Bookshelf Battle

Rosanna sat on the hardwood floor, weeping and wailing as she snuggled with her babes. Three year old Charlie slept on the floor with his head resting on his mother’s lap. Susan, a tiny infant, was bundled up in her mothers arms. Both children slept soundly.

The door creaked as Travis entered the room. He sat on the floor opposite his wife. A flickering candle stuck in a holder sat on the floor between them.

Travis waited for the crying to subside.

“Father was right,” Rosanna said. “I’ve married a charlatan.”

“Darling, please,” Travis replied.

“A fraudulent reprobate,” Rosanna said.

“Rosanna…”

“A lowlife debtor!”

“Sweetheart, please,” Travis said. “As a well-read man I assure you that you mean none of these statements and they are just the product of your weak feminine mind.”

The tears stopped. Rosanna’s blue eyes lit up. “My weak feminine mind?”

“The female brain is not as advanced as the male brain, my dear,” Travis said. “All the scientific treatises I have read say so. You can’t argue with science.”

“So, what?” Rosanna said. “Our home isn’t getting foreclosed on? All these people who have been ransacking our house all day and buying everything we own…I just imagined all of this?”

“No,” Travis said. “But there’s no reason to be emotional.”

“Emotional?” Rosanna said. “We don’t have a pot to piss in!”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Travis said. “I’m sure they left us a pot to piss in.”

On cue, two voices traveled into the room from the other side of the house.

“Thanks for selling this pot to piss in, sheriff,” a random man said. “Sure can’t wait to piss in it.”

“No problem,” the sheriff replied. “Piss in that pot in good health.”

Rosanna shot her husband an angry look, as if to communicate, “See?”

“There will be other pots,” Travis said.

Rosanna frowned. “Now the children and I have to move back in with father. He despised you so vigorously.”

“I know,” Travis said. “I recall the toast he gave at our wedding in which he wished for my death. It was charming in an odd way.”

“Father will tell me that he told me so about you all day long,” Rosanna said. “He will be positively insufferable.”

Travis scooched closer to his wife and stroked his son’s hair.

“I still love you though, William,” Rosanna said. “I shall pray for you every day as you rot to death in debtor’s prison.”

“Darling,” Travis said. “That’s what I have come to talk to you about. You will not have to live with your terrible father forever…and I will not spend a day in prison.”

“I don’t like the sound of this,” Rosanna said. “Whenever you get one of your bright ideas it inevitably makes things worse.”

Travis wrapped his arm around his wife. “I haven’t much time so please listen. Now, I realized about a year ago that my financial woes would inevitably get the best of me.”

“Yet you continued to print your foolish paper,” Rosanna lamented. “Absolutely no one read it, you know.”

“So I’ve heard,” Travis said. “Moving on, a year ago I struck up a correspondence with Sam Houston.”

“The drunken adulterer?” Rosanna asked.

“What?” Travis asked. “No, the former governor of Tennessee and current General of the Texan Army.”

“I’ve heard he is a drunken adulterer,” Rosanna said.

“All politicians are drunken adulterers, darling,” Travis said. “Do try to keep up.”

“Sorry,” Rosanna said.

“General Houston has commissioned me as an officer in his Army,” Travis said.

Rosanna giggled. “You’ve never fought a day in your life. What are you, a corporal?”

“A colonel,” Travis said.

“Jesus H. Christ,” Rosanna said. “They must be really hard up.”

“Pardon?” Travis asked.

“That’s really nice,” Rosanna said. “Best of luck.”

“Thank you,” Travis said.

“When do we leave?” Rosanna asked.

Travis looked down at the floor.

“William?” Rosanna asked.

“Darling,” Travis said. “This is a very precarious situation. Tomorrow morning I’ll be considered a fugitive from justice in America. I’ll have to ride like the wind to keep the law from catching up with me. Plus, Texas is in a very precarious position right now. President Santa Anna has proven to be quite the dictator and there’s talk of rebellion. I can’t risk bringing you and the children with me now.”

Rosanna sighed. “Why couldn’t you have been a simple farmer?”

Travis returned his wife’s sigh with one of his own. “Because life is absurdly short, dearest. A man who does not spend every day striving for greatness has wasted his life.”

“The children and I are a waste?” Rosanna asked.

Travis squeezed his wife closer. “That’s your weak female mind talking again.”

Rosanna shook her head.

“Judge Harlow was harsh when he reprimanded me,” Travis said. “But I have realized he is right. I will never again take a short cut to greatness. I will earn it every step of the way as an Army man, through the sweat of my brow and the fruit of my labor and…”

“You’re going to die,” Rosanna said.

“Pardon?” Travis asked.

“You’re not cut out to be in any kind of army,” Rosanna said. “That life will kill you, one way or the other.”

Travis scoffed. “You fail to see what a great opportunity this is. How many people get the chance to take part in building a new country? Why, one day, years from now, you’ll…”

“…be looking down on your grave,” Rosanna said.

“I was going to say that you’ll be the wife of a great Texan statesman and you’ll look back on this time and laugh,” Travis said. “Why does no one believe in me?”

