Far From True

Twenty-five

“How was your lunch?” David Harwood asked Randall Finley when he found him walking through his water-bottling plant.

“Good, good lunch,” Finley said.

“Who were you meeting again? Frank Mancini?”

“Yup. Good guy. Good businessman. So did you get the thing set up at the bank?”

“I did. You can now make a donation to the Constellation Drive-in disaster fund to help people and their families affected by the tragedy.”

“And you called it the Randall Finley Relief Fund?”

Harwood thought that he’d like nothing more than to be relieved of Randall Finley. “No, I did not call it that. I called it the May 17 Fund. Pegged it to the day it happened. People around here will remember that date for a long time. It’ll resonate.”

Finley couldn’t hide the disappointment on his face. “I suppose that’s okay.”

“It would have looked self-serving to put your name on it. But people will know. You can remind them when you give talks. Tell people to throw a few bucks at the account you set up.”

“Sure, I hear what you’re saying.”

“You look like I took away your favorite toy.”

“No, you’re right.” He smiled and clapped a hand on Harwood’s shoulder. “That’s why I picked you, David. You’ve got smarts. You know how to rein me in. You know how to keep me from making an even bigger asshole of myself.”

“That’s why you pay me the big bucks,” David said.

Finley laughed. “We need to talk about when I should officially announce. I have to tell you, I feel ready. The election’s still more than five months off, but you need time to build momentum. You know what I’m saying?”

“Sure.”

“I’m thinking, maybe there’s no point in holding off. We just do it. You know what I mean? We call a news conference, today or tomorrow, and we tie it in to the disaster fund. Shows my heart’s in the right place. That I care about this town. At first, I was thinking, we go slow. Do an announcement to announce that I’m going to announce.” He laughed. “Kind of like foreplay.”

“I get it.”

“But now I’m thinking more of taking a slam-bam-thank-you-ma’am approach. Let’s just get it the fuck out there.”

“You’re the boss,” David said. “I’m just not sure who’ll come out to a news conference. We’re kind of dependent on the Albany media now, more than ever, with the Standard gone.”

“You’ll figure something out,” he said. He frowned, kept that hand on David’s shoulder. “Everything okay?”

“Yup.”

“I feel like I’m picking up a vibe that you’re less than enthusiastic about working for me.” He grinned. “Am I on to something there?”

“I do my job. That’s what you pay me for. You don’t pay me to like you.”

“I certainly don’t. I’m sure there’s not enough money in the world to make that happen. You don’t have to like me, David. You just have to get me elected.”

David moved a step back, forcing Finley to release his grip on his shoulder. “Then we need to talk about your platform. If you’re going to announce, the people have to know what you stand for.”

“Hmm.”

“Like a five-point plan for the town. Five reasons why the people of Promise Falls should give you another chance.”

Finley nodded. “I like that.” He laughed. “You think we can come up with five?”

“Why don’t we turn it around? Instead of five reasons why people should vote for you, give me five reasons why you want to be mayor again.”

“Okay, okay. Why don’t we go outside?”

They exited the building through the loading docks, when Finley spotted a young man loading flats of bottled water into the back of a van.

“Trevor!” Finley said. “How’s it going?”

Trevor Duckworth turned, saw Finley, offered up half a wave.

“Have you met Trevor?” Finley asked David. When David shook his head, Finley did introductions. “David, this is Trevor Duckworth. Trevor, this is David Harwood.”

“Hey,” Trevor said.

“Duckworth?” David said. “Any relation to Barry, with the Promise Falls police?”

“My dad,” he said with little enthusiasm.

“We’ve met,” David said. “Not always under the best circumstances, but we’ve met. He’s a good guy.”

Trevor said nothing.

“David’s going to be handling my campaign strategy,” Finley said. To David, he added, “It’s a pretty open secret around here that I’m going back into politics.”

“I’ve got to do a run,” Trevor said, closing the back doors of the van. “Nice to meet you.”

“Same,” David said.

“Bit of a sad sack,” Finley said as Trevor Duckworth got behind the wheel of the van. “But I like to help people when they’re down and out.”

“What do you mean, down and out?”

“Kid had been looking for work for some time, and I gave him a job. That should be one of the five things. Why I want to be mayor. Because I like to help people out.”

“Noted,” David said.

They went down a short flight of concrete steps to the parking area, walked over to a picnic table set under the shade of a large oak. Finley dropped onto the bench and, with some effort, swung his thick legs over it and under the table. David sat opposite.

“How about a second one?”

“I want to see Promise Falls move into the future.”

“What’s that mean?”

“It doesn’t have to mean anything, David. It’s a campaign platform. How long did you work in newspapers, anyway?”

“A third.”

Finley pondered. “How about this? For me, it’s a way to seek redemption. I’m a flawed man — I made mistakes — but all I ever wanted was an opportunity to serve my fellow citizens. I want another chance at that.”

David was caught off guard. “That’s actually kind of good.”

“You know why?”

“Why?”

“Because it’s from the heart, that’s why.”

