Doc Rogers

By Jack W. Boone

At first glance, it appears that this novel would be controversial with an underlying agenda. It is not. It is an interesting collection of ideas made into a lively story.

Doc Rogers and his companions felt that they had topped out the Civil Rights movement and were looking for greener pastures. After learning of a loophole in the voting rights act, the idea came to Doc to establish a separate nation for minorities using a part of the US territory to be called New Georgia. He decided to launch a voter registration campaign to elect selected people to critical offices for the job. Those elected would have to commit to a plan to give up the eight southeastern states of the United States for their new country. Coincidently, the land area involved nearly equals their own minority percentage of the total population.

The idea caught on in a huge way with their constituency. Of course, the top people of the United States immediately challenged the idea and started action to stop it. They soon discovered that Doc really had a legal right to do as he planned. The affected states reacted by calling the idea radical and prepared to fight to the finish if necessary to preserve the status quo. Certain hostile Caucasian groups within those states planned another Civil War if necessary to stop the movement. One state government was heavily involved in trying to sabotage the plan by eliminating some of the more important people involved.

Unknown to Doc, he was being used by a more sinister group from out of the area. The group's operation was discovered and neutralized, but the damage to Doc's reputation was beyond repair. The scheme faded into oblivion, but not before Doc paid a heavy personal price. If you haven't read an excellent novel lately, try this one. You will be pleased.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jack W. Boone
• Release date: Nov 23, 2010
• ISBN: 9781458048141

Jack W. Boone

Jack W. Boone began his adult life by spending four years in the US Army during WW II. He was selected for training by British Commandos in Scotland for future invasions, raids on enemy territory and close combat operations. He participated in the invasions of North Africa and Sicily. For his combat roles, he was awarded the Silver Star for gallantry in action and the Purple Heart for wounds received in combat. After returning to the United States he was assigned as an assistant G3 and combat training officer. He commanded a training facility for special operations. He left the service after the war.Prior to, during and after his military years, he came to know several writers and other creative people. The group spent a lot of their free time discussing writing and the arts and what they hoped would be their role in it in the future. During that time, he was only an interested observer with no thought of participating, however that experience probably planted the seed for him to become a writer later.After his discharge the challenge of business took over and he spent the next forty years building his very successful group of companies. They were in real estate, mortgage banking, construction, land development, property syndication, publishing and several other related fields. He has received national publicity for his various business activities on several occasions.After he retired from business he decided to write a few stories for his own amusement. To date he has written seventeen books including eight full-length novels, four novelettes, two nonfiction books and three short story books. In addition, he has written numerous essays, articles, guest columns for newspapers and personality profiles of prominent people he knew for historical books. He coauthored a three-act play and much more.His initial plan was to give the books to charities to be used for fund raisers and other nonprofit causes. He did not plan to commercially market his work. The reaction to his books has been exceptionally good, with people calling to order copies for friends and relatives. After such a favorable reception, he recently decided to place them on the commercial market where the proceeds could be directed to other worthy causes. He gives generously to charities.He continues to write every day and aspires to finish all of the more than twenty writing projects he has outlined for himself including two novels presently in development.He and his wife of nearly 60 years have traveled in more than 45 countries in the world during his business career and on vacations. They presently reside in Marietta, Georgia, where he is active in civic clubs as a member and guest speaker. He recently started a writing program for fourth grade students in several local schools. He wrote half of a short story and the students finish it. Winners are selected by members of the Marietta Golden "K" Kiwanis Club and the schools. Prizes are awarded for the best finished story.

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Doc Rogers

Jack W. Boone

Copyright 2010 Jack W. Boone

Smashwords Edition

DOC ROGERS

CHAPTER ONE

Doctor Charles Rogers, D.D., was home in bed, but he couldn’t sleep. He folded his hands behind his head and smiled at the dark ceiling. The thundering applause with the standing ovation from his speech to The Southeastern Black Congress a few hours earlier was still ringing in his ears. As keynote speaker, he announced that, after extensive study, the time had come to demand a separate black nation as their fair share of the United States. It could be done by converting seven Southeastern states to an independent black nation to be called tentatively by the name New Georgia. He used as examples the attempt by Quebec to secede from Canada because of cultural differences with the rest of the nation and the independent status of the South American countries.

He did not tell them that the other prominent leaders in the organization were Dr. Melvern Duncan and Banker William Willie Simpson, but announced that the organizing committee would be named later.

