the Dirty Dozen - Chapter 52

   "Hey Mike. How's it going?"

   "It's going. What's all the fuss? The old man's running around, fussing. Something just hit. Got a heads up? I just got into my first cup of coffee."

   "Oh, sweet Jesus. I don't have the particulars yet. It's a shit-storm. Apparently, it touched down late last night. Everyone's diving for cover and pointing fingers. No one knows what to do."

   "Oh, great. Another one of those. How long I got?"

   "Sit rep coming in, oh, 20 minutes, I heard. Put your shit-proof suit on. This shit-storm is touching down in multiple states."

   "Any clues?"

   "Apparently, it's so bad, there's no rumors out yet. You know what that means."

   "Fuck me. I have enough to do and worry about right now. Situation report in 20, huh? I'm grabbing donuts and coffee. Which comedy hall?"

   "Number four, we're pretty sure. Mike, do you have ESP?"

   "If I had ESP, would I ever make a mistake? Would I even have this job? No, I'd have hit a lottery ticket, and be on a fishing boat somewhere. Where I could read about this shit in the papers like a normal guy."

   "I just joke. You've been moping around, saying it just felt like something bad was coming, and you didn't know what. I figured you either knew something, or were just depressed."

   "Don't let me bring you down. Let me guess, no one wants this one, right?"

   "Fingers are being pointed faster than little kids all found standing around a cookie jar. Here's the joke I heard from the old man's secretary. Now, you know she'll never say anything, but, she will make jokes about it, right?"

   "Yeah. She's dependable."

   "Right. She said. Imagine there's a big turd in the middle of the sand box. Now, everyone knows there's a big old turd, buried right in the middle of the sandbox. Everyone just keeps playing around it. Kicks some sand over it, so they don't smell it or see it. Cause you don't want parents to notice, and close the sandbox down."

   "The turd got exposed."

   "No. The joke is? That would have been preferable. In this case? Someone stuck an M-80 under the buried turd, and lit the fucking fuse. There's shit flying everywhere. And, no one wants to touch this one, with a ten foot pole, way I heard it. It's going to get assigned, if no one agrees to man up and fall on their sword for the team."

   "Why don't they just cut out the middle man, put antacid tablets in the fucking creamer pitcher, and get it over with. We can pour it right into our morning coffee."

   "Come on, Mike… Let's go get good seats for this one."

   "Yeah…"

   Less than a half hour later, an emergency situation report was ordered. All the usual suspects dutifully were in and waiting, when the old man came in. Threw a small file down onto the middle of the desk. It had a stack of cover letters to pass around.

   "Yeah. I'm sure you all heard the rumors floating around. Read the cover letter, and weep. If I don't get a volunteer, by the end of this short meeting? I have to appoint someone. Assistant director's orders. This thing needs someone on it immediately."

   Someone asked how bad it could be.

   A guy who was one of the first to skim the cover letter, made a face. Then another. Then a completely sour face. He held the cover letter he read out by thumb and forefinger, by the very tiniest tip of the corner of it. Held his nose with his other hand, and in the honking voice that holding his nose produced, simply said…

   "This? Is going to be like trying to pick up a turd by the clean end."

   "No, this is a radioactive turd."

   "Fuck you all. This is the kind of shit I've been talking about for years now, you have to take it in the ass early on with this shit, and quit pussyfooting around. It never gets better on it's own. Now look at this shit."

   The same guy had been idly leafing through the main small set up file, looking up a reference off of the cover letter. His mouth hung open, and he laughed sarcastically.

   "What did you just see?"

   "Appendix C…"

   Scanning the cover letter copy, everyone could see he was indicating 'contents of the scene vehicles'

   "Oh, our city's best and brightest, I am so proud to call this home. You know, any other random assholes would try and pull this shit, you expect them to grab a six pack on the way. Are they trying to shit the turd big enough it can't be flushed? What… guys, read this. The usual dog and pony job? Will not, repeat will not work. They cut the legs off the dog and the pony, this time."

