The two men shook hands and Sam left the office.
“Leave the door open,” Dan said. Turning to Patrick, he explained, “I like to be available for any of the guys.”
“Speaking of which, here’s one of the ‘guys’ now,” Patrick said, raising an eyebrow at his chauvinist friend. Shannon was on her way to the office with the fire mechanic, Bud Patchett, in tow.
“No, really, Shannon. No need to bother the chief. I was just letting off some steam,” they heard Patchett say
as Shannon pretty much manhandled him into the chief’s office.
If Shannon wasn’t with the mechanic, Patrick might plead an urgent appointment and hustle out of there. Bud Patchett could talk.
“Hey, bro,” she said, seeing Patrick. “You okay after last night?”
Whether she was referring to the elevator ordeal or to his intimacy with Briana, which Shannon had obviously guessed at, he didn’t know. But he decided to assume she meant the elevator. “I’m fine. You guys did a great job, thanks.”
“That’s what we’re here for,” she said. She smiled at him, but there were lines of fatigue around her eyes, and knowing Shannon, she’d have taken the death of Patty Reese hard.
He might be the mayor and she might be a firefighter, but he was still her big brother. “I’m sorry Ms. Reese didn’t make it, kid.”
Shannon nodded. “Yeah. Me, too.”
For a moment no one spoke, then she seemed to pull herself together. “Bud here has something to say to you, Dan, and maybe since you’re here, you ought to hear it too, Patrick.”
“I didn’t know the mayor was here. Hello, Patrick.”
“Hi, Bud. Don’t mind me. If you’ve got something to say, go ahead and say it.”
The mechanic glanced back and forth between the fire chief and the mayor, finally addressing his remarks to the chief. “Dan, I’m sorry to add to your troubles today, but I’ve got to get some more maintenance help. Our trucks have been used to full capacity in the past
weeks. They need more frequent maintenance, and one of the guys said there was a small leak in the spare fire hose. I need another part-timer at least.”
Dan nodded, his gaze fixed on the mechanic. One of the reasons Patrick respected his replacement as fire chief was the way Egan listened to his people. Bud knew his way around a fire engine better than anyone, and if he said he needed more help, then he did.
The familiar burn of anger intensified in Patrick’s belly. Damn it, it was his job to make sure the fire crews had the resources they needed, right down to enough guys to check the brakes regularly.
“Let me see what I can do, Bud,” Dan said. “In the meantime, I appreciate knowing you’re doing your best.”
“Yes, sir. I do my very best. I love those engines. And I like to see them running smooth and polished to a shine.”
Patrick knew they had more to worry about than shiny fire trucks. They had a murderous arsonist to catch, and it was his job as mayor to find the funding to ensure they stopped the killer.
P
ATRICK ARRIVED
at the ribbon-cutting ceremony with a few minutes to spare. He pulled out his cell phone and returned one of the messages he hadn’t had time for this morning.
“Archie Weld,” the deep voice answered. Archie had spent twenty years in radio before taking the job as media liaison for city hall.
“Archie, Patrick O’Shea.”
“Patrick, as I’m sure you know, everybody wants a statement, they want an interview, they want pictures, footage, a reenactment of the mayor’s incarceration in his own elevator.”
Patrick chuckled. “I hear you. Look, Archie, can you tell them all I’ll cooperate fully, but not today. I’m sure even our media friends can appreciate I’ve got a lot to do today. If you want to put together some kind of release giving the details of what happened and that no one in city hall was hurt, go ahead and put some quotes in from me. If you e-mail it to Briana, she’ll make sure I read it and get it back to you this afternoon.”
“I think the TV and papers want—”
“Pictures. They’ll get them, but not until tomorrow.
Look, I’ve got something going on and I want to do a live appearance on the six o’clock news tomorrow night. Can you set it up?”
“Sure.”
“I appreciate it.”
“Uh, Patrick, it’s going to be easier to get the station to agree with this if they know what it’s about.”
“I’ve got an important message for the people of this city, but I don’t want to say more until tomorrow. I’ll fill you in later, but sell the TV guys on the concept, will you? You’ll think of something.”
“I’ll do my best.”
“Once I finish the on-air broadcast, I’ll take a full media conference. Everyone can have pictures, sound bites, full interviews, whatever they need. I think I can promise the show will be…interesting. Probably dramatic.”
“I hope you know what you’re doing.”
“Thanks. So do I.”
“If you want me to prepare you some speaking notes—”
“Nope. I’m going to wing it.”
“Okay, it’s your funeral.”
Actually, he was hoping to prevent a few funerals. There had been too many in Courage Bay.
B
RIANA WAS THE FIRST
to arrive at the council chambers located on the main floor of city hall. Since this was an in-camera meeting, there were no spectators in the visitors’ seating area.
It was quiet yet, the only sound a soft plunk as Briana dropped an agenda package in front of each person’s place. The package included the agenda, which was
pretty short, since Patrick only had one order of business, and the attached budgets and expense records of the city’s emergency crews. She’d been shocked at how much money had been spent on extra staffing to cover injured emergency personnel, on maintenance and upkeep for all the equipment, and on overtime.
