A Flash of Green

by John D. MacDonald

  “It wasn’t like solving a puzzle, Jimmy. And it wasn’t any great blinding flash of comprehension. The leaf was as much a part of some … orderly process as my daughter’s hand, both styled to live and die. I merely realized I wasn’t as empty as I had been. I felt a kind of a comfort. Whatever the leaf was, whatever my daughter’s hand is, even whatever the stone was I was sitting on, I was a piece of all of it, and all of it was a piece of me. And all that … that flow of reality, whatever it might be, it was certainly not something designed to benefit me. I felt ashamed, sort of. I felt I had shown a kind of witless, wicked arrogance to blame life for anything. A leaf could blame the tree for releasing it, and the stone could blame a glacier for carrying it away. You see, there’s no logic in it. It’s a kind of faith, I suppose. It’s my awareness of God, or I guess I should say Godness, because I’m more aware of a process than an entity. That awareness doesn’t make me miss Van any less. But it stops me from despising the other parts of life. It keeps me from poisoning myself. Jimmy. What do you believe in?”

  “Me? Not very much. I don’t know. There’s as much chaos as there is order. There’s as much randomness as there is pattern. I believe in accident, mostly. I’m accidentally alive, and by being alive, I’m in the process of death. I believe in luck and good footwork.”

  “With no purpose to any of it?”

  “None that I can see at the moment.”

  “That’s the emptiness I couldn’t endure, Jimmy. I’m too much of a coward to stand so alone.”

  She looked at him in a quizzical way which deepened the small horizontal wrinkles above her rusty eyebrows. Her eyes were a shadowy gray in that light, her lips slightly apart. Her nearness was a magnetic field which pulled his mind into illogic, toward the threshold of words and acts which would mean nothing. He stood up quickly and with a great bursting effort, like a swimmer clambering up out of a pool.

  “Did I say something wrong?” she asked.

  “No. It’s just … I have to stop by the paper. I’d like to stay and talk. Thanks for the drinks and dinner, Kat.”

  “You’ll see if you can find out who made Di resign?”

  “I’ll try. I can’t promise anything.”

  “I don’t want to get you in trouble with the paper because you’re trying to help us.”

  “I’m not worried.”

  Sixteen

  THE PALM COUNTY COMMISSIONERS MET in Room 100 in the County Courthouse. It looked like a small auditorium in a country high school, a room which could double as a gymnasium or small ballroom. There were rows of folding chairs, enough to seat a hundred people. The seating area was separated from the dais area by a golden oak railing with a gate at the end of the center aisle. On the dais, raised about a foot above the floor level, was the long table at which the five commissioners sat, facing the audience. In front of the table, but down on the main floor level, was a smaller table with two chairs facing the commissioners. Behind the oak armchairs on which the commissioners sat were the United States flag and the flag of the State of Florida flanking a large detailed wall map of Palm County. The press table was to the left of the commissioners, and the staff table off to the right, where the secretaries, assistants and county attorney sat.

  In front of the place where each commissioner would sit there was a table microphone. There was a sixth one on the small table facing them. The system reproduced voices in a harsh and metallic fashion, and was frequently afflicted by feedback, a thin screeing, yowling sound that always infuriated the commissioners.

  When Jimmy Wing took his seat at the press table on Tuesday morning, the five commissioners were just filing in, followed by the staff. Wing was astonished to see Borklund at the press table. He looked into the audience and saw Colonel Jennings and Major Lipe sitting together and alone in a front row, their expressions stern and watchful. On the other side of the aisle was a group of about fifteen persons, most of them women, all wearing an expression of rigid indignation. Behind them were several young men, none of them familiar to Wing. They stood near a bulky object draped in white, which was leaning against the wall. They sat down as Gus Makelder, the commission chairman, called the meeting to order. The young men looked brisk, competent and attentive.

  The atmosphere of the meeting was informal. As the minutes and committee reports were disposed of, the commissioners made small conversational asides to each other, laughed at small private jokes. Elmo Bliss was in the chair at the end of the table nearest the press table. He turned and nodded at Borklund, winked at Jimmy. Commissioner Stan Dayson and Commissioner Horace Lander were arguing with some heat about the bids on the concession at the public beach on Cable Key when Burt Lesser, Leroy Shannard, Bill Gormin and Martin Cable came through the side door into the spectator section, eased the door shut and tiptoed to the nearest vacant seats. Both Jennings and Lipe swiveled their heads around and watched the entire process.

  “Any new business?” Makelder finally asked.

  “Mr. Chairman!” a woman yelled in a piercing voice, jumping to her feet. “Mr. Chairman, I got something to bring up.” She came trotting down the aisle and through the gate and sat down at the small table. “I represent the Palmetto Circle Association. My name is Genevieve Harland.”

  “Just speak into the microphone in a normal tone of voice, Mrs. Harland.”

