“Just the same, Ben,” said Ralph Gibbs, “there’s enough here to make quite a case. And whether Doctor Karl Jodl wins it or loses it, he’s a marked man afterwards. How do you think the newspapers and TV will handle this right across the country? Still and all—”
“Yes?” said Samuel Sprague.
“Still and all, Sam, I can see two directions to move. This thing’s too big for me anyhow. Best to go down to Concord and lay it all out for the state people. Let them take over. After all, it covers more than Huxtable Falls, don’t it? There’s three other towns nearby with what you might call a vested interest in it.”
Samuel Sprague considered this. “That’s one direction, Ralph. What’s the other?”
“Well now, Sam, one thing is pretty sure. We cut loose on Doctor Karl Jodl and company, they’ll take off from these parts quick as they can. Fact. So putting myself in your place—”
“My place?”
“Yours and Jacob’s, what with you two owning our good old Merchants Bank. I was thinking of you two waving goodbye to the biggest customer the bank’s got. A six-figure depositor no less.”
“Who told you about that?” demanded Samuel Sprague.
“Don’t matter who, Sam. What matters is it’s the truth. As for Abner there and his real-estate business, well, he stands to have that white elephant Samson estate dumped right back in his hands. No closing the sale for it, no fat contract afterwards to keep the place in shape. Same for Ben there and his car business. No more Doctor Jodi for luxury buys, no more high-price repairs on that whole fleet the Doctor’s lined up for his kind services. And I guess I don’t have to remind Fraser that the Doctor and his crowd have to be the market’s number-one customers for sure. I mean, what with those loads of fancy meat and trimmings being trucked out there every few days. Am I making myself clear?”
“Some,” said Samuel Sprague. “Not all. What’s on your mind, Ralph?”
“Well now, what’s on my mind is that all this started because some folks turned up missing from towns roundabout. But let’s look at it this way. That’s not my business, is it? They want the answers I got, let them go hunt them up like I did. Get the point now, Sam?”
“Except for what you left out. What makes you so sure that next summertime, let’s say, a couple of our own young folks won’t turn up missing from right here in Huxtable Falls?”
“Fair question, Sam. But I guarantee nobody as smart as Doctor Karl Jodl looks to make waves right here in home port. No chance of that. That’s how it’s been since he settled down here; that’s how it’ll keep on.”
“All the same, Ralph—”
“So I could just tuck all these papers here back in this shopping bag and lock it up nice and tight in my house. Which, for that matter, is where it’s been kept all along. Strictly my own private business so far. Nobody else’s.”
“Even so, Ralph,” said Abner Perkins, “if you’d just heave all that stuff in the fire—”
“No, don’t see it quite that way, Abner,” said Ralph Gibbs. “And there’s still some items on the agenda.”
“Such as?” said Samuel Sprague.
“Well, for one thing, seems there’s been talk amongst you gentlemen that after me holding down my desk for nigh thirty years, it’s time to put the old horse out to pasture. Fact is, I like my job. It’ll do my morale a lot of good to know I’m set in it until I say otherwise.”
“What else?” said Samuel Sprague.
“Matter of repayment, Sam. That Europe agency cost me cash out of my pocket. Can’t see making repayment a town budget item, so best way to handle it, I figure, is for each of you gents to make out a check for one thousand Yankee dollars, payable to cash, and hand it over to Jacob here at the bank first thing tomorrow. He puts it all straight into my account, and there we are, no fuss, no big noise about it.”
“Maybe not,” said Jacob Sprague, “but that kind of transaction by the whole Board of Selectmen—”
“I didn’t finish yet, Jacob,” said Ralph Gibbs. “Didn’t mention that I have already set up a meeting with the state people down to Concord three P.M. tomorrow. I figure around noon tomorrow I’ll know whether to call it off or drive down there.”
“Noon tomorrow,” said Samuel Sprague. “And that finishes the agenda?”
“Not yet, Sam. There’s them pay raises that keep getting left out of the budget every year. What I see for next year is a twenty percent raise across the board. That’s for everybody in my department, including me. And two shiny new police cars with all extras, because them heaps we have now got were due for the scrap pile long ago. And that is the whole agenda.” Ralph Gibbs rose and dumped the papers and folders before him into the shopping bag. He made a circuit around the table, sweeping the rest of the documents into it. He planted his cap squarely on his head. “Shouldn’t rightly be here when the vote’s taken, so I’ll get along home now. Anyhow,” he said from the door, “hate to miss the TV news any night. Never know what’ll show up on it.”
All eyes were on the door as it very gently closed behind him. The sound of footsteps down the corridor faded away.
“Lord almighty,” whispered Fraser Smith.
The Naval Observatory clock on the wall ticked loudly, marking off a minute and then some.
“Well,” said Samuel Sprague, “it looks like Ralph left us a motion here to vote on. No need to spell it out again, line for line. Anybody stand against it?” He waited a seemly time, then rapped his knuckles on the table. “The motion is adopted unanimously.”
Benjamin Starr raised his hand.
“Yes, Ben?” said Samuel Sprague.
“Well, it’s about the new police cars, Sam. Looks to me that Starrs Cars could get a special discount from the manufacturer that’ll—”
“No way.” Samuel Sprague shook his head in reproach. “That is a conflict of interest for you, Ben, and you know it. Anything else?”
“That was it,” said Benjamin Starr sadly.
“Then this meeting is herewith adjourned,” said Samuel Sprague.
Last chance in Singapore
by Clark Howard[2]
He was sipping a gin at the Dutch Club, a week after his return to Singapore, when he heard a soft voice speak to him.
“Hello. It’s Alan Modred, isn’t it?”
“Hello. Yes.” Alan smiled as his eyes swept over her. Twentyish, wet auburn hair, slight overbite, tall, generally slim but a touch heavy in the hips. He dredged his memory without finding her. “You don’t recognize me, do you?” she chided.
“I’m sorry, no.”
“I’m Wenifred Travers. Wendy. Jack Travers’ daughter.”
Alan’s jaw dropped in surprise. “My God. You’ve grown up to be a woman.”
“Did you think I’d grow up to be a man?” He felt himself becoming flustered. She had an amused look on her face. “Next you’ll be telling me I’m too old to be bounced on your knee.”
“I don’t know about that,” he countered with a smile. He took her hand. “How’ve you been, Wendy? How’s Jack?”
Her expression saddened. “Daddy’s dead, Alan. Lung cancer, two years ago.”
“No. Oh, Wendy.” Alan felt a clutch in his chest. Jack Travers had been a good man. “I’m so sorry,” he told her.
Wendy nodded. “He was a two-pack-a-day man for thirty years. Every year the doctor told him to quit, but you know Daddy. Eventually it got him.” She sighed and shrugged off the memory. “How long have you been back?”
“Just a week.”
Wendy leaned toward him a fraction. “Was it terrible, Alan? The Thai prison?”
“It could have been worse,” he lied. He wondered how she would react if he showed her the scars where they’d beaten him with a bamboo cane. He imagined she’d swoon. Sheltered young British women probably didn’t see much proud flesh. Deciding to change the subject, he bobbed his chin at her wet hair. “Been for a swim?”