CHAPTER 1
Monday Morning
The bottom became clearer with each
spin of his soon to be lifeless body. Gray veins in the Italian marble
floor below, billowed like waves in a seductive and beckoning sea.
Mayor Elijah D. Farrow's meticulously tailored pinstriped suit flapped with
each twist of his flailing limbs as he plummeted through the five-story rotunda
of City Hall. Even in mid-flight, he still looked the part of a man
who had risen triumphantly from the ghettos of San Francisco to the height
of political power and wealth.
Grotesque stone gargoyles that had
greeted him every day of his administration were now alive and dancing ecstatically
on their cement perches, cheering him on to his final destination.
The wings on carved cherubs protruding from ornate wall panels seemed to
flap in delight as Elijah tried in vain to find some trace of sympathy in
their angelic, yet tormented faces.
Florentine scrolls carved into the
forth floor balcony that once read "San Francisco Founded in 1880", now proclaimed
"MAYOR ELIJAH D. FARROW COMMITS SUICIDE AT CITY HALL". Nothing mattered
to him any longer. Dorian was gone. His wife had betrayed him.
Above all, the city and the people he loved more than life itself now mocked
and pitied him.
It wasn't true what he had heard about
death. Your whole life doesn't pass before your eyes when you die.
Inside the fall, he could only see the horrifying events that led him to
jump from the top gallery. The second hand ticked as if each second
were a day, and each day an eternity.
* * *
* *
Muted light enveloped the large conference
room at City Hall. The mayor's staff looked as rested and eager as
possible considering it was 8:00 on a Monday morning. For most, the
slightly crooked neckties, eyes ringed with brown circles, and stockings
slightly sagging at the knees, told of weekends filled with excessive drinking,
obsessive worrying, and sleepless nights.
The room bulged with a mix of young
political whiz kids, a smattering of gray-haired civil service survivors,
and wide-eyed neophytes who were clueless as to the gravity of their role
in running the great city. Hands clung to coffee stained paper cups
from the shop on the first floor, and expensive leather attaché cases
littered the floral printed carpet.
Five to six bodies slumped at tables
placed around the room in no particular order. Although there was no
pattern to the location of the tables, one in the center of the room held
staff who ranked as elite members of the mayor's inner circle. No one
dared occupy these coveted seats without unanimous consent from the fiercely
territorial pack.
The Mayor's Chief of Staff , Cynthia
Fulton, stood near her seat at the center table, and addressed the gathering
of 60 employees.
"We have a problem in city hall, and
some of you…you know who you are…are the cause of it."
Bodies shifted in vinyl padded
seats as Cynthia continued.
"Mice droppings have been spotted throughout
the building, and there's been an infestation of roaches and ants in the
fourth floor staff lounge. I've said this before people, and I'll say
it again, please do not leave food in your desks."
A stifled laugh escaped from a new
staff member in the rear of the room, followed by dead silence. Cynthia
looked in the direction of a red-faced young man.
"This is no laughing matter people.
I've worked for Mayor Farrow for four years, and I know for a fact that he'd
be very displeased to know that his beloved City Hall had an infestation
of vermin."
A man in horn rimmed glasses near the
rear of the room whispered to his tablemate. "If her husband wasn't one of
the biggest contributors to the Mayor's campaign, she would have been fired
years ago."
Even after it became clear that the
"problem" Cynthia referred to was only a problem in her own mind, no one
in the room relaxed. The critical tone had been set for the week
"Now to the next item," Cynthia
continued, "As you all know, it's time again for the annual ‘Clean Our Streets'
campaign. We expect each of you to sign up as many volunteers as possible.
The Mayor would like all of you to attend."
As she spoke, the rear door opened and Mayor Elijah Farrow walked in.
With his arms sternly crossed, and eyes squinting, he leaned against a wall
in the rear of the room. His black suit hung as though stitched with
skilled precision directly onto his muscular six-foot frame. A cranberry
colored silk tie, knotted to perfection, jutted from beneath a crisply starched
white shirt, revealing the subtle red tones in his flawless skin.
Cynthia paused mid-sentence and greeted Elijah.
"Good Morning Mr. Mayor," she said.
