The Governor's Wife by Mark Gimenez

would want to shoot the governor of Texas? Maybe someone important like the speaker of the House, but—"
    "Funny."
    Carl thought he was.
    "Governor, projections are that we're facing a twenty-seven-billion-dollar deficit in the next biennial budget."
    "Who told you that?"
    "The comptroller."
    "Well, that's not true, Carl."
    "We're not looking at a big deficit?"
    "Nope."
    "But the comptroller is—"
    "Wrong. We're fine. No deficit."
    "No deficit?"
    "No deficit."
    Carl frowned. Bode cut a glance at Jim Bob, who nodded as if to a student who had correctly answered his question. The reporter retreated from the budget.
    "Governor, you're the tea party's favorite son here in Texas. Have you thought about testing the national waters for a presidential run?"
    "You trying to get rid of me, Carl?"
    "Well …"
    "Heck, if I moved to Washington, I wouldn't get to see you every week."
    "We could text."
    "I've got the best job in the country."
    "Well, Governor, your Democratic opponent says you're not doing your job, says you're a part-time governor, says that you work less than ten hours each week."
    "But I sing better than him."
    "Perhaps, but we've obtained your bodyguard's official log for the last month under the Open Records Act and found that you worked out at the downtown YMCA and jogged around the lake twenty-nine times, played golf thirteen times, had lunch with your daughter four times, and—"
    "You don't want me to have lunch with my daughter?"
    "I think your opponent wants you to work a little more."
    "My opponent wants my job. Look, when you're the governor of Texas, everything you do is for the people of Texas."
    "Playing golf?"
    "Talking state business."
    "With lobbyists?"
    "Don't they have a right to be heard?"
    Bode had been around Carl long enough to know that he was building up to his big question of the day—"Carl Crawford's scandal of the week."
    "Governor, the Board of Pardons and Paroles has opened an investigation to determine if the State of Texas executed an innocent man on your watch."
    "Who?"
    "Billy Joe Dickson."
    "Dickson? That the ol' boy convicted of burning his house down with his kids in it?"
    "No, that's the ol' boy convicted of murdering his mother with an ax."
    "Down in Houston?"
    "Up in Dalhart."
    "Oh, yeah, I remember now. He was guilty."
    "You're sure?"
    "Yep."
    "So why is the Board conducting an investigation?"
    "Politics."
    "They're all Republican. You appointed them."
    "I did?" He grunted. "Oh, then they're just mad."
    "About what?"
    "We're gonna cut their budget."
    "Why? If there's no deficit?"
    "There's no deficit because we cut spending before there is a deficit."
    "But—"
    Bode sighed. Democrats. He answered four more questions then called it a day. He walked out the door followed by Jim Bob.
    "We'll replace the entire Board of Pardons and Paroles," the Professor said. "That'll derail the investigation."
    "Can we do that?"
    "It's one of the few things the governor can do."
    Bode threw a thumb back at the press room.
    "Won't the press bitch?"
    The Professor shrugged it off.
    "So? Voters won't hold it against us if we execute the wrong guy every now and then. No one's perfect."

SEVEN
    The boy's heart stopped.
    "Doctor, he coded!"
    The boy named Jesús had come through surgery fine—until now. Cardiac arrest. The doctor sat on the stool suturing the boy's chest wall. He dropped the sutures then took the stethoscope and listened to the boy's heart. He grabbed a portable defibrillator. He applied the electrodes to the boy's chest but didn't yell "Clear!" as the doctors had in the ER. He just looked at her. She held up her hands to show that she was clear of the patient. She didn't need a seven-hundred-fifty-volt shock. The boy's body twitched with the electric shock. She put the stethoscope to his chest.
    Nothing.
    Lindsay recalled the big man's words: Do not let him die, Doctor. It would not be good for any of us. She felt sweat beads on her forehead. She said a quick prayer. The doctor