The Crash of Hennington (27 page)

—You’ve got it exactly wrong.

Part IV. Commodities.

59. The Foster Downs.

Katherine Tcham, Davis’ mother, was nearly two feet shorter than Jacki and couldn’t possibly have equaled more than a third of Jacki’s body weight, yet somehow she managed to get Jacki out of bed, into a bath, out of a bath, and to the breakfast table every morning with only the faintest help from a strengthening but still emphatically wobbly Jacki.

—How in the world do you do that?

—I had five children in four years. It got to the point where I could carry them all at the same time if I had to. Willpower, I guess. It has to be done, and so you do it.

Then she smiled, a smile at once more sly and sanguine than Jacki had expected, much like the Downs itself. Jacki had heard only that it was a housing development for low-income families. She had immediately translated this to ‘slum’ and filed it away, never expecting the subject to arise again. Stepping out of Davis’ car, though, the first thing she noticed was the flowers. In every corner of green area, in every windowsill, in every pot on every flat public surface, wave after wave of flower upon flower upon flower. Irises, tulips, roses, primroses, tuberoses, peonies, hayslips, zenias, azaleas, parenzans, rhododendrons, philodendrons, bougainvillea, dewlaps, blue cowls, morning glories, violets, even a rack of hanging orchids thriving under hot mist, and heaps upon heaps of the light blue fosters which gave the Downs its name. Somehow, in the midst of a drought, the air lived in a shimmer of sunlight, bees and butterflies.

Wow, Jacki thought. Just, wow.

The apartment buildings were all gorgeous aged brick,
recycled from ruins discovered in the Brown and peaking in flying black roofs, a row of chimneys buttoning the top ridge. Each set of apartments surrounded a brick-inlaid central courtyard, these too swarming with flowers and sunshine. Between each building were broad brick walkways leading to a massive green field behind the development. Children’s football games were in progress, with teams of little ones in matching jerseys running up and down the grass. The first thing Jacki ever said to Katherine was,

—Holy moly.

—What do you mean?

—I had no idea it was this nice. No offense. Sorry.

—None taken. It didn’t used to be. It was always livable, but it didn’t get really spruced up until the Mayor started that bond investment cycle about twelve years ago. It’s gotten better and better since then. I’m Katherine Tcham.

—Jacki.

—I know. I’ve got a room all ready for you. I hope you’re not allergic to flowers.

She smiled. Jacki immediately felt better and then fainted. She woke up on a sunny bedspread in a sunny room with sunny wallpaper.

—Tell me if the cheer gets a little oppressive. It does to me sometimes. I’ve got darker rooms we can put you in.

Jacki shook her head slowly.

—Obviously, the first thing we need to do is get your strength back.

Jacki nodded her head equally slowly.

—Sleep now. We’ll see if we can get some of my cooking into you a little later.

Jacki was unable to leave her room for over a week. The simple twenty-five minute car ride to get Jacki into the Downs had proved to be enough to sap every ounce of strength she
had managed to gather. Katherine, who insisted she had never been a nurse but who Jacki believed must have been, if not in this life then somewhere in reincarnation’s datebook, didn’t even require Jacki to move to the bathroom, providing a chamber pot that looked like it pre-dated Pistolet. In fact, it wasn’t until the ninth day of her stay, and going on a month of qutting Forum, that she was able, with help, to walk to the kitchen table, at which point she discovered to her astonishment that she was not the only invalid in Katherine’s care.

—This is my grandfather, Reginald, and his sister Rhona. Papa, Auntie, this is Jacki, who I’ve been telling you about.

The two oldest people Jacki had ever seen nodded and waved their greetings to her. Jacki did some mental arithmetic. Even if Katherine was younger than she looked, say fifty-two instead of fifty-seven, and setting the variable of the mother’s age at a low seventeen, then these two must be—

—I’m one hundred and four.

Off by eighteen years. The chamber pot wasn’t the only thing that had outlasted Pistolet. Reginald smiled at her through strong, white teeth that couldn’t possibly have been his own. He pointed to Rhona.

—She’s a hundred and seven.

Rhona looked up, more alert than before.

