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The first thing Gunter noticed when he got out of the El Gabacho was the way Becky’s eyes followed Chad’s every move. He thought at first that her gaze was one of suspicion, but the closer he watched her, the more he saw the same look in her eye that Mrs. Drury had in her eye the night before. Becky had the hots for Chad and the young pup wasn’t even smart enough to pick up on the vibe. At least that explained her complete lack of interest in Gunter when he first came into town. 

“Thanks for bringing him out, Chad,” she said. There was a softness in her voice Gunter hadn’t heard before. Almost velvety. Chad nodded, unaware. 

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“Let’s take a walk, Thad,” Becky said. He noted that she’d never called him ‘Thad’ before. The two of them walked towards the area of the Proving Grounds where the aluminum belted tires made from recycled Lone Star beer cans were tested. When they were far enough away that Becky felt she couldn’t be heard, she looked him square in the eye. “Your assignment is done. Things have gone a different direction with the entire project.”

“What are you talking about?” Gunter asked. 

“The project is on HOLD. There has been enough resistance stirred up by Goodman and his forces that an election is going to be held to decide if it moves forward or not,” Becky explained. 

“How’s that possible?”  Gunter was confused. “I thought we were six months from being operational.”

“It’s Goodman.”  Becky said. “He’s mounted a campaign of misinformation that has half of Fort Stockton not wanting the project. He’s spread rumors about the satellites and solar panels that has put fear into the minds of half the population. He’s telling folks they need to go with his ‘wind’ option instead. Even though the numbers don’t back his claims, his followers are convinced he’s right.”

“They know he’s been found guilty of sexual assault at the Ben Franklin. They know boxes of parking tickets have been found in the bathrooms and garage of his house. He’s been found guilty of illegal business practices, but they’re going to trust him to determine what’s best for Fort Stockton’s future?  Do they know he owns the company that makes the wind turbines and is only in it for himself?”  Gunter seemed exasperated. 

“They choose to ignore those facts.  It’s easier.  The city fathers have decided to put the whole project to a vote and let the people of Fort Stockton decide.  We can only hope the decision isn’t close, as he’s the one who appointed one third of the Election Board.”  Becky handed Gunter an envelope. “Heres the balance of what you’re owed for your work here.  “There’s a little something extra for going above and beyond.  Thanks for your effort.” She turned and started to walk back toward Chad and the El Gabacho. 

But Gunter didn’t leave Fort Stockton right away. He stuck around to see what would become of the place as the controversy worked its way towards resolution. What he saw changed how he viewed the world. 

The town seemed to become divided into two distinct groups, those who wanted sunshine to fuel the future and the other who thought the answer was blowing in the wind. The debate seemed civil at first but quickly turned personal and ugly. The sunshine group warned of what the future would look like if the wind group won. The wind group made it harder for citizens of Fort Stockton to vote who they thought would vote against them. 

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The mayor held rallies to rile up the wind group into a frenzy. At one of those, held over at Jim Bowie High School, “Home of the Fightin’ Knives”, a former student gave him an earful right in the middle of his speech. People just took it in stride.  Folks commented that the town seemed to be more divided than they had ever seen it before. But half of them thought it was Mayor Goodman’s fault and the other half of them thought Mayor Goodman was the only one who could resolve the situation

“It’s the damnedest thing I’ve ever seen,” Gunter told Sung-Li one night when he called home to check on things and get messages.  When he gave her examples of how bitter things had become she thought he was exaggerating.

“You come home,” she said. “I get everything waxed.  Be like normal.”

But Gunter worried that there was no return to normal. He’d seen fights break out at the Dairy Twin. Friends who used to meet at the Grounds for Divorce began staying home for their Folgers rather than listen to the constant bickering taking place around the table. The Stockton Telegram-Dispatch came out firmly on the sunshine side of the debate and half the town canceled their subscriptions. Those folks started tuning into FUX News for all their information  As a result, Rex’s business over at Rex Hall Drug went through the roof. Antacids and high blood pressure medicine sales tripled. “Unfortunately, the Viagra and Cialis sales dropped off,” Rex told a friend. “Apparently no one’s in the mood any more.  Too damn depressed at just what’s going on around them.”  

Of course, that was not the case with Thad Gunter. Between Trixie, Mrs. Drury, and Chad’s mom, Gunter was spending more time doing the horizontal tango than he ever had back home with his assistant, or Sung-Li, or whatever the cat dragged home. “If we were to ever hit Room #7 with a black light, it would look like a Jackson Pollock Painting,” Vern was heard telling Rusty over at the Rusty Hammer one Saturday. Of course, the metaphor was lost on Rusty, who had no idea who Jackson Pollock even was. 

Sister Thelma never claimed a side, not even when it was just her and Lucinda. Everyone figured her to be in the sunshine group, though. “She probably feels like the sunshine making its way up to the satellites will pass through heaven and be blessed before it is beamed back down,” someone noted. 

