The New City

by Stephen Amidon

  Voices and footsteps began to penetrate the sound in his ears. It was Ardelia, home with the girls. He could tell by the way she was speaking that they’d heard none of this. Wooten stood. He looked down one last time at Teddy and then turned away, careful not to look at the body on the bed. He was moving quickly now. He had to get out of here. He had to be with his family. He had to protect them from this.

  38

  Austin Swope placed his palms on the cool membrane of glass that protected him from the elements and looked out over the city below. He had to admit—Newton was beautiful on fire. Most of the forty-three gaslights that had erupted before they turned off the trunk line still burned, as did the scattering of arson jobs set by kids taking advantage of the temporary confusion. Luckily, these were limited to uninhabited structures. House frames. Dumpsters. Some portable toilets at the Pavilion, whose chemically treated shit burned like Sterno canisters at a buffet. Chones had picked up most of the troublemakers and was holding them in the gym at Newton High. They’d be released without charge later, when things were quiet. There’d been enough arrests for one summer. Blue lights from the prowlers and fire trucks strobed the city’s houses and trees, though they lacked the urgency of an hour earlier, when the crisis was in full swing and it looked like this whole business might get out of hand.

  But now, the party was just about over. Thank Christ. There would be no more gas fires. Those currently burning would soon die when the system finally bled out. The unaffected lamps had already begun to flicker into oblivion. All in all, the night had not been the disaster it first seemed. When the call had come to his home about multiple explosions, Swope had experienced a few minutes of uncontrolled dread. This was too much. Things had finally swirled beyond his control. First the job and then Teddy and now a conflagration that would engulf them all. The drive over to Newton Plaza had only made his panic worse as he passed fire after fire, most of them attended by clusters of terrified citizenry. Everything was falling apart. By dawn the city would be ruined and he would be exposed as a liar and a fraud.

  But when he was greeted in his office by the anxious, dependent faces of a dozen good men, each of them needing his counsel and strength, he knew that everything was going to be all right. He was back in his element. He soon lost himself in the crisis, just as he had when a soaked and terrified Teddy had walked through the door twenty-four hours earlier. Emergency responses were coordinated. Chones was called. Engineers were summoned, many of them redolent of dinners they would never finish. Citizens were mollified and the press kept at bay. Within an hour of his arrival the main gas trunk line had been closed. As far as anybody could tell there had only been one major injury, some fool homeowner who’d tried to deal with things himself. He was currently on his way to Hopkins with third-degree burns. Which meant another reach into the company’s deep pockets. But still, it could have been a lot worse.

  Soon it would be over and the cleanup could start. Maintenance crews were already assembling in various sheds and garages throughout town. They’d be rolling by midnight, weeding out the ruined hulks of erupted lamps. Dozers would level the burned structures, flatbeds cart off the charred Dumpsters and toilets. By dawn you would have to look twice to see the trouble’s remains. The vultures of the press would find the carrion picked clean. To the citizens, the sirens would seem like nothing more than an irksome dream.

  Looking over the dying fires, Swope felt a sudden, fathomless pride at the horizon-to-horizon panorama of houses and roads and schools; the mall and the lake and the concert park. Pride, because the city was now his, promised to him just a few minutes ago, when he’d called Savage to give him the all-clear. They had been in constant contact throughout the day, first about Joel and then the gaslights.

  “You’ve handled this well, Austin,” Savage said soberly as the call came to an end.

  “Thanks.”

  Swope realized that the moment had come to finally grasp what was his.

  “Listen, Gus, there’s one more thing. I’d like a decision on city manager.”

  “Tonight?”

  “It’s crazy, me having to call you on every nickel-and-dime decision. The situation out here is fluid. I got a hundred kids locked up at the high school and a couple thousand pissed-off citizens with no gas. I really think I’ve earned the right to manage matters as I see fit.”

  The ensuing silence was shorter than Swope had thought it would be.

  “Of course you have. All right. Austin, congratulations—as of now you are the city manager.”

  “Full term?”