At that moment David understood the central appeal of the man sitting across from him. He had the ability to connect. David had his doubts about Finley’s sincerity, but he came across as the real deal. A regular voter would believe him. A regular voter would look at Finley and think, Yeah, he’s an asshole, but who isn’t, really? So what the hell, I’d rather have him than some other guy who thinks he’s better than me.

“You should be writing these down,” Finley said.

“I’ll remember. That leaves two more.”

“Okay. Uh, how about jobs? I want to bring jobs to Promise Falls.”

“That’s kind of like the first one. Wanting to help people out.”

“Oh yeah. It is kind of the same. How about Five Mountains?”

David flinched on the inside. He had bad memories of the amusement park. It was where his wife had gone missing five years ago. Ultimately, she was found, but there was no happy ending.

“What about Five Mountains?”

“I want it reopened,” Finley said. “I want to shame the corporate owners into canceling their plans to close it. And failing that, I want someone else to come in and take it over. That drew plenty of dollars to the town. It should stay open.”

“What do you think the odds are they’ll change their mind?”

“Oh, zero,” Finley said. “Not a chance. Already tried talking to Gloria Fenwick.” I remembered her. Finley grinned. “Even offered her a small inducement, but she declined.”

“Jesus, a bribe?”

Finley sighed. “David, please. Anyway, that should be in my platform.”

“But if there’s nothing you can do about it, then...”

“Just because it can’t be done doesn’t mean I can’t tell the people I want it to be done,” he said. “You hear Amanda even raising a peep about this?”

Amanda Croydon, the current mayor, who, based on anything David had heard, was planning to run again.

“I can nail her for not even trying,” he said.

“When you’re making a speech, I’d avoid phrases like ‘nail her.’”

Another grin. “So what’s that leave us? What are we down to? One reason left for why I want to be mayor.” He pursed his lips. He seemed to be struggling with this one.

“Maybe the real reason is harder to acknowledge publicly,” David said.

His eyes went to slits. “I’m sorry. What?”

“I’m just saying that maybe some of your motivations for running have less to do with the public good and more to do with personal gain.”

“What are you getting at, David?”

David put his palms a few feet apart on the picnic table, as though bracing himself. “What was your meeting with Frank Mancini about?”

“Why you asking?”

“Because you wouldn’t tell me. I’m supposed to be working for you, but you keep things from me.”

“You don’t have to know everything. You only need to know what I want you to know.”

“Suppose I’m asked? You’ve put me in the role of your spokesperson. If someone wants to know why you’ve been meeting with Mancini, what should I say?”

“Who’s going to ask?”

“I am. Right now.”

“He’s a developer. He’s the kind of guy who brings jobs and money to the table. Of course I’m going to talk to a guy like that.”

“Whose money and whose table?” David asked.

Finley’s eyes narrowed. “Is there something you want to get off your chest?”

“I’m just saying, Mancini’s bought the land where four people died last night. That property, for a whole slew of reasons, is going to be under the microscope for some time. That’s something you need to think about.”

“You seem to be suggesting a policy of openness and transparency. That be right, David?”

“Always better to get ahead of bad news,” David said. “That way you’re able to handle it when it breaks. So, yeah, openness might be one of your five. How you want to run an open and aboveboard city hall.”

Finley nodded slowly. “So, is that the policy you’ve adopted with your boy? Ethan, right?”

“What?”

“So you’ve told him, then?”

David wondered what the hell his nine-year-old son had to do with any of this. “I’m sorry?”

“You’ve told Ethan about his mother. About Jan.”

“What about Jan?”

“That she wasn’t all she claimed to be. A lot of her story never became public. But you hear things. It was a tragic story, no doubt about it. But some might say Jan brought that on herself. Killed by the man whose hand she cut off. Came here to live a normal life, married a regular guy like you. But she was hiding out, wasn’t she? Thing is, the past has a way of catching up with you. Oh, yes, the story got around. I heard bits and pieces. I have to say, her exploits make me look like an amateur.”

“You’re a piece of work.”

“I’m just trying to make a point that we all keep some facts back. Maybe it was all for the good that Ethan’s mother met a sudden end. That way there were never charges, no trial. A couple of stories, and then it all went away.”

“My son was four years old when his mother died,” David said. “Of course I didn’t tell him the whole story then.”

“And since? What is he now? Nine, ten years old?”

“Eventually, I’ll fill him in.”

Finley leaned toward David. “If it would help in any way, I could tell him.”

“Don’t go there, Randy.”

“It’d be my way of lessening the burden for you.” He opened his arms in a welcoming gesture. “It’s what I do.”

David felt his face warming with rage.

“You know, I like this,” Finley said. “We have a good back-and-forth, a nice rapport. We can get things out in the open. You can say what’s on your mind, and I can say what’s on my mind. I think that bodes well for moving forward. Anyway, here’s number five: Cut the bullshit. That’s what I’m about. I want to cut the bullshit. I think the voters will like that.”

Finley got up and headed back into the office, leaving David to dig his fingernails into the top of the picnic table.