let you cuff me. But don’t hit me again. You need to take me to the mayor. There is someone in the City right now who is out to bump him and will do it if something is not done quickly. Savvy?”
The sergeant croaked a “Yes” with what little air he could squeeze out and Poole let him go. The sergeant staggered forward, trying to keep his composure while gasping for air. The other two officers advanced on Poole, who put out his arms to accept handcuffs. They cuffed his hands behind his back and marched him to a police car parked in front of the orphanage. At the car, the sergeant called to Poole. Poole turned and the sergeant hit him again, this time in the stomach. Poole was ready and tensing himself, so the blow hurt but did not knock the wind out of him.
“Never touch a goddamn cop,” the sergeant said, and forced Poole into the back of the car.
CHAPTER NINETY-THREE
Red Henry glowered at Frings, flexing and unflexing his fists.
“We can talk about it here,” Frings said. “I don’t think you’d like it too much, though.”
All eyes were on the mayor, and while he was used to giving orders, he was not used to being drunk and under such immediate pressure. He hesitated for an instant before calculating that he had less to lose by talking to Frings in private.
“Go,” he said dully to his companions. They were uncertain, looking at him. Henry glared back. They dispersed. Some instinct from his street-fighting days had Henry focusing on Smith as he strode off. The posture and speed and tension of his gait were signs that Henry reflexively associated with violence. He stared as Smith worked his way to the door, bumping people indiscriminately as he pressed through the crowd. This, too, Henry knew—a big man marshaling his confidence by using his size to intimidate. At another time, Henry might have worried about Smith’s intentions. He trusted Smith to cause pain, not to make independent decisions. With too many other things to worry about, though, Henry didn’t imagine that Smith could make anything worse.
Henry shifted his gaze back to Frings, who was waiting patiently for his attention. “What do you have to say to me?” Henry asked.
“I know about the Navajo Project.”
A boxer learns how to maintain a front of indifference while enduring pain. Until this moment, exposure of the Navajo Project, while a real possibility, was just the worst of a number of potential scenarios. Now it was out there. When Henry spoke, it lacked conviction. “You going to let me know what the fuck you’re talking about?”
Frings actually let out a brief, scoffing laugh. “Don’t bullshit me, Mayor. You want me to walk you through it?”
Henry shrugged. It would be useful to at least know what Frings knew.
“All right, the way I see it, it went like this. You take the mayor’s office without any idea that the Navajo Project exists. As you’re getting adjusted to your new position, you, or probably someone else, comes to you with something that doesn’t seem quite right. I’m guessing it was probably a budget item. Anyway, it seems that the government is distributing money to the families of certain murder victims. That’s queer. Where does this money come from? you wonder. You, or one of your accountants, traces this money back to payments made by some farmers. Odd, you think. What’s going on here? You—and I keep saying you, but I mean your people—do a little digging around, probably head out to the sticks and have a little look-see. There you find, to your great surprise, a bunch of professional killers are working farms to make money that they pay to the City. This ring a bell so far? I can give you names if that helps you out. DeGraffenereid. McAdam. Samuelson. That’s just three. I’ve got more if you need to hear them. You with me?”
Henry glared. Frings had it pretty much nailed, but the sheer temerity of the man was infuriating.
“I’ll take that as a yes.” Frings went on, “You don’t need to be a genius at this point to crab what was going on. These murderers have been shipped out to the country to make money to support the families of their victims. In short, the Navajo Project. So you, having an eye for opportunity, realize that this is an area where you can chisel some cash for yourself. So you take these surviving families from their