It was clear even to a noneconomist like herself that the city’s budget was stretched to the max and soon they’d have overspent for the year, yet still the emergency services needed more money, and urgently.
The final item was a printout of the rules regarding the city’s financial safety net. A sizeable bond to be accessed only in times of emergency.
Even though she knew that her uncle had been instrumental in turning down the mayor’s repeated requests for more funding, Briana was certain that after he’d read the latest update, Cecil would be one of the first to vote for additional funding.
Their city needed it desperately.
A few minutes before the meeting was to start, everyone was there but Uncle Cecil. He never missed a council meeting. Surely he’d be here?
Patrick took his place at the head of the horseshoe-shaped table promptly at 8:00 p.m. Her uncle’s place was still empty.
Patrick glanced pointedly at the empty seat and then at his watch. “We’ll give Councilman Thomson five minutes, and then we’ll begin without him,” Patrick said, though of course she knew it would be all but pointless, since he needed a unanimous yes vote by council in order to access the funds.
She heard footsteps echoing on the marble floor,
heading for the door that led to the council chambers. Briana let out the breath she’d been holding.
Her uncle entered and walked to his place at the table and sat down. He made eye contact with no one, simply picked up the package in front of him and glanced through it, even though Briana had personally sent copies of all the documents out to all the council members earlier in the day.
She sat at the table reserved for staff along with council assistant Lorna Sinke and Archie Weld. She’d suggested Fire Chief Dan Egan and Police Chief Max Zirinsky be asked to attend, but Patrick had vetoed the idea. “They’re too busy to get tangled up in bureaucracy,” he’d said. “The numbers are in the budgets and speak for themselves.”
But now that she saw the expressions ranging from boredom to hostility on the faces of the councilmen and councilwoman, she wasn’t so sure he was right. Max and Dan could both give powerful, passionate presentations on behalf of their departments. Although, since they were both strongly opinionated, never backed down from a fight and loathed red tape, Briana could also appreciate Patrick’s strategy in having them absent.
“Thank you all for coming,” Patrick began. “I’m sorry to pull you away from other plans, but I think you’ll agree that matters have gone from serious to critical. As you’ll see from the enclosed budgets, both projected and actual, the fire department is twenty-eight percent overbudget for the year, police seventeen percent and existing services are stretched to the limit.”
The sounds of papers shuffling could be heard as the councilors flipped through to the budget pages in their
handouts. A frown creased Councilman Ed Prescott’s brow and he glanced at Cecil Thomson. Ed Prescott was one of Uncle Cecil’s supporters on council. The owner of a local pharmacy, he was always concerned about costs.
Uncle Cecil had been on council the longest. Both Ed Prescott and Councilman Gerald Anderson had supported his unsuccessful bid for mayor and it was clear that he still had their support. They usually deferred to Cecil’s opinion, and that gave the three of them a majority vote on a council of five. Cecil might not be the mayor, but he wielded a lot of power behind the scenes.
“Mr. Mayor,” said Councilman Prescott, “we’ve had this discussion before. At the time, we voted not to increase the city budgets. I’m not sure why we’re having this meeting at all.”
Briana glanced at Patrick and saw his jaw tense. He let a moment pass before answering, and she could only imagine the retorts he had to swallow before he came out with a respectable response. “Since our last meeting, Councilman Prescott, we’ve had a further emergency situation in which two more of our citizens died.
“I had discussions today with both Fire Chief Dan Egan and Police Chief Max Zirinsky, and while they are not saying both fatalities could have been avoided with larger budgets, there is no question that their resources are stretched beyond what is reasonable. We need to give them the money to do their jobs.”
A hand went up. It was Uncle Cecil’s other longtime supporter, Councilman Gerald Anderson, an attorney in his late sixties known for his conservative views.
“While your concern is certainly laudable,” the coun
cilman said, “and I know we all admire the fine job our men and women in the EMS have been doing, I’m wondering, where are you proposing we get the money?”
Patrick looked up directly at Briana. She knew what he was thinking as clearly as though she could read his mind. If ever a man was about to blow, Patrick was that man. He let his gaze rest on her for a moment and she smiled slightly, letting him know silently that she was with him in this fight.
He gave an imperceptible nod and turned to answer the councilman. “There is only one place we can get the money, Councilman Anderson. We would have to take it from the city bond, which, I might remind you, was set up to support the people of this city in times of need. I can think of few times when the city has been in greater need.”
There was a pause.
Uncle Cecil raised his hand and Patrick acknowledged him.
“Mayor O’Shea…” Her uncle paused to give the mayor and the rest of council a broad smile. Briana eased back in her chair and relaxed. It was going to be okay. Uncle Cecil was going to side with Patrick, and she knew he had enough clout on council that his vote would sway the others.