The house, filled to capacity with black professional and business leaders, was stunned into momentary silence and then erupted into a frenzy of cheering, howling, shrieking, yelling and screaming their approval. The general chaos, the likes of which he had never seen or heard before, lasted a full ten minutes before order was restored. Even after the general noise had died down, everybody was smiling and drinking toasts to each other and to the dias. For all practical purposes, the speech had ended there. During the celebration, several people tried to charge the stage in their exuberance, presumably to give Doc a ride around the hall on their shoulders. He managed to elude them by standing among his friends who surrounded him as security.

It took him two hours to get away from the hall after the speech and home to Lida. She was asleep and hardly moved as he eased himself into bed beside her.

He had been laying there for quite a while when he turned over slowly to not wake her and reached for his glasses on the bedside table. He held them up to his eyes with the earpieces folded to read the red numbers on the electric clock then laid them back on the table. It was three twenty-five in the morning and Doc was wide awake.

He had dropped the bombshell of a plan on them midway through the speech. They were still yelling

Rogers for President as he made his way out of the side door well after midnight. They were delighted that a credible, highly respected group of people, armed with statistics and a data study, was ready and willing to argue that the black population had grown to sufficient size and sophistication to have its own nation.

Lida continued to snore gently by his side. He turned toward her slowly, sliding his body close to her sleeping form. He put his arm across her shapely body and she slid her hips a little closer to him. Her body fit perfectly next to his. After thirty-five years of marriage, she was still a bride to him. He loved to touch her and feel her soft textured skin. She was more than a wife and companion, she was a friend and confidant. He took long breaths, trying to match her breathing, hoping that by doing so, he could also get to sleep. After a few minutes he gave up and turned on his back. Again, he folded his hands as the soft sounds of the night took over his thoughts for the moment. Somewhere in the distance a dog was barking as if it was unsure of itself, probably at a shadow. It wasn't the frantic bark of a dog under attack. Doc remembered that lesson from his youth on the farm. The barking dog was followed a few moments later by the distant sound of a train whistle, deep and mournful. The tracks were miles away so the whistle was soft. For a moment, he wondered where the train was going.

His memory slipped back to his boyhood. He remembered hearing trains at night on the farm and fantasizing that they were traveling to all the wonderful places in the picture books. He decided then that one day he would ride on one of those trains and go to all those exotic places.

He was the ninth son of a tenant farmer in the rural south, one of a family of eleven children. His future wife, Lida Smiley, had gone to the same high school where they met and became inseparable. She had been beside him every step of his career, encouraging him, helping him learn his sermons and researching for him on occasion when he was in danger of quoting the wrong passage of the bible as the gospel. All the while loving him and taking care of their children while he concentrated on his work. It was difficult for a small-time country preacher, serving three rural churches at one time, to make ends meet.

During those early years he also worked on a dairy farm, getting up at two-thirty in the morning to milk and feed cows. After he finished at noon, he would go home, change clothes and visit his parishioners. Many times he would not get home until nine or ten o'clock at night, only to get up four hours later to go to work. Lida would keep his dinner hot on the wood stove, and rub his shoulders as he would collapse into a deep, exhausted sleep.

Tonight, as he lay there, scanning the highlights of a career that had brought him to last evening, he was pleased with his accomplishments thus far. The dream of traveling to far away places had not come true because his career demanded his time, and what little was left going to his family. He wondered if his family had suffered because of his dedication to his profession. They had all of the comforts needed to give them a good life and he had made sure that they had opportunities. Beyond those he had while growing up. As for his dreams, he had long ago relegated most of them way down the list of important milestones in his life. It all looked different now that he was grown. After last night, it was apparent that his secret dreams were even further down the list. Destiny would be in control from this day forward.

He considered it good to have a bit of boyhood memory to hang on too in the early hours of sleepless mornings, like now. It gave him humility and the awareness that he was still just a country boy at heart, but the word president struck a harmonious chord within his breast that had never been there before. It might not come true but he had traveled a long and arduous route to get here. It had been fifty years since a little black boy looked at pretty pictures in an old magazine with dog„eared pages, would go to bed and dream about all of the wonderful places. He wasn't aware then that he would not be welcome at those places because of his color. He was living in ignorant bliss.

