George Higgins - A change of gravity

Things don't always stay the same, the way we're used to and they've always been. At least that's what I'm starting to think. This could be a true fact; that we may be starting to find out what we've got on our hands now may not be something we're used to. And wed be a whole lot better off if we came to grips with it right off, started dealing with it. Things may now be very different. I think maybe we have to realize that."

He paused and moistened his lips, gazing at Merrion as though expecting him to say something. Merrion frowned and shook his head. He said nothing.

Hilliard cleared his throat. "Well, ah," he said 'one reason I'm late … well, the reason I'm late is the reason I told you. I hadda go over Bell Woods. But I wasn't sorry, it made me be late. It gave me some time to think. I'm seeing some stuff going on that I'm not sure I like. And I'm not sure what we do about it. I wanted to think, before I saw you, about what it is that we should do about this shit."

"Dan," Merrion said, 'you're making me nervous here. I'm starting to get very nervous."

"Yeah, I know what you mean," Hilliard said, looking worried and licking his lips. "That's what I mean, I was trying to say. I'm a little uneasy myself."

"I doubt Larry Lane'd recognize the clerk's job you described to me,"

Hilliard said in the High Street office, a week deeper into the spring of '66. "If he did, he'd never admit it. My guess is he'd tell you he's never seen one like it in Canterbury. Mere suggestion'd give him palpitations."

"He's making trouble?" Merrion said. "Who's he think he is, chief clerk or something?"

"I haven't talked to him directly," Hilliard said. "I saw Chassy Spring at the spring Hampden County Bar Association hoedown over at the old Worthy. I thought it might be a good chance to sort of sound him out about having you come in. He was not enthusiastic. He said he wouldn't stand in the way if I told him that's what I wanted, but he also said Lane hasn't given him any indication his two-man staffs overworked."

"There's a job open, though," Merrion said. "Like I said: I already checked that out, long time ago. Canterbury's authorized for three, three assistant clerks, Chapter Two-eighteen, Section Ten. There's only two there now, two assistant clerks so that means they need one more."

"Well," Hilliard said, "I'm not sure that follows. They may have room for one more, but that doesn't mean they need one. Maybe Lane's a thrifty manager, conscientious public servant, saving a dollar or two the taxpayers' money here and there if he can, and he finds he can get by with two assistants. One of whom, incidentally, Spring says Lane doesn't like at all. Some protege of Roy Carnes's; Hammond, I think his name is. But what if we brace Lane and he says two assistants're a quorum? What do we do then?"

"Since when did that ever matter?" Merrion said. "When a chairman on Counties not to mention mine's also on Ways and Means and Judiciary too has a friend and the buddy wants a job and the job he wants is open, when did it ever matter whether anyone else wanted it filled? Even if the guy dragging his feet was the guy in charge the office when did that start to matter?"

"Oh, I couldn't give you the original example," Hilliard said, 'but I can tell you what the situation probably was. The guy in charge didn't want the vacancy filled. From the outside you never know what's going on inside courthouses. The people who're in them think of them as their private domains. Statute may say there's room for someone new, but that'll mean that someone they don't know'll then be learning all their business. Maybe they've got something going on they don't want publicized.

"Or someone in the courthouse, the judge or the clerk himself, is saving the slot until someone gets out of the army or finishes school.

Or the clerk reaches retirement age, which'll mean the guy he's hand-picked to succeed him'll be free to hire two new assistants. One of them being actually qualified; the other one being the retiring guy's bastard child by the fence-viewer's wife.

"You get the idea: one of the new guys would be someone he could not appoint himself, because it might not've looked right. Might've smacked of nepotism, started no end of loose talk — but if the guy succeeding him's the guy making the appointment, then it'll be perfectly kosher. The incoming chief clerk signs the bastard's paper, in order to get his own job.

"That's very often what the situation is, we find," Hilliard said. "And as soon as the Counties chairman sees that's what it is, the maximum heat he or anybody else outside the governor, of course can put on the guy who's set up the swap drops about fifty degrees. Technically, yeah, the chairman could probably make a demand; plant his feet and say "I want this done and I want it done now, and until it is you get no funding." He could do it once. But he'd be a fool if he did. He'd have to know once he's thrown his weight around like that, he'll never get anything else. He represents a client there, he'll have to wear a bulletproof-vest to make a safe trip to the bathroom.

"People don't like guys who threaten them. You put yourself in a position where you've got to be able to get a guy's job if he doesn't do what you want, you're not going to get many things done. You think you can get a clerk fired if he wont lose a ticket for you? Not likely. And even if you could, there'd still be a limit on how many guys you could get fired before you made enough people mad enough at you to get together and see if they couldn't get you. People rebelling like that, pretty soon you can't get anything done. All you've got're guys chasin' around, rantin' and ravin' all over the place, trying to pay off their grudges. That's counterproductive. You want things to be the way most people like them: everything peaceful, and calm.

"The system depends on nobody's toes getting stepped-on. Everyone gets what he wants. It begins to look like there may not be enough jobs to go so that everyone who wants someone to get one can get taken care of; well then, what we do is get together and we talk. See if maybe we can work something out. Chances are we can see our way clear to agree that the money can be found, if we all look hard enough, and therefore we can go ahead and create a few more of those very popular jobs.

"To be given, of course, only to people who'll be grateful after they get them: don't leave that out. Because in the future there's probably going to be a way for them to express their thanks that they are without makin' a lot of fuckin' noise and commotion about doin' it. By maybe holding a slot for us when two or three open up in their office.

It's more beneficial for everyone that way, everyone getting along."

"Yeah," Merrion said. "Well, okay, but I don't think that's what's going on in the Canterbury court-clerk's office now, that's short one clerk. Judge Spring; you told me once he's got two kids, and both of them're now big high-powered lawyers someplace. One is down in Boston and the other's someplace else?"

"Right," Hilliard said. "One of Chassy's boys, I forget the kid's name now, but I know he's very large in one of the big firms in Boston. The other one, I think, went to New York very high up in the financial world, some outfit that underwrites bonds. Both making about a ton of money; bucks coming in hand over fist."

"So they're outta my picture," Merrion said. "They're not leavin' jobs like that to come back here and take this job I want they're both fryin' much bigger fish."

"That seems about right," Hilliard said. He smiled. "Be interesting to know how Chass really feels about that: both of his kids doing so well. Proud, of course, naturally; you'd assume that. But maybe kind of envious too? That maybe if he'd done something like that himself; gone out into the big world and made a huge mark of his own. Instead he plays it safe and comes back here; practices law, sends out calendars and Christmas cards every year, until the finale, he becomes the judge next town over. This's not what you call your big finish.