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Half a dozen opium addicts could have run a better campaign—well, half a dozen Republican opium addicts. Then again, West couldn’t admit Republican opium addicts existed. If they did, they would have run his campaign without landing him on the FBI most wanted list.
The low rumble of a Model A caught West up short. Could be the Sheriff scouring the streets for liquor violations blatant enough to require enforcement. Could be one of the many enemies he had rankled during his botched campaign.
He ducked into the shadows cast by brand new incandescent street lamps. Ironic—he had based his campaign on progress such as the street lamps. Now he wished Boise’s downtown business district was pitch black. Pitch black. That gave West an idea. He drew a ragged breath, then exhaled it with a visible puff.
Nearly Hallowe’en, the unpredictable Idaho weather had turned bitterly cold as recent as two days ago. God and nature and the voters were allied against him. But not the Chinese—his only stalwart supporters. If he could reach the Chinese laundry across from Hannifin’s Cigar Shop…
Headlights rounded the corner of Bannock and headed in his direction. He had to get off the street.