order to ensure that there was no connection to the white supremacist group that had murdered Jim Crawford.

Levon didn’t know the extent of his power yet, of course. Mayor Burns said that eventually things would be put back under control; he’d put in a request to the governor, and the governor had put in a request to the feds. But soon enough, things would calm down. In the meantime, he urged patience and restraint.

Levon, on the other hand, called for action. He humored every reporter, gave a quote to every journalist. He trotted out Kendrick Malone’s mother as often as possible, making his own case for authority bulletproof on the back of her grief. Levon’s long-term plan, he told the media, was “justice.” He didn’t define it, and they didn’t have to know that he meant to run for office on the back of his organized resistance. It had worked for Marion Barry, Big Jim had said. It would work for Levon Williams.

All that changed at 8:34 a.m.

The phone rang on Levon’s desk. When he picked it up, a female voice answered. “Mr. Williams?”

“Yes?”

“Please hold for the chief of staff to the president of the United States.”

This has got to be some sort of fucking prank, or some sort of media hit, Levon thought. But when he heard the voice on the other end of the line, he knew it was neither.

“Mr. Williams? This is Tommy Bradley.”

Levon leaned back in his chair, kicked his feet up onto the desk. “Mr. Bradley, it’s good to speak with you. I voted for your boss, you know.”

“Why, thanks, Levon.”

In New York, Bradley paced the hotel room nervously. “Levon, I just want to express the president’s true admiration for your movement. We want to thank you for trying to tamp down the violence, to keep things under control under very difficult circumstances.”

Levon grinned ear to ear. He’d heard men beg him before. To have the surrogate for the most powerful man on earth preparing to do it was something entirely different. “Mr. Bradley, I really appreciate that sentiment. What can I do for you?”

“Well, Levon, it’s like this. We couldn’t admire your stand on social justice more, particularly in the wake of this tragedy with Jim Crawford. I know you and he were close friends. The president wants to ask you for a favor. Please keep your followers from committing acts of violence.”

“Well,” said Levon, “I’m doing the best I can. I can’t hold everybody back. It’s a passionate time…”

“Yes, yes, of course we understand that. But if you could do your best.”

“Listen… In order for me to keep my credibility with my people, they’re going to need the president to say something in solidarity. They’re going to need to know that he endorses our movement for justice. They turned out for him at the polls, and they know he’s with them, but they need some sort of sign. They’re going to need him to pledge to stop police brutality against our people, and they’re going to need his promise to reopen the Ricky O’Sullivan case.”

Bradley coughed. “We can do most of that, Levon. But that last one, that’s out of our hands. We don’t control the DOJ.”

“Well then we might just have a conflict here. I’ve got a lot of very angry people, and they’re very angry for a reason.”

There was a silence on the other end of the line. Levon heard some murmuring—he thought he heard Prescott’s voice. Then Bradley was back. “Levon, as it so happens, I do have another idea that might serve both our interests. You’re going to have to trust us.”

“For how long?”

“Not too long. You’ll see something on the news.”

“What?”

Bradley sighed. “I said you’ll have to trust us. Can you hold off for forty-eight hours? I promise, it’ll be worth your while.”

Levon paused for dramatic effect—he wanted Bradley to remember he was in control. Then he answered, “Sure, Mr. Bradley. Sure. Anything for the president. Love that man.”

“Thank you, Levon, and he sends his regards.” The line clicked dead.

And Levon smiled.

Ellen

El Paso, Texas

THE TROOP MOVEMENT ACROSS THE Mexican border began early in the morning with helicopter incursions into Mexican territory. The intel provided by captured border-crossers proved accurate based on the aerial photographs taken by state-owned drones, redirected across the border. The Apache attack helicopters veered low over Ciudad Juarez and fired directed rockets at a small duplex on the outskirts of the city. It went up in flames; Governor Davis watched the real-time broadcast, yelping as the duplex disappeared in a puff of smoke and dust.

“There goes one of the bastards,” he smiled. That bastard was one of the leaders of the Juarez Cartel.