Something Bad (29 page)

T
HE NIGHT OF
the town meeting was warm—hot in the nearly full auditorium. Gabe looked down at his watch. As usual, no one was on time. They were all there at least five minutes early.

Gabe surveyed the room again. The pre-meeting attitude seemed to be anticipation, which was manifest in several ways among the various individuals. To his left, a group used their nervous energy to catch up with or propagate tidbits of gossip of various denominations. Laughing a few rows to the front sounded forced. Necks craned, presumably to get a good look at Thibideaux, as if a head-to-toe scan would give them a hint about his moral fiber. He thought he saw several people flirting, some directly between two individuals, a form of hand-to-hand flirting. Some, more long range utilizing cruise missile winks and smart bomb smiles. Nearly all female residents took a minute to come over and congratulate Deena Lee on her marriage and to ogle little Cory Dean. As the nervous energy increased, the din in the auditorium built to an all out commotion.

At eight o’clock on the nose, Wes Worthing stood and walked to the podium. He tapped the microphone with the knuckle of his right index finger the required three times and leaned forward, causing the device to squeal. “Can I have your attention?”

Gabe smiled and shook his head. Wes was such an imposing figure, both physically and ethically, he could issue one such statement to accomplish what it would take others three or four tries to pull off.

Everyone turned to face the front and straightened in their seats, and Wes pulled a folded paper from his shirt pocket and opened it a little too close to the active microphone, which objected to the trespass. He leaned forward, but this time not close enough to displease the electronic whiner.

“I’d like to call this meeting to order. I’ll start with some announcements. Then, since we don’t have any old business, I’ll just go right on to the new business and the reason for calling this meeting.” Wes adjusted the paper on the podium.

“This Friday’ll be the spaghetti feed to benefit the clinic’s program for the uninsured. It’s potluck, so you’ll have to bring either a side dish or a dessert. Doc’ll have the clinic parking lot set up early, but he could use some help getting it rolling. See him after if you can lend a hand.”

Gabe looked at Doc and smiled. Wanna sat next to him.

“Next Saturday’ll be the Women’s Relief Society bake sale, but they’ll also have some of their quilts up for offering. That’ll be in the church side yard. And, don’t forget, next Friday night, right here at Boyston High’ll be the first football game of the year, against Calhoun … Go Badgers!”

The improvisation produced a variety of supportive yells and exclamations, one of which was uttered louder than intended by someone in the back part of the auditorium, and included a somewhat vulgar suggestion about where Calhoun High could go and what it could do when it got there. This created a 40-40 mix of dirty looks and laughs, with the other 20 seconding the motion.

Wes resumed order: “Does anyone have any other announcements?”

Don Monroe, the resident handyman, shot his arm in the air and stood when acknowledged. “As many of you know, Gabe and Deena Lee was married recently and took home a tiny package all at the same time. Gabe is always helping others without wanting notice, and I have it on good word he’s fixing to make an apartment out of his attic room for Wanna. As a thank you to Gabe, and congratulations to him and Deena Lee, I’m heading over first thing this Thursday to help him get the plumbing and electrical fixed up for the place. I’d like to invite all others to come and help with the remodeling. Maybe we can get Wanna a place to be proud of in a couple days.”

The room reverberated with commitment.

Gabe smiled with one of those stomach-wrenching feelings of happiness that nearly bring men to tears. He turned, mouthed a thank you to Don and the others, looked at the floor, and counted his blessings. For a few moments, he forgot his plan to challenge Thibideaux. When the thought returned, he forced himself to mentally rehearse his diatribe to make sure he wouldn’t forget anything.

The plan required that very little information be forwarded that would be meaningful to anyone but Thibideaux, to spare the residents of the details. He didn’t know much about Thibideaux’s organization, so his inquiry would be a bluff, but Thibideaux wouldn’t know that. He silently repeated his opening question one more time. “Mr. Thibideaux, I’ve just had the pleasure of a long talk with an old friend of yours, Father Costello. He’s told me a great deal about you, and about someone you know quite well, Ernest Hughes. I suspect your business in these parts is similar to what the good Father explained, and not what you’ve given us here tonight. Would you mind giving us your thoughts on that?” He planned to wing it after that.

