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Table of contents | Previous chapter Playing with Fire A novel by Scott Lazenby
Chapter 14
• • • The firefighters hadn’t let up in their public relations campaign. They had even done a mailer to all the homes in Trillium — a tribute to the size of the union war chest they had built up over the years. On a hunch, I pulled the red flyer out of my desk drawer and dialed the number on it.“Hello, Trillium Firefighters Association.” A woman’s voice. “Hello, could I talk to Brian, please?” “Uh, yes. Can I tell him who’s calling?” “Ben Cromarty” A pause. “All right. Hold on.” I waited a minute. Outside my window the sky was low and dark, and it was raining again. Oregonians resented the Californians who moved up, but like the pioneers of a hundred and fifty years ago, they must have been desperate to come. The weather was so lousy that there must have been something else attracting them. I did notice that our friends who were California transplants were careful not to complain about the rain. “Gallagher.” “Hello, Brian. This is Ben Cromarty. I want to talk to you about this little war that’s going on. Can I buy you a cup of coffee somewhere?” “No, I don’t think so.” “See, I don’t understand the point of it. The council’s already made its decision. I don’t see what you have to gain by stirring the public up over a done deal.” “Oh, I wouldn’t call it a done deal. Last I knew, we’re still living in a democracy. It’s supposed to be government of the people, by the people. We’re just giving the people a chance to stand up for their rights.” “Come on Brian, don’t give me that crap. It’s a representative democracy — the people elect a council to make decisions like this. It’s a budgetary and administrative decision anyway. You can’t undo it through a referendum, if that’s what you’ve got in mind.” “I know that. But the council is still accountable to the people, and if they refuse to listen, they can be replaced.” I squeezed the phone receiver and thought for a moment. “Look, it doesn’t need to come to this — it isn’t doing the community any good. You’re raising questions about their safety when you know as well as I do that the issue isn’t safety at all. I’ve given — ” “How can you sit in an office and lecture me about safety? We’re the ones on the street and in the burning buildings. Don’t you think that makes us a little more qualified to talk about public safety?” “Not when you’re just using it as a scare tactic. I’ve given your members every opportunity to be involved in this transition, and they could come out looking like heroes. Instead, once people figure out what’s going on here, you’re going to look like a bunch of sniveling whiners whose main priority is protecting jobs, not the public.” There was a pause. Another conversation that wasn’t going the way I wanted it to. “Well, you’re entitled to your opinion,” Gallagher said, “but I doubt many other people see it that way. Listen, I told you we weren’t going to go for this, and I meant it. What you do is up to you, but that’s the way it is.” “All right, Brian, but remember, you guys still work for the City of Trillium, not the other way around.” “So do you, Ben.” • • • Betty Sue Castle and I were in my car, heading for Beaverton. I had reported the phone conversation to Ken Longstreet and Betty Sue, and they had looked at each other for a moment. Then Ken had asked, “Time for Plan B?”While we had been talking, Jake Wildavsky dropped in. I don’t know how we got on the subject, but someone mentioned a summer job during college. Jake said he had worked in the woods, setting chokers and reading “Sometimes a Great Notion” at night. Ken said he had worked for his father in Seattle, putting out catalogs for his New Zealand wool products import business. I had pumped gas or worked in restaurants most of the time, except for the summer I worked on the motorcycle racing crew. During the entire conversation, Betty Sue had been silent. Jake asked her what she did — she couldn’t have forgotten, since it was relatively recent. Interestingly, Betty Sue’s face had turned crimson, and she just muttered something about odd jobs. Jake made some crack about maybe seeing her dance at one of the bars on Sandy Boulevard. It did make me curious, but I knew I would never find out any more about it. I pulled onto the freeway on-ramp and checked my side mirror. “So, has Lavar given you any more rings?” I asked. “No, but he says he wants to take me to Reno,” Betty Sue said. “What do you suppose that means?” “Ah, maybe he wants to get lucky.” Betty Sue gave me a sidelong glance. “At gambling, of course,” I said. “I meant gambling.” She laughed. The Oregon Ambulance Service office was in a nondescript business park, in a metal and glass building in a sea of asphalt. We sat in the waiting room for a few moments. The coffee table held a mixture of