  “Sure. I’ll make some calls and get the board to rubber-stamp it in the morning. But you’re the man.”

  “Can I announce it out here? It might soothe jangled nerves.”

  “You can shout it in the trees. Just keep the lid on. Whatever it takes. We’ve still got two thousand units to sell.”

  “Oh, we’ll move units, Gus. Don’t worry about that.”

  “I look forward to hearing your ideas on the subject.”

  “That you will.”

  After hanging up his eyes shifted focus from the fires to the damaged pier. The cops had ringed it off with yellow tape earlier in the day, when he was at home dealing with Teddy. It suddenly occurred to Swope that he could have it pulled down. There was no need to clear it with anyone. All he had to do was give the order. Once the cops released the scene he’d dispatch a wrecking crew. Damn thing was jinxed anyway. He’d characterize the dismantling as a tribute to the city’s first murder victim. Use the wood to build a playground nearby. The Susan Truax Memorial Tot Lot. On second thought, maybe he’d wait on that one. The thing about memorials was that they made it hard to forget. Better to restrict his beneficence to a healthy chunk of change for John and Irma.

  Irma. Jesus, that had been insane. He still couldn’t believe he’d let it happen. Complete loss of control. Not that he blamed himself. That soft flesh and those expert hands. And her eyes, so crazy with desire. But still. He couldn’t let that happen again. It was lucky that John hadn’t walked in on them. Swope thought about Truax for a moment. Although he’d entertained thoughts of cutting him loose after seeing that mess in his basement, as the day wore on he realized that the soldier would be a useful man to have on board. To keep him quiet, yes, but also because there would doubtless be moments ahead when his help might be useful. Besides, he owed him now. If he kept him close then he’d be able to start repaying that debt.

  He broke free of the window and returned to his desk, where that afternoon’s copy of the News American lay across his blotter. Their coverage of the Truax killing ran just beneath the fold, superseded only by the latest batch of skulduggery from down Washington way. SON OF PROMINENT BUILDER HELD IN SLAYING OF NEW CITY TEEN. Swope had just about written the article himself in an off-the-record call to the reporter early that morning. In addition to the hard facts, it spoke of Joel’s simmering anger at being forbidden from seeing Susan and his jealousy at finding she was now dating another boy. The parents of neither the victim nor the accused could be reached for comment, though Swope had gone on record as saying that it was “a tragedy for everyone involved.” Teddy’s name was not reported. Nor would it be, if Swope had his way. Accompanying the story were three photos. The first was a yearbook picture of Susan Truax, looking heart-stoppingly beautiful. Next to her was a very dark Joel. Last came the same photo of Wooten that had appeared in the recent laudatory articles about him. As he studied that final picture Swope recalled their confrontation a half hour earlier. He’d hoped Wooten wouldn’t find out about his visit to unit 27 until after he’d taken the plea, though in the end it didn’t matter. Even knowing Swope was behind it, he still had no choice. The only surprise came with that cock-and-bull story about the amusement park. As Wooten spoke, Swope seemed to remember some vague company scuttlebutt about a mysterious land grab in western Virginia. For a horrible moment, doubt entered his mind. Maybe Wooten was telling the truth and the whole thing was a mistake. But he qu
ickly regained his composure. Wooten was just trying to cloud the issue. Buy some time for his son. He’d already shown himself to be an inveterate schemer. Nothing he said could be trusted. If only he hadn’t overreached, none of this would have had to happen. Nobody would have to pay. But he’d tried to get his big hands on what wasn’t his. His betrayal had led to his own destruction. That little display of defiance he’d put on before leaving the office would of course come to nothing. Earl Wooten was a reasonable man. He knew the score. After all, it’s how he got so far in a world which was never his. When the time came he’d take the deal.

  “Mr. Swope?”

  Chad Sherman stood in the doorway. Swope chucked a grim, fraternal chin at him. The kid had been a rock all night, running point with the bumptious citizenry as well as the press.

  “The state police are standing down. They’ll leave a few cruisers behind for routine patrol but otherwise they’re outta here.”

