Finley, pointing at the screen with his cell phone, went on: “I don’t know how badly this is going to play out, but it’s already absolutely disastrous. God only knows what that monster was going to do to that little girl. A kidnapped child—now that’s a PR nightmare. A horror story that would have media legs forever. And if she were found dead . . . ?”
The image then switched to a live shot of JFK Plaza. Another reporter, this one a large-bosomed blonde in her late twenties, made a solemn face as she spoke into her microphone and gestured toward more yellow crime scene tape in the background.
“And this!” Finley said, pointing to the television again. “Right across the damn street”—he dramatically jabbed his free hand’s index finger in the direction of the park—“a beautiful young woman’s life tragically cut short . . .” He stopped when he realized the word he’d used. “Tragically ended, I should say.”
Finley held his cell phone at shoulder level, waving it as he went on: “Both of the stories are being spread all over social media with the key phrase ‘Stop Killadelphia.’ I can’t repeat the disgusting things people are saying about us. Especially after what that poor girl had just posted—‘My Love in the City of Brotherly Love’ with a beautiful romantic picture—before being murdered in broad daylight! For christsake, it’s Christmas! What is wrong with these people?”
Mayor Carlucci, looking at the city’s new public relations head, thought, Finley’s not suggesting there’s a better time for murdering someone?
But I guess he does have a point.
He can be a real pain in the ass, but Stein swears he’s clever as hell and apparently good at what he does.
Not that that matters to the families of the dead kids.
The mayor then wondered how much of Finley’s dramatics could be attributed to genuine emotion—his hysterical fits already bordered on legendary—or be blamed on alcohol, or both. Finley had announced that he had been enjoying brunch with friends just blocks away in his Washington Square West neighborhood, with plans to walk the shops along Walnut Street for Christmas gifts afterward, when the news broke.
“Our new tourism campaign, well, this is just going to kill it.” Finley paused again. “Oh, damn it, I’m so upset I cannot think or speak properly. And it’s my job to use the proper words.” He gestured at the television once more. “This is going to scare off countless people. Look at this crime scene tape next to one of our most popular tourist attractions. Who wants to celebrate where someone’s been murdered? Or become the next murder victim? This insanity keeps getting worse.”
The room was quiet for a long moment.
“He is right, Mr. Mayor,” Ed Stein said, looking up from his legal pad and tapping it with his pen. He wore a well-cut conservative gray two-piece suit with a white dress shirt and a striped blue necktie. “It is worse. For starters, we’re now at three hundred sixty-two killings for the year. Four more than last year’s total, and it would appear racing for an all-time record.”
Carlucci met his eyes. Stein, who had proved to be both exceptionally sharp and a voice of reason, was starting to grow on him. But the mayor damn sure did not always like what Stein had to say.
Stein picked up on that and shrugged, adding: “It’s why I’m here. It’s why we’re all here.”
[ TWO ]
While Edward Stein and James Finley were officially listed as being executives on the City of Philadelphia’s payroll, they fell under a unique provision of the law. The mayor, at his discretion, was permitted to have as many staff members as he deemed necessary for the good of the city—as long as the total of their salaries and pension liabilities did not exceed that of his office’s budget for personnel. To that end, Stein and Finley were each receiving a city payroll check once a year in the amount of $1.
Their real income, not including bonuses and stock options, was in the middle six figures—as appropriate for their level as senior vice presidents of a major corporation—and was paid by Richard Saunders Holdings, which had its headquarters at North Third and Arch Streets in Old City.
Thus, the reality of it was that they were on loan to the city by local businessman Francis Franklin Fuller V.
The forty-five-year-old Fuller traced his family lineage to Benjamin Franklin. He enthusiastically embraced everything that was Franklinite, starting with “Richard Saunders,” the pen name Franklin used in writing Poor Richard’s Almanack. Fuller even physically resembled his ancestor. He was short and stout and had a bit of a bulging belly. Tiny round reading glasses accented his bulbous nose and round face.
Fuller had been born into wealth, and had built that into a far larger personal fortune, one in excess of two billion dollars. Under his main company, Richard Saunders Holdings, he owned outright or had majority interest in KeyCargo Import-Exports (the largest user of the Port of Philadelphia docks and warehousing facilities), KeyProperties (luxury high-rise office and residential buildings), and the crown jewel, KeyCom, a Fortune 500 nationwide telecommunications corporation.
His Old City headquarters also housed a nonprofit organization that he funded. A devout believer in the Bible’s “an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth,” Fuller chose the name Lex Talionis, which came from the Latin phrase for “Law of Talion” and essentially translated as “an eye for an eye.”
Tragedy had struck Fuller’s family five years earlier. His wife and young daughter, after making wrong turns and driving their Mercedes-Benz convertible into North Philadelphia West, had become collateral damage, killed in a hail of buckshot from the crossfire of a drive-by shooting. The gunmen were never caught.
