I’m your friend, Torn. I have so far been able to control the, ah, firebrands, but you’ll have to trust me.
You’ll have to do what I ask.”
“Hasty,” Carson said.
“I’m the chief of police, for cris-sake.”
Hathaway shook his head.
“You can’t just say I’m
not,” Carson said.
“You don’t make the rules in this town, Torn.”
“And you do?” Carson said.
His face felt stiff as he spoke and his arms and hands felt weak.
“We do, Torn. Emphasis on the
‘We.’”
Carson was silent, staring at Hathaway. The mention of Jo Jo had made him feel loose and fragmented inside. Hathaway took“a thick stationery-sized manila envelope from his middle drawer.
“You aren’t .much of a policeman, Torn, and it was just a sad accident that you learned things. But you did, and you were right to come first to me. I’ve been able to save you so far from the consequences of your knowledge.”
“What if I went to the FBI with this?”
“This is what I’m trying to
forestall,” Hathaway said.
“Other people, people like Jo Jo, would prevail. And your family…” Hathaway shrugged and held the shrug for a moment, and sighed as if to himself, before he continued.
“But we both know, Torn, you are not made of that kind of stuff. The better choice for you, and I’m sure you recognize this, is to take our rather generous severance pack age.
We’ve found you a house, and we‘ we contributed some cash to help you in relocation costs. The details are in here.”
“What if I promise not to say a word about anything, Hasty. Why can’t I just stay here. You’d have a chief of police that won’t give you any trouble.”
Hathaway shook his head slowly as Carson spoke. He smiled sadly.
“I mean, you know, the next chief,” Carson said,
“might be harder to deal with.”
Hathaway continued his sad smile and slow head shake.
“I am trying to help you, Torn,” Hathaway said. “I can’t help you if you won’t help yourself.”
“I’m no troublemaker,” Carson
said. “How can you be sure you won’t just get a troublemaker.”
“We have already chosen your successor,”
Hathaway said. “He should be just right.”
He held the envelope out toward Torn Carson and, after a moment of empty hesitation, Carson reached out and took it.
up Route 15 and followed it north to Barstow, wh’ere he went east on Route 40. He didn’t turn on the radio. He liked quiet. He set the cruise control to seventy and kept a hand lightly on the steering wheel and slowly settled into himself and allowed his feelings to seep out of the compacted center of himself. He no longer had a badge. He’d turned it in with his service pistol. There was no wedding ring on his left hand. He smiled without pleasure. Turned that in too. It made him feel sort of scared to be without a badge or a wedding ring. Not quite thirty-five and no official status anymore. With his right hand he fished in the gym bag on the front seat beside him until he found his off-duty gun, a short-barreled Smith & Wesson .38. He arranged it near the top of the bag, where it would be easy to reach, and he let his hand rest on it for a time. It made him feel less insubstantial. He stopped at a truck stop outside of Needles, sat at the counter and had orange juice, ham, eggs, potatoes, wheat toast, and three cups of coffee
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