   "Let me see that…"

   The man smiled and held it out for him, pointing to the bad part he found.

   "Oh shit. Do any of you guys know Pennsylvania to begin with?"

   "I do. Been up there a few times. No secret we have a few satellite offices around. Got loaned a few assets when I was trusted not to kiss and tell."

   "Share your travel stories… how friendly are the natives, once they emerge to greet you?"

   "Here's Pennsylvania in a nutshell. The travel brochure. It's called Pennsyltucky for a reason. The thing is, it's really two states. The right side of the state? Philly is the capitol, and yeah, it's pretty much like any big city. The people around Philly? It's what you expect as you move out from the ground zero that is Philly. Things will make sense to you."

   "And the left side?"

   "Like a whole other state. Pittsburgh? Is the capitol of that state, and it ain't like Philly, and it ain't like any other city you ever been to."

   "Well, what's it like?"

   "Eh, ever been to Boston? Working class Boston?"

   "Yeah… drinking and fighting are the two favorite hobbies."

   "Right. Boston… is like… the farm team, to see if you can even make it in the Pittsburgh area. I ain't kidding. These people have bench clearing brawls at every wedding and every funeral. You can't even call the cops, the cops are probably in the brawl already. And everybody likes it like that. I've personally seen the bride at a reception punch the cop that showed up in the mouth. She got a standing ovation."

   "Okay, so the small towns can be rough."

   "No. I'm describing the nice places."

   "All right, enough of the scary bedtime stories, already."

   "No. I'm not trying to be funny. I'm really not. Look, I'll prove it. Ask anyone that ever tried to drive a car in southwestern Pennsylvania, they'll tell you. I'll put it this way… anyone enjoy the DC beltway? The circle of death scare you?"

   Glances and nods went around the room, agreement all around.

   "The locals? Drive just like that, and I mean everywhere. In small towns, on back roads, and the highways? Christ almighty. Look, it's historical facts and genetics. These are the descendants of the people that started, fought, and won the American revolution. First order of business when that was settled? Whiskey Rebellion. Someone thought it would be a bright idea to put a one penny tax on every gallon of whiskey these people drank, to pay off the revolution. They were gonna march on Pittsburgh, and burn it to the ground. George Washington, as his first official job on day one after getting sworn in? Had to march the troops in to settle the locals down. George had to kill the tax to seal the deal."

   "It's been a while since then…"

   "Yeah. Civil war? Every historian agrees it would have never been won without all the Pennsylvania Infantry. The democrats pack pistols there. The republicans? Just have better aim."

   "Then, after civil war… comes civilization…"

   "Right. The industrial revolution. Waves of immigration, for the skilled hard labor in all the steel mills. The mines. All the other hard work either supporting those, or, working off of them. Most immigration waves were… Irish, German, and Italian. All three known for three things. Hard working, hard fighting, hard drinking. This, is what mixed and bred over generations with the descendants of the revolutionaries."

   "What's the big point of all this, you always have a big important point to these lectures…"

   "So, when I tell you that dealing with Pennsylvania is different, than dealing with anywhere else? You can believe it."

   "Let's say we respect this idea. What do you recommend in the way of addressing the Pennsylvania public about this? And the country at large at the same time?"

   "See, that's the problem right there. Politicians and CEOs have been dealing with this dilemma forever. Remember, two states in one. Eastern Pennsylvaia? It'll work like you expect it to. You have your big city message, and your rural message. Most people will tailor their message to straddle the two, and call it a day, take the over half that goes for it and call it a win."

   "What about Western Pennsylvania?"

   "That's the entire problem. Pittsburgh? Is not a mega city. Your regular city message? Has very few friendly ears… think of Pittsburgh the city? As a big Boston blue collar district, and you'll do well… now, the rest of Western Pennsylvania? Hoo boy. That's the revolutionaries, mixed with the hard working hard drinking hard fighting folks. I know what you think I'm describing, you're conjuring up some image of that small town, slow motion, stupid and lazy image. Erase that from your mind, Western Pennsylvania is anything but."

