“And he’s just a volunteer. Doesn’t have to. Could have a real attitude problem, but doesn’t.”
Hammer wondered if salt would hurt her much. Lord, how nice it would be to taste something and not end up looking like her husband.
“I’m in charge of patrol. That’s where he is right now,” Goode said, turning over lettuce leaves with her fork to see if anything good was left. Maybe a crouton or a walnut.
W Brazil was sweating in his uniform and bright orange traffic vest.
His feet were on fire as he blocked off a side street. He was turning cars around left and right, routing them the other way, blowing his whistle, and making crisp traffic motions. Horns were honking, and another driver began yelling rudely out the window for directions.
Brazil trotted over to help, and was not appreciated or thanked. This was a terrible job, and he loved it for reasons he did not understand.
to?
“So he relieves at least one sworn officer from traffic duty,” West was saying as Hammer chose to ignore both of her deputy chiefs.
Frankly, Hammer could take but so much of the bickering between the brass. It never ended. Hammer glanced at her watch and imagined Cahoon at the top of his crown. The fool. He would turn this city into the prick of America, peopled by yahoos with guns and US Air Gold cards and box seats for the Panthers and Hornets if someone did not stop him.
“W Cahoon had been stopped three times on his way to lunch on the sixtieth floor, in the corporate dining room. Awaiting him amid linen and Limoges were a president,
four vice-presidents, a chairman and a vice-chairman, and a top executive with the Dominion Tobacco Company, which over the next two years would be borrowing more than four hundred million dollars from US Bank for a cancer research project. Computer printouts had been stacked high by Gaboon’s plate. There were fresh flowers on the table, and waiters in tuxedos hovered.
“Good afternoon.” The CEO nodded around the table, his eyes lingering on the tobacco executive.
Cahoon didn’t like the woman and wasn’t sure why, beyond his rabid hatred of smoking, which had begun seven years ago, after he had quit.
Cahoon had serious misgivings about granting such a huge loan for a project so scientific and secretive that no one could tell him precisely what it was about, beyond the fact that US Bank would be instrumental in the development of the world’s first truly healthy cigarette. He had reviewed endless charts and diagrams of a long and robust cylinder with a gold crown around the filter. The amazing product was called US Choice It could be smoked by all, would harm none, and contained various minerals, vitamins, and calming agents that would be inhaled and absorbed directly into the bloodstream.
Cahoon was reminded of what his bank’s contribution would mean to humanity, as he reached for his bubbly water, and felt happy.
tw The people along Eastway Drive were also happy as they waited for the Freedom Parade. It was always full of hope and bounce, Shriners zigzagging on their scooters, waving at the crowd, reminding all of burn units and good deeds. Brazil was slightly concerned that other cops at other intersections seemed bored and restless. There were no floats. He scanned the horizon and saw nothing but a patrol car in a hurry heading his way. A horn blared and another driver yelled, this time an angry old woman in a Chevrolet. No matter how much Brazil tried to help, she was determined to be unpleasant and unreasonable.
“Ma’am,” he politely said, ‘you have to turn around and take Shamrock Drive. ”
She flipped him a bird and roared off, as the frantic, irritated cop in the patrol car rolled up on Brazil’s intersection.
“The parade and a funeral somehow got routed through here at the same time,” the cop hastily explained.
“What?” Brazil asked, baffled.
“How… ?”
But the patrol car sped off.
“Doesn’t matter who he relieves from traffic,” Goode was saying as she gave up on food in hopes it would give up on her.