Sinister Justice

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Sinister Justice Page 3

by Steve Pickens


  I’ve had a string of talented, enlightened men wander through my life, but none of them have had the honesty and basic human decency you possess. The world in which I work I find too many simpletons, radicals, phonies and politicos for my taste. You set the bar rather high, Jake, and I thank you for that. No one should settle for second best.

  I hope that you can set the past aside and renew our bonds of friendship so that I may once again bask in your honesty. Again, I hope you can forgive me for the terrible mistakes I made and find room in that big heart of yours to give me a second chance at friendship.

  As ever yours,

  Tony

  “What utter bullshit,” said Jake, although he already knew his resolve to stay angry was fading. It took much effort, and he found himself not wanting to emulate his mother’s legendary ability to remember any slight, no matter how minor, for decades.

  He found himself troubled by the tone of Tony’s letter. What did he mean by “as ever yours,” and was he hinting about something more than friendship? Jake certainly hoped not. The love of his life was in his life. He didn’t need any complications or anyone trying to horn in.

  Jake opened the basement door and patted his thigh to get Barnaby out of his kitchen basket and follow him down, which the dog dutifully did, promptly moving to his basement basket to continue his nap. Jake gave him a pat before going over to his computer to compose a reply. Forgive Tony? Yes, he could do that. However, he’d always have a sliver of titanium skepticism in his heart when it came to Anthony Graham.

  Chapter Four

  That evening, Sam came home from work exhausted. Alex had ordered another dozen changes to the Chinook, including the conversion of the former wheelhouse and officers’ quarters into his private suite, figuring it would save money if he lived aboard. Sam had readily agreed to that, but after four hours had come and gone with Alex changing things as arbitrary as coat hooks in the restaurant, Sam had put his foot down and banned his employer from the restoration project until it was done.

  “Banned?” Alex had sputtered, amused. “You can’t—”

  “I can,” Sam assured him. “Take a look at your contract.”

  As a conciliatory act, Alex had taken Sam to lunch, promising not to meddle any further.

  Sam had just locked the Subaru into the garage when the autumn quite abruptly shattered with a banshee-like wail emanating from Leona’s next door.

  “Oooooo nooooo! Noooo! Dang dirty no good so-and-sos…. Nooooooooooo!” Sam shut the door to the Subaru and walked cautiously toward the front door, glancing over the chain link fence. Leona clutched the remains of shattered crockery to her chest. Sam ignored her and crept toward the front porches as quietly as he could when Leona fixed him with a slit-eyed gaze and brandished an accusing finger at him. “You!” she hissed.

  “Drat, so close,” he said to himself, staring at his foot which had just missed landing on the first step of the porch.

  “You!” Leona hissed again.

  Sam cleared his throat. “Me?”

  “You dirty sodomite. This is your fault. Your filthy devil dog broke my Bashful.”

  “Broke your what?”

  “My Bashful, you nitwit. My dwarf! My limited edition hand-painted Bavarian lawn dwarf!”

  “Mrs. Weinberg,” Sam started coolly. “I’m sure—”

  “Oh shut up, shut up, you…dirty…buggerer!”

  Sam couldn’t help it. The archaic word sounded so bizarre coming from his buttoned up neighbor he burst out laughing.

  “You think this is funny? You just wait. I’ll have Animal Control on you. I’ll have the law on your sinning behind. They’ll shoot that mutt.”

  The front door banged open and Jake emerged from the foyer, still drying his hands on a dishtowel. “What the hell is going on?”

  “Mrs. Weinberg thinks that Barnaby broke her lawn dwarf…er…Belchie.”

  “That’s Bashful, you filthy queer!”

  Sam’s eyes shot over to Jake, filled with trepidation. His husband’s malachite green eyes had gone flinty, his jaw set. “Jake,” said Sam warningly. “Be careful.”

