Dog Bites Man (25 page)

"I'd meet earlier," the governor explained, "but I'm off on a camping trip to Schroon Lake—assuming that piece of junk they make me fly in can get to the Adirondacks—and I'm not coming back until first thing Monday morning." She reminded Raifeartaigh to write a reimbursement check to the state for the trip; it was a private one, though she said that the state should pay her money for riding in the rickety executive plane.

Now they were back in her office. As expected, Mudson confirmed Sheila Baine's legal research.

The governor, scratching at some ugly bites on her legs—"Why didn't they tell me there would still be blackflies in the sticks in October?" she grumbled—informed her trio of listeners that she still hadn't made up her mind what to do about removing Eldon.

"I'm tempted, that's for sure. Having Putter Payne in there would be perfect. But could I get away with it?"

While the governor had been pondering the issue in an Adirondack pup tent, Raifeartaigh had been doing the same, in the dark Village coffeehouse he frequented.

"If I understand the law correctly," he said, "the governor can suspend the mayor for thirty days while charges are being readied. Right?"

Baine and Mudson nodded.

"So, why don't you suspend Hoagland and announce that charges, and what they consist of, are being prepared? If the out-cry is too great, you can back off. If not, you go ahead and remove him."

"Effing brilliant! I knew there was a reason for keeping you
around, Raifeartaigh. I'll do it! Mason, you and Sheila get up a letter I can deliver to His Honor telling him he is suspended. And that charges are being prepared to remove him. Raifeartaigh, get hold of that bog-trotter of his and tell him I'm coming downstairs to see the mayor at two o'clock, or whatever time this afternoon suits him. Hot damn! This is going to be fun!"

.    .    .

The mayor, Police Commissioner Stephens and Noel Miller were conferring downstairs while the governor was mapping her strategy. The Animal Liberation Army, true to its threat of having weekly demonstrations, had applied for a permit for a rally on Wednesday afternoon.

"My view is that they've had their say and we should deny it," the commissioner said.

"I'd like to agree with you, Danny. But free speech is free speech. And you have to admit that they haven't achieved their objective."

"Getting you to resign, you mean?"

"Yes. I say give them their permit—but for God's sake ban animals. That's what got your boys into trouble last week."

"Last week won't happen again, Mr. Mayor. Not on my watch. So we grant them the permit—for humans only?"

"Correct."

As they reached their conclusion, Gullighy came bursting in, red-faced and agitated.

"Something's up. I don't know what, but something's up."

"What are you talking about?" Eldon asked impatiently.

"Randilynn Foote wants an appointment to come see you this afternoon. That half-breed Raifeartaigh says its about a legal mat
ter and the governor thinks Noel should be there, too. Mason Mudson will be along."

"She wants to come down here, not me go up there?"

"Correct."

"It must be important. Randy Randy has probably figured out a way of taking over all of City Hall. But tell her I'll be waiting with bells on. And Noel, you'll join us. I'm almost tempted to invite you, too, Danny; not a bad idea to have the police commissioner around when she lets loose."

"Thank you, no. I'll stick to four-legged bitches."

.    .    .

Gullighy came into the mayor's office again a half hour later.

"Raifeartaigh just called back. They think Putter Payne should be at this meeting."

"The more the merrier," Eldon said with a sigh.

Or maybe not so merry, he thought once Gullighy had left. What was it Noel Miller had said over the weekend about removal? But that B minus had been deserved, it really had.

.    .    .

Sue Nation Brandberg was in a sour mood as she opened her morning's mail. She had been to Café Boulud the night before with one of her walkers and had had the feeling throughout that those seated in the banquettes and tables near hers were discreetly gesturing in her direction and talking about her. It had been uncomfortable.

In her pile of mail she came to a letter on the cheap stationery of the Brandywine Hotel, the message crudely written with a ball-point pen:

Dear Miszu,

I write this letter as good-bye. Greta and I have talked much and decided is better I go back to Albania. We go to start our lives over.

I love America and am glad to have seen some of it, New York especially. But the authorities don't want me and after all that happened, I go back. Maybe someday I come as legal and maybe Greta will come, too. Now is better I go to Tirana. I can work as an engineer, even if for little money, instead of being watched as illegal person.