“Or, she doesn’t want to support a rapist,” Lucinda noted. Everyone knew where Lucinda stood. 

Being one who studied shifts in psychology as part of his line of work, Gunter was intrigued by what was taking place in Fort Stockton.  He found the changes both interesting and frightening.  One evening at dusk, Gunter slid into the cockpit of the Eldoradanental and headed west towards the mountains, attempting to clear his head.  Lost in thought, he didn’t see the Nine-Banded armadillo wandering out onto the highway until it was too late.  

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Though doing what he could to swerve and avoid it, the barrel shaped animal covered in armor was clipped by the front right tire of the massive coupe and thrown underneath into the chassis.  The first three bands of the shell quickly became dislodged and wedged up into the holding tank of the ‘Cath-O-Matic’ feature, spraying a fine mist of urine over the vehicle and covering the ‘Solar Carbon Fibre Light Sensitive Astro-Vista Roof’.  Gunter immediately recognized the feeling of being pissed off and pissed on at the same time.  Luckily, the RunFlat-Wide White tire worked as advertised.  At least momentarily.

The fourth and fifth bands of the armadillo punctured the plumbing of the ‘Deluxe-Duece Road-Rider’.  The resulting slick of fecal matter sprayed over a quarter mile on Highway 10, causing the car to slide completely off the road and into a bar ditch. It became wedged between what had been the guard rail and the sign telling unsuspecting tourists, “FORT STOCKTON 20 MILES AHEAD”.  Somehow, the ‘Summer’s-Eve Kitty Splash-O-Rama’ escaped damage in the chaos.  He diverted the nozzle, normally aimed towards the passenger seat, and sprayed himself down.  The fact that he doused the beaver pelt upholstery didn’t even matter at this point, he was so anxious to exit the vehicle.  And he smelled as fresh as a flower, and oddly like a wet beaver.  Much the same as when Mrs. Drury had used the option the very first time.

Seemingly out of nowhere, an old Harvest-Plantar Fasciitis-150 pickup truck showed up.  An old hispanic man brought the ancient pickup to a dusty stop about the place in the road where the Eldoradanental had slid off.  Crawling out of the cabin, he introduced himself as Danilo Alafaro and asked Gunter if he needed any help.  Gunter said he could use a lift to town, if the man didn’t mind.

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Alafaro slowly surveyed the expensive Eldoradanental laying in the ditch, the slick of human waste covering the highway, and the trail of armadillo entrails that lead from the highway to underneath the coupe in the ditch.  He just shook his head and crawled back in behind the wheel.  The two men had about as little in common as any two men fate could throw together.  And yet, happenstance had done just that.

Gunter learned the man had lived outside Fort Stockton all his life.  The Harvest-Plantar Fasciitis-150 pickup truck was his greatest possession and it was as humble as any vehicle could be.  “What do you think of the discord and dissection that has gripped the town since the battle over sunshine or wind bubbled over and the town became divided,” Gunter asked him.

Alafaro was silent for a long time.  Then he tipped his hat back on his head and looked out on the horizon ahead of them.  “The wind will blow and the sun will shine, regardless of who is watching them or who wants to control each of them.  Nobody will ever own either one.  To fight over them is a fool’s errand.  But there are plenty of fools who try.”  

The old rusty pickup lumbered on down the highway at a pace Gunter had a hard time adjusting to.  He was used to a much higher speed in a much more luxurious ride.  Alafaro just looked out over the landscape and took it all in.

“But there’s fortunes to be made in harnessing what nature provides,” Gunter tried to explain to the old man.

“So you can buy cars that an armadillo can make shit itself and crash into a ditch?” Alafaro replied. He just smiled at the absurdity of such a thing.

Gunter pondered the old man’s wisdom as the old truck made its way to the Naughty Pine Motel.   He packed his bags that night and got ready to make his way back home.  He thought about Fort Stockton and the people and the politics.  He remembered the details of the assignment he’d been given and the impossibility of it.  He thought back on Trixie and Mrs. Drury and Kate Glidden and how they were all looking for something.  While he could tap into that temporarily for both their pleasure and his, he wasn’t really the answer each one of them was looking for. He was only a bandaid hiding much deeper wounds.

Similarly, he realized that whomever could declare themselves the winner in the decision over sunshine or wind would only be winning the battle.  The war would go on forever.

He stripped down naked and poured himself three fingers of Johnny Jogger.  He laid down on the bed and put all the quarters he had in the Magic Fingers and let the violent vibrations gently work on what ailed him.  The longer he thought, the more he couldn’t decide whether to promise himself he’d never come back to Fort Stockton again, or sell everything and move here permanently.

He hoped there might be a knock at the door that would answer that question for him before he drifted off to sleep.

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