Secession: The Storm by Joe Nobody Page A

away with that in Texas.
     
    Zach waited until the media event was over, trailing a small huddle of law enforcement officers inside the hotel’s lobby. He caught the eye of one of the senior aides and flashed his badge. Extending his hand, Zach initiated introductions, “Howdy. I’m Ranger Zachariah Bass from Texas. I’ve been sent by the governor as a liaison for either the mayor or the chief of police.”
     
    “You don’t say,” the pessimistic voice responded. After grasping Zach’s offered hand, the local continued, “I’m Captain Harold Baines, NOPD. You’re in luck – the commissioner just concluded a press conference. I am sure he has nothing better to do than to entertain guests from neighboring states. Hold on though; maybe we can catch him.”
     
    Captain Baines didn’t wait for Zach’s response, instead pivoting quickly in an attempt to catch up with his boss. The visitor from Texas hustled to keep up.
     
    The commissioner was surrounded by a whirling multitude of uniformed and civilian humanity, many of whom seemed to be vying for the head-cop’s attention. For the most part, the city official ignored the shouted questions, camera flashes, and stacks of paper being shoved in his face as he slowly managed his way toward a bank of elevators.
     
    Evidently, Baines was a trusted aide. After elbowing his way through the throng, he whispered a quick word into his boss’s ear. Zach saw the commissioner glance in his direction and nod.
     
    Finally reaching the refuge offered by the elevator, Zach attempted to push his way into the upward bound car, his exertions blocked by four huge NOPD cops who were obviously tasked with keeping out the riffraff. Baines again came to the rescue, his arm reaching out to pull the ranger inside just as the doors were moving to close.
     
    “Texas, huh,” the commissioner said, looking Zach up and down with a critical eye. “Ranger Bass, huh? Wasn’t Samuel Bass a notorious outlaw and gunslinger over in your state?”
     
    “Yes, sir, he was. No relation though.”
     
    With a dismissing wave of his hand, the top-cop continued, “No matter. So tell me, what the hell is a Texas Ranger doing in my city, taking up my valuable time?”
     
    What city? Zach started to respond, but thought better of it. Instead, he unfolded the letter from his governor, handing the document over without a response.
     
    A chime sounded, and the doors opened onto an upper floor, the procession shuffling into an oversized, plush hallway. Zach’s boots sank into the carpet just as the head lawman finished reading the letter.
     
    “Bullshit,” he exploded, his intense gaze rising from the document and boring into Zach. “I don’t know if our friends over in Texas have been keeping up on current events, but we’ve got a hell of a mess on our hands, young man. For the governor to insinuate that we’re purposely dumping our prisoners in your lap is insulting… damned insulting.”
     
    “I’m not here for political reasons, sir,” Zach responded. “I’m here to offer any assistance possible that will improve the processing of the evacuees. My company’s major was very clear on that point.”
     
    “Process?” the man laughed, “What in the hell makes you think we have any sort of process? I’ve got hundreds of thousands of desperate people on my hands. Procedure drowned in the floodwaters. We’re just trying to get as many to high ground and under a roof as possible.”
     
    “I understand, sir, but our jails are full, and my superiors don’t want to turn your criminals loose on our innocent population.”
     
    Again, the commissioner cackled from his impressive belly. “At least you have jails, son. I would hope your superiors understand the hurricane that just kicked our ass could have easily ventured a couple of hundred miles west and slammed Houston. I hope my law enforcement comrades in the Lone Star State realize our roles could very easily have been