The Cox independent campaign

for governor had been lofted

on one grand idea, but only

one, that New Mexico needed a

third alternative because the

Democratic and Republican parties

were corrupt,unresponsive to

the public interest and beholden

to the big corporations and

wealthy individuals who financed

campaigns. It was enough to get

the campaign rolling, but then it

stalled.

Something more was needed

to push it forward and two weeks

before the election Cox found it.

It wasn’t anything very new; it

was just getting worse,worse than

it had been since at least the

1920s, and it was worse in New

Mexico than anywhere else in the

United States, maybe worse than

anywhere else in the developed

world—if, that is, New Mexico

was really part of the “developed”

world, about which Cox, for one,

had grave doubts.

The poor were getting poorer

while the rich got richer.The middle

class was dying. It was just a

21st century version of William

Jennings Bryan’s declaration that

you shall not crucifyAmerica on a

cross of gold. It was populism in

its purest form—Roosevelt’s malefactors

of great wealth, Christ’s

driving the money-changers from

the temple. It had been going on

for thousands of years—as long as

there had been government—this

war between government of, by

and for the haves and the insurgency

of the have-nots.

Government was not serving

the people.Those elected to govern

were serving those who paid

for their elections, not those who

voted them into office. Simplicity

itself. Cox marveled that it had

taken him so long, so many wasted

months, to get to this point, to

boil down the national angst into

a few sentences that could be

communicated in a TV ad or during

a stump speech.

But with only two weeks until

Election Day, was there still time

to get his point across to the 2 million

people of New Mexico?

In tandem with the gubernatorial

campaign, the sheriff’s investigation

into the mysterious death

of Cox’s young campaign aide

continued. Chief Deputy Ted

Jefferson had an instinct about

this one. It could be the big one,

the one that would make his

career, the one they would read

about in Washington and Los

Angeles and New York. If he

played his cards right, a year from

now he could have a hot shot federal

job or be the star of aTV reality

show. “The sky’s the limit,” he

said out loud as he was driving to

meet with his boss, Sheriff Pedro

Armenta, who had asked for an

update on the investigation.

“I don’t have time now,”

Jefferson had told the sheriff over

the radio.‘How about tomorrow?”

“Now,” Armenta said curtly,

adding—unnecessarily it seemed

to Jefferson—“Now means now.”

”Yes, sir.” Jefferson knew as

well as the next deputy that bowing

and scraping and generally

demeaning yourself was more a

part of being a deputy than knowing

how to fire a guy or wield a

baton.

Jefferson didn’t know why

Armenta was in such a desperate

hurry to see him, and when he

couldn’t figure something out, his

habit was to put it out of his mind

as long as possible.He managed to

ignore the subject until the

moment he walked into the sheriff’s

office.

Armenta was one of those

bosses who liked to see a big

expanse of clean desk extending

in front of him,and used it to keep

a distance between him and whatever

hapless perp or nervous

deputy had the misfortune to be

ensconced in the chair on the

other side of the desk. Sometimes

Armenta had to feel his way

through an interview, but this

time he knew exactly what he

wanted. He wasted no time

explaining the situation, then

demanded:“Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Now that that’s out of the

way,” tell me about your investigation.”

“ Deputy,are your stupid or are

you stupid?”

“Sheriff, this is too big to sit on.

And besides, the word’s already

out. It’s too late to shut it up. I told

Cox.”

“You told Cox!”

“I told Cox.”

“Deputy, if it wasn’t two weeks

before the election, I’d tell you

right now to start looking for

another job. But since it is two

weeks before the election, I won’t

say it now.”

“Give up, sheriff, it’s too late.”