  “Okay, you buck-toothed old mummy, let me tell you something. My dog has been inside. All day. He hasn’t set so much as a paw outside since two this afternoon when I took him down to Wilde Park for a walk—on his leash, no less! Even if he had been out in the yard, you’ll note that the hideous chain link fence you have installed would have completely prevented him from entering your yard. Our yard is likewise fenced, though much more attractively, I’ll add, for the express purpose of keeping him in. In short, no way in hell could Barnaby have gotten out and broken any of your gawdawful, garish, cheap looking lawn trash!”

  “I—”

  “Furthermore, if you utter another threatening word aimed at my husband or myself I will file a formal complaint against you for a hate crime. I’m sure you are aware you cannot hurl epithets like that at people these days, Mrs. Weinberg. It is a crime. I will also document that you threatened to shoot my dog.”

  “Actually, she said she’d have him shot.”

  “Don’t correct me, Sam, I’m on a roll.”

  “I said no such thing!” Mrs. Weinberg protested.

  There was no deterring Jake at this point. “I will also see to it that the Arrow Bay Examiner has a front page story on your threats and slurs, that the ASPCA is informed, and that KABW has gotten a full report on your hate-filled vocabulary. Verbatim. Is that the kind of publicity you wish to garner, Mrs. Weinberg, with an election coming up? Perhaps you’d like me to bring everything you’ve just done up at the city council meeting tonight?”

  Leona Weinberg had flushed a deep shade of puce. Her mouth opened once and snapped shut. She seemed about to fly apart at the seams. “I’ll get you, you filthy sodomite. You just wait.”

  “Go home, Mrs. Weinberg, before you do yourself any more harm.”

  She marched into her house, her heels clacking on the pavement like gunshots.

  “I’m not sure you should have done that, Jake,” said Sam, once the front door had slammed.

  “Hateful old witch. It’d serve her right if something unpleasant happened to her. Like falling into a threshing machine.”

  Sam laughed. “You’re terrible, you know that?”

  Jake shrugged, the fury ebbing from his body. “Nah, just focused.”

  “You know what I love about you?” asked Sam as he shut the door behind them.

  “Hmm? No, what?”

  “Your uncanny ability to stay perfectly calm, cool, and collected under pressure.”

  “Oh ho ho, O’Conner. Go and get ready for dinner, you filthy sodomite.”

  * * *

  Arrow Bay’s City Hall was the largest structure in town, built as part of a WPA project in 1935. The front façade of the art deco building was finished in gray slate, with a center structure of stacked, progressively smaller triangles over the glass and copper double-doors, ending in a pyramid with a copper top. Sam and Jake had always loved the building, and had spent many hours in the courtyard in front of the hall having lunch and admiring it.

  “We’ll probably be the only ones there,” groused Jake. “Us and Gladys Nyberg with her trusty umbrella.”

  “If that’s the case, I hope she gives old Reed Longhoffer a good smack with it,” said Sam, watching the octogenarian hoof it into the building, his maroon fedora squashed on his head like a thimbleberry. Longhoffer was hardly alone heading into the hall. Streams of people were trickling in from the north parking lot in twos and threes.

  “Something’s up,” said Sam.

  “Hmm?”

  “What is that you’ve got there?” asked Sam, seeing something in Jake’s hand. “Is that a crossword puzzle?”

  “No, it’s not a crossword puzzle.”

  “Give it here.”

  “Aw, Sam.”

  “Give it here, Jacob,” Sam insisted, holding out his hand.

  Jake handed over a thin paperback book. Sam exami
ned it, noting the brawny, bare-chested man on the cover, shirt ripped open, breeches riding so low that a tuft of public hair was revealed. Behind him, the bear of the animal sort stood roaring behind him, and at his feet a small, though no less hirsute man lay prone, in grave peril. Given the title, Survival of the Fittest, Sam had little doubt that not only would the man be saved, but that his gratitude would be shown in various tawdry ways.

  “You brought porn to the town meeting?”

  “Erotica, thank you. Okay, it’s porn. But I needed something to keep me awake.”

  “Look around, Jake. You really think that’s going to be a problem?”

  “Okay, fine, I’ll pay attention. You’ll give me the book back after the meeting.”

  “I don’t know,” said Sam, glancing at the cover again before tucking it into his inside coat pocket. “They say smut ruins your mind.”