  “That’s fine, Chad. Have you spoken with those night editors yet?”

  “I was just about to.”

  “You might want to tell them that I’ve just been named city manager.”

  Sherman’s eyes pulsed in surprise.

  “Just now?” he asked.

  “That’s right. Effective immediately, for a full, three-year term.”

  The kid smiled broadly.

  “That’s great. I … that’s just great.”

  “Thanks.”

  “You want me to use the press release we prepared? Or I could write up a new one. …”

  “Let me have another peek at it, but sure. Tell them if they want to call me for their morning editions that will be fine. I’ll be at my desk all night.”

  Sherman nodded. There was a barely detectable mist in his eyes. He started to go but then turned back.

  “Mr. Swope, I just want to tell you …”

  “Yes?”

  “This is going to make a lot of people happy around here. I think, you know, we’re over the worst of it.”

  “Good of you to say that, Chad.”

  “I’ll report back after making those calls.”

  “You do that,” Swope said, his voice thick with benevolent authority. “And then I want you to knock off. You should be home with your family.”

  When the kid was gone Swope thought for a moment about the Shermans. They were typical Newtonians. His wife was a former hippie who’d recently started to shave her legs and wear a little Cover Girl. They lived in an aluminum starter-home in Juniper Bend but had their eye on Mystic Hills. Once old Chad’s college loan was paid off it would be time to bite off a man-sized mortgage. Grab himself a second set of wheels, maybe one of those Datsuns you were starting to see around. The week in Ocean City would stretch into two on Hilton Head. Chad would trade in those Montgomery Ward off-the-racks for some European threads. These were Swope’s people. He was here to serve them now, to help the Shermans of the world create their modest American paradises. They no longer had anything to worry about. With Wooten and Barnaby out of the picture, the more outlandish strands of the new city experiment could wither and die, leaving behind only that which was solid and prosperous and good. He’d finally be allowed to get some cops on the streets. Privatize the HUD projects. The bureaucrats inside the Beltway would piss and moan about that, though he’d already prepared a few preemptive injunctions in case they got frisky. Besides, the Nixon gang was going so spectacularly belly up that a little Chapter IX reneging wouldn’t even raise an eyebrow.

  Swope checked his watch. It was getting late. He wondered if Wooten had taken that plea yet. He decided to call Van Riper to make sure she was still on the ball. It took a while to track her down—she was up to her ass in looters. She reported that McNutt had called earlier in the evening to schedule a meeting for first thing the following morning. Swope smiled as he hung up the phone. For all his earlier swagger, Wooten had taken the bait.

  Before leaving his desk he called home to pass on the news about the job.

  “What are all those sirens?” Sally asked.

  “Oh, just a couple of fires. Don’t worry. Everything’s under control.”

  “Everything?”

  “Yes. Everything. How is he?”

  “I think he’s getting a cold. I was just about to go check on him.”

  “That’s probably not such a bad thing, a cold. Keep him home until this all blows over.”

  “Austin?”

  “Yes?”

  “He still doesn’t seem right.”

  If only you knew, he thought.

  “Sal, you’re just going to have to give him some time. He’ll work it out.”

  She didn’t answer.

  “Look, once this settles, we’ll get out of here for a while. The three of us. Maybe hit Bermuda. What do you say?”

  “That would be nice,” she said distantly.

  He’d almost forgotten his news.

  “Hey, guess what? It’s official. Savage just named me city manager.”

  “That’s wonderful, honey. You were silly to ever doubt it.”

  Swope didn’t say anything for a moment, annoyed at her lack of excitement. But he quickly dismissed the feeling. There was no way she could have known how close he’d come to losing the job—or how much he’d done to rescue it. There was no way anyone would ever know.

  “Yes. I was. Look, I better go. Tell Teddy if he wants to talk or anything, he should call me. I’ll be right here.”

