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“First, we’ll hear from Deputy Davis.”
Dickhead spends the next eternity talking about the legacy of Heatstroke and how his family has been at the forefront of keeping the town safe. The audience seems warm, particularly the younger people in the crowd, but the older folks are skeptical, arms crossed. I pick them out in the crowd as Davis talks. They don’t buy it based on the glares they’re shooting at him.
Davis is a master manipulator. By the end of his speech, people cheer and stamp their feet. He returns to his seat with a vicious smile.
“Follow that,” he mouths.
“Deputy Taylor will talk about his campaign next.”
Fuck. This is it.
I get up and approach the podium.
Marci cheers.
“Go, Jesse! Let’s go, you’ve got this, baby.”
She claps and whoops, and I grin at her, drawing my shoulders back.
“Thanks for being here today, everyone,” I say. “There are many reasons I want to run for sheriff. Because I care about this town and its people, because I believe in doing the right thing, and because of justice. A lot of you, especially those who have been around the county and specifically in Heatstroke for many years, are aware that justice has been elusive in this town.”
Davis’ chair squeaks behind me.
Marci frowns and glances at the others in the crowd. They’re listening. There’s a silence in the hall that verges on uncomfortable.
“For a long time, Heatstroke and the county have been under the care of the Davis family,” I say. “I use the word ‘care’ lightly,because while they may have kept criminals off the streets, they’ve also used their position to abuse this town’s justice system.”
More shocked faces.
“The sheriff’s department is fraught with nepotism and corruption. It’s not diverse. It hasn’t been audited in years, and because of that, Sheriff Davis has had free rein to commit crimes and hide them. To take advantage of the people of this town and play by his own set of rules. Rules that only apply to his family.”
Davis’ chair scrapes back.
“Hey, what the hell? Moderator, are you going to allow slander on the stage?”
“Quiet down, Candidate Davis,” the moderator says. “You will have time to rebut. Deputy Taylor, please continue without defamatory claims.”
“That’s the thing,” I say. “They’re not defamatory. I can prove them, and I will prove them in a court of law. It’s never been my intention to run a smear campaign to get my way. And the past few months have helped me come to a clear realization of what I want for this town and my own life. I’ve realized,” I say, my throat drying, “that I care more about my relationship with my wife than I do anything else. It’s for this reason that I will be withdrawing from the running to be sheriff. I yield to Candidate Oakes.”
Marci’s gone pale, her hand flies to her throat.
“Jesse?” she mouths.
Mrs. Oakes walks up to the podium.
“Thank you, Mr. Taylor,” she says. “I appreciate your speech. As my first order of business as sheriff, I will see to it that cases that have fallen by the wayside or that have been purposefully brushed under the rug by the current sheriff will be brought to light and re-investigated. I am, of course, referringto the accusations of intoxication manslaughter that have been leveraged against him.”
“This is bullshit,” Davis leaps out of his chair.
The crowd breaks into whispers that become a hum of anger. People stare at Davis like he’s a stranger. Tears roll down Marci’s cheeks. She swallows. She realizes what Oakes means.
Investigating her father’s case.
Her gaze flickers to my face.
“I will be ensuring that a full audit of the entire department takes place. That audit will be implemented on the day I’m voted into office,” Oakes says, and then she turns and gives me a tight-lipped smile, her eyes crinkling at the corners. Determined. “As for references to diversity in the department, on this point, Deputy Taylor and I are in agreement. I’ll be inviting new officers of every creed, color, and gender identification to apply to the department to become a deputy. This town’s peace officers should be representative of its people.”
That brings cheers, especially among the younger folks in the crowd.