A frustrated Fuller responded by setting up Lex Talionis and endowing it with an initial five million dollars. Every Friday—“Payday Friday,” Fuller came to call it—he ran advertisements in local media and all his KeyCom cable channels: “Lex Talionis will reward twenty thousand dollars cash to any individual who provides information that leads to the arrest, conviction, and/or removal from free society of a criminal guilty of murder or attempted murder, rape or other sexually deviant crime, or illicit drug distribution in the City of Philadelphia. Tipsters are provided a unique code to keep them anonymous. Lex Talionis works with the Philadelphia Police Department and courts to protect the identities of those providing the information, ensuring their anonymity.”
Carlucci had not liked it—in large part because it had been almost immediately effective, and thus embarrassed the leader of the East Coast’s second-largest city. At any given time, Philly had approximately fifty thousand criminals “in the wind”—robbers, rapists, junkies, and other offenders who’d jumped bail by ignoring their court date. They then became wanted on outstanding warrants. While some had fled the city, many remained. And when Fuller put a bounty on their heads, the fugitives—either dead or bound and gagged in some makeshift manner—were being dropped at the doorstep of Lex Talionis, and the rewards were promptly being paid.
It wasn’t that Carlucci didn’t want the criminals behind bars—or, in the case of known killers, in a grave. What the longtime law enforcement professional didn’t like was that the cash reward caused civilians to take the law into their own hands.
Carlucci had to use his iron fist—declaring that anyone who did not include the police department in apprehending the criminals would themselves be arrested and prosecuted, and then did so—while at the same time carefully bringing Lex Talionis more or less under the purview of the police department.
Shortly thereafter, Fuller, uninvited, had appeared at Carlucci’s office.
—
You arrogant sonofabitch! Carlucci thought as he watched Fuller push past the mayor’s secretary and then wave her off. The last thing I want to do is make nice with you.
“No interruptions, please,” Fuller said to the secretary as he closed the office door behind him.
He turned and looked at Carlucci.
“Jerry, I have two wo
rds for you.”
Carlucci was on his feet and coming out from behind his desk with his right hand outstretched.
“Frank, to what do I owe the pleasure of this surprise?”
“Hold the bullshit,” Fuller said, sticking his hand up, palm out. “I’ve got a busy day.”
Fuller then gestured with the same hand for Carlucci to take his seat. Fuller settled onto the couch.
“This is my office, Frank,” Carlucci said, coldly furious.
“Please,” Fuller replied evenly, and gestured again.
Carlucci made an angry face, then found his chair while impatiently gesturing back Let’s have it with his hand. “Okay. Two words.”
“Detroit and reelection.”
Carlucci cocked his head. “What the hell does that mean? I don’t know much, nor give a good goddamn, about Detroit politics.”
“Well, as Benjamin Franklin said . . .” He paused. “I’m sure you recall that I am a descendant of the wise patriot. He said, ‘When the well’s dry, we know the worth of the water.’ And we all would be wise to learn from Detroit’s dry well.”
“I’m not sure I follow you, Frank. Not sure I want to.”
Fuller nodded, then explained, “Being a product of this great city, it pains me that Philadelphia has such genuinely grave problems. There is the very real chance that it is on that proverbial slippery slope to becoming the next Detroit.”
Carlucci grunted. “You mean bankrupt? That’s not going to happen.”
“That’s what I would expect a politician, particularly one in your position, to say. That’s what they all said about Detroit. No one believed, or certainly wanted to believe, that that city would go broke. After all, it was home to the giants of the automobile manufacturers, including General Motors Corporation. Remember what they said about that powerful global corporation? ‘As goes GM, so goes the nation.’ And then what? Boom to bust, that’s what. It went bankrupt. And then the city went bankrupt.”
Carlucci grunted again. “We’re not Detroit. We have thriving universities and leading hospitals and more.”
“Again, spoken like a politician, but as great as our ‘Eds and Meds’ are—and they are indeed first class—they cannot sustain the entire city. Philadelphia, as you know, in addition to being the birthplace of this great nation, was known as the Workshop of the World. We made everything for everyone, locomotives to warships, textiles to firearms. Today, that’s all gone, leaving vast lots and deserted crumbling buildings in once-thriving neighborhoods like Kensington and Frankford and empty docks at the Navy Yard.”
He let that sink in, then went on, his voice rising: “Our city—third poorest in the country—has a great many challenges that can no longer be ignored, Jerry. We cannot afford to go bankrupt. I will not let it. I have too much invested in this city, both emotionally and certainly financially. It is our moral obligation to leave, as our ancestors did, the city better than we found it. Which brings me to reelection.”
“The primaries are more than a year out—”
“I am well aware of that,” Fuller interrupted. “Allow me, please, to finish. I’m also aware that there already are plenty of people planning on gunning for you, if you will forgive my choice of words. And they have ample ammunition. Crime being of course a significant issue with our citizens. I would suggest it is the main issue. The murder rate would be worse were it not for our excellent hospitals—specifically trauma surgeons performing miracles. It’s a war zone out there, Jerry! And I speak from personal experience”—he suddenly dropped his head forward to rub his eyes, and then cleared his throat, and almost in a mumble added—“as you know.”
Carlucci felt his own throat catch.
I cannot imagine what emotional hell he must’ve gone through—clearly is still going through—losing his wife and child that way.
No amount of wealth can replace that.