  “Says the man with the collection of Ursine Studios DVDs.”

  “Art films.” Sam sniffed defensively.

  “Oh look,” said Jake, grinning. “It’s Professor Mills. Professor?”

  The willowy little man gave a jump, but smiled upon seeing Jake, pushing his glasses up his nose. “I’m so happy to see you here, Jake. Always good to take civic interest in the place you call home, particularly when an issue of this importance comes up.”

  “Er, yes,” said Jake as they crossed the marble floor into the Town Council Chambers.

  Sam and Jake’s jaws dropped. The room was nearly full. The council members were already seated at their table. On the right, muttering to one another were Reed Longhoffer, editor of the Examiner, and Leona Weinberg, wearing an aqua silk dress and turban. Verna Monger, who was about fifteen years younger than Weinberg, was dressed in an eye-watering fuchsia blazer and black blouse. Her hair was teased up in a brown halo around her head, her mouth clamped shut in a tight screw of lipstick that matched her blazer.

  On the other side of the long oak table were Walter Lugar, dressed in clean jeans and tweed blazer, Emma Kennedy, her long hair uncharacteristically pulled up, looking sharp in a no-nonsense blue shirt and vest, and Randy Burrows, whose jovial face was deep in concentration as he hooked up the live feed for KABW.

  Jake, Sam, and Professor Mills found three seats in the fifth row just as Randy Burrows started testing the microphone. Chief Sanderson of the Arrow Bay Police Department strode over to the microphone and tapped it several times.

  “Folks, the room is nearly at capacity and we’re not letting any more in. I am sorry, but it’s a violation of the fire code. Please take your seats.”

  Not taking a seat, Jake noted, was Baldo Ludich. A strikingly handsome man in his late fifties, Baldo stood over six feet tall. He had a thick head of iron gray hair and a beard the same color. His sharp dark brown eyes surveyed the room, few people able to meet such an intense gaze. Baldo looked as if he would be more at home commanding submarines or knocking out international criminals. Jake found himself hoping he aged as well as Ludich. Baldo was glaring at Reed Longhoffer, though Longhoffer seemed blissfully unaware.

  “There’s Marion Burd,” said Sam, pointing out the elegant woman in the front row, a steno pad in her hand. She was chatting with Sam’s mother Evelyn, who waved at them.

  “And your mother,” said Jake, waving back. “How’s her teaching going?”

  “Very well,” said Sam, still looking around the room. “Good God, everyone is here but Crazy Gladys.”

  “Ha, you spoke too soon,” said Jake, as Gladys Nyberg strode in with her infamous umbrella just as they closed the door.

  “Who’s the Rubenesque lady with the nice smile talking to Mom?” Sam asked.

  “Oh…I think that’s Reverend Crawford. She’s the new pastor of the Unitarian Church. There was a small and unflattering photo of her in the paper. She’s really much better looking in person.”

  “It was probably Jonas Brennan who took the photo,” said Professor Mills. “He won’t retire from the Examiner, even though he’s eighty-one and has cataracts so badly he can’t tell a buffalo from a shopping cart. Poor old man. He’s really a sweet person.”

  “The Examiner could use an overhaul,” said Sam.

  “Particularly ditching its editor,” said Jake.

  “Reed shouldn’t even have the job. After Jasper Longhoffer died, the paper was supposed to go the youngest son, David,” wheezed Professor Mills. “But David is in Europe.” He leaned in closer to Jake and Sam. “The rumor is Reed hasn’t even told his brother their father is dead, though I find that hard to believe. David was always corresponding with Jasper, and I think the letters falling off would be a clue that something is wrong.”

  “You’d think,” said Jake.

  “There is going to be hell to pay when David comes back, you can count on it.”

  “And when might that be?”

  Professor Mills shrugged. “Two months? Four? Who can say? Seems every time he’s set to come back, something keeps him in Europe.”

  Jake was about to ask what kept David Longhoffer in Europe when brother Reed banged his gavel with such fierceness, it sounded like gunshots echoing through the chamber; Police Chief Sanderson involuntarily flinched and looked as if he was about to dive under the table.