Many times as he grew older, he had called upon those memories to keep himself unpretentious and let himself accept the leadership role that fate had thrust upon him. It was hard to resist the temptation to drink of the cup of adulation that was constantly placed in front of him by an adoring congregation and not reflect an attitude of superiority. Aggression was not in his character. He wanted the love of his family and congregation above all else, and it looked like he had expanded that audience considerably last night.

He was wondering what the press would say today as he fell into a deep, exhausted sleep repeating the phrase over and over in his mind, Necessity knows no law.

Doc was a fine looking man. His fifty-eight years sat well on his 180-pound frame. His full head of gray hair and a neat mustache was kept expertly shaped by weekly trips to the barber. He had always kept in good physical shape, not allowing himself to get fat. He stood erect and when talking to people, looked directly into their eyes, showing keen interest in what the other person had to say. That characteristic added to his good personality and caused him to be extremely well liked by his parishioners.

He usually dressed in a dark suit and white shirt with a clerical collar. It made him look distinguished.

He and Lida made a handsome couple. She usually dressed in brightly-colored clothing and fashionable accessories and, with her well-proportioned figure, she looked well in her clothes. Doc was proud of her and showed her off at every opportunity. She was nearly as tall as Doc. She always had a ready smile and was admired by the ladies of the congregation, mostly wives of the more affluent members of the black community.

It was well past sunup when he thought he heard the phone ringing but he couldn't wake up enough to answer it. Lida finally picked up the receiver and said sleepily, Pastor's residence, who's calling?

Lida, this is Red. Is Doc awake yet? A deep rolling voice asked.

She paused for a moment to collect her thoughts. Her mouth was dry. What time is it, Red?, she asked without answering his question or looking at their own clock.

It's getting’ on close to six-thirty. I need to talk to Doc if he's awake.

She looked around at the sleeping Doc. He's still asleep, Red. I don't believe he slept much last night. Where are you? I'll have him call you as soon as he wakes.

As Red started to answer, he heard the smooth baritone voice of the pastor in the background asking who was calling. Red went silent and waited while Lida explained to Doc.

Lida said, Hold on, Red, he's awake now. Here he is.

She handed the phone to Doc saying, Red seems anxious to talk to you for some reason.

Doc took the phone and said gruffly, Why are you calling me in the middle of the night, Red?

Red laughed. I'll bet you never slept till the middle of the morning on that dairy farm.

Doc managed a feeble laugh. You’ve got that right. I would have milked forty cows by now, but that's not why you called. What do you want?

Just to tell you that I drove past the church a few minutes ago and there are two television trucks sitting there waiting for you, so I drove on out to your house and there is one sitting in your driveway. Just thought you ought to know, because they are going to ambush you as soon as you get your pants on.

Hold on a minute while I go look out the window. He went to the front of the house and slowly pulled the curtain back just enough to peek out. Sure enough, there was a television truck parked next to the driveway. He recognized Tom Smarr, a well-known local announcer. God knows he didn't need to talk to him this early. It was tough enough after lunch, say nothing about before breakfast. The cameraman had already set up. They were having a cup of coffee from a big thermos while they waited with their backs toward the house. Doc very gently let the curtain fall back into place so the movement wouldn't be noticed. That could bring a knock on the door. Figuring he had gotten away with it, he went back to the phone.

I see what you mean, Red. I appreciate the warning. I'll talk to you later.

Doc, be careful what you say. Those guys have a way of twisting words to make them come out of the tube to suit themselves. Suppose I come over and run interference for you? I was a pretty good blocker, you know.

Doc managed a feeble laugh, I think that might be a good idea. Come on over. I appreciate you warning me. Lida will have the coffee hot when you get here. Come to the side door and she'll let you in.

He hung up, his mind was racing with plans. Lida had already stopped by the bathroom and was on her way to the kitchen to start breakfast. He walked quickly toward the kitchen to catch her, grabbing his robe on the way.

Baby, don't open the front curtains. There's a television truck out there, and I don't want them knocking on the door yet. Red's coming over.

With her characteristic poise, she continued making breakfast. The coffee had made itself automatically. She poured both of them a cup as poured milk on his cereal. Lida was too quiet. He knew that a barrage of questions was about to explode in his ears, so he tried to get himself mentally ready. Television trucks were not an everyday occurrence in front of the parsonage.

Finally, she looked up quizzically and, carefully choosing her words, asked, Doc, you didn't get us in trouble with your speech last night, did you? Without allowing him time to answer, she continued, You must have said something controversial to have a television truck here this early. What did you say?