  “You put that wonderful storm sewer system in out at the circle, and it clogged up for that heavy rain we had last night, I mean night before last. All that water has tore out a big hunk of Palmetto Street. It come into four houses. And in the new houses out back of us, them septic tanks come a-floating right up out of the ground. Water is still standing around out there. I’ve been calling the County Health Officer, and the Road Supervisor and everybody I can think of and nobody has done one single thing, and we’re all sick and tired of the mess and the stink and having to come all the way around by Thompson Street to come into town. We want something done and we want it done fast!”

  The commissioners muttered to each other. Makelder soothed her. He told her the storm had caused damage in other areas too. Crews were at work. He said Commissioner Bassette would follow her case up personally and inspect the area and see that the necessary work was done.

  She thanked them in the same tone of voice she would have used to curse them, and stood up and marched out, followed by her entire group.

  “Mr. Chairman,” Burt Lesser said. “My name is Burton Lesser. I am a realtor. I wish to petition the Board of County Commissioners, speaking as president of the Palmland Development Company.”

  “Come down front, Burt,” Makelder said.

  “Thank you, Gus. I have two of my associates with me, Mr. Gormin and Mr. Shannard. I’m sure you all know them. Mr. Shannard is secretary of the company, and Mr. Gormin is treasurer. I’ll ask Mr. Shannard to read and present the actual petition. In the meantime, I’d like your permission to set up a couple of exhibits.”

  “You have it, Burt,” Makelder said.

  Shannard read the petition and presented it to the board. As he read it, the brisk young men set up the exhibits. One was a greatly enlarged aerial photograph of Grassy Bay and the surrounding area. They mounted it over the county map behind the commissioners. There was a glassine overlay over the photograph, with the area to be filled marked in red grease pencil.

  The second exhibit was considerably more impressive. It was a detailed table-top miniature of how the entire development would look after it was completed and all the houses had been built. There was a landscaped entrance, a serpentine wall, a tiny sign that read Palmland Isles. Bright cars speckled the blue curves of asphalt roads and made a herringbone pattern in the parking area of a shopping center facing Mangrove Road. Indigo canals wound through the filled land, with cruisers at miniature docks. The young men had set it up in an open area near the staff table, on low sawhorses.

  “If you would gather around, gentlemen, you can see it better,” Burt Lesser said happily. “The news people too, if there’s no ob
jection. This model was built by Costex Associates of Atlanta. All the engineering on the project has been done by them too. They were very excited by the possibilities here, and think this project will receive national attention and acclaim. Mr. Steve Kerr here, of Costex, was in charge.”

  “Can Major Lipe and myself examine it?” Tom Jennings asked.

  Makelder looked at the other commissioners and then at Burt. Burt nodded. “Come on right up, Colonel.”

  There was general conversation around the display table. Horace Lander said, “Now Leroy, you know dang well there isn’t any zoning that far down Sandy Key to allow any shopping center.”

  “Artistic license,” Shannard said, “plus a little plea for future dispensations.”

  “Mr. Kerr,” Tom Jennings said sharply. “May I ask a question?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “This model seems to show a surprising amount of bay area surrounding the fill project. It seems to reach just a little more than half way to the mainland. According to the petition I heard read, Palmland wants the bulkhead line changed to include a little more than eight hundred acres of bay bottom. Is this model scaled to that request?”

  “All the roads and canals in the project itself are to scale, sir.”

  “Wasn’t my question clear? Is the project scaled to the area?”

  “It’s to scale on the photo-map, sir, but not on the table model.”

  Everyone turned and looked at the map the young men from Costex had put up. On that the red mushroom outlining the land requested filled the heart of the bay, reaching almost over to the channel markers along the mainland.

  “We have some other things we would like to pass out to the commission and to the newspeople,” Burt Lesser said quickly. “I hope you will find them of interest. One is a study of what the project will mean to the area in actual dollars and cents, with a complete breakdown by types of retail and wholesale businesses. Bill, will you see that everyone gets copies, including the Colonel and the Major, of course. This second one shows the specifications as recommended by Costex. Roads, curbing, sea walls, elevations, sewage disposal system, street lighting, hydrants, drainage, underground conduits for power and phone. Please note, gentlemen, that in every single instance our specifications exceed county minimum standards for Class A Residential. What else do we have, Leroy? Oh, of course. This third study is an advertising and promotion plan, showing the dignified nature of the sales approach we will use. It shows the price range of the lots also. They will sell for a minimum of seven thousand up to a maximum of fifteen thousand five hundred.”

  “How many lots, Burt?” Stan Dayson asked.

  “Eight hundred.”

  “If you average out at ten thousand, Burt, that would mean … eight million bucks.”

  “Our expenses are going to be very heavy, Stan. They have to be, to make this a project the whole west coast will be proud of. If it was going to be anything less than perfect, I wouldn’t want anything to do with it. I might add that there has been a considerable investment in time, thought and money to bring the project up to this point of initial presentation. Beginning tomorrow this model of Palmland Isles will be on display in the Cable Bank and Trust Company, on the main floor. And right now I’d like to ask Mr. Martin Cable to say a few words to you about one aspect of this thing which may be bothering you.”