  The meeting was about to begin.

  Chapter Five

  “Order now! Order!” barked Longhoffer, his glasses sliding down his beaky nose. He continued banging the gavel a few more times even though the room had already become very quiet. He looked around the room with an expression of deepest loathing and cleared his throat. “We’re gathered here today at this unnecessary special meeting—”

  Emma Kennedy and Walter Lugar both looked as if they were about to say something, but Randy Burrows held up his hand, silencing them. Baldo Ludich smiled very smugly.

  “He’s up to something,” Jake whispered to Sam, noting Ludich. “Just you wait.”

  “—on the issue of so-called Wilde Park. Now it is already a foregone conclusion that the land is to be developed.”

  “Only to you, Longhoffer,” said Ludich in his booming, commanding voice, which was greeted with hearty applause.

  “Now you just wait until you’re recognized, Ludich. You’ve been warned about this type of behavior before!”

  “So much for genteel politeness and working together,” said Sam in a low voice.

  “I’m afraid I agree with Mr. Ludich,” said Walter Lugar. “It does seem to be a foregone conclusion only to you, Reed, and perhaps the council members to your left. Fully one half of this governing board has not been apprised of this plan for SuperLoMart to be built on Wilde Park, nor has the city attorney, which I confirmed this afternoon.”

  “And I confirmed this afternoon,” said Emma Kennedy, as though she just bitten into a slug, “that preliminary contracts have already been signed with the company, by you, Mr. Longhoffer.”

  “And I might add today that there are now surveyor tags all over the park,” said Randy Burrows, fiddling with a microphone.

  “This is outrageous!” cried Baldo Ludich. “How dare you circumnavigate not only the city council, but the entire populace of Arrow Bay!”

  The audience grew restless, a general discontented murmur rising. Miranda Zimmerman appeared to be looking through a document with great interest while Baldo Ludich had a piece of paper rolled in one fist. Longhoffer began banging the gavel loudly again.

  “People, settle down! Be quiet!” he crowed, as the noise died down. “Now before you go off half-cocked, Miss Kennedy, what I signed was a confirmation that I had received a prospectus on SuperLoMart’s plans for development. That is all. There has been no effort to deceive anyone—”

  “Baloney!” yelled someone from the audience, to general approval.

  A skinny man stood up and pointed an accusing finger at Reed Longhoffer. “What have you got to gain from this, Longhoffer?! You’ve never done a thing in your life unless it has had some personal benefit for you.”

  The crowd murmured a
s one again, significantly louder this time.

  “Who was that?” Sam asked Jake.

  “Milton Bloomquest Junior. His father was in some business dealings with Reed back in the 50s. Ended up getting the bad end of the deal and lost his shirt. Reed came out with a wheelbarrow full of money, and no one is quite sure how he did it,” said Professor Mills.

  “Professor Mills has done his homework,” said Jake to Sam, impressed.

  “This whole deal stinks!”

  “People! You must wait to be recognized!”

  A blonde, horse-faced woman with a prominent Adam’s apple stood up, raising her hand.

  “Uh oh,” said Jake under his breath.

  “Who is that?”

  “Rebecca Windsor. She owns that new age shop on 35th. Thinks flashing colored lights at you can cure you of cancer, among other things. You know, it’s got some stupid name…”

  “‘Heal Thy Self’.”

  “That’s the place. She’s totally wacko. I give her about thirty seconds before she mentions the devil.”

  “The devil? I thought you said she was a new age type?”

  “Well, it’s complicated.”

  “I, for one, am for the development of that piece of land,” she said in a rather reedy voice, as she brushed her hair out of her face.

  “This ought to be good,” said Jake as several people made discontented noises.

  “The council recognizes Miss Windsor,” said Reed, seemingly happy to have found an ally.

  “I have been to Wilde Park,” she said. “It is a place of deceptive beauty. Many times have I felt an evil presence in that park. I have been stalked by it. I have seen the shadows that move, and I have looked at the tortured trees that grow there.”

  The room had become very quiet. The citizens, as a whole, had become mesmerized by the sheer absurdity of what they were hearing.

 

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