—What? What’s he saying?

Katherine placed a steaming tureen of creamy potato soup on the table.

—They’re the oldest living brother and sister on record anywhere in the country.

—My goodness.

—I’m one hundred and seven.

—Yes, Auntie, we heard.

—Will you be here long?

—I don’t know.

—What was that?

—Let’s not tax Jacki too much, Auntie. She’s not well, remember?

—What?

—She’s not well!

—It’s not contagious, is it?

—Of course not. Eat your soup before it gets cold, Papa. You too, Jacki. Just ignore them if they get to talking. It’s a bottomless pit, trust me. After you turn a hundred, that’s all you ever talk about.

—Katie! A terrible thing to say.

—Hush, Papa.

—Don’t you listen to her, Jenny. You can talk to me all you want.

As Jacki took her first sip of the potato soup, and as the slight taste of rosemary caressed its way across her tongue, and as it worked its warm way down her throat into her stomach, and as Reginald intently watched her eat before picking up his own spoon, Jacki felt herself smile, actually smile from actual happiness for the first time in, well, who
knew
when?

60. How to Serve Man.

Thank you all for coming. This turnout surprises even me. I have more connections in this great city than I thought. Or maybe it’s my infamy that’s so large. Ha ha ha ha ha. I’m digressing and I haven’t even started. Ha ha ha ha ha. Seriously, though, thanks to all of you, members of the press, trusted colleagues and members of Hennington Hills, my friends in high places, ha ha. Well, get out your pens and dictaphones, because I’ve got a surprise for you all, hopefully a pleasant one, definitely a brief one, ha ha.

I am here today to announce my candidacy for Mayor of Hennington.

Okay, calm down, calm down. Quiet, please, give me a chance to talk.

Thank you. I know what you’re thinking. Now, why in the world is Thomas Banyon, a man with no political experience and one of the cushiest jobs in the city already, ha ha, running for Mayor of Hennington? It’s simple, really. I love this city. Love it with all my heart. I was born here, attended school here, made my livelihood and my business here. And it’s no secret that I’ve thrived. Some might say that I’ve thrived on my father’s coat-tails, but I can assure you,
he
would be the first one to deny that. I’d be the second, ha ha. I took Hennington Hills from a decent golf course and turned it into a center for city commerce, as well as
the
spot in the city for that most important factor to quality of life:
relaxation.

But this is not a commercial for Hennington Hills, though I’ve got membership application forms with me in case anyone wants to join, ha ha ha ha ha. I merely point to it as a measure of my success in business, in management, and most importantly, in giving back to this great city of ours.

There is a power vacuum in Hennington. You know it, I know it. Since Max Latham took himself out of the race, for honorable reasons as I understand it, no one has stepped forward to assume the stewardship that Cora Larsson has held on this city for the past twenty years. More importantly, no one has stepped forward with a promise to be more than just a standard-bearer. No one has stepped forward with a vision for the city, with a will to push us forward into new avenues, with a burning desire to make Hennington even better and brighter than it already is, and what’s more, with the power, influence, and talent to make that all happen.

That is, no one has stepped forward until now.

I will admit to you that the idea of running for Mayor has not been on my mind for long. In fact, I, like the rest of you, was expecting a stay-the-course Mayorhood by the competent Max Latham. It was only when he dropped out and when a trusted advisor of mine suggested that I might be the man to take his place that I began to consider the possibility. The more I thought about it, though the idea shocked me as much as it did you today, ha ha, the more sense it made.

I
am the one to take us forward.
I
am the one with the vision.
I
am the one ready, willing, and most importantly,
able
to help Hennington and her citizens fulfill every ounce of potential we have inside us.
I
will reinforce our business community and add to it to bring a new boom to our economy. I will work with the police force to drop our already low crime rate to proportions so infinitesimal as to be nonexistent. I will increase funding to our public schools so every child, non-Rumour and Rumour alike, has the best opportunity to advance in the world at large.
I
will knock down the taxes that we over-pay, the taxes that we then have no say over how they’re spent.
I
will do all of these things and more. But these promises are just the beginning.

