Росс Томас - The Fools in Town Are on Our Side

The three television stations were represented, as were five or six radio stations. The two newspapers had sent reporters and photographers. There was a handful of ranking police officials and one of them was the captain who had been playing poker a few afternoons before at the table next to Necessary and me.

The seven city councilmen were already in their seats when I arrived. The three who composed what passed for the loyal opposition were middle-aged, mild-mannered men who smiled a lot, wore sensible suits, and favored rimless glasses. The four who belonged to Lynch’s crowd seemed heavier and jowlier, liked cigars, and twisted around in their chairs to wave at friends and acquaintances. Fred Merriweather, big-jawed and stupid-eyed and owner of The Easy Alibi bar, covered all bets and even waved at me. I waved back. He was the only one on the council whom I knew.

All of the ones that I had met that first day in Lynch’s house were in the room, with the exception of Cal Loambaugh. Ancel Carp, the city tax assessor and surveyor, sat next to Lynch, looking as outdoorsy as ever. On the other side of Lynch was Alex Couturier, executive secretary of the Chamber of Commerce, who wore a big, pleased smile on his face, but that meant nothing because he never wore anything else.

Channing d’Arcy Phetwick III crept in with the aid of his cane, surveyed the room through his thick-lensed glasses, spotted me and came over and sat down at my left. “I understand this was all your idea, Mr. Dye,” he whispered. Before I could say that it wasn’t quite all mine, he whispered, “Splendid. Perfectly splendid.”

Homer Necessary sat in the first row of the tier of seats directly behind the mayor and I found myself wondering if he had called his wife about his new job.

Mayor Pierre (Pete) Robineaux picked up a gavel and tapped it apologetically against the table. The councilmen quit waving their arms and gossiping. The small crowd did the usual amount of coughing and throat-clearing. The mayor said, “This special session of the Swankerton City Council is now convened. Good to see y’all. Our first order of business is the resignation of Calvin Loambaugh as chief of police. I’ve sent you all copies of it, so we can dispense with its reading. Is there any discussion?”

He waited, but nobody said anything. After almost a full minute Fred Merriweather stuck up a big hand and said, “I move we accept it.” Somebody else seconded the motion, the mayor called for the ayes and then for the nays, and Cal Loambaugh was out of a job.

“Now before we go into the second order of business I’d like to make a few personal remarks, if nobody objects,” the mayor said. Nobody did, so he said, “Chief Loambaugh’s resignation came as a surprise to all of us, I know. Now my first thought was, where in the world are we gonna find somebody of high calibre, competence, and experience to take his place, and then how in the good Lord’s name, if we do find a man like that, are we gonna find enough money to pay him?” He waited for his laugh and he got it.

“Well, the good Lord smiled down on us. That’s all I can say. Because right after I got the bad news about Chief Loambaugh’s resignation, I got some good news. I learned that there was a man right here in Swankerton on private business who’s generally acknowledged as one of the top law enforcement officers in the whole United States. And not only that, but I learned that although he was mighty successful in private industry, he just might be interested in getting back into his first love.” That brought a titter from the press, if from no one else.

“Well, sir, I didn’t let any grass grow under my feet, so to speak. I contacted this man and asked him to come see me and when he did, I laid my cards on the table. We talked man to man and heart to heart. We discussed Swankerton’s law-and-order problems and I liked what he had to say. Now this man knows police work. He should because he was chief of police of a city larger than Swankerton when he was twenty-seven years old. Think about that. Twenty-seven. Course, he’s a bit older now, but still in his prime. We talked money, too, and I don’t mind telling you that I was downright embarrassed when I had to tell him what we could offer. I bet I even blushed some. Well, he said he understood our problems, but he also said that he’s a great one for merit increases. So I took the bull by the horns and said I’m going to offer you the job as chief of police, providing the City Council will go along, of course, and what’s more I’m going to recommend that we raise the salary of that job up to fifteen thousand dollars a year where it should be. So now I formally recommend to you, the City Council of the City of Swankerton, that we hereby employ Mr. Homer Fairbanks Necessary as chief of police. The meeting is now open for discussion.”

Fred Merriweather was the first to stick up a hand. “Your honor, do you think we might ask Mr. Necessary some questions?”

“That’s why he’s here, Fred,” Robineaux said. He turned in his chair and beckoned at Necessary. “Mr. Necessary, you might be more comfortable sitting up here by me.”

Necessary rose, walked over to the chair that the mayor had indicated, and settled himself into it. He wore the easy, attentive expression of an expert about to be questioned by amateurs. I decided that it wasn’t the first time that Homer Necessary had appeared before a board of inquiry.

Merriweather leaned forward in his chair. “Mr. Necessary, why did you leave police work?”

“To make money.”

“And have you?”

“Yes. I have.”

“May I ask how much your present salary is?”

“You can ask, but I won’t answer. I think that is privileged information and I have high respect for the privacy of the individual.”

“Could I safely say that your present salary is higher — much higher — than what you’d earn as Swankerton’s chief of police?”

“Yes.”

“I know I’m interested in the answer to my next question and I guess most of us are. What I’d like to know is if you’re making a real good living now, then why do you want to get back into something that doesn’t pay half or even a third as much?” Merriweather looked around the table at his fellow councilmen. A couple of them nodded. “Now that’s what I’d like to hear from you.”

Necessary didn’t hesitate. “Because I know police work, because I’m good at it, and because I like it. It’s my profession. I’m a cop, and without bragging, I think I’m a good one. I also think the salaries paid policemen are a disgrace and if I’m appointed Swankerton’s chief of police, then you’re going to get sick of seeing me right in this room arguing for higher pay for police and that means from the newest rookie right on up to the top, and the top includes the chief of police.” It was a small joke and it got a small laugh.

There were some more questions, perfunctory ones, which Necessary answered with short paragraphs or shorter sentences. When he thought a single word would do, it did. The last question came from Merriweather and I suspected that Lynch had told him to ask it.

“If you’re appointed chief, Mr. Necessary, what changes do you foresee under your administration?”

“None.”

“None?”

“That’s right. You asked what I foresee. I don’t foresee any changes. I don’t condemn or condone what’s gone before because I haven’t studied it. When I have made a thorough study of it and get to know the men, there’ll be some changes, but I’m not prepared to say right now what they’ll be. But there is one thing that’s got to be made clear. If I think changes are needed, administrative changes, then I’ll make them. I plan to run the Swankerton Police Department. If you don’t want me to run it the way I see fit, then you’d better find somebody else. I intend to run an honest, efficient department. Law-abiding citizens will like it. The only ones who won’t are the crooks and the thieves.”