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take life s little pleasures whenever he could.  Robert Mansfield seems to have
the trust of the present Commissioner. And he knows a lot of guys on the city
council and in the state legislature. That could be good for us, come budget
time.
Robert Mansfield was a total shithead, a bottom dweller who sucked the
cock of anyone higher up in the pecking order, and stepped on the face of
anyone lower down. He was made-for-TV handsome, though. Tall, broad, with a
shock of thick white hair. And as dumb as they come basically a good-looking
rock with lips. Still, he seemed to be the guy the powers that be loved. Bud hated
the politics of this shit.
The only guy who was made for the job was the one who d never get it:
Carlos Jimenez Sanchez. Competent, honest, tough as nails and totally unafraid
to step on big toes to get the job done. He was completely dedicated to the men
and women under him. He knew the names of even the lowliest candy-assed
rookie and would step on a land mine before he betrayed them. He had excellent
community relations. On top of it all, he was an ex-marine. But Carlos had pissed
off some very powerful people, was short and wiry and came off like a rabid
terrier on TV. He would never get anywhere near the 16th floor.
 Robert Mansfield, eh? Parks played with the stem of his wine glass in a
way Bud was terrified to do. Bud had big hands and was scared he d break the
delicate crystal. Parks had grown up with this stuff, had probably drunk his baby
milk out of Waterford glasses. After a long moment of contemplation, the old
guy sighed.  Yes, Bob seems to have the ear of the current Commissioner and of
a number of the members sitting on the city council. It s just that the man is such
a complete ass.
Bud was sipping the wine and nearly choked.
 Now how about Carlos Sanchez? the old man mused, watching him
carefully.  He d make a great Commissioner, don t you think?
Bud blinked and realized that something important was going on here.
Horace Parks had real power. He could make or break careers. He d made Bud s,
as a matter of fact, though Bud would have made Lieutenant eventually, no
matter what. He was damned good at his job.
 Carlos would be perfect for the job, Bud said carefully.  He d have it now
if he hadn t  Bud paused, wondering how to put it delicately.
 If he hadn t broken the jaw of that TV reporter? Parks asked.  The one
who broadcast the news that the police were closing in on the Tigard serial
rapist, letting him get away? That was unfortunate, yes. Completely
understandable, of course, but maybe he should have& er& pulled his punches.
 Pulling his punches isn t Carlos s forte. Bud had to be clear on this. If he
could put in a good word for Carlos, by God he would do it. The man deserved
it. But he couldn t lie about Carlos s nature. Carlos was a warrior and he put
fighting the enemy before everything else. He d be efficient and ruthless, just
what the situation demanded. Bud knew some very bad people were
contemplating making Portland their base. They d think twice with someone like
Carlos keeping a vigilant eye on the situation. But
fighting crime the real way, the hard way step by step, scumbag by scumbag
isn t pretty and doesn t always look good on TV.  He d be a very effective
Commissioner if he could be given free rein and didn t have people second-
guessing him all the time. Carlos is dedicated to the community and he has good
relations with minorities but he s no politician.
 I understand what you re saying. The old man was nodding, watching
Bud carefully.  Still, he d be a good Police Commissioner. There was a faint
question in his statement.
 He d be a fabulous Police Commissioner, Bud said firmly.  Strong and
dedicated. The Russian Mafiya s eyeing us, thinking of turning us into the next
Vladivostok. Money and people are pouring in. All the signs are there. They ll
think twice with Carlos at the helm. Nothing slips under his radar.
Parks nodded.
 Besides, Robert Mansfield is such a dirty old man, Claire said,
unexpectedly, and they both turned in surprise to her.  He pinched my bottom
at a fund raiser and when I confronted him, he pretended it was the waiter. A
poor Pakistani kid. He tried to get him fired. The creep pinched me so hard I was
black and blue for a week.
Bud heard a rushing sound in his ears. It took him a second to find his voice.
And when he did, it was thick with rage.  Jesus fucking Christ. He hurt you?
Robert Mansfield hurt you? Robert Mansfield was a walking dead man. He half
rose, ready to rush out right now and beat Mansfield to a pulp.  That fucking
son of a b 
 I think we ll retire to the library, my dear. Horace Park s quavery voice
broke in. He was old but he was savvy. All that money and all that breeding
gave him antenna telling him Bud was about ready to lose it, maybe make a
scene. And he was. It took him a whole minute to get his breathing under
control, unclench his fists.
You do not use swear words and you do not lose control in the finest house
in Portland. Bud would have been ashamed of himself, but the thought of that
fucker Mansfield hurting Claire pulsed through him, making his control slip,
making it hard to sit still through the static of rage in his head.
 No cigars, Daddy, Claire said sternly. She pointed a slender finger at him [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]