   "So, what is it then?"

   "Fast talking, fast thinking, fast driving people. Quick to fight, and quick to forgive. Even the people going nowhere? Are in a hurry to get there. The stupid people, the way you think of them? Will be street smart. Most people are somewhat… ambitious, even if it's like I said about doing nothing."

   "Keep going."

   "The politicians and businessmen that thrive there? They don't talk, they act. Even in casual conversation? You have to always be acting, and reacting. Shifting tactics. Rolling with the punches. Don't take it personal, because they sure don't. No one outside of South Western Pennsylvania understands this area, and they can't figure out why nothing works, that works everywhere else. If you even try to do the standard half city, half country message that works everywhere else? These people will eat you alive. My advice? Get to the root of the problem, and ignore the fallout. Don't try to explain some four phase plan, just blow up the problem, then walk away with your fingers in your ears. Because that? Is what they all do."

   "So… you're saying that Southwestern Pennsylvania is full of crazies?"

   "No, nothing could be farther from the truth. When you look at the stats? That area has produced more famous actors, musicians, inventors, sports stars, CEOs and famous generals than anywhere else in America, hands down. Ask anyone that's ever ran assets in the region? It's impossible to explain. These people smell bullshit at ten paces, then act on it. We're all forced to recruit undercover units from the area, we can't send people in. Because it simply doesn't work, like it will every damn where else. Ask around, we've lost more undercover pool workers there, than in any major city across America. And by lost, I'm sure you know exactly what I mean."

   The "old man" jumped up, waved his arms, and cut everyone off… before they got too sidetracked. Time was of the essence at this meeting.

   "All right! All right! Thank you for the doctoral dissertation describing the fact that there's something in the water, in Southwestern Pennsylvania. Now, we have to move this along. Remember, this is an emergency sit rep. We're on a timetable here, folks. But, he's right. I'm going to assign whoever goes in for this one? A local from a nearby satellite office, to act as a guide and an interpreter."

   "How bad is this coming down?"

   "Hard. I just got off the phone with the governor of Pennsylvania. He's pissed. He chewed a chunk of my ass off and spit it at me. He wants to know why we can't manage to keep our own sewage in our own playground."

   "God damn it. How in the fuck did this jump states overnight like this? I thought we were close to all jumping up and down on this sewer manhole cover, and screwing it back down, finally."

   "I've been warning. Everybody. For years now, here you go. You keep clamping the lid on this shit, it's eventually going to increase the pressure until it just explodes."

   "Finger pointing ain't helping. We can do that later. Right now? Anyone have any ideas."

   "Fuck it. Couldn't we just stay out of it? Let them finish the job. This is like a forest fire, for the love of god. Just… let it burn itself out. I mean, do we have to get involved? This isn't even our mess. What's the Pennsylvania governor going to actually do, anyways."

   "Are you volunteering to go up and try to ride this thing out? Try to drag it across the finish line, wherever it ends up? The assistant director says, and this doesn't leave this room, or heads will roll… you get a hold of this one, you stay on it till it quits bucking? You will not be forgotten. His exact words, completely off the record."

   "That's assuming you even have a career when this thing is over. This is like trying to fuck a Sasquatch. You have to keep fucking until the Sasquatch decides you're done."

   "So, the clock is ticking. Who's going to jump into a car and hustle up there and try to get ahead of this."

   "More like throwing a rope over the neck of a bull. You just ski behind it. It pulls you around. I tried to rodeo one of these around once when I was younger and braver. You hold on tight to the rope, and it will pull you into every rock and cactus it wants to. But, you don't dare let go."

   "All right, all right. Do I have a volunteer."

   One man looked around, and sighed. Raised his hand.

   "I honestly thought I was going to have to assign it…"

   "Yeah. If you do that? Here's the sad truth. Doesn't matter who you put on it? They didn't want it. They're scared of it. They'll try to kiss ass around, and please everybody. The prosecutor? Will end up doing whatever the fuck they want to do, and fuck you on anything you try to deal."