He shrugged his shoulders, It's possible that it might cause a little concern for a while. I know it's going to get a lot of attention. Red is coming over to help me if I need it.

She still looked skeptical, I knew y'all were working hard on something. Whatever it is, it must have gotten somebody's attention to have television people waitin' for you before breakfast. What are you going to tell that reporter?

I'm not sure right now. I'll think of something while we're eating. I guess all I have to do is confirm what I said last night.

What did you say last night to cause so much fuss?

I read my prepared speech.

She stopped and looked at him, obviously a little irritated. She raised her voice. Well…What did it have in it that caused all this fuss?

I simply said, now that over 11 percent of the population of the United States is black and it's obvious that we're never going to reach true equality the way things are going so, we want our share of the land. That’s all I said. We think we're entitled to form our own nation. That would come to about the eight Southeastern states and we can prove it. We have the math and statistics to prove our case.

Lida had stopped, holding a cereal box in midair. She exclaimed in an excited tone, Doc Rogers, have y'all gone stark-raving mad? What in the world made y'all think you could do something like that? You know they will kill all of you before they let that happen.

Her tone immediately changed to one of aspersion and considerable resignation, using the box to wave in the air to make her point, You're talking about another Civil War. I guess you know that.

Now he was showing his own agitation. We're not doing any such thing. We're making a just and legal demand. He turned back to his cereal with a wave of his spoon as dismissal. You just go along with me on this one. We know what we're doing. Anyway, you should have seen the membership react to my speech. I thought they were going to tear the roof right off the building. I have never seen a demonstration like that before.

She was spreading butter on four pieces of toast and slid them in the oven, mumbling to herself, but loud enough for him to plainly hear. Her tone was very sarcastic and she was shaking her head from side to side, The government is goin' to tear the roof off, Doc Rogers. That's what is goin' to happen. I think

y'all have gone completely mad.

Now, Lida, he pleaded, we know what we're doing. Our civil rights fight was the most successful nonviolent revolution in the history of the world. There wasn't a shot fired in anger, except for a couple of wildcat shots down in Mississippi. Don't you see, baby, we're winning? We're not going to stop now. We know that we'll never get equality unless we force the issue. So we want the chance to create our own country, and make it something we can be proud of.

Nobody, white or black, will have to move or leave. I'm sure we would have a lot of folks moving from the United States. The white man is only concerned with money. They don't care who runs what, so long as he gets his money. The politicians will do anything for a vote, so they’re no problem. You know that, besides, we have a couple of examples in Africa where it has happened.

What do y'all plan to call this so-called country? Her tone was still sharp and sarcastic.

We worked long and hard on that. The plan takes in Alabama, Georgia, Florida, Mississippi, Tennessee, North and South Carolina and Louisiana. We decided to take the name from the biggest state. So we'll call our nation New Georgia.

I counted them off as you called the names. That's eight states. Now I know you're crazy. There ain't no way they will ever let that happen.

His attitude was one of resignation. Lida, you're a good wife, but you don't understand politics. In politics if you want something, you've got to have something to trade. We have something to trade them that they want, their own land to do with as they please without us bothering them by always being on their heels, demanding our due. We'll be out of their hair and they would love it. Believe me. We can do it. If we move about a million black families in this region, we can take it without firing a shot and they know it.

Her look had turned to skepticism. She looked at him out of the corner of her eye, Now, just how would you manage to do that?

Doc grinned at his wife. By simply taking over the local governments with our own people. Then we can secede from the union just like the South did once before.

She adopted an I told you so tone. I guess y'all forgot that there was a Civil War back then. What in the world makes you think there won't be one now?

He raised his shoulders in resignation then relaxed them heavily. He said with exasperation in his voice, Because this is a different time and world. Besides, things were different then. The white man would fight for a principle back then. He won't do that today. This is the era of compromise, not taking up a gun. Somewhere along the way, the white man lost his will to fight. We need to take advantage of that right now.

Lida started to say something, then thought better of it and closed her mouth. She busied herself getting the toast on a plate, glancing at Doc out of the corner of her eye as she worked. Doc knew she was thinking hard about what he had done and steeled himself for another barrage.

She turned away from the stove waving a big fork in the air. Ain't there a law against that now?

Against what, now?

Against states leaving the Union.

I'm sure there is somewhere, but we've never let that stop us before, have we? As I told the crowd last night, necessity knows no law. Many of the things we did during the movement were against the law too, but we never let that stop us. We can call it an unjust law and that gives us the right to challenge it. We think this move is necessary to achieve complete equality.