Uncle Cecil was a big man. He’d played football in college and still kept himself in good shape. He was handsome, with silver hair and warm blue eyes. But it was his charm that was his greatest asset, she thought. Charm and an air of command.
“We certainly appreciate what you are trying to do here, Mayor. We understand you’ve been a fireman
yourself and know how hard our men and women are working to keep this city safe.”
There was general nodding, and Briana found herself nodding along with everyone else. Except Patrick, who was looking at Uncle Cecil with an impassive expression on his face.
“And our police and SWAT team, the ambulance services and the paramedics have done as fine a job as any group of men and women ever did,” Cecil continued. “However, some of us have been on this council a lot of years.” He glanced modestly around the room, but everyone knew he’d been there longest of them all, and had Patrick not won a surprise election, Cecil Thomson would be leading them today. “We’ve seen trouble come and go, young man.”
She glanced at Patrick to see how he was taking the “young man” comment, but while his gaze had hardened, and his lips were set tight together, he still showed an implacable countenance.
“It’s easy to panic in times of crisis, and no one thinks any the less of you for believing more money is going to solve our problems. But, son, money can’t stop earthquakes, or fires, or floods or any other natural disasters. When they happen, the emergency teams are going to be stretched, naturally. But then we’ll experience our usual periods of calm. During those times, we’ll recoup those losses you’re so concerned about.”
Cecil spread his hands and glanced around the room. “If we spend the money every time we have a few unfortunate tragedies, well, we’ll soon find ourselves broke.”
“That money was set aside for disaster relief,” Patrick said in a hard tone.
“Exactly. And if a true disaster strikes and the money’s spent, it will be too late. We’ve had some tough times in the last few months, I’m not denying it, son….” Briana gritted her teeth on Patrick’s behalf. She knew Uncle Cecil was calling him “son” deliberately and it wasn’t fair. “But we’ve got to hang on to our rainy day fund, not squander it on a drizzle.”
Patrick did his best. He argued passionately for council to release the money. She saw Fred Glazeman, one of the kindest men she knew, nodding a few times as Patrick spoke. However, Briana sensed that Councilwoman Gwendolyn Clark, the niece of one of Courage Bay’s most respected judges, was swayed by Uncle Cecil’s arguments.
“I understand you’re upset, Mayor O’Shea,” her uncle resumed. “We’re all upset that more lives were lost in our city, but let’s not be too quick to run out and spend money that we can’t replace once it’s gone. Let’s let things set for a month. If, as I fully expect, the city returns to its normal peaceful state, then we won’t have spent emergency money needlessly.” He paused and looked slowly around the room at each of the councilmen in turn. “However, if at that time, we feel we need to broach that bond, we can vote on it then.”
Patrick spoke again and his voice was less calm this time. “I urge you all to ask yourselves how you would feel if it were your sister or mother or wife who’d perished yesterday because the fire crews were so stretched they couldn’t reach both women in time to save them.”
“Son, even the one they did save died,” Uncle Cecil reminded him. “It’s a tragedy, but not every tragedy can be averted with money.”
“It’s worth our while to try and prevent every tragedy,” Patrick countered. He looked round the table, making eye contact with each councilman or woman in turn, then said, “Do you want more deaths on your conscience?”
The vote was called, and as Briana had feared, it wasn’t unanimous.
“Motion not carried,” said Patrick in a clipped tone. There was little more to say, and in minutes the meeting was adjourned.
Briana felt as if somebody had kicked her in the stomach. She’d worked all day preparing the irrefutable evidence that there was an acute funding shortage in the city, and Patrick had argued passionately and eloquently on behalf of the very people who risked their lives day after day to keep Courage Bay safe.
How could they have failed?
Maybe Uncle Cecil would have voted against the proposal no matter who was mayor, but she couldn’t get out of her mind the possibility that her uncle had let personal feelings interfere with his better judgment.
She left as soon as she could. As she glanced back, she saw that Patrick was talking with the two councilors who’d supported him. Her uncle and his two supporters left chambers together. Her uncle glanced her way and, when no one was looking, winked at her. She smiled slightly, but couldn’t rid herself of the weight of disappointment that pressed on her chest.
She knew Uncle Cecil was a fiscal conservative, and she respected his views. She only wished he could be a little more open to the fact that this current funding crisis wasn’t a little blip. Courage Bay was practically fighting for its life. In the past months the city had faced
drought, severe storms, forest fires, earthquakes, mud slides and a rare viral outbreak. Now it seemed their latest crisis would be a monetary one.
She would have liked to exchange a word with Patrick, just to let him know how sorry she was his motion hadn’t passed, but he was busy chatting with Fred Glazeman when she left.
In no mood to go straight home, in spite of a sleepless night followed by a marathon day at work, she headed for Uncle Cecil and Aunt Irene’s place. Maybe she could do more good for this city if she could reconcile her uncle to Patrick’s proposal. If she could get Cecil Thomson onside, she knew he’d sway those who’d voted with him. She smiled wryly. She’d gone from undercover spy to lobbyist in one day.