  Chairman Makelder looked up from his examination of the model just in time to look directly into the automatic flash gun wielded by Stu Kennicott. Makelder scowled and said, “Boys, let’s all sit where we belong and listen to Mr. Cable.”

  Martin sat at the small desk, arranged his notes and cleared his throat. “One of the matters which should legitimately concern any government body which must pass on any phase of approval of such a project is the question of financing. I am not here to make a firm commitment to you gentlemen or to Palmland Development. I can merely say this. All of Palmland’s plans and estimates have been examined by the loan committee of the Cable Bank and Trust Company. In the event—and let me stress this phrase—in the event all proper permissions are obtained by Palmland, and in the event there is no basic change in their plans of operation, the bank will be prepared to look favorably upon offering the financial assistance which will be needed to make this dream a reality. I … ah … speaking now as an individual, wish to add that my personal interest in this venture is attested to by my having made available to Palmland the necessary access land through approving an option, acting in my office as executor of my mother’s estate. That land is the portion on the map behind you cross-hatched in green. Thank you.”

  “Thank you, Martin,” Gus Makelder said. “Any comment?”

  “I just happen to have a little something to say,” Elmo drawled. “I just want to say I’m getting right confused here. Leroy certainly must know the public law on this thing. I’m not saying it’s a good project or a bad project. But I do know we’re sitting here, the five of us, getting buttered like breakfast hot cakes. Steve Merry, you being the county attorney, maybe you can straighten me out. We can’t vote on a damn thing, can we? This Palmland is supposed to present a petition and then we set a date for a public hearing. Isn’t the proper place for all this butter job the public hearing instead of now?”

  Steve Merry adjusted his glasses and said, “Commissioner Bliss, I think these gentlemen were just explaining to the commission as a courtesy what they’re planning.…”

  “Steve, boy, I don’t want you telling me what you think they’re trying to do. I’ve got me a pretty good idea of what they’re trying to do. I want to know the law.”

  “Properly, I suppose, this presentation should be made at the public hearing.”

  “Where the folks on the other side of this question have a chance to make their objections?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “So what they’re doing is trying to get us all on their side before the other side has a chance?”

  “I … I guess it could be interpreted that way.”

  “Thank you, Steve. Gus, it looks to me as if we should just accept the petition and set a date for the hearing. I see no reason why the minutes should make any mention of all this other entertainment Burt and Bill and Leroy have given us.”

  “Do you so move?” Gus asked.

  “I so move,” Elmo said.

  “Second,” DeRose Bassette said.

  “Moved and seconded we accept the Palmland Development Company petition and proceed to set a date for the public hearing.”

  “Mr. Chairman,” Burt said, “before you set the date, I’d just like to say that our timing on this whole thing is running very very close and we would appreciate your setting it for as soon as possible.”

  “How soon can we do it according to law, Steve?” Gus asked.

  Steve Merry bit his lip for a moment. “Two weeks has to elapse from the time of publication in the paper until the hearing itself. I could probably get the legal notification to the paper sometime tomorrow afternoon. That would put it in the paper Wednesday morning, the twelfth. The public hearing could be set for Wednesday, the twenty-sixth.”

  “That’s real nice for Palmland, but how about the opposition? Gus, would it be out of order to ask Colonel Tom Jennings how this strikes him?”

  “Colonel?” Gus said.

  “Speaking as the President of Save Our Bays, Incorporated, I would respectfully request the Commission to give us a month to prepare our case against this bay-fill project. We did not even hear about it until last week.”

  “Move we set the date for the twenty-sixth of this month,” Horace Lander said. Bassette seconded him. Bassette, Lander and Dayson voted for it, Bliss against. Lander suggested that the availability of the Palm City Municipal Auditorium be checked. A secretary left the room to phone and came back and said it was available. The time was set for 8 P.M. The commission meeting was adjourned, and the young men shrouded their display table and tenderly carried it away.

  J. J. Borklund walked into the corridor with
Jimmy. He said, “All I want from you today is more glowing copy than I can possibly use on this thing. Puff it all the way, James. Fatten it with interviews. Pie is raining out of the sky. Hosanna!”

  “Then tomorrow you want a really glowing account?”

  “That’s the pattern, James. You anticipate me.”

  “And they’ll come in for at least two hundred full pages the first year?”

  “At the very least.”

  As Borklund walked away Elmo came up to Jimmy and said, “See me in fifteen minutes in Lupen’s office.” Jimmy nodded and Elmo hurried up the hall to catch up with Gus Makelder.

  Jimmy stopped at a drinking fountain. When he straightened up he saw Tom Jennings and Major Lipe approaching him.

  “They seem to be traveling first class,” Jimmy said.

  Jennings made a rueful grimace. “Rough. Very rough indeed. As a colleague of mine named Custer once said, where are all these Indians coming from?”

  “I have a feeling there’ll be more.”