Black Diamond - Martin Walker [48]
More cheers. It was a clever answer, Bruno concluded, conciliatory and glib at the same time. And already Pons was changing the subject to talk about the plan to turn the empty sawmill into an industrial eco-park with tax-free premises for green jobs. He didn’t know where Pons had learned public speaking, but Bruno acknowledged that he was very good at it. Pamela was right about that. He cast his mind back to the evening in Pons’s restaurant when he had spoken of his various careers in Asia. Hadn’t he been a salesman, a champagne salesman, or was it cognac? And he’d been a teacher, so had grown accustomed to speaking in public. And he’d been a croupier in a casino, whatever skills that had taught him.
He began to make mental note of the sequence of tricks that Pons was using: the joke, the arms opened wide, the self-deprecating grin, the sudden turn to solemnity as he banged one fist into his palm to make his points, one, two, three. This was political speaking by numbers, Bruno thought. Pons was playing his audience like an angler plays a fish, and from the rapt faces around him, they were enjoying the manipulation.
Bruno glanced down at Pamela. Her eyes were shining, and the warm smile on her face gave way to a look of purpose as Pons struck another serious note. Her hand came up to touch her own cheek, her little finger just brushing the corner of her lips as if unconsciously caressing herself. It was an almost intimate gesture, and he was startled to see it here.
Looking around the hall, Bruno noticed similar gestures among other women, touching their hair or putting a hand to their necks or their temples. The men were reacting differently, their heads nodding or their jaws set firm before relaxing into a smile again. Suddenly he was aware of Fabiola watching him as he studied the crowd. She seemed immune to Pons’s skills, shaking her head as she looked at Bruno. She was as unmoved as he.
Fabiola sidled around Pamela and put a hand on Bruno’s shoulder. “I don’t like this. It feels creepy,” she said, too quietly for Pamela to hear.
“I know what you mean,” he said.
“Can you do something?” Fabiola whispered. “He seems to have cast a spell over people.”
Bruno shrugged. He was known to be close to the mayor. Even if he could think of some way to intervene, it would be seen as a political move, even a hostile one. That might do more harm than good. But almost without being aware of it, he raised his hand and took advantage of one of Pons’s dramatic pauses to call out, “Will you take questions?”
“Who’s that? I can’t see with these lights. Of course I’ll take a question.”
People were standing back from Bruno, giving him space.
“Oh, it’s you, Bruno, our respected chief of police. I didn’t recognize you out of uniform,” Pons said. “Welcome to the meeting. What do you want to know?”
“It’s about the town budget,” Bruno began, using his parade-ground voice so that his words would carry. “We all know that the sawmill was one of the biggest taxpayers in St. Denis and we’re going to lose that money. How big a hole will it make in the budget and how does your program plan to fill it? Will you have to raise our taxes? Perhaps Alphonse could answer this as well, since you’re partners.”
Pons studied Bruno for a moment, then glanced around the crowd, as if he were measuring the degree to which their mood had changed.
“That’s a very good question, and it’s one all of us in this hall are going to have to think about and work together as we try to answer it. But let’s hear from my friend Alphonse first. Just one thing, Bruno,” Pons said with one of his trademark smiles. “If I’ve got anything to do with it, your own salary will be safe from any cuts. You’re too valuable a member of this community.”
That raised a laugh, and Bruno felt himself color slightly, almost angry. Alphonse took the microphone and began stammering about priorities and hard choices while all the energy leaked from the meeting like air from a