“Frank, you know you have my sincere—”
Fuller again held up his hand, palm out. After a moment, he raised his head and looked again at Carlucci.
“You’ll please excuse me for that,” he said, then went on: “Another significant issue is the wretched failure of our city schools. The buildings are run-down, those students who actually graduate high school are ill-equipped for the real world, and more than a few disgraceful teachers and principals, to make themselves look better and thus teaching all the wrong lessons, are going to jail for correcting test answers in that cheating scandal.
“And then there is the matter of city finances—or lack thereof. The budget shortfalls are across the board, pensions are unfunded to the tune of some five billion dollars, and both property and wage taxes have repeatedly risen and are now at record levels. We’re selling any assets we can to try to keep afloat. What happens next when all those are gone?” He paused, caught his breath, then said, “Jerry, this city is falling apart—literally—as it does not even have sufficient funds to demolish all the dangerous structures before they simply collapse on their own.”
Fuller saw that Carlucci had a weary look. And that he was nodding.
“Welcome to my world, Frank,” Carlucci said, not pleasantly.
“I understand that I am telling you nothing new. But that does not change the fact that these issues are grave. My companies, as you would expect, constantly study demographics. We have to know all about our customers, both current ones and potential ones. What we have found is disturbing, from the perspective of both the future of my companies and the future of this city. And that is: The majority of those in the current generation of eighteen- to thirty-five-year-olds, citing concern with issues I’ve just listed, say they won’t raise their families in Philadelphia. They are graduating college, sticking around a few years before or after getting married—then moving where taxes and crime are lower and schools are better. This has been going on for years, and it’s accelerating. We—you and me and everyone else in this city—need those families and the taxes they pay. Or—”
“Or we go broke,” Carlucci interrupted. “I get it.”
“I must say that I do believe in your style of leadership, Frank. An iron fist properly wielded is effective. But I have come to better appreciate that there are nuances to politics, to getting—and then most importantly, keeping—the support of corporations. Corporations that will create jobs that will keep those families here, and in so doing build a healthier city and generate more tax revenue that in turn will better provide for our citizens.”
“So, what are you saying specifically?”
“What I’m saying, Jerry, is that I believe with my help you can accomplish that, presuming (a) you do what I say and (b) we get you reelected.”
“‘Do what I say,’” Carlucci quickly parroted, trying not to lose his temper.
“For the good of the city,” Fuller said, his tone matter-of-fact and unapologetic. “It’s your choice. If you’re not open to (a), then I have a number of candidates who are.”
Carlucci met his eyes.
That’s damn sure not a veiled threat.
I should tell you to go straight to hell.
But . . . that would not be productive. I don’t need you as an enemy.
Carlucci said: “There’s no guarantee these others can get elected.”
Fuller shrugged.
“I will grant you that. But I can guarantee that whoever I back will win the primary election, with great odds of winning it all.” He paused to let that sink in, then finished: “And I can guarantee that those who fail to win their second term as mayor, as history has proven, never find themselves going on to win higher office in Harrisburg or Washington.”
Carlucci looked off in the distance. He had not risen to police commissioner and then mayor by being easily intimidated. He was from South Philly and enjoyed a good fight. But long ago he also had learned to be pragmatic.
I may not like the mes
sage worth a damn, but I can appreciate its frank delivery.
His candidate, no matter if the guy won or lost in the general election, would leave me out of office.
Forget not being a lame duck—politically I’d be a dead duck.
On the other hand, if I have his backing for mayor, then I probably could bank on it for governor.
What the hell. One step at a time.
I only have to put up with him until my victory speech on election night.
“I’m listening,” Carlucci said, after a moment.
Fuller nodded.
“Good,” he said. “Here’s what I’m going to do. I have a fine young man, another product of our city, who graduated at the top of his class at Penn Law. I like to hire our hometown people, and he is an outstanding example of why. I lured him—Edward Stein is his name—away from Mawson, Payne, Stockton, McAdoo, and Lester.”
Carlucci’s eyebrows rose. He was well-acquainted with what was arguably Philadelphia’s most prestigious law firm, particularly founding partner Brewster Cortland Payne II.
“I imagine Brew Payne was not happy with that,” Carlucci said.
“Perhaps. But as his firm represents a great deal of my business, you might say it’s all in the family. Much like Stein working for you. Presently, Stein is one of my senior vice presidents. He will be your executive counsel, or whatever you wish to call him, and will provide counsel to you. He will also report to me.”
Carlucci watched as Fuller then stood, nodded once, and, without another word, walked out of the office.
[ THREE ]
Chief Executive Adviser Ed Stein tapped his pen on his legal pad again.
“The media coverage from those murders will have a direct impact on revenues,” he said.
James Finley added: “Do I have to remind you, Mr. Mayor, that this city will implode without the revenue from tourism? Kiss some four billion—or potentially more—dollars good-bye. That’s how much the thirty-five million leisure visitors spent last year in Philly, generating for the city almost five hundred million—a half-billion—in tax revenue. And that’s not counting convention business. It’s long been on the decline, and the fewer people who come for business translates into fewer who will return with their families.”
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