As I’ve said, it’s early yet. I’ve only just begun to look at how I will reform this city and create a better place to live. And make no mistake, reform
is
needed. No one will argue with the fact that Mayor Larsson has done a good job. I’d be a fool if I tried to run on
that
platform, ha ha ha. But perhaps four terms has taken some of the steam out of the Mayor that we’ve all grown to love and respect. Perhaps that’s even why she herself is retiring when it’s obvious she could easily win re-election in a landslide. New blood is needed. A new outlook is needed. Mayor Larsson has served us well, but she herself realizes that it’s time for a change, time for a reinvigoration
of government, time to sweep out all the stagnation and usher in a new vitality.

I welcome all challengers to my candidacy. I am confident that what I have to offer is what the citizens of Hennington want in a new leader. However, even if I end up running unopposed by legitimate competition, I do not expect a coronation. I am a leader, not a King. I will work harder than I ever have in my life to bring Hennington to a permanent place in the sun. And I hope you’ll work right alongside of me.

It is the right place. It is the right time. And I, Thomas Banyon, am the right man. Thank you very much. No questions.

61. Ambushed.

The phone calls were quick to manifest.

—Where the hell did that come from?

—Don’t ask me, I’m only his father. He hasn’t told me his plans since he was eleven.

—You don’t think he’s serious?

—He wouldn’t have done it if he wasn’t serious. Thomas isn’t exactly known for his sense of humor.

—The impossible bastard.

—'Bastard’ might not be the best pejorative in this circumstance, Cora.

—Sorry, Archie. Can he possibly stand a chance, do you think?

—Running unopposed? Trust me, he’s got enough friends and terrified underlings to beat ‘None of the above'.

—Shit. I mean, just shit fuck shit, if you’ll pardon me. What’s he thinking? I mean, it’s obvious what he’s thinking,
but I thought the book on Thomas was that he was happy in his Hennington Hills cave.

—Maybe he’s outgrown it. And it’s not a cave. He’s turned it into quite an enterprise.

—Don’t turn disingenuous on me, Archie. He’s an untouchable there. The police won’t arrest him and the courts won’t prosecute him. There’s no paper trail of any kind and no one’s talking. I don’t like it, but I can’t change it. I’ve just had to live with it, and it was mostly fine as long as he kept to himself. We’ve managed to spend twenty years avoiding each other’s toes, and now, out of nowhere,
this,
a disaster of epic proportions.

—It’s hardly
that—

—But aren’t you as appalled … of course not, he’s your son.

—Yes.

—So what
do
you think?

—I think he’d be a highly functioning, thoroughly efficient, completely amoral Mayor. I think Hennington would run like clockwork but would be corrupt at its core. It might survive a Thomas tenure, but it would end up as something altogether more ghastly and unpleasant.

—So you’re with me that we have to do something?

—I’m not sure I’d go that far. I wasn’t the best father to him. If this is what he wants to do, I’d feel like a fink standing in his way.

—But surely for the sake of the city—

—He’s flesh and blood, Cora. He’s never gone out of his way to hurt me. On the contrary, Hennington Hills has a profit margin unparalleled in Banyon Enterprises, and I’m assuming that’s
after
he’s fixed the books. He didn’t buy that mansion with his
salary.
It may be for the good of the city, but who would I be if I crushed my own son?

—I’m not talking about crushing, Archie—

—He’s made too public an announcement to step down without an all-out battle. He’s far too tenacious and bloody-minded.

—Are you saying you can’t help me?

—I don’t know what I’m saying. Luther’s not speaking to me, and I’ve no idea where he is. If I step in front of Thomas, where does that leave me? I’m old. Do I really want thwarting my only biological son to be my last action as a man? Who am I if I do that? He’d be an absolute disaster as Mayor. I think Hennington would become a fairly frightening place to live—

—But?

—But I’ll be dead soon.

—Not
that
soon.

—Do you really think I’ve got another five years in me?

—Yes, I—

—I’m eighty-eight, Cora. Can you see me at ninety-three?

—You don’t expect me to believe you’ll give up on the entire future of our city just because you won’t be around to see it?