ambulance trade journals and hunting magazines; neither were of much interest to Betty Sue and me. Joe Secomb was the president of OAS. He wore a navy sport coat and tan pants, and a moustache. He ushered us into his office and had us sit around a small round table. “So, I hear things are heating up a little out in Trillium,” he said. “Yes, you could say that,” I said. “I guess we could have anticipated it, but I had this naive idealistic idea that the firefighters would work with us. Or we could at least come to some reasonable accommodation.” “They haven’t even been willing to talk with us about it,” Betty Sue added. “Yeah, but you can bet that they’re getting a lot of pressure from the state and national organizations,” Joe said. “If you could pull it off, they’ll be facing the same thing in other communities, sort of like putting out brush fires all over. There’s a lot at stake.” “I suppose.” I was hoping that Joe would offer us some coffee. It was mid-morning, and I needed a caffeine fix. But he didn’t — maybe he didn’t intend for the meeting to last very long. “They’ve made threats about a referendum, and recalling city council members,” Betty Sue said. “The union contract negotiations are at a complete impasse, and we’re pretty sure that if we change their shifts and assignments, they’ll try to sabotage the whole thing every chance they get.” “And that’s why we’re here,” I said. “I’m going to recommend to the city council that we enter into a contract with you for the medical side of the service.” “To save you the headache of dealing with the firefighters association?” Joe asked. “Yes, partly,” I said. “But to save money too. We’ll still have to deal with them for the fire protection side, but on the medical side, I just can’t see why we should pay more and have to deal with the strife too. ...” “Uh huh.” Joe nodded a few times, then bit his lip pensively. “Well, I’m glad you came out here first, before talking to your council.” “Yeah. Uh, what do you mean?” “Look, here’s the deal. I guessed you might be wanting to go this route, so I talked to my board about it again. Thing is, they just don’t think it would be, well, prudent, to enter into this particular contract at this point in time.” “Oh? How come?” “Well, primarily due to the negative publicity this has generated in the area. We enjoy good working relationships in the communities we’re in, and we can’t afford the controv — ” “But you negotiated with us in good faith, or so I thought,” Betty Sue said. “How can you do this kind of double-cross?” Her eyes drilled into Joe, and he looked away. “Betty Sue’s right,” I said. “You’re leaving us hanging here.” “Yes, I know. You have a right to be upset. And we did negotiate in good faith. It’s just that this whole situation has gotten too hot for us to touch. You have to look at it from our point of view. We have our franchise in most of these communities due to our strong reputation, and we just can’t jeopardize that.” Betty Sue looked at me, imploring me to do something to salvage the deal. “You’re sure about this?” I said. “I mean, what if you created a subsidiary corporation, with a totally different name and completely separate from OAS?” Joe smiled. “What would we call it, ’Fire Union Busters’? No, I actually thought of that, but if it was a subsidiary, or at all connected with OAS, the word would get out, and the damage would be done. And if it was completely separate, what’s the point for us?” I kept silent for a while, in the hopes that the Joe would get uncomfortable and offer us something. Betty Sue held her tongue. “Well, maybe we’ll be able to work with you some way in the future,” Joe finally said. “But now ... it just isn’t in the cards. Sorry about that.” He pushed himself away from the table, as if preparing to stand. We paused for a few moments, and then got up. On the drive back, Betty Sue exploded. She called Joe Secomb a few names, some of which weren’t exactly politically correct. I could understand her frustration. She had done all the earlier negotiations with Secomb, and her honor was at stake. “It probably won’t make you feel better,” I said, “but I’ll bet that from the beginning, they had no intention of entering into a contract.” “Why?” “Well, in every community they’re in, they have to suck up to the fire department. The ambulance company shows up at accidents like hyenas after the lion has made the kill. If they don’t kiss up, the fire department will just take over their business. I’ve seen it happen before. The firefighters say, ‘Hey, we’re here anyway, we might as well make the transport.’ Of course, that takes their rescue rig out of service, so pretty soon you get a request for more rescue units, and it ends up costing you more than it did before. But it looks more efficient to the public. So anyway, anything that would rile up the firefighters association would spell doom for them.” “But why did he lead me on, then?” “Maybe he just wanted to appear helpful and accommodating. After all, there was a good chance that we would never have gone through with this, and maybe that’s what he was banking on.” “Well, I say it sucks.” “Yeah, it does.” • • • I hadn’t heard from Kate in several days. I knew she had some kind of conference in Chicago, but figured she could plug in her laptop there. I remembered something Mary had said, a few years earlier. She had commented on the string of boyfriends that Kate had had in college. I said, that’s not so unusual, but Mary had pointed out that Kate had most of the boyfriends simultaneously, and seemed to get a thrill from keeping them all around, like the way a juggler keeps a half-dozen torches in the air. Mary had described an episode — amusing to me at the time — when Kate had an early evening date with one guy, then a later date with another, and in a moment of passion moaned out the wrong name.So now I couldn’t shake the image of Kate in a Chicago hotel room with some copier salesman. It was crazy, and hypocritical, for me to feel jealous, but there it was. Will Samuels had drafted an update on the golf course project, and I was going over it when councilor Rob Titus marched into my office. He pulled up the side chair and sank into it. “We’ve got to get off the pot on this Nova access road issue,” he said, skipping any attempt at small talk. “You’re right, I’ve been concerned about how long it’s been dragging out. I thought that Nova’s lawsuit against the TBLC would shake things loose, but I haven’t seen anything happen yet.” “Yes, well, we’re not doing enough as a city.” “What do you have in mind?” “It’s time to condemn the son of a bitch.” “You mean the road right-of-way.” “Yes. Of course.” “But using eminent domain takes time, too,” I said. “Perhaps to set the price, but you get the land quick. Have Pete file it with the court tomorrow, and we’ll have the right-of-way within a week. Nova will pay whatever it costs.” “Just out of curiosity, how come you’re on Nova’s side now? Didn’t you vote against them on the housing project appeal?” “The housing is a separate issue. The people had a valid concern that I had to acknowledge. Besides, I figured it had enough votes to pass, no matter what I did. But we need to get that plant open. Trillium needs the jobs.” Rob had once told me that his goal was to maximize his billable hours so that he could retire at 45. He did work long hours, and he hardly had time for his wife and his two-year-old son. I had wondered how useful that goal would be if he got hit by a truck some time in the next ten years. Once, when we were driving to a meeting, Rob sat in the passenger seat, opening his office mail. He would glance at a letter, throw it in the pile on his lap, and talk into a pocket recorder. “Margolis, fifteen minutes. Rodriguez, fifteen minutes. Trillium Auto Body, fifteen minutes.” “All right, if you want to go the condemnation route, I can schedule an executive session for next Tuesday’s council meeting,” I said. An executive session was closed to the public. The council members could only discuss certain issues — including pending legal action — and they couldn’t make any formal decisions in the closed meeting. “No, we can’t wait that long. You have the authority to make this decision, and you know that the council wants to see this project move forward.” “Yes, but condemnation takes a council resolution.” “Well, go ahead and start the process, and we’ll ratify it with the paperwork later. I don’t want to drag this out in a council discussion — Maggie will be all over the place, fretting about what the people will think, and Hank Arnold won’t have a clue what’s going on.” “You know Rob, I appreciate your concern about this. I’ll ask Pete to draft the resolution and a last-offer letter to Bruce Poulet. But I’ve got to be up front with you — I can’t take action on it until I get direction from the full council.” “Dammit, Ben, that’s a chickenshit attitude. Sometimes you just need to do what needs to be done, and quit worrying about what people think.” I shrugged. The phone rang. Normally I let the answering machine take it when a council member was in my office, but this time I was glad of the interruption. It was Jake Wildavsky, on his car phone. “Ben, I’m on my way to the sewer plant. There’s been an, uh, incident that you may need to see.” “Okay. I’m on my way.” I turned back to Rob. “I’ve got to head down to the sewer plant. Something’s going on there.” “What?” “Jake didn’t say. Look Rob, I’ll get the condemnation process started, and we can have the resolution ready for the council meeting. It really won’t add that much time.” “If that’s your decision. I’ve got to get back to the office.” I couldn’t figure Titus out. If Mayor McTavish had ordered me to start a condemnation process without the full