“A. J. wanted me to meet with you about Wittman’s new petition,” Daniels started. He was charming and sincere when he spoke, with a bright, winning smile. Okay, maybe I liked him a little.
“He wants your take on it,” he continued. “Will they get the 3,700 signatures to force another referendum? How will Bo Hines’ endorsement impact the success of this new petition that will halt the building of the baseball stadium?”
“Tell Kettler that it’s too early to tell,” I said. “Wittman has been clever this time. His petition challenges the award of the construction contract. The city charter allows any citizen to conduct a petition drive for a referendum on any vote made by the council. He has ninety days to present the signatures to the city council, which is a tight timeframe to gather them. Wittman needs to aim for about 4,500 because not all of the signatures will be valid city of Pensacola registered voters. However, if Hines bankrolls the effort, Wittman might get them in time.”
“Should I try to meet with Bo?” Daniels asked. “We’ve served on a few boards together. A. J. has made some pretty big donations to his fundraisers.”
“That’s your call,” I said. “If you do, don’t mention my name.”
Daniels nodded.
I continued, “Stan, we will be battling the same misinformation as before, the same lies. The petition and subsequent referendum give Wittman and his followers another opportunity to attack Kettler and the baseball team. Hines’ push to create this nature reserve in Sue’s memory adds a new dynamic to the debate. I can’t be sure how that might impact people.”
“Sue had a lot of friends,” Daniels observed. “People will want to honor her.”
“Agreed,” I replied. “Does Kettler have the stomach for the fight? He could take his team elsewhere. I’ve heard Biloxi is building a baseball stadium and would be interested in the Pilots.”
Daniels said, “They have reached out to A.J., but he considers Jace a bully. He refuses to let a bully stop a project that he sincerely believes will turn this place around. My client will continue to fight for this park.”
“Okay,” I said. “There’s one thing that has bugged me about Hines’ theatrics at the Save Our Pensacola meeting. His road construction company was one of the subcontractors for the site work at the maritime park. He stood to make money on the construction.”
“Your article on missing Arts Council funds and his arrest got him dropped from the project,” said Daniels. “His company was not part of the construction contract approved by the city council at the end of May, thanks to you. On June 7, Jace announced he would try to force a referendum to reverse the vote.”
I noticed on his wall a flip-flop mounted on a plaque. I asked Daniels about it.
“My old all-star baseball team gave it to me at a 45th reunion party,” he said. “It’s about a silly ping pong match I had with Jace when we were all ten years old. It’s a trophy of sorts.”
I nodded, letting him know that I’d heard the story about the way he defeated Jace. I said, “I guess Wittman didn’t want to show up for the reunion.”
Daniels replied, “He did come and wasn’t too amused. It didn’t help matters any when a couple of buddies and I played a prank on Jace later.”
“Jace has always left his truck unlocked. So we were able to attach under his truck’s steering column a great item from an Annoy-a-tron Pack we had found online. It was a battery-powered small circuit board with a magnet that set off loud beeps at random intervals.”
He laughed. “I forgot about it until my wife told me a month later how Jace and his wife had driven to Atlanta with a mysterious beeping noise driving them crazy. They had stopped at two dealers to try and locate the source of the sound. Jace was ready to sell the truck.”
I laughed, too. “What happened next?”
“I confessed to my wife that I did it,” he said. “She made me call Jace, apologize and remove the circuit board, but our classmates didn’t help smooth things over. For weeks they greeted him with “beep” whenever they saw him.”
I said, “Jace doesn’t believe in forgiving and forgetting, I guess.”
“Few in Pensacola do,” said Daniels. “I’m tired of Jace’s pettiness and bullying. Maybe we can put an end to it by killing this petition effort.”
“You don’t really believe that, do you?”
“Think positively, Mr. Holmes.”
We talked twenty or so more minutes about the petition drive. Daniels didn’t make any other comments about the acrimony between him and Wittman. He wanted to talk primarily about the petition, Hines, and how to get the baseball stadium built.
“My reporter, Doug Yoste, is working on a story about the petition. Can he interview you and Kettler?”
“Yes, we can set it up,” he said. “But I think he is traveling in Canada with his family this week.”
As I drove over to H&O Cafe, Summer called. I almost didn’t pick up the phone, but I owed it to her to answer.
There was no hello or other pleasantries. “The printer wants another check before they print the issue,” she said. “What do I do?”
This issue was too big to delay printing. “Cut the check. I’ll be back in an hour. Tell them we will deliver it by 2:30.”
Again, we would take advantage of the bank float. Missing the 2:00 p.m. bank cutoff would buy us another day or two. Goddammit, this was getting old.
Blocking the negativity from my mind, I parked in the oyster shell-covered parking lot behind H&O, navigated around a few deep puddles, and walked in to meet Razor.
Located at the corner of Hayne and Gonzalez streets almost under the I-110 overpass, the H&O Café was one of the first black-owned restaurants in Pensacola. Hamp Lee and his brother Booker opened the place in 1922 and named it for their wives, Hattie and Ola.
The H&O was first a grocery with a lunch counter and