I put this in the mail as we go to JFK. We fly to Rome tonight, then to Tirana. Thank goodness Greta has a credit card! Our adventure was interesting and I remember you always.

Goodbye, Genc

Sue thought regretfully of the OOOH! SHPIRT!s; she was glad they had been "interesting" for Genc. She couldn't be angry with him. He had, after all, told her he was already married. And with all the publicity, he would probably have been thrown out anyway. Instead, her anger focused on Eldon. Wasn't he the cause of all her troubles? The death of her beloved Wambli. The public and notorious scandal about her marriage, a scandal inflamed by the press hordes outside the mayor's office after the ceremony. (She had concluded that their presence was no accident.) Not to mention the pack of reporters still camped out in front of her house.

Should she seek revenge? What if she told the press that he knew about Genc's living spouse when he performed the marriage? That would make it hot for him! Brendon Proctor had told her she was unlikely to be prosecuted for bigamy. So what was the risk?

Questions, questions, she thought. She needed time to work out some answers.

.    .    .

At two o'clock on the dot Governor Foote and Attorney General Mudson came down to the mayor's office. Mudson was sweating, either from the effort of climbing down the stairs or from tension. Eldon and Noel Miller were waiting; Putter had been located but would be late, coming in from Queens.

The foursome exchanged handshakes, but there was no small talk.

"Governor, do you mind if I ask Jack Gullighy to join us?" Eldon asked.

"By all means."

The group sat quietly until Gullighy arrived. Eldon sat at his desk, with Noel Miller at his right. Foote and Mudson took places on a sofa at the side of the room. Gullighy stood by the door, possibly to guard it, possibly to be ready for a quick escape.

"Governor, to what do I owe the pleasure?" the mayor asked.

"Mr. Mayor," the governor began stiffly—this was not an Eldon and Randilynn occasion—"I think this letter explains it best."

No one had noticed until then that she had come in carrying an envelope. She opened it, took out two copies of a letter, and handed them to the mayor and Noel Miller.

Putting on his glasses, Eldon read:

Dear Mayor Hoagland:

Last week, on October 20th, the citizens of the greater metropolitan area were subjected to a paralyzing disruption of both air and ground transportation. This was a direct result of
a rally staged in City Hall Park, the purpose of which was to call for your resignation as mayor of the City of New York. The New York City Police Department was unable to contain the demonstrators; this resulted in disruptions widely believed to be the most serious in the area's history.

The organizers of last week's protest have indicated, on their Web site and in the press, that a second demonstration will be held this Wednesday. Indeed, they have stated their intention of holding a demonstration each Wednesday until you resign. All signs point to another disruption beyond the control of the police and, quite possibly, one even more severe than the one experienced last week.

I have reluctantly concluded that charges should be brought against you, looking toward your possible removal as mayor. These will be more fully documented forthwith in a detailed statement. In substance they will allege (1) that you have failed to maintain the effectiveness and integrity of city government operations, as required by Section 8a of the New York City Charter, (2) that the enforcement of law and order and the maintenance of the public safety in the city have been endangered by the consequences of your actions, (3) that your personal conduct on the night of August 16th, in connection with the murder of the dog called Wambli, constituted a violation of Section 353 of the Agriculture and Markets Law, with respect to overdriving, torturing and injuring animals, and (4) that you have violated your duty as a magistrate, under Section 8b of the Charter, by performing a bigamous marriage ceremony between Sue Nation Brandberg and Genc Serreqi on October 13th in violation of Section 255.00 of the Penal Law, allegedly to procure the silence
of Ms. Brandberg regarding the aforesaid incident involving her dog Wambli.

As you know, as governor I have the plenary power to remove you from office pursuant to subsection 2 of Section 33 of the Public Officers Law and Section 9 of the New York City Charter. It is my intention to make a determination of whether or not to exercise such power not later than 30 days from the date hereof, during which 30-day period you shall have the opportunity, under the laws cited, to present to me whatever manner of defense you desire.

