Something Bad (30 page)

“I heard the State bought some land in Jefferson County for what they called a ‘right-o-way,’“ a man in back asked. “From what I heard, they paid a crooked price. You say they’ll pay good here. How we know you’re right?”

Thibideaux sidestepped on the stage. “I know of the situation you describe, and the land that was purchased was not prime farmland, so it didn’t get a top price. In my report, I’ve included a section on past productivity of the land in question, including this year’s crops. With that information as a basis, I’ve made the case that the land is top quality and should be paid for accordingly.” Another nod prompted the next query.

“You mentioned that the farmers will have some problems working their land if the highway is built. What do you mean?”

The question came from the same area, so Thibideaux didn’t have to move. “The problem will be accessibility. If the freeway cuts through the middle of a farm, it’ll present a challenge to get the farm machinery from one side to the other. Freeways were originally named because they weren’t toll roads. Later, the name was used because they allowed free travel without the bother of cross traffic. And that’s the problem. I’m proposing a series of underpasses be included in the design to allow easy movement of machinery and livestock under the freeway. They’d be large enough to allow a combine to pass through. While this is a reasonable solution, only a few underpasses can be built because of the cost. Some farmers might find the freeway is more than a small annoyance. If the population of the Tri-counties feels this inconvenience outweighs the financial benefits of the highway, it can be decided at a later date and the information can be conveyed to the State.”

Gabe leaned forward in his chair to get his hand higher. The number of raised hands had whittled down to four.

The next inquisitor shouted his question before being called upon. “Who’ll do the land negotiating? Will it be you?”

“The actual negotiations will be conducted by members of the State Land Office and the Highway Department. My role will be over soon, when I submit my report.”

Three hands left. Thibideaux picked one from the far left of the auditorium.

“How soon do you reckon this will all get going?”

Thibideaux shuffled along the stage. “My best guess, based on the dinosaur-like movements of State Governments, is a final decision will be made within a year. Then, the start of construction will depend on the health of the state budget and the participation of the federal government. My impression is the feds have already shown significant interest, otherwise the project wouldn’t have gone this far.”

Thibideaux walked back to center stage.

Gabe felt the little man’s eyes lock on his, and he watched his tiny right hand move forward a little and ball into a fist. Gabe tried to raise his hand, but it wouldn’t move. He tried the other, but it was paralyzed. He tried to make a sound, to complain, but nothing came out. He struggled against the invisible restraints until it felt like his face was on fire.

Thibideaux conducted an exaggerated survey of the room. “I can see there is only one question left, which is good since I still have work to do. You’ve given me some additional ideas for the report. After this final question, I’ll take my leave. I want to thank you for your polite attention.” Thibideaux turned John Johnson’s way and gave him a nod of his head.

Sir John stood up. “Mr. Thibideaux, I’d like to congratulate you on your fine presentation. I do have a few questions, though. Just this afternoon, I was sitting outside the general store when a state government car pulled up and two men got out to ask me a couple of questions. Seems they was coming to our area to scout out the possibility of a highway shunt running through the Tri-counties. Said it was Senator Ambrose’s idea, but it wasn’t even put to the legislature yet.”

Thibideaux took a step closer to the edge of the stage. He glared at John.

“I told them you was already completing a report on that very thing, and they said they never heard of anyone named Thibideaux, and no way did the state hire anyone to prepare a report on the highway.” Sir John paused and looked around the auditorium. “Then they said if you was here studying a highway route, you must be hired by someone other than the state government.”

Sir John took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “So, we know that you wasn’t hired by the Tri-counties, and now we know you wasn’t hired by the government. So I says to myself, who would Thibideaux be working for if not us and the state?” Sir John half-turned and talked to the audience. “What come to my mind on this was Rother County.”

Gabed surveyed the room. At the mention of Rother County, a stir in the audience progressed outward from Sir John like a ripple emanating from a pebble thrown in a pond.

“The only other people interested in studying a roadway through the Tri-counties would be Rother County. They’d be trying to get the highway to go along State Route 17, right thorough Calhoun Township.”

Sir John whirled back toward Thibideaux and stepped up his voice to a near shout. “So tell us, Mr. Thibideaux. Just who’s it you work for if it’s not the state or the Tri-counties? Are you working for Rother to certain it that we’ll never get the highway?” Sir John remained standing.

Thibideaux stood motionless for ten, fifteen seconds. Gabe thought he looked different, somehow.

“My d-dear Mr. Johnson. Wh-once again y-you have s-surprised me w-with your insight.” Thibideaux took a deep breath. “I want to assure you th-that I do not now, a-and have not ever worked for Rother County.”