Rosanna kissed her husband on the lips. “Its not that we don’t believe in you. Its that you want too much and we don’t believe the world can provide it.”

Travis returned his wife’s kiss, then kissed his two sleeping children.

“This will all pass,” Travis said. “We will all be together again, but tonight I will take my leave. Rosanna, what I’m about to say is very important.”

Rosanna listened intently.

“When the sheriff comes looking for me tomorrow,” Travis said. “You must not let on that you know that I ran. All that you need tell him is that I was here when you went to sleep and when you woke up, I was gone. Understood?”

“Understood,” Rosanna said.

The door creaked as the sheriff stepped into the room. “Alright Travis, you deadbeat sack of shit, let’s go.”

“What?” Travis asked.

“I’ve sold all your shit and you’re still broke so it’s off to the hoosegow you go,” the sherrif said.

“Sir,” Travis replied. “Few are lucky enough to posses a legal mind as well versed as mine so I won’t think less of you for your ignorance, but you are incorrect. Judge Harlow said my time would not be up until tomorrow.”

“Its an hour till midnight,” the sheriff said. “Close enough. Move your ass.”

“Sir,” Travis said. “I will further point out that the judge said I will be arrested tomorrow when he has issued a warrant.”

“He will,” the sheriff said. “Don’t you worry about that.”

“Yes, but,” Travis said. “Until he actually issues the arrest warrant, I’m a free man.”

“Travis,” the sheriff said. “I am in no mood for your fancy mumbo jumbo.”

“And I’m in no mood to have my rights violated, sir,” Travis said. “Should you arrest me without a proper warrant then you will leave me with no choice but to file an extensive lawsuit demanding satisfaction from you in the form of financial payment.”

“Huh?” the sheriff said as he scratched his head.

“I’ll take all your money,” Travis said.

The sheriff rested his hand on the butt of the gun holstered on his hip, then grumbled.

“Fuck it,” the sheriff said as he took his hand off his gun. “Enjoy your last night as a free man, peckerwood. Hug your kids. Pork your woman. I’ll be back bright and early tomorrow morning with the judge’s warrant in hand.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” Travis said.

The sheriff stepped out into the hallway, then poked his head back into the room one last time.

“And Travis?”

“Yes?”

“You make me chase you and you’re a dead man.”

Travis nodded. The chubby sherrif waddled out of the house and slammed the front door behind him.

“OK,” Rosanna said. “I’ll give it to you. That was impressive. You finally impressed me with your fancy book learning.”

Travis smiled. “Now imagine how many people I could impress if they’d just start believing in me for a change.”

December 1829

The Palacio Nacional was an astounding piece of architecture. Though by the 1800s it featured balconies, columns, porticos and other European style features, there were parts of the structure that dated back to the Aztec King Montezuma II.

But at this particular moment of history, there was no time to appreciate a fine building. Rival factions had gathered outside and violence was underway.

“Guerrero is the rightful ruler of Mexico!” cried one of the president’s supporters. “Down with the traitors!”

“Fool!” shouted a supporter of the vice-president. “Bustamante will lead us into prosperity!”

Torches were brandished. Rocks and bricks were thrown. Heads were busted. Fists flew.

A shot was fired.

“Insolent rabble!” shouted Colonel Arroyo as he stepped down from his horse. “Cease this disruption of the peace and make way for the general so that he may sort out this matter at once!”

The opposing sides were ready to tear each others’ throats out over their disagreements, but they were united in their respect for Santa Anna. As the general marched up the steps in his dress uniform, the crowd gazed upon him in sheer reverence.

The general, the colonel, and Isadora entered the palace in lockstep with a dozen soldiers trailing behind them.

“General,” the Colonel said. “These past few months in your service have certainly been an adjustment. Your foray into the, well, for lack of a better word, ‘the occult,’ has certainly taught me many dark secrets about our world.”

“Your loyalty has always been your greatest virtue, Colonel,” Santa Anna replied.

“Yes,” the Colonel said. “And I must admit, it has taken me some time to get used to your new ‘advisor.’”

“Isadora’s advice has proven invaluable,” Santa Anna said.

“Right,” Colonel Urrea said. “But general, you are about to walk down a path from which you will never be able to come back from.”

The general placed his hand on a doorknob. “My dear friend, why would I ever want to come back from this?”

Santa Anna opened the door and entered the presidential library, a large room with walls lined with bookshelves that held ancient volumes and dusty old tomes.

On one side of an old oak conference table sat Vincente Guerrero, the tall, dark, brooding president. Two guards stood to his left. Two more stood to his right. All four men were loyal to the smug, smarmy looking vice-president Anastasio Bustamante, who was sitting across the table.

“You have signed your own death warrant, Bustamante,” Guerrero said. “I will enjoy seeing you swing from the end of a rope.”

“Oh come now, Vincente,” Bustamante said. “You’re in no position to make threats.”

Santa Anna’s troops spread out throughout the room.

“What is the meaning of this?” the general asked.