In the meantime, pursuant to the powers vested in me, as aforesaid, I hereby suspend you from your duties as mayor as of midnight tonight.

Very truly yours,

Randilynn R. Foote

Governor

Eldon's hand was shaking by the time he had finished.

"Is there anything to be said? I suppose not. Though I can't refrain from asking you, Governor, whether you are completely serious about this. Or is this a ploy of some kind?"

"No, Mr. Mayor, I'm serious. I've called a press conference for four o'clock to announce your suspension."

"And as for what you call my 'defense,' is there any point in presenting one?"

"That's up to you."

"Mason, are you on board with this?" Miller demanded of Mudson. "You must realize that nothing like this has ever been done before. Aren't you afraid of a rather strong public reaction?"

"Noel, I am aboard. The law is clear about the governor's pow
ers. She is exercising them in what she considers the best interests of the people of New York—state and city."

"Well, I guess that's it," Eldon announced. "Except, Randilynn, would you do me the courtesy of talking with me privately for a moment?"

"Of course."

Before the meeting could break up, Putter Payne made a breathless entrance.

"What's up, guys?" he said jovially, before sensing the tense atmosphere.

Miller handed him a copy of the governor's letter. Putter read it, emitting a soft whistle as he did so.

"Let me get a grip on this," he said when he had finished. "Does this mean I'm the acting mayor after tonight?"

"That is correct, Mr. Payne," Mudson told him. "Until the governor makes her decision about removal—and then, um, possibly thereafter."

"Holy Jesus." Then, after a pause, "I guess I'll have to start dressing up," pointing at his own attire—a polo shirt and khakis. "No more casual Fridays—or Tuesdays, Wednesdays or Thursdays." His feeble sally did not go down well.

Eldon again asked if he could see Randilynn alone, as the others prepared to leave. "And Artie, we'd better talk when I'm through."

"I'll be waiting right outside, Mayor," Payne replied, with just the slightest pause before uttering the word "Mayor."

O
nce she was alone with Eldon, Randilynn Foote put her feet up on his coffee table. She offered no apology or explanation for the extraordinary action she had just announced, waiting for him to initiate the conversation.

"I guess you deserved a B minus in State and Local Government, as well as my course," he began.

"Eldon, I'm not here to listen to insults."

"The idea of disrupting a democratically elected city administration by a state authority—I guess you must have been absent the day Professor Behr lectured on that."

"Do you have anything germane to say to me, or not?"

"I do, but I doubt that it will penetrate. For instance, you don't have to destroy me politically. I'm no threat to you—and certainly have no thoughts of running against you next year."

"Really? What about that cow? You went upstate to milk her for the fun of it?"

"Do you really think I was pandering for upstate votes? I milked that cow on a bet with Jack Gullighy, who said I couldn't do it."

"I don't believe you."

"Don't. But let me say one thing before you run off—"

"Run off to that shambles of an office upstairs."

"Squatters can't be choosy."

"Fuck you."

"Thanks, but no thanks. Obviously I haven't figured out how
I'm going to respond to your little game, but I can assure you I'll make it as uncomfortable for you as possible."

"Go to it, babe. Just remember I'm the dealer."

.    .    .

The tête-à-tête with Artemis Payne did not go much better, though he at least expressed regret at the turn of events.

"Are you really sorry, Artie? You know, I saw on television those constituents of your buddy, Councilman Hayes. Carrying signs saying "'Resign! Resign!'" Except there was one that got there by mistake, for the George Hayes Democratic Club. George stirred things up on his own, I assume."

"I don't tell George what to do."

"But I'll bet he told you what he was planning and you didn't object."

"I don't remember."

"I thought so. You want to use this office while I'm—suspended? I can lock up anything personal and the place is yours."

"Yes, I think I will. You know, to show continuity, to demonstrate that the ship of state sails on."

"Fine."

"I assume, though, that you'll stay in the mansion—at least until your status gets resolved?"

"Christ Almighty, you want me to move out of Gracie Mansion? Are you serious?"

"I was just asking."

"Well, to use the favorite expression from the limited vocabulary of our esteemed governor, fuck you."

"No offense, man. No offense intended."

.    .    .