She looked triumphant, Your argument is not as good this time as it was in the movement. Then we violated little laws, trespassing and things like that. This is different. She sounded serious and afraid. Y'all are going to far, Doc. This is crazy. Y’all are gonna really get somebody killed this time and I don’t want it to be you.

Doc smiled. He loved her and he wanted to put her at ease. He knew the next few days were going to be tough.

He spread apple jelly on his toast and said between bites,I know it sounds crazy, but it has a real chance for success.

She shook her head sadly as she stared at the stove and said softly. I just hope y'all know what you're doing. In the Civil Rights struggle, all you asked them to do was tolerate us eating at their lunch counters and for us to ride in the front of the bus. She paused for a moment then continued sarcastically,

they won the bus business after all, cause there ain't no more buses. This time, y'all are talking about land, property, real estate and things that mean money, Doc. Her voice was pleading, They just ain't goin' to sit still and tolerate that and you know it.

He finished his toast and the last of the coffee and got up to go.

You just wish us luck, baby. We're going to give it a good try, you can bet on that.

He left her mumbling to herself and went back to the bedroom to shave and dress. He had to plan what he was going to tell the press.

Tom Smarr was the top investigative reporter for television station WSCR in Atlanta. His truck, with the call letters of the station emblazoned on the side, had a dish antenna on top. He had deliberately parked it across the driveway of the parsonage.

Even though he was well into his forties, Smarr still had that sharp-featured look about him that kept him on the air. A rumor had circulated some years ago about a facelift, but it was never proven and soon dropped. He kept his sandy hair brushed first to the front and then rolled to the rear near a well„defined part on the left side and held rigidly in place by large amounts of hair spray. He copied the style from a movie actor some years ago. It was his trademark. He was exceptionally believable on camera because he had a soft but steady baritone voice and a compassionate approach to the news. He was pleasant to look at on camera, but off camera, he was considered an egotistical son-of-a-bitch by his crew. He had very few friends and none of the personnel at the station liked him.

He had covered the Civil Rights movement since it started. His sensitivity to the problem ran deep at the beginning, he was finding it more difficult to agree with some of the demands made by the more aggressive leaders of the movement. The problem really hit home when he was denied access to several meetings of the movement because he was white, even after he protested that being Jewish, he was in sympathy with their point of view. It had nearly cost him his job. The station had hired a black reporter to cover for him. It was demeaning, and he had grown bitter about the experience, so he made life as miserable as possible for the young reporter by not taking him on assignments, but assigning him to stay in the studio and do background work.

He was standing on the sidewalk drinking his second cup of coffee as he waited in the cool morning air. He was sure that Doc Rogers wouldn't give him the time of day when he did come out. Doc had become a master at dodging direct questions. Like a politician, he didn't have the words yes or no in his vocabulary. Smarr wasn't looking forward to this interview, but the story was so hot he had to stay on it. He leaned back against the truck and spit cold coffee in the grass next to the sidewalk. A job was a job to Tom Smarr at this stage of his career.

Professor Melvern Duncan had been on his way to his favorite fishing lake, where he spent most Saturday mornings in good weather, when he saw the television trucks in front of the church. He suspected that they would also be at the parsonage. He decided to check and, sure enough, Smarr was sitting there. He stopped at a pay phone to call Doc.

The nickname came from the days when he played football at Michigan Western University, and later for the Tiger Cats of the World League. At 280 pounds and a jolly temperament, fans wondered how he could gleefully tear an offensive line to bits and be like a big pussycat off the field. His rugged complexion and huge hands made him appear tough.

Everybody liked Red. As Senior Professor of Economics at Walton State College, he had a lot of experience with television reporters. They came to him every time there was a ripple in the economy to get his opinion of its effects on the black community. He also knew that Smarr could get really nasty if you didn't give him what he wanted.

He drove to the front of the house and stopped behind the television truck. Immediately Smarr and his cameraman came to life. They advanced on the big ex-defensive lineman with a microphone stuck out in front like a spear. Red smiled at the camera and asked, How you doing Tom? Something big must have happened to get you out this early?

Red knew his greeting was chaff to the reporter.

Tom didn't smile. The camera was pointed at Red and the red light next to the lens was already alive. Tom was very formal.

Professor Duncan, what can you tell us about the plan to make the eight Southeastern states into a black nation as called for by Doctor Rogers in his speech last night?