Another deep breath and Gabe saw the old Thibideaux.

“In fact, you are right. I don’t work for either the state or the Tri-counties. Unfortunately, I can’t tell you who’s retained my services. But I can tell you why. In these matters, a number of companies will be encouraged to bid for contracts related to the planning and construction of the highway. These contracts are extremely lucrative. Some businesses hire lobbyists to influence government decisions, and they get advance notice on prospects like this. When this occurs, work like mine is initiated immediately and without knowledge of the government, so a realistic bid can be developed quickly. So you see, I’ve been retained by an organization that plans to bid on the construction of the highway. The fact that I was retained to prepare my report speaks of the positive position you all occupy in the government’s plans for the shunt. I hope this calms your fears, Mr. Johnson.”

John sat down, but his bottom barely hit the chair when he sprang back up. “As I see it, you’ve lied to us all about who you work for already, so how’re we to know you’re not lying to us again right now? How can we be sure you don’t work for Rother?”

“Mr. Johnson, and all good citizens of the Tri-counties. Due to the nature of my work, it was necessary to maintain a curtain of misdirection. It’s the nature of the beast. This business is so competitive, organizations will go to great lengths to gain an edge. Some of these actions border on unethical. For this I sincerely apologize. Now, about your concerns. Had I been hired by Rother County, I would have been required to spend much more time in that area preparing a report. It takes very little time to derail a project like this through subterfuge, while it takes a great deal of time to formulate a complete report like the one I presented tonight. It would be totally unnecessary for me to go to all of that work for the Tri-counties if my only aim was to prevent a highway from going through here. It’s totally absurd to think I’d be working for Rother County after what you saw tonight.”

Thibideaux bent his left arm and slightly raised his hand in the direction of the rear, left quadrant of the room. He curled the fingers of his left hand into the form of a set of claws and an elderly member of the audience let out a whelp and cringed forward, clutching his chest.

As the order in the auditorium disintegrated, Gabe watched Thibideaux grab his manila folder and slip out the back door of the building. Released from his paralysis, Gabe hurried to the back of the room.

T
HIBIDEAUX PACED IN
front of his chair. The town meeting was a calculated risk from the beginning, and the double-cross by John Johnson erased all gains from the presentation. He sensed a significant doubt carried on the wind of the Tri-counties, both about him and his business, and it was more focused than the breeze that wavered prior to the meeting. If he succeeded in one thing, he ratcheted up his presence in the consciousness and emotions of the locals. And that went against the Organization’s rule of maintaining a low profile at all times.

He looked around. Where was the councillor? Certainly this warranted a personal visit. And it didn’t stop there. He breeched another Organizational precept by directly causing the injury and suffering of a citizen, even though he justified it as a means of extricating himself from a rapidly deteriorating situation.

The Organization had its own rumor mill, and he had heard about similar cases—all involved some form of punishment by the Organization. The cost for the more severe cases didn’t require explanation. This case, however, was similar to others that garnered mild rebukes.

He shuffled in long loops around the chair. Leniency was appropriate since the citizen wasn’t killed, and the act wasn’t born out of anger, jealousy, or revenge.

So, I’m guilty of compromising two separate conventions, each a relatively minor infraction, he thought. But the two together represented uncharted territory of what was covered by Organizational gossip and instruction.

Now he wished the councillor was here, because he wasn’t done. He still had one loose end in his ill-fated plan for diversion—in his foray across the borderline of Organizational by-laws.

He stopped in front of the fireplace and spun around to face the chair. “Once one goes into dangerous territory, it’s better to cover all bases, even if the maneuver is of questionable value,” he said to the chair. “I’m not going to run with my tail between my legs part way through.” He jumped into the chair and closed his eyes.

No choice, he thought. I’ve got to push a little further. He imagined himself crawling out a window, which represented the firm guidelines of the Organization. Since he strayed only slightly across the line, he didn’t fall into the precipice on the far side. Instead, he was perched on a narrow ledge, still within reach of the window. The ledge was a necessary construction, since sometimes a slight traverse of the regulations was both necessary and justified.

The white Taurus rounded a slight curve in State Route 27 on its way to Wes Worthing’s farm, and was met by a dense, disorienting fog. The headlights blared, but they reflected light back into the eyes of the travelers. The car slowed. On the approach to a right-angle turn in the road, the car’s brakes temporarily malfunctioned and the vehicle left the roadway. It lurched as it bounded through a drainage ditch and folded its front end around a tree with a muted crunch. The slow speed of the car and the modest circumference of the tree produced minor injuries to the two occupants, requiring short periods of convalescence.