The District Manager by Matt Minor Page A

Law.”
    “Johnny Law,” Keith repeats while staring at the floor. He is tapping his foot pensively and then looks up at me. “Only a Southern Intellectual would come to that conclusion.”
    “Whatever, man,” I retort with a growing grin. We’re now both laughing, and it’s genuine. It’s all we can do to keep from killing ourselves.
    “So that’s all the doctors had to say, it was a ticking time bomb?” Keith continues.
    “Actually, I spoke with several other doctors; each had something different to say. The guy the courts are being advised by is just a government yes man. All he does is medically exonerate the cop.”
    “Of course. Are you surprised?”
    “I don’t know what I am anymore, Keith. I used to believe in all this stuff…I’m not so sure now.”
    “What ‘stuff ’ are you referring to? Civilization?”
    “Yes, that’s what I don’t know about anymore. Maybe it is just a racket for the rich and powerful. Maybe the law is really nothing but a hammer to keep people down.”
    “You’re just figuring this out, Mason? I’ve known this for years. They trap you from the time you’re a child. That is if you’re poor, like I am.”
    “You’re not poor, dude. As long as I’ve got a roof over my head and food on the table, so will you.”
    “I appreciate that, Mason, I really do, but let me make my point. You get in trouble for something stupid, like not having a light on your bike or something. You can’t afford the ticket. You get a warrant out for your arrest. Now you’ve got a record. Maybe you get busted with a roach in the ashtray of your car—and remember, you have no Fourth Amendment rights anymore—so now you can’t get a job. They trap you in this sick, twisted system and ensure that you can never get out. They keep you poor and enslaved. There’s a whole apparatus in place that profits off this—both public and private. I hope it all burns to the ground. I hate this country.”
    “There’s no place else to go, Keith. This is as good as it gets.”
    “That’s like saying that one pile of shit smells less than all the others.”
    “Maybe you’re right. Like I said, I don’t know anymore.”
    “Oh, and by the way, discovering that letter only confirmed what I was starting to suspect,” Keith comments.
    “Oh?”
    “It’s obvious that no woman has ever been here, let alone ever lived here, Mason.”
    It’s getting late and I feel horrible and really need to gargle with mouthwash. Keith stays up listening to music in his headphones. I do my nightly regiment and now I’m lying in bed… but I can’t sleep.
    My mind wanders back to the meeting I had with the boss this morning at the Capitol in Austin. The reason for my trip wasn’t necessarily for a district briefing, rather one for an interim study from one of the House committees he sits on. But before we go down to the conference room, I feel compelled to tell him of my recent exploits. I omit the part where I impersonate a cop:
    “So you’re telling me that this Reynolds guy is gone? He’s disappeared?” he asks from behind his desk while blowing on his coffee, trying to cool it off.
    “Right. His wife told me this before she retired into that tomb they call a house.”
    “That’s terrible, poor woman. Is there anything we can do for her, you wonder?”
    “Other than give her a flag that’s flown over the Capitol?” I ask facetiously.
    “You don’t need to be an ass, Mason. This situation is just horrible and I wish there was something we could do for this woman— that’s all.”
    “I’m sorry, sir,” I falter, “When I get to the rodeo arena there is no sign of any dogs, only a piece of ball cap that resembles what Mr. Reynold’s wore on the one occasion I visited him regarding this issue.”
    “Jesus Christ! You don’t think the goddamn dogs ate him do you?”
    “Jesus Christ I hope not. I did not see any blood…except on my leg.”
    “On your leg?”
    “Yeah, when I descended those damn