"I was just reminding everyone about the ‘Clean Our Streets' campaign
and how you would like them to participate."
"Correction Cynthia," Elijah
interrupted. "Everyone who expects to have a job Monday morning will
be there with a broom in one hand, a plastic trash bag in the other, and
a god damned pack of grinning volunteers on their heels. Cynthia I
want you to report to me personally any staff member who does not show up.
Understand?"
Cynthia attempted to change the subject.
"Mayor Farrow, we are expecting more
media coverage this year, and KCOP has agreed to air the opening ceremony
at Civic Center."
"I don't care if ABC, NBC and CBS are
all there," Elijah said curtly. "Just make sure that every one of my
staff shows." He jerked his stiff body away from the wall, uncrossed
his arms, and peered into the now mortified crowd.
"Some of you don't seem to realize
this job is not just a paycheck it's an honor. You show up at community
events when it's convenient for you. And don't think I don't know why;
it's because most of you don't even live in San Francisco. That's why
I get so damn many complaints about you not returning constituent calls,
leaving early, and not giving voters the respect they deserve.
Let me remind you that you represent me, and if you fuck up, I get blamed
on Election Day. So Cynthia, I'll say it again since you chose to ignore
me the first time. I want you to let me know who in this room doesn't
show up, and I'll deal with them personally."
Cynthia stood frozen as all eyes in
the room probed her face for the humiliation they all now assuredly shared.
She simply replied, "Yes, Mr. Mayor".
The staff meeting continued for the
next half-hour without further commentary from Elijah. Several brave
staff members asked pointless questions in attempts to appear interested
and concerned. Cynthia had recovered quickly from her most recent dressing-down
at the hands of the master she blindly served. From rat droppings,
and the ‘Clean Our City' campaign to dress codes, the meeting was adjourned
after the introduction of two new wide-eyed young staff members.
Bodies retrieved briefcases and coffee cups, and filed solemnly through the
double doors into the cavernous hall. Cynthia gathered her morning
newspaper and darted through the crowd towards Elijah. Naomi Sharp,
the Mayor's Press Secretary, followed closely behind. Both women waved
off comments from staff members as they passed through the crowd. They
focused on catching Elijah, who had exited the room and was now moving rapidly
towards the elevators.
Naomi was a tall woman who, regardless of the weather, wore two-piece, monotone
wool suits. Her stiff, shoulder-length hair bobbed like a straw hat,
as she maneuvered around people whose names she never felt the need to learn.
Her costume bracelet rattled with each swift step she took.
The two women caught up with Elijah. Together they fell quickly into
step as if they had been at his side the entire length of the hall.
Lesser staff members moved to the wayside as Cynthia and Naomi took their
rightful places next to the mayor. Elijah stared directly ahead.
"Cynthia, don't ever ignore a directive
I give you again," he said.
"I wasn't ignoring you Mr. Mayor, I…"
"And please don't tell me I misunderstood
your behavior. I know what I saw." His voice was calm, but the stern
expression conveyed the depth of his annoyance. "Naomi," he continued,
"What time are we scheduled to meet with Ken Livingston, and what the hell
does he want?"
Naomi's throat dried as she strained
to respond. "Eleven o'clock Mr. Mayor. I'm not sure why he wanted
to meet, but I thought it best considering the negative press he's been giving
you lately. I tried to get him to give me a heads up, but he wouldn't."
"Well next time check with me first,"
Elijah said as he pressed the elevator button. "It took months for
me to live down his last article about hypodermic needles in park sandboxes
and the ‘river of shopping carts used by homeless people flowing like an
oil slick along city sidewalks'. He's obviously trying to make me look
like a fool, and I don't want to be blind-sided by that asshole again."
"Yes sir. I tried to clear it
with you first but . . ."
"Never mind. Just don't let it
happen again."
Cynthia was relieved the focus had
shifted from her. The three stepped into an elevator heading up to
the fifth floor. The doors closed and Elijah's firm body slumped against
the back wall with a thud.
"Naomi. Get me the most
recent stats on the homeless. How many, how much we're spending on
shelters, and some success stories. I want to be ready for Ken this
time."
Naomi scribbled the mayor's
instructions and was answering, "Yes sir." as the elevator doors slid open.
