City of Angels by James Scott Bell & Tracie Peterson

Author:James Scott Bell & Tracie Peterson [Bell, James Scott]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Compendium Press
Published: 2012-03-20T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seventeen

OREL HOOVER, Chief of Police, was a fireplug of a man—or so Heath Sloate thought. With thinning white hair over a mottle-cheeked face and an ample stomach, Hoover had long since abandoned any pretense of appearing as a man of action. He had become just another politician. And Heath Sloate thought of politicians as his "meat."

So when he entered Hoover's office that afternoon, Sloate was quite sure he would have no trouble with this politico-policeman. If he met resistance, Sloate would find a way to put a little pressure on him, devise a plan to destroy him if need be. Just as he'd fixed old Wexell back at school.

Sloate had come to embrace a favorite saying of President Roosevelt's: "Speak softly and carry a big stick." The president had used that as a rallying cry when threatening to send in federal troops during the Pennsylvania coal miners' strike a year before. The coal mine owners backed down. Now "Rough and Ready Teddy" was using it in foreign policy as well, applying it to the situation in Panama.

Sloate realized that he had applied the big stick over and over again his dealings with people. It worked, and he was confident it would work again now.

Sloate had done his homework on Chief Orel Hoover—just in case things got difficult down the line. There was the matter of Hoover's odd son, a potential embarrassment for a man who had visions—illusions, Sloate thought—of someday becoming mayor. There was also Mrs. Hoover, an unrelentingly obnoxious woman who could, merely by opening her mouth, scuttle any future political plans Hoover might entertain. Such information was putty in his hands, Sloate thought. From it he could fashion a veritable work of art in blackmail.

"Ah, Chief," Sloate said. Though he thought Hoover's face seemed redder than usual, he added, "You're looking well."

"Sit down," Hoover said.

Sloate complied. Hoover didn't seem happy to see him. No doubt he thought this visit an imposition.

"Now, what is this urgent matter?" Hoover asked.

Sloate did not answer immediately. One did not reel in a fish right away. Instead, he glanced at the walls of Hoover's office, noticing framed letters displayed prominently. Commendations, no doubt, from Hoover's days as a beat cop. Or cloying missives from politicians who might someday need a favor.

"Quite a career you've had," Sloate said.

"Had? You make it sound like it's in the past." There was a snappishness in Hoover's voice that Sloate understood. Sloate had all but forced this meeting. But there was something else, too, a deeper layer under the cop's brusque exterior. He was troubled about something, Sloate was certain of it.

"Did I?" Sloate said. "I'm sorry. I understand full well you have future plans. Mayor Hoover, that has a nice sound to it."

Hoover eyed Sloate directly for a moment. "I think so," he said.

"And our fair city is growing at a rapid clip. The mayor of this hamlet might go on to even greater things. Governor. Senator, perhaps."

This time Hoover said nothing. Sloate now knew he had pegged him perfectly.

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