The goal was to plant a seed of distrust and instill some fear in the minds of the residents. The seed was that Thibideaux was up to something other than whatever he was planning to discuss. The fear was through the linkage of Thibideaux and Father Costello, who was still in the minds and imaginations of the people of the Tri-counties. Father Costello was a tangible evil to the locals, so a linkage would bring suspicion onto

Thibideaux. Best of all, Gabe wouldn’t have to reveal any detailed information, which he didn’t have yet anyway.

The best outcome of the challenge, in Gabe’s mind, would be to scare Thibideaux away from the area without completion of his job. The worst would be no change in the situation, in which case, Gabe would have to follow through with the plan to get the notes and Bible from the rectory bathroom and return to Chicago. Gabe’s optimistic glass was three-quarters full.

Wes’ voice brought Gabe back to the auditorium. “Are there any other announcements?” With the room silent, Wes continued. “As you may know, this meeting’s been called so Mr. A. Jackson Thibideaux of New Orleans can give us some information that’s important to us all, and to our future. Since I don’t know what this is all about, I’ll just turn the meeting over to Mr. Thibideaux. He’ll give us a talk first, then he’ll be willing to answer questions. Mr. Thibideaux …”

The silence in the room allowed a third-row stomach growl to echo throughout the auditorium. Not a single head turned in its direction.

Thibideaux rose to his feet and shuffled toward the podium. To Gabe, his movements presented a contrast in appearances. His short-stepping, stiff-backed ambling projected an image of meekness, even disadvantage, while his erect head and positive countenance portrayed the opposite—a somewhat subtle confidence.

Gabe felt the anticipation in the auditorium settle like a dense fog, and it was enhanced by Thibideaux’s slow-motion navigation of the stage and his deliberate approach to the podium.

Thibideaux reached for the ill-tempered microphone but it was too tall for him. The gooseneck holder twisted in his grasp, but sprung upward before he could grab the mike. He stood on tip-does and grabbed the neck, closer to the mike this time, but once again, it sprung away.

Whispers and giggles pulsed in the squirming audience.

Thibideaux grabbed the contrary appliance and wrestled it out of its holder, and it announced its capture with an ear-piercing scream. He silenced the mike with a tight strangle hold on its neck as he shuffled to the front of the stage. His voice was confident, striking a decisive blow in Gabe’s earlier contrast of his appearance.

“Good evening to all residents of the Tri-counties, and thank you for taking your valuable time to hear what I have to say to you on this lovely Fall evening. As you may know, I’ve been working in your midst for the last several months and I would like to provide the results of this work, and to illuminate the grounds for this effort. If you please, I’d like to ask that you hold all questions until I’ve finished my entire report, since an early question may be answered later in the presentation. At the conclusion, I’ll be happy to answer all questions to the best of my ability. I won’t take a great deal of your time, so I won’t go into every detail.” He scanned the audience.

Gabe looked around the room. All he saw was a sea of attentive faces that was absent riptides or other forms of turbulence.

“For some time now, the State has been considering construction of a divided highway connection between the two north-south interstates that run on either side of your fine state. Several factors are important for the placement of such a connection. The two most important are its position relative to similar shunts to the north and south, and its expense, which is related to the shortest route that avoids all unsuitable terrain. I’ve been retained to investigate the suitability of a course that would pass through the Tri-counties, and specifically to estimate its cost in both dollars and construction time.

“To summarize what is presented in a rather lengthy report, I’m suggesting that a proposed route that runs through the Tri-counties is a viable option for such a highway. I’ve determined that a corridor roughly midway between State Route 27 and the southern edge of the swamp has the following attributes that make it an attractive possibility. First, it’s nearly equal in distance from the closest shunts to the north and south. Second, the proposed route could be constructed in nearly a straight line between the two interstates without the need to alter its path around geological irregularities. Finally, the terrain along this route is free of obstacles that would require special construction methods.” He paused and scanned the audience again.