  After hanging up he strolled over to the city model, contemplating it for a long time, taking his usual solace from its elegant symmetry. His eyes followed the shapes of the wooded hills and winding streets, the bike paths and parks. He slowly allowed himself to start thinking the thought he’d kept at bay all day. He’d done it. He’d won. The job was his. Teddy was safe. What had seemed like absolute ruin and certain defeat just twenty-four hours earlier had worked out perfectly. Yes, he’d had to push the envelope this time. But he’d done it.

  The city was his.

  And then his eyes washed over Mystic Hills and a strange and unwelcome memory flashed through his mind, a rogue scrap of nostalgia he could have easily lived without, especially tonight. It was from the year they’d moved out here. The city’s first Fourth of July. The Wootens had invited the Swopes over for a barbecue. This was back when there was no one else around—they might as well have been neighbors in 1880s Oklahoma, separated by a couple thousand acres of Indian country. What had Ardelia called their house? Fort Apache. Wooten had really gone the whole hog for the feast, custom-building a barbecue by slicing open a fifty-five-gallon drum lengthways and propping it on a portable cement mixer’s stand. For the rack he used a big piece of framed chicken wire. By the time the Swopes arrived the fire looked like it had been burning for a week. Wooten had ribs and chicken going, hot dogs and burgers. All of it smothered with his special sauce. There were baked potatoes wrapped in aluminum foil and, in the kitchen, a vat of simmering corncobs. Sally had brought macaroni salad and strawberry shortcake. Miller for the men, iced Taylor Lake Country for the ladies. Joel and Teddy disappeared immediately to the treehouse Wooten had recently built, concocting some elaborate game that had them both jumping through its hatch into a pile of dry leaves. The twins stuck shyly to Ardelia. After stuffing themselves with Wooten’s miraculous food, the four adults gathered in a laager of lawn chairs protected by bug lumps. It was the first time they had all relaxed together like this. And it was good. Sally and Ardelia hitting it off. Earl and Austin lapsing into silences that were half satisfied by what they had accomplished and half dreading the task ahead. Night fell and Wooten announced that he had a surprise. Ardelia rolled her eyes as he disappeared into the garage, returning with a burlap sack full of fireworks a masonry supplier had picked up for him at South of the Border. There were bandoleers of firecrackers, bottle rockets and Roman candles, sparklers and even a few M80s. Wooten announced that since the town fathers had neglected to set up a fireworks display, he’d decided to do one himself
.

  “Hey,” Swope cried. “We are the damned town fathers.”

  The boys came crashing out of the woods at the sound of the first rocket’s whistle. The twins clung even tighter to Ardelia’s skirts. Teddy and Joel begged to be allowed to set something off. Their fathers agreed, though only under the strictest supervision. And so the Wootens and the Swopes had a fireworks display. There were a few duds and the M80s had to be abandoned when their first sonic boom sent the twins into fits of tears, but otherwise it was as good a show as any currently erupting beside the Potomac.

  It was the last bottle rocket that started the fire. Teddy set it off. Though he later claimed he’d done nothing wrong, Swope had seen him mischievously lower its trajectory just before lighting the fuse. It hit the upper branch of a tree at the yard’s border and ricocheted into the surrounding woods. Wooten and Swope raced in after it, though by the time they got to the crash site the rocket’s spewing exhaust had set alight a patch of undergrowth. They began to stamp and kick the flaming leaves, but this only spread the fire farther. Just as the situation looked like it was going to get out of hand a cool blessing of water rained on them. Only it wasn’t rain. It was Ardelia, wielding the hose she’d pulled across the yard.

  She didn’t worry too much about soaking her husband or Swope as she doused the flames. In fact, once the fire was out she continued to irrigate them. They stood there and took it. Finally, she released the nozzle.

  “Next time either of you jeopardize my house with your foolishness, I’m going to take some lye and a wire brush to you as well.”

  They tramped out of the smoky, dripping woods, laughing and swearing mildly. Swope caught his son’s eye. Teddy was clearly petrified that he was going to be blamed. But his father merely smiled and nodded. No harm done. It would be yet another of their little secrets.