01.11.06
Chuck awoke early the next day, surprised at his lack of hangover. The park was already alive with the bustle of morning people. Chuck had a light breakfast, and set out to start the day.
He opened his front door, and glanced down as the morning sunlight glinted of a small object laying on the small square of cement that he considered his front porch. He bent down to examine the object more closely. It was a bullet, small caliber.
“Jesus Christ,” Chuck whispered, picking up the bullet and dropping it his pocket. He looked around sharply, as though expecting to find Cider or the Promised Ones still lurking about. They weren’t.
At the office Chuck pretended he was having an ordinary day. He made coffee, answered a few phone calls, got a contractor to fix the fence, all with the bullet resting gently in his pocket. Robert dropped by at ten. Chuck dropped the bullet on the counter between them.
“I found a present outside my trailer this morning,” he said by way of an introduction. Robert picked it up and looked at it closely.
“‘The good news,” he said, “is that it’s only a .22. Small caliber bullet like that wouldn’t stop a strong man like you.” His smile strained. “Did you call the police?”
Chuck palmed the bullet, and tossed it back in his jeans. “I didn’t really see the point. I know who did it, they know they did it. I don’t even know if leaving a bullet on someone’s porch is a crime.”
“I know the boys didn’t see anything last night. They sent me emails every hour on the hour.” Chuck raised his eyebrows, eyes widening slightly. “Just because I am slightly advanced in years does not make me a dinosaur.”
“Sorry Robert, no offence intended. I just didn’t realize you were on email, that’s all. Actually, I’m amazed to see you vertical at all; you went through a few of those buckets.”
“It takes more than a few buckets to slow me down,” he smiled at Chuck. Chuck frowned back at him. “You ever think about drinking less?” he asked. A serious look crossed Robert’s face. “Don’t worry about me; people are not leaving copper plated calling cards at my doorstep.” Behind Robert Chuck could see a limo pulling up to pick up a late-running actuary. Robert glanced behind him, and let out a low whistle.
“I think this just got more interesting,” he said, nodding at the long black car, sitting silently in the cold.
“What do you mean?”
“Unless I’m mistaken, that’s the mayor’s car.” Chuck stood up and walked over to the window, standing beside Robert.
“How can you tell?”
“The crest on the back door,” Robert pointed to the city emblem decorating the limo. “That’s the crest of St. Catharines. The mayor drives that car. Or rides in it, at least. The mayor doesn’t drive anywhere.”
“What in the world does he want here?”
“I doubt it’s to welcome you to the neighborhood. He’s not a Promised One, but he is a friend of Phineas Cider.’’
“Shit, just what we need,’ said Chuck.”As if a bunch of freaky religious types were not enough, now I have politicians on my ass as well.”
The window to the limo rolled down smoothly, powered by a hidden motor. A pudgy hand reached out and languidly waved towards Chuck and Robert, not a friendly greeting sort of wave, but a come hither wave, a wave that lazily demanded attention.
“I suppose you better go see what he wants,” said Robert, crossing his arms.
“You don’t want to go, meet the mayor?”
“Now why would I want to do that? I didn’t vote for the asshole. No, I think it’s best that you go on, see what he wants. I can watch over things here.”
Chuck grabbed his coat and walked over to the waiting car. He leaned in through the window, feeling remarkably like a hooker. He suppressed the urge to lean on the doorframe and ask what the mayor’s kink was. He was pretty sure he didn’t want to know. He looked down at the mayor, surprised by his young, fresh face.
“You beckoned?” asked Robert, trying to keep sarcasm and disdain in check.
“Mr. Mitchell, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” said the mayor, almost sounding genuine. “I was wondering if I could impose on a few minutes of your time. Would you care to go for a drive with me? The limo is quite a nice ride.” Chuck glanced in the slightly worn, almost shabby interior of the limo.
“Just so you know,” he said, opening the door and clambering in past the mayor, “this will be the second best limonene I have been in in the last twenty four hours. The mayor smiled at this tightly, trying to maintain a polite facade.
“Mr. Mitchell, can I call you Charles?” Chuck shook his head.
“No one in the world calls me Charles. You can call me Chuck.”
“Well Chuck, I’m Mayor Henderson, Billy Henderson. I’ve been mayor of this fair city for five years now.” The driver, hidden by a privacy screen, put the limo roughly in gear, and started driving downtown.”