With Governor Foote's press conference about to happen, Eldon and Gullighy drafted a statement denouncing the governor's action. The mayor did not want to meet the press just yet, so he left City Hall to head home to Gracie—assuming Putter Payne had not already taken it over.

.    .    .

Both
The Times
and
The Post-News
described Governor Foote's indignant voice as she had read out her letter to Eldon to a loud, crowded press conference. But their editorial page reactions were, predictably, quite different.
The Times'
s editorial began:

As of yesterday afternoon, this city had one Banana Republic too
many. The proliferation of trendy clothing stores with that name
was joined by a different type of banana republic—situated in the
office of Governor Randilynn Foote. Her strange actions in sus
pending Mayor Eldon Hoagland and threatening to remove him
from office are nothing short of incredible. No such course of con
duct has ever been followed in this state before. And for good rea
son. Suspension and removal are the ultimate means of dealing with
a corrupt or criminal or massively incompetent public official.

Mayor Hoagland certainly has not covered himself with glory in
recent weeks. But his conduct, however misguided and inept, does
not rise to the standards of misfeasance or malfeasance that surely
were meant to govern the governor's nearly unfettered removal
power.

Governor Foote's bizarre maneuver can only be seen as politi
cal—rapping the city as a means of shoring up her image upstate,
and in the process targeting perhaps the only politician in the state
with the ability to stand up to her.

Her actions are worthy of a banana republic where democracy is
ill understood.They have no place in New York, city or state.

The Post-News
took a different tack:

A breath of fresh air swept through New York City yesterday, wip
ing away memories of last week's traffic-jam gas fumes, as well as the
dubious odors emanating from City Hall. It came in the form of
Governor Randilynn Foote's announcement of her courageous de
cision to suspend Mayor Eldon Hoagland and initiate procedures
to remove him from office.

That the governor has the power to do this is undisputed. That
use of this power is unusual goes without saying. But what is impor
tant is that our governor had the guts to do what she did—to sus
pend a mayor who has become a subject of ridicule around the
world, and one incapable of leading our city any longer.

Eldon Hoagland stepped in it when he became embroiled in that
disgraceful dog incident in August. Now our governor has given
him a push, which surely will lead to his departure from City Hall.
None too soon.

Eldon read the morning papers at a leisurely pace, even though
The Post-News'
s editorial made his blood boil; there was, after all, no pressure to get to the office.

Midmorning, he received a call from Noel Miller, who asked if he could come by the mansion. Eldon readily agreed, assuming that Miller wanted to talk about legal strategy in the battle with Governor Foote.

"How do you size up the legal situation?" he asked his corporation counsel, once they were seated in the mansion parlor.

"It's not great, Eldon. There's not much hope of challenging the suspension; the governor appears to have the absolute right to do it. Then, when she brings formal charges, you'll have the right to be heard—by her. She's the judge and jury, all by herself. Maybe a court would find that she's being arbitrary and, if she is, that her removal power may be limited. But it is less than clear. I assume, though, that you'll fight her, to the extent you can."

"Damn right."

Miller was nervous, his left leg jiggling ever so slightly. Then it became apparent why.

"I'm glad to hear you're going to fight. I wouldn't have expected anything less from you. But there is one thing. I may as well be upfront about it. I'm afraid that as the corporation counsel I can't be your gladiator in this one. Eldon, old friend, I've been thinking about my situation almost nonstop since Randilynn's announcement. Fact is, I was up most of the night pondering it. And I've come to the reluctant conclusion that I must remain neutral. That my first loyalty is to the city itself. I can neither defend you nor assist the governor in her ouster efforts. There's no real legal learning on the subject, but this is the position I'm afraid I have to take to maintain the integrity and objectivity of my office."

"I'm disappointed, to put it mildly. We've known each other for years, we went through that election campaign together, and I thought you were my ally. And friend."

"I'm both those things, Eldon. But I have to call this one as I see it. What you need is a high-powered attorney to formulate and execute a real battle plan."

"How on earth do I get a private lawyer?"

"I have some suggestions for you."

"More to the point, how do I pay one?"

"That's a problem, I'll admit. If you prevail, it seems to me clear that the city would pick up the bill."

