'Nobody's gonna get hurt, Big Jim,' Randolph said, hoping he was right. 'This is Chester's Mill. If it was New York City, things might be different.'
3
Now Randolph said,' "And I will, to the best of my ability, protect and serve the people of this town."'
They gave it back as sweetly as a Sunday School class on Parents' Day. Even the vacantly grinning Searles got it right. And they looked good. No guns - yet - but at least they had walkie-talkies. Nightsticks, too. Stacey Moggin (who would be pulling a street shift herself) had found uniform shirts for everyone but Carter Thibodeau. They had nothing to fit him because he was too broad in the shoulders, but the plain blue workshirt he'd fetched from home looked okay. Not reg, but it was clean. And the silver badge pinned over the left pocket sent the message that needed sending.
Maybe this was going to work.
'So help me God,' Randolph said.
'So help me God,' they repeated.
From the corner of his eye, Randolph saw the door open. It was Big Jim. He joined Henry Morrison, wheezy George Frederick, Fred Denton, and a dubious-looking Jackie Wettington at the back of the room. Rennie was here to see his son sworn in, Randolph knew. And because he was still uneasy about refusing the new men sidearms (refusing Big Jim anything ran counter to Randolph's politically attuned nature), the new Chief now extemporized, mostly for the Second Selectman's benefit.
'And I will take no shit from anybody.'
'And I will take no shit from anybody!' they repeated. With enthusiasm. All smiling now. Eager. Ready to hit the streets.
Big Jim was nodding and giving him a thumbs-up in spite of the cussword. Randolph felt himself expand, unaware the words would come back to haunt him: I will take no shit from anybody.
4
When Julia Shumway came into Sweetbriar Rose that morning, most of the breakfast crowd had departed either for church or impromptu forums on the common. It was nine o'clock. Barbie was on his own; neither Dodee Sanders nor Angie McCain had shown up, which surprised no one. Rose had gone to Food City. Anson went with her. Hopefully they'd come back loaded with groceries, but Barbie wouldn't let himself believe it until he actually saw the goodies.
'We're closed until lunch,' he said, 'but there's coffee.'
'And a cinnamon roll?'Julia asked hopefully.
Barbie shook her head. 'Rose didn't make them. Trying to conserve the gennie as much as possible.'
'Makes sense,' she said. 'Just coffee, then.'
He had carried the pot with him, and poured. 'You look tired.'
'Barbie, everyone looks tired this morning. And scared to death.'
'How's that paper coming?'
'I was hoping to have it out by ten, but it's looking more like three this afternoon. The first Democrat extra since the Prestile flooded in oh-three.'
'Production problems?'
'Not as long as my generator stays online. I just want to go down to the grocery store and see if a mob shows up. Get that part of the story, if one does. Pete Freeman's already there to take pictures.'
Barbie didn't like that word mob. 'Christ, I hope they behave.'
'They will; this is The Mill, after all, not New York City.'
Barbie wasn't sure there was that much difference between city mice and country mice when they were under stress, but he kept his mouth shut. She knew the locals better than he did.
And Julia, as if reading his mind: 'Of course I could be wrong. That's why I sent Pete.' She looked around. There were still a few-people at the counter up front, finishing eggs and coffee, and of course the big table at the back - the 'bullshit table' in Yankee parlance - was full of old men chewing over what had happened and discussing what might happen next. The center of the restaurant, however, she and Barbie had to themselves.
'Couple of things to tell you,' she said in a lower voice. 'Stop hovering like Willie the Waiter and sit down.'
Barbie did so, and poured his own cup of coffee. It was the bottom of the pot and tasted like diesel... but of course the bottom of the pot was where the caffeine motherlode was.
Julia reached into the pocket of her dress, brought out her cell, and slid it across to him. 'Your man Cox called again at seven this morning. Guess he didn't get much sleep last night, either. Asked me to give you this. Doesn't know you have one of your own.'
Barbie let the phone stay where it was. 'If he expects a report already, he's seriously overestimated my abilities.'
'He didn't say that. He said that if he needed to talk to you, he wanted to be able to reach out.'
That decided Barbie. He pushed the cell phone back to her. She took it, not looking surprised. 'He also said that if you didn't hear from him by five this afternoon, you should call him. He'll have an update. Want the number with the funny area code?'
He sighed. 'Sure.'
She wrote it on a napkin: small neat numbers. 'I think they're going to try something.'
'What?'
'He didn't say; it was just a sense I got that a number of options are on the table.'
'I'll bet there are. What else is on your mind?'
'Who says there's anything?'
'It's just a sense I get,' he said, grinning.