I left the house in a Windsor knot.
I was dressed to the nines for an evening with Ten.
The Council of Ten that secretly ran the town. The Crowley folks thought ti was their elected officials that were in charge. Ha! They were our puppets.
Not all dressed up. But I did. I was newest to the Council, replacing Randall Carter, who had face planted on the DixonLand Golf Course just four months ago. Perhaps he keeled over from all the alcohol he consumed, all the tobacco he smoked, or all the fatty foods that helped him tip past 300 pounds. Or maybe it was just his time.
Regardless, this was my first big meeting, and I was determined to dress to impress.
I pulled into Forrest Compton's semi-circular driveway, driving the fanciest of my two cars, a 2017 Audi A4. I joined the pick'em'up trucks, the luxury SUVs, and Houston Grave Jr.'s sporty BMW convertible. I left to walk into the huge home tucked away at the end of Pine Street.
I was what they call nouveau riche, having only recently made my fortune in operating a small chain of fitness centers - Smart Workouts. I thought it was a good name, and played well off my name, Theodore Donald Smart (everyone calls me Donnie). I was determined to grow it throughout the state, become a regular business tycoon. I made enticing opening offers to join, then when they were still hyper about coming, hit them with long term contracts, collecting big bucks from people who often started gung ho, and then faded to next to nothing for the remainder of the contract. All the money with none of the expense!
I was ushered to the veranda by Forrest's porcelain doll Stepford Wife, Marcia. Well, I should be more respectful. She may have been my major ticket into the Ten. She had joined one of my facilities, and she gushed about how wonderful it was to me. One thing led to another, and then the next thing I knew Houston was bringing me a formal request to join.
None of this could be talked about to others. But that's okay. I'm good at keeping secrets. I know where some of the bodies are buried. Really. I mean that literally.
I had misjudged the dress dramatically. I would have to keep in mind that these meetings were much more informal than I expected. At least I looked smart sharp.
Mama Crowley, a small thin woman who looked like Mammy Yokum from Lil' Abner, called the meeting to order. Well, what she said was, "Y'all! We can't just jabber all night! Let's git down to bizness!"
That called everyone to attention. Mama Crowley was the only woman on the Ten, and was there because her husband Reggie, owner of Crowley Textiles and the richest man in Dixon County, was not in good health, and Mama had been subbing for him for about a year now. She had quickly taken charge. I wondered if she wasn't the real force behind Reggie's fortune.
"We all know what's we gots to discuss," began Mama. "That Compton Park has been a huge success and hauling in the dough for all of us." Mostly true. My newest Smart Workout was out there but lagging behind my other locations. People went there to eat and shop, not to get fit. "And it took a huge chunk out of the county's swamp. But it didn't take it all. And now we have a lucrative offer from Sander Peaks Mining Company, to strip mine for some mineral, I forget its name."
"Titanium Dioxide," chimed in Houston. An eager beaver and, if nothing else, a quick study when it came to moneymaking opportunities.
"Thank you, Houston," said Mama. "I can't keep them fancy mineral monikers straight. So, we've already agreed that this is something that we want. Reggie owns most of the land, but the profits will be shared through the Ten's shell organization that will operate the lease. In addition to the lease money, Sander Peaks will give us 10% of what they collect for selling the mineral."
"This is all well and good, but you know we got a large monkey wrench in the works, dont'cha?" said Daddy Delco, a huge man who owned a chain of furniture stores.
"Public opinion?" offered Forrest Compton, the owner of the house we were in, and owner of the largest bank in Dixon County.
"Well, that we can deal with," said Mama. "I think he means the city council, led by it's newest councilman, that damn Yankee, Gariton Hollander."
"You don't worry about Gariton," said Daddy Delco. "I'll take care of that piece of crap." Of that, I had no doubt. Gariton, that tiny Yankee CPA, had recently divorced Daddy's daughter, Christie. Daddy Delco was almost drooling at the prospect of taking Gariton on.
I had mixed feeling about Gariton. He was a semi-sissified Yankee, but he was also my accountant, and I owed him a lot for keeping my bookkeeping and finances on track. I decided my best course of action was to stay quiet.
Daddy Delco eyed me nonetheless. My heart raced. "Hey, new guy. Whyn't you take off that tie? Just looking at it is making me feel all chokey."
I pulled out my Windsor knot, and took my tie off, wadding it up and putting in the jacket of my sports coat.
Now, with my knot gone, I was truly in the Ten. I was one of them. No more swamp, but plenty of ka-ching!
And isn't that the way it's supposed to be?
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