"And if I don't, I pay?"

"That would appear to be the case."

By now Eldon was eager to get rid of his visitor, to see him out before he himself exploded in a mixture of contempt and anger. "Well, you've certainly put another straw on this poor old camel's back, Noel. I'd like to say I respect your decision, but in all honesty I don't."

Once Miller had gone—he all but ran for the outer door—Eldon slumped in his chair, very discouraged. He had been responsible for Miller's public career, a nice capstone to a lifetime of successful, if mostly anonymous, private practice. So what was his reward? Having his appointee back away when he was most needed, obviously more eager to protect his own reputation than to march side by side with Eldon. It was particularly galling, since Miller had become a rich man; he was not at all dependent on his city job and could well have risked criticism for acting on Eldon's behalf, even if forced to resign for doing so.

Then there was the matter of money. A first-rate lawyer would be expensive, probably inordinately so. The only resources to pay such a person were the pension he had accrued during his years of teaching, a small farm he and Edna had purchased in Minnesota and Edna's modest savings and 401(k) accounts. Would it be wise, or even fair to Edna, to dissipate these assets to pay for his defense?

He would have to ponder that. After lunch and a nap. He might even have a Bloody Mary—unheard of on a weekday when he was
performing his duties as mayor. He must try to enjoy as much as he could the enforced vacation Randy Randy had imposed upon him.

.    .    .

Eldon was awakened from his nap by a call from Jack Gullighy, the only one he received during the afternoon. Gullighy, who remained at City Hall but without access to the acting mayor's office, filled his boss in on developments.

Despite the suspension, the ALAers were loudly heralding their next demonstration. Gullighy reported that police intelligence, confirmed on the ALA Web site, reported that a planeload of sympathizers from England—protestors against genetically modified food—were expected for the event.

"They tell me the Brit crowd makes your ALA friends look like pussycats, if I may be permitted that term. True fanatics," Gullighy said. "A conservative Buddhist group from California also promises to show up. To show their concern for all forms of life."

"Plants, too?"

"I suppose so."

"How's Putter doing?"

"Haven't talked to him. But I was told, if you can believe it, that he showed up this morning with a golf bag."

"Hope he doesn't damage the furniture."

"I'm also told George Hayes has been with him most of the day."

"No surprise there."

Eldon told Gullighy about his visit from Noel Miller.

"That's what I like," Gullighy said. "Courage in the face of adversity. What are you going to do, Eldon?"

"I don't know. I'm going to talk everything over with Edna tonight. Call you tomorrow. And Jack?"

"Yes?"

"You'll stick with me until this is over, won't you? Not pull a Miller?"

"Boss, you can count on me. We'll go down together," he said, then added quickly, "Or triumph together."

"Yes."

.    .    .

Not being interrupted, Eldon spent the rest of the afternoon reading, and thinking about what he read:
The Federalist Papers,
particularly James Madison's essay on the dangers of factions in No. 10. It was the first serious study he had done in months and the tonic effect was good. But by dinnertime he felt like a subject under house arrest.

"What are we having for dinner?" he asked Edna.

"Julio is doing his special chicken fricassee. To cheer you up."

"Thanks, but no thanks. Let's go to Massimo's."

Massimo's was a tiny Italian joint near the mansion, narrow and probably once a shoe store before it's latest incarnation. The food was good, the staff genial and the dour owner usually not in evidence. Eldon and Edna often sneaked off there when Julio's food had become intolerable. The staff treated them like mere mortals, leaving them to themselves at a back table.

The place attracted a mixed crowd of the young and the old, mostly neighborhood types on cook's night out or, like the Hoaglands, escaping for a brief respite from home.

Eldon had noticed before the polyglot composition of the staff at this "Italian" spot—a genuine thirtyish Italian as the maitre d',
but a Korean cashier, a girl behind the wine-and-beer bar who was Brazilian, a carrot-topped pizza maker who couldn't possibly have been Italian (probably Irish), a variegated wait staff and busboys Eldon referred to (almost correctly) as "Incas," plus a teenage black delivery boy for the place's considerable take-out business.