They were that incompetent. That irrelevant. And outside of Austin and a few border counties, statistically insignificant, as the pollsters say. Texas glowed bright red from Amarillo to Brownsville, Texarkana to El Paso; Republicans controlled all three branches of state government. Consequently, the general election was a mere formality, Republican voters rubber-stamping the Republican primary winners. Bode Bonner was as good as reelected for another four-year term. He had been declared the Republican primary winner by eight the night before (the polls had closed at seven), given his victory speech by nine (the party was over by ten), had sex with Mandy by eleven (his wife had left for the airport after his speech), and fallen sound asleep by eleven-thirty. No contest. No agony of defeat for his opponent. No thrill of victory for Bode Bonner.

"You want thrills, go ride a roller coaster. You won. That's all that matters. Like that guy said about football, 'Winning isn't everything. It's the only thing.' "

"Lombardi."

"Same rule applies to politics. And yesterday goes in the books as a win. A win-win because we saved our campaign funds for the general election."

"Like that'll be much of a fight." Bode waved a hand at the newspaper. "Even the Austin paper figures me for a landslide. And who are the Democrats running against me? A Jewish ex-country-western singer who dresses like Johnny Cash and sings like Dolly Parton. A goddamn serial candidate. He's run for damn near every state office except dogcatcher. He's a political punch line." Bode threw his hands up. "Where do they get these people? For Christ's sake, Jim Bob, I'm up fourteen points in the polls."

"Eighteen."

Bode sat up.

"You got the new poll numbers?"

"Yep."

"Did I make the nationals?"

"Nope."

Jim Bob pulled a thin black notebook from his briefcase-a notebook he guarded with the same paranoia as the army officer guarding the president's case containing the nuclear launch codes-and flipped open the cover.