Red tried to look serious. The tone of incredulity in Smarr's voice didn't go unnoticed. He arched his neck, pulled in his chin with pursed lips and shrugged his shoulders like he was surprised at the news. I'm sorry Tom, I wasn't at the meeting last night. I had a speech to make in Macon, so I don't know any details. I heard something about it on the car radio last night for the first time. I’m afraid you'll have to ask Doctor Rogers about that.

What do you think about the plan, Professor?

Tom, until I know what it's all about, I wouldn't have any comment.

Tom persisted, But what do you personally think about such a plan, Professor?

Like I said, Tom. Until I see it, I can't make a fair assessment.

Smarr dropped the mike and turned away abruptly as he said, Thank you, Professor.

Red half waved and walked on up the driveway to the side door of the parsonage. When he got about ten feet away, he heard Tom tell the cameraman to rewind, which meant the tape would not be used. Red kept walking to the side door and tapped on the glass with a coin. Lida came out of the kitchen and unlocked the door.

He smiled at her, how’re you doing, lady?

She looked chagrin, shook her head negatively and motioned toward the bedroom as she said dryly, You better get on in there and talk some sense into that old goat before he gets us all hung.

He laughed as he walked inside before he said jokingly, I'm part of the conspiracy. We're all going to hang together. It's gonna be some big party.

She shook her head, half smiled and joked back, You're no help, Red Duncan. If you keep on with this foolishness, I might have to find me another number two boyfriend.

He enjoyed bantering with Lida. I might have to go back to Sally if you do that, and I wouldn't wish that on no man.

She faked astonishment and smiled, Red Duncan, you ought to be ashamed of yourself. I'm goin' to have a long talk with her about you this morning.

Grinning, he walked toward their bedroom and said over his shoulder, Guess I better go before I get myself in some real trouble here.

She called after him, You're already in big trouble.

She smiled to herself as she turned back to her dishes then scolded herself for not offering him a cup of coffee. She poured him one and headed for the bedroom. She could hear Doc and Red talking and laughing about Red's encounter with Smarr. She handed Red the coffee and was on the way back to the kitchen when the phone in the hall rang. She answered nonchalantly, Pastor's residence.

Lida, this is Mary. Willie just called to say that the news media is at the church waiting for Doc. I suppose they don't know that he works at home on Saturdays.

I guess not. Anyway, we know about it. Red's here now. He brought the news. There’s a television truck in front of the parsonage also. Doc made a speech last night to the SAC. Something about creating our own country. Red’s in on it and I suspect Willie is too. I'm worried. I don't know what's liable to happen.

Mary's voice was calm and reassuring, Lida, don't you worry about a thing. They know what they're doin' and they'll work these news people to suit our cause.

What do you mean cause? Mary Simpson, are you in on this conspiracy?

Mary laughed delightedly. I was the conspirator’s typist. Willie and Red worked on the draft with Doc. I was the only one who could read their handwriting so I typed it up. I like what I saw. Lida, if we can do it, we'll have our own leaders in our own country. Not only that, Willie, Red and Doc will be like George Washington and James Madison. They'll go down in history as the founders of our country. Think about that.

There was a pause before Lida answered, Well, I'm afraid somebody will get killed. The rest of the country ain't goin' to give up that easily.

They've got a good plan, Lida. It's all worked out. Like I said, they know exactly what they're doing.

There was another long pause before Lida said, That's good news Mary, I guess. I'll see you later at the church ladies round table.

I'll see you there. They hung up.

Doc was tying his tie when Lida walked in and Red was sitting in the bedroom chair. She still had the coffee pot in her hand. She refilled their cups without speaking. Red thanked her.

What are you going to tell Smarr, Doc? Red asked.

Nothing. I've decided not to answer any questions until we have a chance to have a news conference this afternoon.

Red nodded, Tom Smarr won’t buy that. He’s got you hemmed in. You can't get out of your driveway without making a statement.

Doc smirked. Let's pull one on that joker. You leave and go around the block and wait for me on Fourth Street. I'll see you there shortly. If he asks you what I'm doing, tell him that I'm doing the same thing I do every Saturday, working on my sermon for tomorrow and I can't be disturbed. Tell him I probably won't come out until I finish and that could be around noon. Tell him I plan to have a news conference some time later today at the office. In the meantime, I'll slip out the basement door and through the alley and meet you on