Table of contents | Previous chapter Introduction | Cast of characters   Playing with Fire A novel by Scott Lazenby   Chapter 18 t was small consolation, but blackmail was only one of my problems. Betty Sue was standing in my office, talking about another personnel problem in the utility billing department, when a call came through from Sabrina Chan.       “Ben, a bunch of the fire union guys just left our offices here. Do you know what they were here for?”       “No, but I can think of a few things. What is it now?”       “The union just took a vote of no confidence in the chief.”       “Great. That’s all we need.”       “So it’s news to you?”       “Yes.”       “I was afraid so.” Sabrina paused, and I could hear the sounds of the southwest bureau in the background. “Well, can you make any comment about it?”       “No. I would need to see the specifics of their charges first. Can you give me the gist of what they told you?”       “Oh, the usual stuff. They say that Oakley is aloof and has poor interpersonal skills. He has provided inconsistent leadership, and doesn’t support his staff. Let’s see, what else.... Oh yeah, he’s too competitive.”       “Too competitive?”       “That’s what it says.”       “Well, I’ll have to talk to Gallagher before I can give you any comments.”       “It wasn’t just Gallagher. Red Rogalsky was here too. Plus a group of firefighters, but they didn’t do any of the talking.”       “Is that right? Hmm.”       “It’s a big deal, huh?”       “I don’t know. We’ll see. Thanks for the heads-up, though.”       “Sure. Call me as soon as you can make a comment.”       “When’s your deadline?”       “Three-thirty. I’ll call you by three if I haven’t heard from you.”       “Okay.”       Betty Sue looked at me quizzically.       “Sabrina said the firefighters have taken a vote of no confidence against the chief,” I said.       Betty Sue struggled to hide a mixture of emotions. I guessed she would take some pleasure in seeing Max squirm a little, but she knew this wouldn’t help us with the decision to contract out the medical service. She sat down at my meeting table.       “They went to the paper first?”       “Yes,” I said. “It’s a typical strategy, but if they really want me to do something about Max, it’s a bonehead move.”       “Why’s that?”       “Think about it.”       Betty Sue frowned. “It paints you into a corner, right? If you took any disciplinary action against Max now, it would make you look like you were just bending to the will of the union.”       “Exactly. If it was really Max they were after, they should have come to me privately, with the threat of public action only if I didn’t respond.”       “So they’re just throwing one more grenade into the mix, aren’t they? But I wonder if the strategy is going to backfire on them. What if the public realizes the timing is a little too suspicious, and sees the union as a bunch of whiners?”       “I don’t know,” I said. “The charges that Sabrina mentioned — that Max is aloof and has poor interpersonal skills — are certainly believable, even though they could apply to a lot of the managers in the private sector too. Maybe they’re figuring that the public will see this as just one more example of management beating up on the hard-working and downtrodden rank-and-file firefighters. And maybe it doesn’t matter so much now what the public thinks, but what the council thinks the public thinks.”       Betty Sue chewed the end of her pen. I noticed the ring again. How long had it been back on? “Do you suppose Max knows?” she asked.       “No, my guess would be that he’s getting a call from Sabrina too, right about now.”       She nodded, and thought for a moment. “Is there anything I can do on this?”       “Uh, let me get a better handle on what’s going on. But you can do one thing. The same sort of thing happened to Rudy Marx in Corvallis. How about giving him a call to see how they handled it?”       “Will do.”       As it turned out, I never did hear directly from Brian Gallagher. Instead, a copy of a press release appeared in our office fax machine. It was only a single page, even with the obligatory quotes — “Our men and women have reached the breaking point, and we are demanding a change in management,” said Firefighters Association President Brian Gallagher. I called Max Oakley.       “Life continues to be interesting, eh Max?”       “Yes, you could say that.”       “Could you come over here to talk about it?”       Max paused. “Ben, I’d prefer to discuss anything we need to discuss over the phone. I want to give the staff the impression of business as usual, as far as I’m concerned. I believe they’re just sitting here waiting for me to get called into the city manager’s office.”       “Okay, good point. Did you have any inkling that this was coming?”       “No, not directly. Gallagher has made some veiled threats from time to time. But the assistant chiefs have most of the day-to-day contact with the troops, not me.”       That could be part of the problem, I thought. “Well, in any case, their allegations were pretty light on specifics.”       “Yes, they are totally groundless.”       “Say, what’s this ’too competitive’ business? Did you beat Gallagher at handball or something?       “No. It is difficult to imagine. Perhaps it is because I purchased my Ferrari just after one of the battalion chiefs bought his Porsche. I don’t know.”       “Well, you know the union did you a favor by going public instead of talking to me, right?”       “It may seem that way from your perspective, but I still have my reputation and career to maintain. The damage they are doing to me goes beyond Trillium.”       That hadn’t occurred to me. Max needed his prestige and standing more than he needed his paycheck. “Yes, I see. Well, as much as I hate to do it, we’re going to have to make some kind of response. Like, bringing in a counselor to help you and the firefighters deal with your differences, something like that.”       “Then you’re not going to support me.”       “I didn’t say that at all, Max. The quote from Gallagher seems to imply they want you fired. I will absolutely refuse to discuss that, or even any sort of disciplinary action that they might demand. As far as I’m concerned, I’ll treat the allegations as poor communication on the fire union’s part, as much as any fault of yours. But they’ve put the ball in our court. We’ve got to do something.”       Max was silent.       “We’ll get through this, Max. Hang in there, okay.”       “Yes, there is no need to worry about me. There are ways to fight back.”       I wasn’t sure what he meant, but I let it go.       I put in a call to Brian Gallagher, trying to get more specifics about the union’s charges. The conversation was tense, and he was mostly evasive. I asked him why he hadn’t come to me first.       “We knew nothing would happen if we did,” Gallagher said. “Besides, we have nothing to hide, and prefer to be open with the public.”       “Open with the public? Was the meeting where you took the no-confidence vote open to the public? I’d like a copy of the tape, then. And while you’re at it, put me on the mailing list for your future meetings.”       “Yeah, right,” he said.       I had to call the council members too, before they got the news through the media. Seth Rosenberg laughed, Diane McTavish shrugged it off, and Hank Arnold wasn’t surprised — the vote of no confidence was a tactic he was familiar with — but he was concerned that it would put me in a defensive position. Rob Titus was with a client and couldn’t come to the phone, so I left a message with his secretary. Maggie Henderson couldn’t believe that the union was just playing games.       “The firemen may have grounds for their complaint,” she said. “I myself often feel that Chief Oakley speaks down to me, that he seems aloof. I don’t like it when he treats me like I’m stupid or something. Have you noticed that he does that?”       How was I supposed to answer that? “Well, Max does have his own conversational style, but I think that’s just the way he is. He doesn’t mean any harm by it. And it really isn’t a good reason to get rid of him — all people have strengths and weaknesses, and Max has never been a back-slapping Rotarian.”       “Now, Ben, you will have to investigate this. I don’t think a person can be a good supervisor if he doesn’t have the respect of his employees, do you?”       “Maybe, but I would take this a lot more seriously if the timing wasn’t so convenient. Max hasn’t changed — they could have made these allegations months ago, and didn’t. It just seems fishy.”       “I see. But I wonder if it’s a good idea to use that as an excuse to avoid your management responsibility in this area.”       “Yes, I’ll look into it. I don’t have any choice, since I’m sure the union will get as much publicity out of this as possible. I’ll let you know if there’s anything to it besides a superficial complaint about how Max speaks.”       Betty Sue had talked to Rudy Marx. In the case of Corvallis, it had been the police chief, but otherwise the situation was similar. Rudy’s advice was to respond quickly with a press conference, stating that the complaints and allegations would be thoroughly investigated. No matter how it turned out, the public and media would lose interest long before an investigation was completed.       “That’s not all,” Betty Sue said.       “Oh? What else do you have?”       “I talked to Ken, to see if he had any contacts in the union negotiation world who had dealt with this before. He gave me a few names, and I managed to make contact with one of them.”       “Really? Who?”       “Duke Blitzen, a labor negotiator in northern California. Have you heard of him?”       “The name sounds vaguely familiar. So what did he say?”       “Well, for one thing, this vote of no confidence thing doesn’t have any official standing. It’s always used as a PR ploy, and it almost always creates a really sticky situation for the city. So the good news is that we don’t have to make any response to the union. But we can pretend that it is an official act, sort of like a grievance procedure, and we can take the public stance that we are involved in a dialogue with the union, and that it’s confidential.”       “Okay, but then we have to follow through with it. If we didn’t, the union would make it known soon enough.”       “True, but like any labor negotiations, it can drag out a long time. Remember Ben, it’s a PR ploy, so the sooner we get it out of the public arena, the better.”       “Yeah. You’re right. Nice work, Betty Sue, and good thinking. You need to be managing your own city, not that I want to lose you.”       She grinned. “Thanks, but no thanks. I’d rather give my advice and then go home and forget about it. You can have the manager job — at least for the time being.”       Betty Sue worked up a press release, and it was about ready to go out when Sabrina Chan called. I summarized our response, and she said she would keep an eye on her fax machine for our official statement. I had decided a press conference wasn’t necessary. It might have worked for Corvallis, but Trillium rarely warranted coverage by the radio and TV stations — we were usually too small to get noticed in the overall Portland noise. •      •      •       I was wrong. When I got home, I turned on the evening news, and caught the middle of an interview with Brian Gallagher. The young reporter looked serious and concerned. Gallagher tried to match his expression.       “The situation with the chief has become untenable,” Gallagher was saying. “We are demanding his immediate removal. He has proven himself to be incompetent, aloof, and completely unfit for leadership. Based on our own investigation, he has shown the same pattern in the previous agencies he has worked for. We also have found evidence of ethical issues.”       “Can you be more specific, Mr. Gallagher?”       “No, not at this time. We have laid these issues out for the city manager, and it is up to him to respond to them.”       It was a complete lie, but how was the TV reporter going to know it?       In the morning, I opened the Metro section of the paper and groaned.       “What’s the matter, Dad? Did the Mariners lose again?” Trixie asked.       “No. Well, probably, but I haven’t hit that section yet. One of the council members is quoted in here, and he isn’t going to make my job any easier.”       “Who?” Mary asked.       “Rob Titus. Apparently The Oregonian picked up on the union’s allegations of ‘ethical issues’ involving Max. They must have asked Rob if he knew what they were talking about. So here’s what he said.       “ ‘This causes me grave concern,’ said Trillium city council member Robert Titus. ‘I believe the unethical conduct is related to sexual harassment, and it is something I do not tolerate. This will put an end to Mr. Oakley’s career with the fire service, and justifiably so.’ ”       Mary handed the paper back to me. “Is any of that true? I think Max is kind of a jerk, but he doesn’t strike me as an unethical person.”       “No, there isn’t any basis for it at all. I don’t know who’s feeding Rob this garbage. Well, on second thought, I could make a pretty good guess, but I wonder why he’s letting himself get dragged into it.”       A crew from Channel 7 was waiting for me when I got to city hall. I summarized our official statement for them, but it wasn’t enough.       “How are you going to respond to the charges of unethical conduct and sexual harassment?”       “Let’s be clear about that,” I said. “Those issues weren’t mentioned in the document I received from the fire union. We have a good process for responding to sexual harassment complaints, and it is available to every city employee. No such complaint has ever been filed against Max Oakley, and I have seen no evidence of unethical conduct whatsoever.”       “But what about the statement from Councilor Titus?”       “I haven’t had a chance to talk to him about that, so I can’t comment on it.”       The media kept the issue alive for three days. Brian Gallagher and some of the other union leaders added more fuel to the fire, hinting at a variety of indiscretions that were supposedly under discussion. It made me even less interested in taking the vote of no confidence seriously, but Ken Longstreet lined up a counselor who could come in and make a show of patching up communications between the chief and his staff. •      •      •       I pushed my spoon through the layer of cheese in a bowl of French onion soup. Max had requested the lunch meeting, but all he was having was a plate of salad and coffee. He seemed a little on edge, but I wasn’t surprised by that. When I had expressed my sympathy over what he had been going through, he just shrugged.       We ate our lunch and talked about other things — mostly the City/County contract and how the council would respond to it. Then Max put down his fork and leaned forward.       “Ben, the reason I wanted to talk to you is I need you to convey some information to a few individuals.”       “Oh? What’s that?”       “I have been in contact with an attorney in Los Angeles. After considering his advice, this is what I’m going to do. I am going to personally sue Brian Gallagher for one million dollars. I am going to sue the firefighters association for five million dollars. Further, I am going to sue Rob Titus for one million dollars. Now, my attorney specializes in cases like this. In the last year, he has won a court verdict for five million dollars, and he has settled out of court for two cases involving several million dollars each. He informs me that the facts are on my side on this, and we have a very good chance of winning.”       “Really? As public officials, we’re expected to take a lot of flack from folks — they can even lie about us and we can’t sue them for libel.”       “That may be true in general, but when false statements cause material damages in an individual’s career or earning potential, there is still legal responsibility. But here’s the point I want to make. I don’t need the money. I’m not interested in the money. What I am interested in is taking them down. If I go down, they are going down with me. I will bury them so deep in attorneys’ fees that they will lose their houses, their cars, and everything else they have in their name. I’m serious about this, and I will pursue it for as long as it takes. This isn’t a city issue — it’s my issue, personally, and I will make it be their personal issue too.”       Max leaned back and watched something out the window. In an earlier era, he would have pulled out a cigarette case and a gold lighter. But we had other vices now, and Max just sat and waited for my reaction. I had no doubt that he was serious.       “So what do you want me to do?”       “Just tell them what I’ve told you.”       “And what do you want from them?”       He was silent for a moment. Then he leaned forward again.       “They must cease and desist from slandering me and tarnishing my reputation. Gallagher and Titus must retract their libelous statements. And as for the union, there are a few more things I will insist upon, but I will discuss them later, after you have conveyed the initial message.”       “Okay. But why do you need me in the middle of this? Why not have your lawyer contact them?”       “Ben, I am asking for your help as a friend. If the parties will agree to the terms of my settlement, then we can all put this behind us. I also believe it is in your best interest to see the union silenced on this matter.”       “You’re right about that.”       “You also have credibility with them.”       “Are you kidding? Credibility with Gallagher and the union?”       “Yes. They might not like you much, but they see you as a force to be reckoned with. Don’t discount that.”       “Hmm. Well, it would give me a certain amount of pleasure to be the bearer of this news. I’ll do it.” Max nodded with satisfaction, and reached for his cup of coffee.       “Say, Max, I’ve been meaning to ask you about something. Matt Monroe told me that you used to work for City/County. That true?”       The coffee mug froze in midair, just for an instant. “Well — ”       “Excuse me.” Our waiter had suddenly appeared. “Is one of you Ben Cromarty?”       “Yes, I am. Why? Did my credit card bounce?”       “Sorry, sir. We just got a call from Legacy Hospital. They said they have just admitted your daughter, who was involved in a car accident.”       “What? Are they still on the line? What kind of accident?”       “I don’t know sir — it sounded like they were in a hurry, but they said your office said you might be here so they left the message just in case.”       The room spun. I held the edge of the table and tried to stand up.       “Ben, I’ll drive you,” Max said. “Let’s go.”       I followed numbly. In the car a chill came over me, and I felt perspiration break out on my forehead. I had to do something to keep focused. I fished in my suit pocket for my cell phone and tried to remember Mary’s work number. I watched as my fingers pushed the keys.       “Good afternoon. Trillium School District Administrative Office, this is Cherie.”       “Uh, Cherie, this is Ben. Ben Cromarty. Is Mary there?”       “Well, I can —”       “It’s an emergency. Please.”       “Okay, okay.”       After a long minute, Mary came on the line. “What is it Ben?”       “I just got a call from Legacy Hospital. They said that Trixie has been in some kind of car accident. I’m on my way there.”       “Oh no! What ... is she all right?”       “I don’t know. All I know is what the message said. I can meet you at the hospital if you can get away.”       “Oh Ben! Yes, I’ll be there right away. Oh no....” The line went dead.       I was thrown against the side of the car as Max took a corner too fast. The traffic must have been light but to me it seemed that the road was strewn with obstacles.       We finally got to the hospital. Max dropped me at the main entrance and went to find a parking space. I made my way to the admissions counter.       “Excuse me, my name is Ben Cromarty. My daughter Trixie was admitted to the emergency room. Could you tell me where she is?”       “Yes, sir.” She punched some keys on her computer. “Please spell the last name.”       I did, and her fingers flew over the keyboard. She frowned and continued to type. It was taking too long.       “What’s the problem?” I asked, trying to keep the panic out of my voice.       “There is no record of her being admitted.”       Of course, I thought, with a wave of dread washing over me. If she had been unconscious, the hospital wouldn’t be able to identify her.       “Where’s the emergency room?”       “It’s the next building over. You can use the connecting walk way to your right, or the sidewalk outside. You’ll see —”       I left her in midsentence and hurried to the entrance doors. Outside I saw Max walking casually from the parking lot. The E.R. was in the opposite direction and I broke into a run. After a few paces I began thinking more clearly, and spun around to intercept Max.       “They don’t have a record of her being admitted,” I said, trying to catch my breath. “I’m going to the emergency room. Stay at the main entrance and watch for Mary.”       “No problem.”       A half-dozen people sat in chairs along two walls of the waiting area. A young woman holding a baby paced back and forth. None of them looked like they were from Trixie’s school. The nurses’ station was empty, and I could hear the sound of a child crying down the hall. I was going to follow the noise when a man in hospital scrubs moved behind the counter.       “Can I help you?” he said.       “I’m looking for my daughter. Trixie Cromarty. She was in a car accident.”       “Well, let’s see....” He looked through a stack of forms in a tray. After he got to the bottom one, he looked up. “What does she look like?”       “Blond hair, about this long. Brown eyes. Eleven years old.”       “Okay. Hold on.”       He disappeared down the hall and was gone for a long time. Another nurse walked behind the counter and asked me if I had been helped. I told her, and hoped she would find out what was taking her colleague so long. Instead, she picked up a form and called out a name. She led a man in his eighties down the hall.       Finally, the male nurse reappeared. “I’m sorry,” he said, shaking his head. My heart skipped a beat and my legs started to buckle. I was too late, and she was already dead.       “I’ve checked out all our patients,” I heard him saying through the pounding in my ears, “and she isn’t one of them. We haven’t had any young girls in a car accident yet today. Are you sure she was brought here?”       I stood, mute.       “Are you all right, sir?”       “Yes, yes I am,” I said, regaining my composure. “She was supposed to be here, but maybe I got the message wrong. Do you have numbers for the other hospitals in Portland?”       “Sure.” A piece of paper was tacked to the wall. He removed the tack and handed it to me.       “How about a phone?”       “We need to keep this one available for ER staff. There’s a pay phone near the doors. Please be sure to bring that list back to me.”       “I will. Thanks.”       I hurried to the phone, thinking about how much time I had wasted coming to the wrong hospital and picturing Trixie in a room somewhere surrounded by doctors and surgical equipment, wondering where we were. I fished in my pocket for change, then remembered I still had the cell phone in my coat. I called the first hospital on the list, and was on hold when Mary and Max burst through the doors.       “Ben! Where is she?” Mary’s face was pale and her eyes were moist. I put an arm around her waist and held her close.       “I don’t know. Not here, apparently, so I’m trying —”       A voice cut in on the line, saying that they had no record of Trixie being admitted. I punched in the number for the next hospital on the list. Mary watched me, looking dazed and worried. Max went over to the waiting room and picked up a magazine. After being passed from one staff member to another, I drew a blank again. I was about to call the third number on the list when Max walked back, looking a little impatient.       “What about the school?” he asked.       “What school?”       “The one your daughter attends. This is a school day, isn’t it? If she were involved in a car accident, I would imagine that they might know something about it.”       Maybe he thought more clearly than I did because he was practiced at dealing with emergencies. On the other hand, it wasn’t his child we were talking about.       “Good point. I’ll call.”       Mary rang her office to get the number, then passed the phone back to me. I punched the keys and waited for an answer.       “Hello, Trillium Middle School.”       “Yes, this is Ben Cromarty, Trixie Cromarty’s father. I got a call saying Trixie was involved in a car accident. I want to know if you can give me any more information.”       “My goodness. Trixie Cromarty? Hold on.”       I listened to the tinny sound of a country music station. Why was it taking them so long?       “Hello, Mr. Cromarty? This is Mel Zimmer, the school principal. I’m sorry, but we don’t have any information about a car accident. We’re checking into it, but so far — hold on.”       He must have cupped his hand over the mouthpiece. I could hear voices, faintly.       “Hello, Daddy!”       “Trixie?”       “Yup.”       I took a deep breath. “Are you all right? What happened?”       “I scraped my knee in PE. Except for that it’s been a pretty boring day. My knee is okay though. They put a Band-Aid on it.”       I slumped against the wall.       “Dad? Are you still there? What’s up?”       “Oh, it’s okay, sweetie. There was some kind of mix-up in a message I got. Don’t worry about it. I’ll let you get back to your class. I love you.”       “Love you too, pop. Bye.”       Relief filled Mary’s face. Max glanced at me with an arched brow.       “Trixie is fine,” I said. “Either some hospital got screwed up, or somebody is playing a pretty sick joke.”       “Oh. Thank God,” Mary said, and collapsed into my arms. I felt her sob. Max moved to a discreet distance.       “Do you think someone could have done this on purpose?” Mary asked, her voice catching.       “I don’t know,” I said. “There are enough wackos out there, it’s possible. But the important thing is that Trixie is all right. Sorry for putting you through this.”       “It’s not your fault.” She stood back for a moment, then leaned into my arms again. We held each other for a few minutes. I tried to comfort Mary, but my mind was racing. I had always dreaded the possibility that my job would spill over into my family’s life, and I felt nothing but guilt.       Max walked back toward us. “I called Simon,” he said. “He’s sending a detective over to the restaurant to get some more details about the phone message. He said to tell you that he will find ’the son of a bitch that done this.’ His words.”       “Huh. Well, we can still hope that it’s some kind of miscommunication.”       Max shrugged.       “Yeah, it doesn’t seem likely, does it?” I said.       Mary glanced at the entrance doors. “Well, I better get back to work,” she said, drying her eyes with a tissue.       “Yes. Me too.” •      •      •       Mary was quiet over dinner. She wanted to stay and play a card game with Trixie and me, but she had made a commitment to attend a meeting at the church — something about a fund raiser for some missionaries in China. I finished up the dishes and paced around the house. Trixie was watching a show where young adults in their twenties seemed do nothing but sit around and talk. I went back to the kitchen and made a phone call.       “Hello?”       “Hi, Kate. It’s Ben.”       “Well, hello there. I was just thinking of you.”       “Oh? I’m flattered,” I said, trying to sound like it was a joke.       “Yeah, well the reason is, I’m sitting here trying to sort out all this paperwork for my SBA loan, and wondering why you government types make life so difficult.”       “Oh.”       “But I know you’re not like that, right?”       I laughed. “I wonder. I’m not into forms and red tape, but I suppose I make life difficult enough for some folks.”       “Is Mary there?”       “No, she’s at a meeting. Trixie’s watching TV.”       I told her about the phone threat, the one telling me I better watch myself, and the call from the hospital.       “That’s pretty creepy, Ben. You think it’s connected to this fire department stuff?”       “Chances are pretty good.”       “Mary must have been spooked by it. Think I should talk to her about it?”       “Yes, she would appreciate that,” I said, “but —”       “I’ll tell her that I called to see how you guys were doing, and you told me the story.”       “Okay. And there’s another thing, Kate.”       “What’s that?”       “Things are getting strange enough that I’m concerned about somebody trying to break into my e-mail account. I’m probably just paranoid....”       “So you think I should hold off on sending any messages, right?”       “Yes. At least for a few days, until I set up a new account or something. Is that okay?”       “Well ... it’s going to be hard. I’ve come to depend on those little notes, more than you can know.”       “Yeah, me too. I’ll work something out. How’s everything else going?”       “Well, Gordon is in the den, buried in some kind of database software. Just before you called, I heard Luke yelling at Joshua. He said something like, ‘Josh, if you have a booger and you don’t want to wipe it on your clothes and you don’t want to eat it, then just leave it in your nose.’ That’s about the level of my intellectual stimulation these days.” She giggled.       “It’s good talking to you, Kate.”       “Mmm. You too.”       The line was silent for a few moments.       “Well, I’ll let you know if we get any more excitement here,” I said.       “Yeah, keep in touch. I’ll call Mary.”       “Good night, Kate.”       “See ya.” Next chapter: the smell of smoke Copyright © 2001, Scott D. Lazenby. Reproduction in any form without the written permission of the author is prohibited. Illustration: Paul Salmon