Stephen King - Under the Dome

“In the meantime, have a couple of the officers—the regular officers—go on over to Burpee’s and confiscate the guns there. If Romeo Burpee gives the officers any grief, they’re to say we want to keep them out of the hands of Dale Barbara’s friends. Have you got that?”

“Yep.” Carter made another note. “Denton and Wettington? They okay?”

Big Jim frowned. Wettington, the gal with the big tiddies. He didn’t trust her. He wasn’t sure he would have liked any cop with tiddies, gals had no business in law enforcement, but it was more than that. It was the way she looked at him.

“Freddy Denton yes, Wettington no. Not Henry Morrison, either. Send Denton and George Frederick. Tell them to put the guns in the PD strong room.”

“Got it.”

Rennie’s phone rang, and his frown deepened. He picked it up and said, “Selectman Rennie.”

“Hello, Selectman. This is Colonel James O. Cox. I’m in charge of what’s being called the Dome Project. I thought it was time we spoke.”

Big Jim leaned back in his chair, smiling. “Well then you just go on then, Colonel, and God bless you.”

“My information is that you’ve arrested the man the President of the United States tapped to take charge of matters in Chester’s Mill.”

“That would be correct, sir. Mr. Barbara is charged with murder. Four counts. I hardly think the President would want a serial killer in charge of things. Wouldn’t do much for his standing in the polls.”

“Which puts you in charge.”

“Oh, no,” Rennie said, smiling more widely. “I’m nothing but a humble Second Selectman. Andy Sanders is the man in charge, and Peter Randolph—our new Police Chief, as you may know—was the arresting officer.”

“Your hands are clean, in other words. That’s going to be your position once the Dome is gone and the investigation starts.”

Big Jim enjoyed the frustration he heard in the cotton-picker’s voice. Pentagon son-of-a-buck was used to riding; being rode was a new experience for him.

“Why would they be dirty, Colonel Cox? Barbara’s dog tags were found with one of the victims. Can’t get much more cut-and-dried than that.”

“Convenient.”

“Call it what you want.”

“If you tune in the cable news networks,” Cox said, “you’ll see that serious questions are being raised about Barbara’s arrest, especially in light of his service record, which is exemplary. Questions are also being raised about your own record, which is not so exemplary.”

“Do you think any of that surprises me? You fellows are good at managing the news. You’ve been doing it since Vietnam.”

“CNN’s got a story about you being investigated for shady bait-and-switch practices back in the late nineties. NBC’s reporting that you were investigated for unethical loan practices in 2008. I believe you were accused of charging illegal rates of interest? Somewhere in the forty percent area? Then repo’ing cars and trucks that had already been paid for twice and sometimes three times over? Your constituents are probably seeing this on the news for themselves.”

All those charges had gone away. He had paid good money to make them go away. “The people in my town know those news shows will put on any ridiculous thing if it sells a few more tubes of hemorrhoid cream and a few more bottles of sleeping pills.”

“There’s more. According to the State of Maine Attorney General, the previous Police Chief—the one who died last Saturday—was investigating you for tax fraud, misappropriation of town funds and town property, and involvement in illegal drug activity. We have released none of this latest stuff to the press, and have no intention of doing so… if you’ll compromise. Step down as Town Selectman. Mr. Sanders should likewise step down. Name Andrea Grinnell, the Third Selectman, as the officer in charge, and Jacqueline Wettington as the President’s representative in Chester’s Mill.”

Big Jim was startled out of what remained of his good temper. “Man, are you insane? Andi Grinnell is a drug addict—hooked on OxyContin—and the Wettington woman doesn’t have a brain in her cotton-picking head!”

“I assure you that’s not true, Rennie.” No more Mister ; the Era of Good Feelings seemed to be over. “Wettington was given a citation for helping to break up an illegal drug ring operating out of the Sixty-seventh Combat Support Hospital in Würzburg, Germany, and was personally recommended by a man named Jack Reacher, the toughest goddam Army cop that ever served, in my humble opinion.”

“There’s nothing humble about you, sir, and your sacrilegious language doesn’t go down well with me. I am a Christian.”

“A drug-selling Christian, according to my information.”

“Sticks and stones may break my bones, but names will never hurt me.” Especially under the Dome, Big Jim thought, and smiled. “Do you have any actual proof?”

“Come on, Rennie—as one hardass to another, does it matter? The Dome is a bigger press event than nine-eleven. And it’s sympathetic big press. If you don’t start compromising, I’ll tar you so thick you’ll never get it off. Once the Dome breaks, I’ll see you before a Senate subcommittee, a grand jury, and in jail. I promise you that. But step down and it all goes away. I promise you that, too.”

“Once the Dome breaks,” Rennie mused. “And when will that be?”

“Maybe sooner than you think. I plan to be the first one inside, and my first order of business will be to snap handcuffs on you and escort you to an airplane which will fly you to Fort Leavenworth, Kansas, where you will be held as a guest of the United States pending trial.”

Big Jim was rendered momentarily speechless by the boldfaced audacity of this. Then he laughed.

“If you really wanted what’s best for the town, Rennie, you’d step down. Look what’s happened on your watch: six murders—two at the hospital last night, we understand—a suicide, and a food riot. You’re not up to this job.”

Big Jim’s hand closed on the gold baseball and squeezed. Carter Thibodeau was looking at him with a worried frown.

If you were here, Colonel Cox, I’d give you a taste of what I gave Coggins. With God as my witness, I would.

“Rennie?”

“I’m here.” He paused. “And you’re there.” Another pause. “And the Dome isn’t coming down. I think we both know that. Drop the biggest A-bomb you’ve got on it, render the surrounding towns uninhabitable for two hundred years, kill everybody in Chester’s Mill with the radiation if the radiation goes through, and still it won’t come down.” He was breathing fast now, but his heart was beating strong and steady in his chest. “Because the Dome is God’s will.”

Which was, in his deepest heart, what he believed. As he believed it was God’s will that he take this town and carry it through the weeks, months, and years ahead.

“What?”

“You heard me.” Knowing he was wagering everything, his entire future, on the continued existence of the Dome. Knowing some people would think he was crazy for doing so. Also knowing those people were unbelieving heathens. Like Colonel James O. Cotton-Picker Cox.

“Rennie, be reasonable. Please.”

Big Jim liked that please ; it brought his good humor back in a rush. “Let’s recap, shall we, Colonel Cox? Andy Sanders is in charge here, not me. Although I appreciate the courtesy call from such a high mucky-muck as yourself, naturally. And while I’m sure Andy will appreciate your offer to manage things—by remote control, as it were—I think I can speak for him when I say you can take your offer and tuck it away where the sun doesn’t shine. We’re on our own in here, and we’re going to handle it on our own.”