Tim McGregor - Killing Down the Roman Line

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.”

“Jesus, Jim. That’s wrong in so many ways. Not to mention illegal.”

“But it’s clever,” he said. “Bloodless even. And our friend Mister Corrigan goes away for good.”

“I thought you liked him?”

“I just want to keep the peace.” It was only a half-lie. He really did want to prevent something stupid from happening but there was something more now, a chance to improve his odds.

“No. It’s too risky,” she said. “It could backfire on us so easily.”

“Think about it. Okay?”

Kate gathered up her things. “Okay, but I’m not going to change my mind. Let’s get out of here.”

Jim set his cup on the desk. “Any chance you’re driving past the Roman Line?”

6:00 AM the next business day, Kate’s car was the first into the parking lot. Not her usual routine, this early start, but the office would be deserted for the next two hours. The phones silent. A rare chance to clear the backlog of work killing her inbox.

First order of business was finalizing the new bylaw forbidding anyone from turning a place of residence into a tourist attraction. A few tweaks of the wording and it was ready to go. Since the entire council had agreed to it, there was no need to wait until next session to pass it. She’d get Keith to drive it around to the member’s homes for them to sign. By end of business day, the bylaw would be passed and tomorrow, enforced. She’d deliver the writ to Corrigan herself. After that, Mr. Corrigan would have to fold up his snake-oil tent or pay the fine. Three large.

All of the council members raised an eyebrow at the fine she’d proposed. Frugal men all, some dangerously close to being mistaken for Scots in their tight-fistedness. McGrath and Thompson had openly objected to the amount and Kate suspected both men had plans to build some future tourist trap on their property. She wouldn’t be swayed. Hit ‘em hard and hit ‘em deep. Offenders would grumble and whine and then ultimately toe the line.

With that accomplished, Kate got busy chipping at her to-do list with a murderous intensity until eight o’ clock when the staff rolled in with their obligatory cups of Timmy Ho’s. Keith arrived with a tray of them and brought Kate hers as he did every morning, God bless him.

Kate popped the plastic lid and closed her door. Found the number in last year’s daytimer and dialled a Toronto prefix.