Needful Things - Stephen King [46]
Alan's heart sank. He had been fairly sure nothing else too unpleasant could happen this morning-it would be noon in only two or three minutes, so the idea seemed a reasonable one but he had been wrong.
The Rev. William Rose closed his Bible (the binding of which almost matched his suit) and bounced to his feet. "Chief-uh Pangborn," he said. The Rev. Rose was one of those deep-thicket Baptists who begin to twist the tails of their words when they are emotionally cranked up. "May I please speak to you?"
"Give me five minutes, please, Reverend Rose. I have a matter to attend to."
"This is-uh extremely important."
I bet, Alan thought. "So is this. Five minutes."
He opened the door and ushered Keeton into his office before the Reverend Willie, as Father Brigham liked to call him, could say anything else.
5
"It'll be about Casino Nite," Keeton said after Alan had closed the I office door. "You mark my words. Father John Brigham is a bullheaded Irishman, but I'll take him over that fellow anytime. Rose is an incredibly arrogant prick."
There goes the pot, calling the kettle black, Alan thought.
"Have a seat, Danforth."
Keeton did. Alan went around his desk, held the parking ticket up, and tore it into small fragments. These he tossed into the wastebasket. "There. Okay?"
"Okay," Keeton said, and moved to rise.
"No, sit down a moment longer."
Keeton's bushy eyebrows drew together below his high, pink forehead in a thundercloud.
"Please," Alan added. He dropped into his own swivel chair.
His hands came together and tried to make a blackbird; Alan caught them at it and folded them firmly together on the blotter.
"We're having an appropriations committee meeting next week dealing with budgetary matters for Town Meeting in February-" Alan began.
"Damn right," Keeton rumbled.
"-and that's a political thing," Alan went on. "I recognize it and you recognize it. I just tore up a perfectly valid parking ticket because of a political consideration."
Keeton smiled a little. "You've been in town long enough to know how things work, Alan. One hand washes the other."
Alan shifted in his chair. It made its little creakings and squeakings-sounds he sometimes heard in his dreams after long, hard days. The kind of day this one was turning out to be.
"Yes," he said. "One hand washes the other. But only for so long."
The eyebrows drew together again. "What does that mean?"
"It means that there's a place, even in small towns, where politics have to end. You need to remember that I'm not an appointed official. The selectmen may control the purse strings, but the voters elect me. And what they elect me to do is to protect them, and to preserve and uphold the law. I took the oath, and I try to hold to it."
"Are you threatening me? Because if you are-" Just then the mill-whistle went off. It was muted in here, but Danforth Keeton still jumped as if he had been stung by a wasp.
His eyes widened momentarily, and his hands clamped down to white claws on the arms of his chair.
Alan felt that puzzlement again. He's as skittish as a mare in heat.
What the hell's wrong with him?
For the first time he found himself wondering if maybe Mr.
Danforth Keeton, who had been Castle Rock's Head Selectman since long before Alan himself ever heard of the place, had been uP to something that was not strictly kosher.
"I'm not threatening you," he said. Keeton was beginning to relax again, but warily as if he were afraid the mill-whistle might go off again,)just to goose him.
"That's good. Because it isn't just a question of purse strings, Sheriff Pangborn. The Board of Selectmen, along with the three County Commissioners, holds right of approval over the hiringand the firing-of Sheriff's Deputies. Among many other rights of approval I'm sure you know about."
"That's just a rubber stamp."
I e d. From his inside "So it has always been," Keeton agr e pocket he produced a Roi-Tan cigar. He pulled it between his fingers, making the cellophane crackle. "That doesn't mean it has to stay Now who is threatening whom?