“Ahh,” Guerrero said with a grin. “Thank God! Santa Anna, this vile dog has dared to betray the will of the people.”

“Such drama,” Bustamante said.

“I won the election,” Guerrero said as he thumped his chest with his fist. “I chose you as Vice-President to make peace with your supporters and you reward me with a treacherous coup.”

“OK,” Bustamante said. “Yes, I’ll admit you make a good case that this isn’t very democratic but sometimes in a democracy the people must be prodded in the right direction and if they’re incapable of realizing that you’re little more than a common street charlatan…”

“Enough!” Santa Anna shouted.

The general looked to the guards. “You men. You are soldiers of the Mexican Army. I gave no order for an insurrection.”

The soldiers stayed quiet. Bustamante answered for them.

“Obviously I didn’t tell you that I was planning to overthrow this gorilla stuffed in a suit…

Upon hearing that remark, Guerrero attempted to stand up but was immediately shoved back down back by Bustamante’s guards.

“…because you might have warned him.  But now that the deed is done, Antonio, you’ll have to make a choice. Him or me.”

“Yes, mi amor,” Isadora said. “Who will it be?”

Santa Anna withdrew his pistol and aimed it at Guerrero. After a few seconds of hesitation, the general moved his weapon and pointed it at Bustamante.

“Oh, fuck it,” Santa Anna said as he held out his free hand. “Colonel, your sidearm.”

Arroyo was perplexed but good solider that he was, he followed orders and placed his pistol in the general’s hand.

“Stop toying with us!” Guerrero hollered.

“Yes,” Bustamante said as he pounded his fist on the table. “Who will you side with?”

Santa Anna pulled both triggers. Holes opened in the heads of both men. Their bodies slumped forward in spent heaps.

“Neither of you,” Santa Anna said as he handed the pistol he borrowed back to the colonel.

The guards who had been loyal to Bustamante drew their swords. Santa Anna looked to his troops.

“Dispatch them.”

To the great horror of Bustamante’s men, the twelve soldiers that Santa Anna had brought with him flexed their muscles and burst out of their clothing. Fur sprang out of their bodies as they grew to well over seven feet tall. Snouts, long, sharp teeth, black noses, jagged claws.

The vice-president’s men were instantly ripped to shreds. One of the werewolves looked to Santa Anna.

“Search the palace,” Santa Anna said. “Round up all who sided with the vice-president. Those unwilling to pledge their allegiance to me shall be executed.”

The werewolf nodded and he and his furry brethren were off.

“I must say, Isadora,” Santa Anna said. “Had your new lycan recruits been in my service years ago, so many battles could have been won handily low these many years.”

“Yes,” Isadora said. “But do not forget they are only as loyal as your pockets are deep so never neglect to pay them and you’ll find they’re worth their weight in gold.”

The she-vamp caressed the cheek of a very frightened looking Colonel Arroyo. “It’s the loyalty of this one that I worry about.”

“Is she right?” Santa Anna asked Arroyo.  “Does she have cause for concern?”

“No,” the Colonel said. “I serve Mexico and whoever happens to be in charge of it at the moment, in good times and in bad.”

Arroyo looked around the room and grimaced at the multitude of dead bodies. “I just wish there was more good.”

Santa Anna rested his hand on the Colonel’s shoulder. “That’s good enough for me, General.”

“I’ve been promoted?” Arroyo asked.

“We both have,” Santa Anna said.

The trio of Santa Anna, Isadora, and Arroyo left the library and exited the palace. Outside, the rabble was just as rambunctious as ever, but they quieted down for Santa Anna.

“Good people of Mexico,” Santa Anna said. “After a thorough investigation, I determined that the president and the vice-president were a duo of filthy corrupt criminals whose misdeeds are far too voluminous too mention at this time. Therefore, I was left with no choice but to pass summary judgement and execute them both on the spot so that they may never trespass against this great nation ever again.”

Hushed whispers could be heard throughout the crowd.

“As Mexico’s chief military officer, I must, though it brings me no joy and is a terrible burden upon me, assume the position of president,” Santa Anna said. “Further, in order to bring about order in the wake of this chaotic ordeal, I am left with no choice but to dissolve the Constitution of 1824 as well as all rights and privileges listed therein until such time as I determine that order has been restored.”

Arroyo leaned into Isadora’s ear and whispered. “They’ll never go for it.”

“Oh ye of little faith,” Isadora whispered back.

“I realize this will result in a great deal of power being concentrated into the hands of one man alone,” Santa Anna said. “But do not fear, my friends, for I have always served with honesty and dignity and will do so as your new president. From hereon, Santa Anna is Mexico and Mexico is Santa Anna!”

The rabble was silent and then…they cheered. Claps. Hoots. Hollers. Cheers. Chants of, “Santa Anna! Santa Anna! Santa Anna!”

“Dios mio,” Arroyo said.

“Tell a confused mass that you’ll solve all their problems and punish the idiots who caused them and they’ll applaud you all day,” Isadora replied.  “This is a truth I have observed for ages.”