When the car’s taillights had disappeared down the road, the creaking of the rocking chair on the porch stopped. Corrigan set his glass onto the boards, picked up the flashlight and rose from the rocker. He marched quickly down the pathway to see what Santa had brought him.
The light beam picked out the little cedar box nestled at the base of his sign and he wondered for a moment if it was a bomb. Which was silly, he knew. None of these yokels would have the brains or the balls to put together a home-made incendiary. Kneeling in the damp grass, he slid the lid away and folded back the rotting burlap. It really did feel like Christmas, even though he already knew what was inside the box.
The bone was long, just over a foot, and thick at the ends. The surface mottled and grey, porous to the touch. If he had to guess, he’d say it was an arm bone. The humerus of an adult. Or perhaps the leg bone of a child.
He returned the bone to its nest of burlap, stuck the box under his arm and walked back to the house.
14
THE WHITE BALL banked off the rail and cracked the solid seven into a pocket. Berryhill straightened up, studied the table. Kyle leaned on his useless cue, muttering in some alien tongue. Hitchens watched Jim cross the threshold into the back billiards.
Jim nodded to the four men. “Boys.”
Berryhill stretched over the table, drawing his cue. “What do you know about this Corrigan asshole?”
“Not much.”
“That prick doesn’t belong here,” Hitchens said. He already looked stewed.
“Yeah,” Jim said. “And?”
“Somebody’s gotta shut him up,” said Berryhill. “Our mayor sure as hell ain’t gonna do it with her bullshit bylaws.”
Jim felt his ears burn. Like he was auditioning for a part, the four men staring him down. “She’s doing what she can.”
Puddycombe spoke up, playing the mediator to Bill’s bad cop. “We have to do something.”
“Like what?”
Kyle snickered and swept the balls into the corners. Bill laid something on the cleared table and rolled it across the felt surface to Jim.
A baseball bat.
Jim watched the Slugger bank and roll back to the center. He looked up at the men. Four wannabe Rambos.”You gotta be kidding me.”
Berryhill, at least, played the part. “Only one thing this prick is gonna understand.”
“So you’re gonna go all Dirty Harry on him?”
“We send him a message,” Puddycombe said. “That’s all. Let him know he’s not wanted here and it’s time to move on.”
Jim folded his arms. “So what do you want from me? My blessing?”
“You have to be there.” Hitchens slurred the consonants but there was acid in there.
“Not gonna happen.”
“You’re the only friend he’s got.” Berryhill took up the business end of the Louisville and held the grip end out to Jim. “You have to be there.”
It was like a bad joke but no one was laughing. “Are you outta your mind? That isn’t gonna solve anything. Except land your dumb ass in the paddy.”
Puddycombe tore a flyer stapled to a wall of notices and handed it to Jim. A handbill for the Heritage Festival. “This starts in two days. Do you want that prick spreading his bullshit lies then?”
“Get off the fence, Jimbo.” Hitchens ladled on the venom. “Us or him.”
Jim took the bat from Berryhill and gripped it with both hands. “Grow the fuck up,” he said and walked out the door.
Stepping out into the parking lot, he pitched the lumber into Puddy’s dumpster and then scanned the lot for his truck but Emma had already gone.
Kate could murder a drink right now but popping into the pub was out of the question. She’d be tarred and feathered. Locking the front doors with a bundle of work squeezed under her arm, she’d have to settle for Gator Bob’s, the only other bar on the strip. Neon flamingos and ersatz Cajun theme. School teachers and the ‘girls night out!’ crowd, but it was a two minute walk from the town hall. It would have to do. ‘Anything will fit a naked man’ her grandmother used to say.
She’d just turned the lock when footfalls rang up the steps behind her.
It was Jim. And not in a good mood either. “Did you forget something?” she said.
“We have a problem.”
Back inside, into Kate’s office. Jim had never stepped foot inside the mayor’s office before. Who has? An enormous desk and an even bigger fireplace (which worked, she assured him). Portraits hung on every wall, all stern faced men in robes and uniforms. The founders and heroes of Pennyluck township.
Defying stereotypes, Kate did not have a bottle of the good stuff hidden in her desk but councilman Thompson did and she knew in which drawer to find it. Scotch, in clean mugs from the office kitchen. Jim briefed her on the encounter in the billiards room and concluded with: “This is about to get ugly.”
“Sounds like schoolyard bravado to me,” Kate said. “Tomorrow it’ll be forgotten about.”
“If it was just Bill talking, I’d agree. But Puddy and Hitch?”
“They seriously want to run him out of town?”
He nodded. “I understand their anger. It would be better if he just went away.”
“You agree with them?”
“Am I stringing up a noose?” He didn’t mean to snap so sharp. Too late now. “I dunno why he started up with his tour again. He seemed satisfied with the inquest.” He looked at her. “When does that start anyway?”
Kate considered lying to him. Since becoming mayor, she had learned to tell half-truths and sins of omission. Came with the territory, hemmed in as she was by conflicting interests. As mayor, she couldn’t order a cup of coffee with being compromised somewhere. But this was Jim, so she fessed up. “There isn’t going to be any inquest. I was outvoted six to one.”
“Shit. Does Corrigan know that?”
“No one outside of council knows that.”
“But he’ll find out eventually. And he’ll just amp it up some more.”
More compromises. Kate set the mug down and scrounged up a pen. “What do you know about Corrigan? Any detail he told you.”
He reiterated the few facts he knew. “He can fight,” he added. “Like a street brawler. Why?”
“I know someone,” she jotted down the scant info, tossed the pad back onto the desk. “He’s good at background checks.”
“Digging up dirt?”
“I just want to know what we’re dealing with.”
Jim looked around at the portraits staring down at him. “Can’t the town just pay him off?”
“It would look like a settlement. An admission of guilt.”
“What if the town bought his property outright? Offer him enough to go away and never come back?”
“It would look the same as a settlement. Think appearances, Jim.”
Okay. Appearances. How to get the result without the town appearing to be involved. “Then let me do it,” he said. “I’ll buy Corrigan out.”
“You’re broke.”
“The treasury has money. You told me yourself there’s a slush fund for emergencies and whatnot.” She was already shaking her head but Jim kept going. “Let me talk to Corrigan. I’ll make the offer to buy his land, over the asking price. How much over, we can dither about later. One time offer, on the condition he leave town for good. He agrees, you kick in the slush fund money.”
Kate smelled a rat, surprised at his conniving. “Then you’ll own the land outright.”
“In name only. When he’s gone, we put the title back to the county. I’ll lease the land from the town, with an option to buy.”