“To start with, Chuck, I’d like to thank you for your hospitality in welcoming the group of conventioneers. We worked long and hard convincing that convention to come here, and we were in a bit of a panic when we had no lodging for them. But, with the help of people like you, we were able to solve that problem. You see, as the mayor that’s what I do, I solve problems.” The mayor looked at Chuck with his televisual eyes, the polished gleam of an honest man tried to shine through from behind layers of bullshit.
“Well,” interrupted Chuck, “To begin with, it was the people at tourism St. Catharines that contacted me, so I think they solved the problem. Also, they offered me a lot of money to take the actuaries in, so I said sure. You see, I make money, as a businessman, that’s what I do. I make money.”
The drove through the downtown core, with its confused collection of new and old buildings. The car parked in front of an old, run down storefront, art deco detailing now crumbling with age. The mayor continued as though he hadn’t been interrupted.
“I have another problem, Chuck. Can I tell you about my problem?”
“I have a feeling you will anyhow”
“Thank-you,” said the mayor, confusing this with assent. “This city is getting old, run down. We need something to revitalize the core, something to bring tourists here. I mean, just thirty minutes away there are thousands of people, gawking at water falling off of a cliff! If we could get just ten, twenty percent of those people to come here, to turn their backs on Niagara Falls for just a day, we could have a brand new city.”
“And where do I come in?” asked Chuck, pretty sure he already knew the answer.
“You have land, lots of land that is being wasted.”
“You call the homes of you constituents a waste?”
“You know what I mean. Just five minutes from my downtown core is a trailer park. A trailer park! Filled with the great unwashed hoi polloi, brining down the whole city in a spiral of shame.”
“You know, I am really finding it wearying, all the talk of how my home is home to unwashed white trash.” Chuck leaned forward angrily. “There is a ton of usable land around here, why don’t you just use that and leave me the hell alone?” Mayor Henderson smiled a sad, weary smile,
“Nothing in the world would give me more pleasure, Chuck, but you must understand, my hands are tied. Most of the land around here has been deemed conservational land. You see, there is a little ugly grey and shit brown moth that lives in the Niagara Peninsula, and nowhere else. Apparently it only likes to fuckm or lay eggs, or whatever the hell moths do to breed here. The government has decreed that no new land can be zoned for development in the area until there has been a hundred god damn studies done. The loser environmentalists finally win something, and it’s in my god damn backyard.”
The mayor bit his lip and shook his head fiercely. This had obviously been an issue of some concern for him for a long time. And it was true that the Dung Faced moth was about as appealing as its name made it out to be, but it was an endangered species, so…
“So if Cider gets a hold of my land, with an existing business running on it?”
The mayor smiled brightly. “It can be grandfathered in!” The excitement in his voice was palpable. “We can’t zone new land for development, but we can change old land.”
“What the hell does he want to build, anyhow?”
“Well,” smiled the mayor, “Let’s just say it’s another park, but the complete opposite of your little pit of squalor.”
Chuck ignored the jibe. “What, like Ciderwood or something?”
The mayor’s eyes grew sharp and cold. It was apparent too Chuck that he could dish it out, but the mayor could not take it.
“Mr. Mitchell, you are standing in the way of nothing less than the complete revitalization of the city of St. Catharines. Look at it out there, half of this city is run down, falling apart.” He gestured out to the derelict buildings, sagging in the morning sun.
“What’s in it for me? Last time I met with Cider he offered me exactly nothing for the land. I didn’t see it as a very good deal. Now he’s threatening me, damaging my park. So tell my, why the hell should I have anything to say to you?”
“It’s true that Mr. Cider and his collection of gentlemen cannot afford to offer you a totally fair price for your land. It is also true that he made a few rash decisions in trying to change your mind, but I spoke to him this morning about our little problem, and I think I have come up with a solution. Remember, I solve problems, right?”
“So, how do you solve a problem like Chuck Mitchell?”
“One of two ways, Mr. Mitchell. The first is by dumping him in Lake Ontario attached to a surprisingly heavy weight.” Chuck’s stomach dropped out from under him, and perspiration began to bead his forehead. “That’s not the way I like to work, however. I know the limits of the Mayor’s office, and I know where I am above the law, and where I’m not. So I have decided on plan b. I will solve the problem of Chuck Mitchell by offering him a job, Chuck. By offering him a job.” Chuck was taken aback. He expected more threats, perhaps some blackmail or extortion. A job offer was way down low on his list of expectations.
“You should know upfront, I’m almost as expensive as my land.”
