Nelson DeMille - Spencerville

Keith said nothing, and his face revealed nothing except perhaps his well-practiced mixture of mild interest and a touch of skepticism whenever the monologue got into areas of hearsay. He had a feeling he was sitting in some European cafe again, getting a pitch about something or another.

Gail continued, "He's not a nice guy, but people in town have to deal with him. Even some of the men who work for him find him brutish and offensive. Yet, in some perverse way, he can be charming. He's from the old school and tips his hat to the ladies, calls women ma'am, and he's outwardly respectful to the town fathers, clergymen, and so forth. He's even been known to pinch babies and help old ladies across the street." Gail smiled, then added, "But he also pinches waitresses' butts and helps damsels in distress out of their clothes. This guy's got a wild weasel." Gail poured the last of the jug wine into their glasses.

Keith listened to the night birds and locusts. Somehow none of this was news to him, though actually hearing it made a difference. Somewhere in the back of his mind, the place where the old-learned morality resided, was the thought that he should not be contemplating breaking up a marriage, a home, a family. He'd been involved in a lot of situations over the years that might be considered somewhat indelicate, maybe even gross and shameless, but that was then and there. This was here and now. This was home. Yet, if he believed Gail and Jeffrey, the Baxters were not entirely happy, and Mr. Baxter was a sociopath, and Mrs. Baxter needed help. Maybe.

Jeffrey said to him, "Professionally, the guy is a Neanderthal. He has a serious problem with the kids in town. Yeah, a lot of the kids dress weird, wear their hair down to their shoulders, or shave their heads, and they blast their boom boxes in the park, and hang out and all that. We did some weird shit, too. But Baxter hassles them instead of helping them. His police force has no youth officer, no school outreach program. It only has patrol cars, cops, and a jail. The town's dying, but Baxter doesn't see it. He's into law and order and not much else."

Keith commented, "Law and order is his job."

"Yeah," agreed Jeffrey, "but I'll tell you something else — he's not real good at that either. We still have low crime here, but it's starting to get worse. There are drugs now — not good grass, but hard stuff — and Baxter doesn't have a clue about where it's coming from, who's selling it, or who's buying. The nature of crimes and criminals has changed, and Baxter hasn't. We have more domestic violence, we had a few car-jackings, we had two rapes so far this year, and we had a gang who came from Toledo by car and pulled off an armed robbery at the Merchants Bank. The state police caught them, not Baxter. Anyway, the state has offered the Spencerville force advanced training, but it's not mandated, so Baxter blew them off. He doesn't want anyone knowing how inept or corrupt he and his gestapo are."

Keith didn't respond. In fact, he'd been charitable enough to think that maybe Cliff Baxter was a tough but effective cop. A lousy human being but a good chief, dedicated to public safety. On the other hand, the incident in the supermarket parking lot and the police car drive-bys had already told him he was dealing with a corrupt police force.

Jeffrey went on, "Baxter blames drugs for this mini crime wave, and he's partly right. But he also blames the schools, parents, television, MTV, movies, music, video arcades, smut magazines, and all that. Okay, maybe some of this is true, but he doesn't see the relationship between crime and unemployment, and teenage boredom, and lack of opportunities, and lack of stimulation."

Keith commented, "Jeffrey, when has small-town America been any different? Maybe a tough police force is just what's needed. Look, maybe progressive solutions could work in the cities, but this is not Columbus or Cleveland, my friend. Here we need small-town solutions to small-town problems, and you guys need a reality check."

Gail said, "Okay, we're open to reality. We're not the wild-eyed ideologues we used to be. But the problem remains the same." She asked him, "Do you care?"

Keith thought a moment, then replied, "Yes, it's my hometown. I thought maybe things hadn't changed much, and I could find some peace and quiet here, but I see you two aren't going to let me go fishing."

Gail smiled and said, "Old revolutionaries don't fade away like old soldiers, Keith. They just find a new cause."

"So I see."

Gail continued, "We think Baxter is vulnerable, that he's developed some career problems which we want to exploit."

"Maybe he just needs counseling and sensitivity training. That's what progressives like yourselves offer criminals. Why not cops?"

Gail said to Keith, "I know you're baiting us, and you're good at it, but I also know you're an intelligent man. You know, or you're soon going to find out, that Cliff Baxter is beyond salvation, professionally, spiritually, or otherwise. Christ, he knows that. And he's getting nervous, like a trapped rat, and that makes him more dangerous."

Keith nodded and thought, And certainly not a better husband.

Gail said, "We think it's time to get him fired. We need a moral victory, something to galvanize public opinion." She added, "Keith, with your background..."

He interrupted, "You don't know my background. Whatever I told you doesn't leave this house."

Gail nodded. "All right. With your intelligence, wit, and charm, you can help us. We'd like you to join us."

"Who is us?"

"Just a group of reformers."

"Do I have to become a Democrat?"

Jeffrey laughed. "God, no. We have no party affiliation. We have people from all parties and all classes. We have ministers, businesspeople, schoolteachers, farmers, housewives — hell, we've got most of Annie's family with us."

"Is that a fact? I wonder what Thanksgiving dinner is like at the Baxters?"

Jeffrey said, "Like a lot of our supporters, they haven't gone public yet." Jeffrey asked, "Can we count on you?"

"Well..." In truth, Keith had his own grudge against Cliff Baxter, which was that he was married to Annie Baxter. Keith said, "Well... I'm not sure I'm staying around."

Jeffrey observed, "I had the impression you were."

"I'm not sure."

Gail said, "We're not asking you to meet him on Main Street at high noon for a duel. Just say you're in favor of getting rid of him."

"Okay, In principle, I'm in favor of getting rid of any corrupt public official."

"Good. That's Cliff Baxter. There's a meeting next week, Thursday night, at St. James Church. You know it?"

"Yes, it's my old church. Why are you meeting outside of town?"

"People don't want to be seen at this meeting, Keith. You understand that."

"Indeed I do. But you may be overdoing the revolutionary melodrama. This is America. Use the damned town hall. That's your right."

"Can't. Not yet."

Keith wondered how much of this was the Porters trying to recapture the romance of revolution and how much was real anxiety and fear. Keith said, "I'll think about being there."

"Good. More pie? Tea?"

"No, thanks. Time to hit the road."

"It's early," Gail said. "None of us has shit to do tomorrow." She stood, and Keith thought she was going to clear the table, so he stood, too, and picked up his plate and glass.

Gail said, "Leave that. We're still pigs." She took his arm and led him into the living room.

Jeffrey followed, carrying a potpourri jar. He said, "The dinner was superb, the conversation stimulating, and now we retire into the drawing room for a postprandial smoke."

Gail lit two incense lamps and two scented candles in the dark room. Jeffrey sat cross-legged on the floor in front of the coffee table, and, by the light of one of the candles, he transferred the contents of the potpourri jar into rolling papers that he'd spread out on the low table.