“This is a good news and bad news situation. However, I think nearly everyone here will agree with me, the good greatly outweighs the bad. Please speak up at the conclusion of this presentation if you don’t agree.

“The good news is the roadway will have to cut through a number of farms. The State will negotiate for the purchase of the land, and in the past, prices paid for such land have been very generous. It’s not my place to participate in these negotiations, although I have included some estimates in my report that are higher than the current net worth of the land. Unfortunately, I won’t discuss these estimates today, or any other day, since they must be submitted without input of the local populace. Now for the bad news, which starts exactly the same way as the good. The new highway will cut through a number of farms. This will create logistical challenges for the farmers in terms of working the land. This is not a major problem, as the submitted plan includes ways to deal with these challenges, which we can discuss in the question and answer period.”

A few coughs and throat-clearings broke the silence. Gabe noticed the wiggling of a few small children.

“With all of this news thrust upon you at once, I must caution you that my work constitutes a preliminary report only. The highway itself is not a certainty, and it’s difficult for me to properly read the collective mind of the State Legislature. For that reason, I must emphasize that it’s premature for you to get your hopes up right now. Also, even if the State is serious about constructing a highway shunt, my report doesn’t guarantee that the route proposed in the report will be selected. The competition is likely to be fierce, since a shunt will have positive effects on the economy of the selected counties. Also, while the fate of the Tri-county route’s position in this competition is dependent upon my report, keep in mind that it is only a preliminary report. In most cases, the State conducts a follow-up investigation after an initial list of finalists is determined. As a final positive note, I will say with confidence, based on my experience in these matters, that the Tri-county route is most certain to make that final list. And, while ultimate State decisions are sometimes capricious, I will stake my reputation on my intuition, which suggests to me that the Tri-counties has an excellent chance to come out on top of the competition.

“Now, if I can have the screen lowered and the lights dimmed, I have some graphics that will help you better conceptualize the route I am forwarding as the best.”

Thibideaux half-stepped over to an overhead projector and reached for a manila folder of transparencies. Over the next fifteen minutes, he presented a series of photos, maps, and copies of surveyor land plats that showed, in detail, a corridor of potential highway land and the farms through which it would pass. The polished presentation started with a series of LandSat photos of the area that gradually homed in on the Tri-counties, and then gave way to aerial photographs that were coordinated with the maps and plats. He concluded his visual display with a hint of a grin.

Wes Worthing walked to Thibideaux’s side, dwarfing him, and took the microphone, which let out a whimper of relief. “I think we should all give a round of applause to Mr. Thibideaux for all the work he’s done, and for the report he’ll submit.”

Gabe thought the response was polite but not quite enthusiastic.

Thibideaux gave a slight nod of his head.

“I’m sure some of you will have questions and Mr. Thibideaux has agreed to answer them up,” Wes said. “So please keep order as the questions are asked and answered. If anyone needs to go, do it now before we get going again.”

No one moved.

Wes surveyed the group and handed the microphone back to Thibideaux.

“Yes, I will be happy to entertain questions, but I may be limited in what I can say on some subjects. Also, please note that the exact route I’ve described is not negotiable. It will appear in my report exactly as I have described it, although the State could alter it at a later date. Now, if you have questions, please raise your hand.”

Gabe looked around. About a half-dozen hands rose at once, and he raised his to keep pace. He watched Thibideaux scan the hands, and he thought the little man’s gaze stopped at his raised paw for an instant before moving on to the next one.

The first question was predictable, from the far right of the auditorium. “For a betting man, what’d you guess are the chances of getting this thing done?”

Thibideaux shuffled along the stage until he was centered above the questioner. “As I said before, I would never bet on the decisions of a State Legislature. However, I feel the route through the Tri-counties should be given odds that are as close to even as any other route that’s being considered.” He nodded to the next hand.