council’s direction, he would have been livid. I stewed over it as I drove, then pushed it to the back of my mind. A shaft of thick black smoke rose into the air, and as I got closer, it did seem to be coming from the plant. I saw several cars — and something burning — at the far end of the plant, near the overflow basin. I parked next to Jake’s truck. Silhouetted against the flames were five men. “Looks like an unusual treatment method,” I said. “Yeah, but it works quick,” Jake said. A man wearing a hardhat with a Department of Environmental Quality sticker leaned forward. “Are you the city manager?” “Yes.” “Hi, I’m Dan Beyer with DEQ. Well, this seemed like a good idea at the time.” The flames were dying, but reluctantly. Every few seconds the fire would muster itself on the clay floor of the basin and shoot into the air like a geyser. For several yards beyond the fence, the weeds were charred. “So what happened?” “You tell him, Finney,” Jake said. Cap Finney was the senior plant operator. “Well, we noticed this stream of stuff — looked like oil of some kind — coming into the plant. Luckily we caught it before it killed the bugs. We shunted the stuff into a spare cell in the aeration basin, but we didn’t know what to do with it. We called Dan here, and got a guy from a septic tank service to bring his truck down. We figured we’d just pump it out and haul it off.” Finney’s assistant nodded. “It was a mess. We didn’t want it around here too long.” “So the guy with the truck gets it out,” Finney said, “but then he tells us he’s going to have to take it to Arlington, and dispose of it as hazardous waste. It would’ve cost a bundle. Maybe ten grand for this much stuff.” I took my eyes off the flames for a moment, and noticed that Finney’s eyebrows were singed, and the hair on his right forearm had been fried into tight little curls. “Anyway, we wondered if we could burn it off,” Finney said. “Dan here said it would be all right.” The DEQ man shrugged. “The overflow basin was empty, so we just spread it out over it. Took a while to get it lit. Matter of fact, we had to use a little gasoline. So when I tossed the match onto the gas, the whole thing just took off. We had to scramble to get the fork lift out of there, even though it was thirty yards away.” “Yep, it was pretty hot,” Bo French said. “I didn’t get in on the fun part, but even by the time I moseyed over here it still looked like the fires of hell. Quite a spectacle.” “For a while there, we wondered if the blower building was going to catch fire,” Finney said. “Did you call the fire department?” I asked. In answer, I heard a siren, and turned to watch a pumper barreling through the plant entrance gate, followed by the fire command car. “No,” Finney said. “We had our hands too full, and besides, after the first flare-up it looked like the building was safe.” The firefighters jumped out of the truck, wearing their full turnout gear. Max Oakley got out of his car, leaving the door open and the engine running. “What’s the story here?” Max asked. Finney gave him a condensed version. As he talked, the fire was reduced to isolated flickers on the blackened clay. The firefighters walked around the area, looking for signs of embers. “I am extremely disappointed that you didn’t call us before you attempted this crazy stunt,” Oakley said. “Yeah, the firefighters wanted to do it themselves,” Jake said. “Must be a guy thing.” “You’re right,” Oakley said. “Our crew would have said, ’Cool, let’s burn it.’ Only they wouldn’t have used gasoline to start it. We train them with more sophisticated methods.” The plant operators laughed nervously. “Any idea what that stuff was, or where it came from?” I asked. “No,” Jake said. “They did keep a sample, so we can have it analyzed. Maybe a mechanic decided to dump a bunch of used oil down the sewer. As much of it as there was, it could have been that somebody backed a tanker up to a manhole cover and just poured it in. It was probably pretty close to the plant, or it would have mixed in with the sewage more. The only way we’ll find out is if someone was watching and calls us.” “Well, do me a favor,” Oakley said. “The next time you decide to play with fire, call us, okay? That’s what we do.” “Sure.” • • • The next day, the Trillium Business Leadership Committee announced that they were going to conduct a phone-in straw ballot over whether the city manager should be fired because of the Nova housing project. I tried not to take it seriously. A few well-meaning friends called to offer their condolences, as if I had some kind of terminal disease. Mary was furious about it, and I wished I would hear from Kate.Next chapter: into the whiteout Copyright © 2001, Scott D. Lazenby. Reproduction in any form without the written permission of the author is prohibited. Illustration: Paul Salmon |
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