“You were in marketing before this, right Mr. Mitchell? Selling products, spreading the word, that sort of thing?” Chuck nodded stiffly. He wasn’t used to people having background information on him. He decided it wasn’t a good feeling.
“Yeah, I was in marketing, before my father’s death opened up new opportunities for me in the trailer park ownership field.”
“You mean before you got fired?”
Chuck bristled at the memory. “I was fired for something that wasn’t my fault. I was set up”
Mayor Henderson nodded consolingly. “Of course you were. How would you like to get back into marketing? Wear white collar shirts again? Have an expense account? Have a staff working under you?”
Against his will, Chuck’s ears picked up at this. He did miss marketing a little bit, sometimes. And running the park was hard, dirty work.
“What’s the deal?”
“Well, Mr. Cider will have need of a staff for his business venture, including a marketing department. You could head that department, if you can play well with others.” He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a thick envelope. “The details of the offer are there,” he said, passing the envelope to Chuck. He rapped his knuckles on the privacy glass separating them from the driver. The limo pulled away, and executed a u turn, heading back towards the trailer park.
“Why didn’t Cider just come and talk to me directly. Maybe he had to go to the ammunition store?”
The mayor laughed nervously. “Well, we just thought it would be a good idea if you met with me, as an intermediary sort of thing. He wanted you to understand that this goes beyond the Promised Ones, far beyond them. There are plenty of powerful people who think that the city would be better served without a downtown trailer park. Cider’s contact number is on the documents, he is greatly looking forward to your call.” Chuck hefted the thick packet in his hands. They had arrived back at the park. “I imagine you will be speaking with Cider shortly. You can tell him I will call him after reviewing this.” He looked out to the parking lot, and a big grin crossed his face as he saw a giant form walking towards them. “In the meantime, I’d love for you to meet my lawyer.” Mayor Henderson’s expression grew panicked at the mention of the word lawyer. “I’d love to,” he said, opening the door and hustling Chuck out, “but I’m running late for a meeting.” A large hand clomped down on the door as it swung shut, stopping it in its tracks. Will briefly glanced at Chuck, before bending down to look in the interior of the car.
“Good morning, Mr. Mayor thanks for bringing Chuck home safely. We will look over your offer carefully, and be in touch.” He slammed the door so forcefully the window cracked slightly, and the mayor felt a ringing in his ears for three days afterwards. Will hustled Chuck away from the limo towards the office, where Robert was sitting, waiting for them to return. Chuck was surprised with himself at how happy he was to see Will. “How did you know the mayor made me an offer?” asked Chuck as they scurried into the office.
“Lucky guess. I saw the envelope, came to the conclusion. It really throws an opponent off balance if they think you are psychic.” Will let out a hearty laugh, which was echoed by Robert and Chuck.
“So you made it back in one piece I see, Chuck. Anything interesting happen with his honour? Thumbscrews? Bamboo manicures?”
“No, his honour was a complete gentleman. In fact, he offered me a job.” Robert ripped open the envelope, and quickly scanned the contents, flipping pages rapidly. Chuck looked over his shoulder, reading the document in bits and snatches. Fortunately Will was bending down.
“So, you legal opinion of the offer would be?”
Will tossed the papers on the counter; a dismissive sneer crossed his face. “Got a shredder? Or need some rough toilet paper?”
“Is it that bad?”
“Let’s just say that if, next month you want to find yourself without a job, without land, after evicting all of these people, sign away.” Although he expected it to be some sort of trick, he was still slightly disappointed. He missed marketing sometimes. Chuck grabbed the contract and tossed it in the garbage. Robert quietly went over and moved it to the recycling box. He shrugged lightly.
“No sense in being wasteful. Will has some interesting news for you, Chuck.”
“Well, it seems to be the case of a day late, and a dollar short. I have a mole in the Promised Ones. He gave me some information,”
“You have a mole in the Promised Ones?” asked Chuck, wondering why he was surprised by anything Robert told him.
“Yes.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“Man, did I ever find the right lawyer.”
“Yes. Yes you did. Here is what I found out. The Promised Ones are a little panicked about the explosion, and the evidence they left. They decided on a new course of action, targeting your head, less physical stuff.”
“Basically, scare tactics, keeping you off balance,” chipped in Robert.
“Like bullets left on my doorstep, the offering an olive branch in the form of a shitty contract?”
“Yes, that sort of thing. The contract is actually well written, maybe they thought you are as dumb as you look, and you wouldn’t have a competent lawyer.”
“Once again, they underestimate me, or my lawyer anyhow. What’s next?”