   "So, you don't want it."

   "I'll take it. But, only on my terms. My conditions."

   "Hmm. That's fair. What are these terms and conditions."

   "Glad you asked. One. It's my shit-storm. It's my call. Whatever I decide to do? I do. Period. End of story. I will not have someone sitting back, armchair quarterbacking my every move. Could you do this? Why don't you try that. You know, it would be nice if we could try the other way. None of that shit. Whatever I decide, whatever I do? That's that."

   "I didn't say yes, but, what's number two?"

   "I get my own pick, of the prosecutor. Any one of them. I want that understood, right from the outset. The problem, before you ask. If I make a deal? If I make a horse trade? I'm not having some asshole say yes sir yes sir, three bags full sir… then six months later, go back on my word and my promise? And take the free kill as a political bonus. Fuck that shit. I'll probably end up picking a fresh, young, new, idealistic face. That will, yeah… do whatever I suggest."

   "I didn't say yes, but, let's hear number three."

   "This shit needs to be straight before I even start out. I do not work for the governor of Pennsylvania. I do not get called in, ordered in, to a meeting. Demanded of information. Told what they expect. Given a timetable. I promise you? I will embarrass everyone. I will walk right into the governor's office? Tell the governor himself? To go fuck himself. Dare him to do jack shit to me. I am not in the business of getting people elected, or, trying to give them plums to drop into speeches to look like they're managing shit."

   "Let's hear the next one."

   "I want an ironclad guarantee? I handle all the PR. If I release nothing? My call. I want to leak something? My call. If I get on TV and what I say, ruffles a few feathers? My call."

   "Next?"

   "I might be done. But… all of this? I get backed up on it. Someone calls whining? I'm not left hung out to dry. You tell whoever it is? That's my man, he has my full faith, and hang up on them. Grow a set of balls and someone has to be in charge."

   "Mike? You're going to kill me, but, rather than mince your words, or, forget something, or get it wrong? I just speaker-ed you, to the assistant director. Hold on… we're off speaker, sir. Go."

   "Well? What do you think?"

   "Okay. Then can I be honest? Okay. The last person to touch the ball? Takes the most blame and responsibility. We're being held responsible, for another team's shit."

   "Sir? How bad do you think the next one of these will be, if we even try that."

   "Do you want me to be a yes man? Or, do you want my honest opinion…"

   "You do? Here it is. Yes. He is a flamethrower. Houses will burn down. Let me put this in terms you can understand. Here's the real PR, that no one seems to get… start taking lunch and dinner? With the minimum wage people in this city. Talk to them, get to know them. You know what you'll find out? Honest law abiding poor people… are more scared of the cops in this city, than they are of the average street criminal."

   "No, that's not an exaggeration. That's a fact. We have our own problems? And this is rubbing off on us. I'm done. Call me back in 5. Good day, sir."

   "Mike? I know it, and you know it. There's no winning here, only degrees of losing. I'm on board. Within 5 minutes? I'll give you an answer."

   Everyone held their own little conversations. Mike just sat there, leaning his head on his hand, elbow on the desk supporting his face, as if he were a photo frame and his arm was the little fold out stand in the back.

   Within 3 minutes, the old man's cell beeped.

   "Mike? Saddle up. His exact words are… burn down what you need to, salvage whatever you think you can. Take whatever and whoever you think you can make use of. We'll judge this when it's over, not at halftime."

   "I will hold you, and him, to it. The guy right there? Is right… we've been putting this off for far too long. That's why it's this bad now. We should have done this 5 years ago, last time. It's gotten too bad to sweep under the rug anymore."

   "Who do you want?"

   "I'll call you and let you know. I don't have a crystal ball. Let me get up there and assess the situation."

   "Mike?"

   "Yes…"

   "Would you rather take a charter flight to the nearest small airport? I want you there as fast as possible. I'll have someone from the nearest satellite office waiting with a car."

   "I'm packing. Text me the flight information."