Nelson DeMille - Spencerville

"Yeah? A friend who stayed up late to call you, or a friend who got up early to call you?"

"Uh... this morning..."

"Yeah? Friend couldn't be named Mrs. Coleman, could it?"

Chet Coleman didn't respond to that, but he didn't have to.

Baxter said, "You know, Chet, this whole goddamned country is getting out of control. You know why? Pussies. When the men can't control the pussies, you might as well kiss the whole country goodbye."

"Yeah... well, there were a lot of men there, too, and from what I hear..."

"Let me give you some advice, Mr. Councilman. If your wife winds up on the wrong side of this thing, it ain't gonna look good for you in November, and it ain't gonna look good for your business ever." Baxter stood, threw a few dollars on the table, and left.

It was eight forty-five A.M. now, and there were cars and people on Main Street, not as many as there'd been twenty years ago at this hour, but enough so that Cliff Baxter felt like he was walking through his domain, greeting his subjects like a prince who'd stepped out of the palace to check out the mood of the populace. Most people seemed their usual selves, but now and then someone seemed to be avoiding him or looking at him funny.

Cliff Baxter stopped and spoke to a few citizens, shook a lot of hands, chatted with shopkeepers opening for business, tipped his hat to women, and even walked old Mrs. Graham across the street.

He lingered in front of police headquarters awhile and greeted everyone who walked by, calling most of them by name, joking with Oliver Grebbs, the bank president, about Oliver embezzling money to keep a mistress and both of them knowing the embezzlement was a joke, but the mistress wasn't.

He looked across the street at the courthouse where the city employees were walking through the park to go to work. At some point today or tomorrow, he knew, he'd have to go see the mayor.

Cliff Baxter couldn't get a sense of how the wind was blowing this morning, but he had the feeling that it was like an early north wind, gentle at first, almost imperceptible, so that it took a while to realize the warm west wind wasn't blowing anymore. In fact, it was calm, quiet, and only a few people noticed that the wind had changed direction.

Police Chief Baxter turned and went into police headquarters, where Sergeant Blake, at the front desk, greeted him with forced nonchalance.

Baxter walked into the inner office and said to Ward, "We ride at ten."

Baxter went into his office and closed the door. He went to the window and looked out at Main Street, the park, the courthouse, his world. A lesser man, he told himself, would be worried. But he felt he had his hands around enough prominent balls to hang on. But if he couldn't hang on, he'd take a whole lot of people down with him, starting with the short list on his desk and moving on to the longer list in his files.

In a way, he associated all this bad shit with the arrival of Keith Landry, though he knew this had been brewing a long time. Still, if he could get rid of Landry, at least one of his problems would be out of the way. Then he'd go for Gail Porter, not to mention Sherry Kolarik, the bitch, and Mary Aries, and any other women who thought they had more balls than Cliff Baxter. Then he'd go for the men if he had to. Basically, people frightened easily, he knew; there were no heroes left, only cowards who sometimes got together and thought they were heroes. He didn't think he had to kill anybody, only frighten them half to death — and if you frightened somebody half to death, twice, they were a hundred percent frightened to death.

Keith woke at seven A.M., and the first thing on his mind was Annie.

Things were a little more clear now: They had made love, they were in love. He wasn't leaving. He wanted to stay, to make a life here with her, sit on the front porch with her and watch the sun go down.

But he knew she wouldn't stay if Cliff Baxter was still here, and she really didn't want her husband dead now that she had another option. But that option was to run off together, and Keith didn't want to run.

He lay, staring at the ceiling. It took him a while to realize he smelled her scent on the sheets.

It was a warm day, and he worked in the barn bare-chested. He wondered when and how they'd meet again, when they could make love again. He realized that he could take her away with probably no more than a few days' notice, and all this worry and fear would be behind them. They could be in Paris in less than a week. He wondered if she had a passport. No problem. He could get one for her within twenty-four hours. There were people who owed him favors.

Then, after a year or so, he would come back to Spencerville on his own and, if Baxter was still around, they should be able to settle matters at that point without bloodshed. Then Annie and he could return as husband and wife. "Good solution. Done."

At about quarter past ten, he heard a vehicle crunching over the gravel and went out through the barn doors.

Sitting in his driveway was a blue and white police car, and on its door was painted the gold shield of the chief of police.

The car was between him and the house, and Keith had no weapon with him. The driver of the car spotted him, and the car turned across the farmyard and came toward him. It stopped about thirty feet away, and he could see two men in the front seat. The passenger door opened, a beefy man in tans, wearing mirrored sunglasses and a Smokey Bear hat, got out and came toward him.

Keith walked toward the man, who he saw was indeed Cliff Baxter. They stopped a few feet from each other and stared.

Keith's eyes went to the car, and he saw that the driver had gotten out. It was Officer Ward, but Ward didn't move, just stood near the car, watching.

Keith looked back at Baxter. He recognized him after nearly thirty years and saw that, despite the potbelly, the man was still good looking and still had the same sneer.

Keith studied the man's face, but, with the sunglasses and the wide-brimmed hat casting a shadow on his features, Keith couldn't determine the man's exact mood or intentions, or if Baxter knew anything about last night. Keith found he was worrying about Annie and not himself. Keith said, "I was starting to think you wouldn't come."

Baxter's mouth twitched, and he didn't respond, but kept staring through his glasses. Finally, he said, "I don't like you."

"That's good."

"Never did."

"I know that." He looked over Baxter's shoulder at Ward, who was now sitting on the hood of the car, smiling.

Baxter said, "Never will."

Keith said to him, "It's very rude to wear sunglasses when you're speaking to someone."

"Fuck you."

"Hey, Chief, you're what they call trespassing unless you have an official reason to be here."

Cliff Baxter glanced over his shoulder at Ward, then stepped closer to Keith and said, "You're a fucking asshole."

"Get off my property."

"Why're you here?"

"This is my home."

"Like hell it is. You don't belong here."

"Chief, I've got six generations of my people buried in this county. Don't tell me I don't belong here."

"You're gonna get buried in this county, sooner than you think."

Keith took a step forward so that they were face-to-face. He said, "Are you threatening me?"

"Back off or I'll kill you." He put his hand on his pistol, and Keith could see Ward slide off the hood of the car and reach for his gun.

Keith took a deep breath, then took a step back.

Baxter smiled. "You're not as stupid as you look."

Keith got himself under control and said, "Say your piece, Cliff, and leave."

Baxter obviously didn't like the use of his first name and all that it implied. He took his glasses off and stared at Keith a long time. Finally, he said, "You're fucking with my boys."