the PBA had succumbed to trendier tastes and published a calendar filled with photos of its leaner and younger members, all clad in virtually nothing, half grinning goofily at the camera, the other half straining with the tortured I-hate-modeling veneer of contemporary fashion. Practically R-rated, a big story about it made the front page.
Quite a brouhaha erupted overnight. The Mayor was incensed as complaints flooded city hall. The director of the PBA got fired. The undistributed calendars were pulled and burned while the local TV station recorded it Live!
Nora kept theirs in the basement, where she secretly enjoyed it all year.
The beefcake calendar was a financial disaster for all concerned, but it created more interest the following Christmas. Sales almost doubled.
Luther bought one every year, but only because it was expected. Oddly, there was no price attached to the calendars, at least not to the ones delivered personally by the likes of Salino and Treen. Their personal touch cost something more, an additional layer of goodwill that people like Lutherwere expected to fork over simply because that was the way it was done. It was this coerced, above-the-table bribery that Luther hated. Last year he’d written a check for a hundred bucks to the PBA, but not this year.
When the presentation was over, Luther stood tall and said, “I don’t need one.” Salino cocked his head to one side as if he’d misunderstood. Treen’s neck puffed out another inch.
Salino’s face turned into a smirk. You may not need one, the smirk said, but you’ll buy it anyway. “Why’s that?” he said.
“I already have calendars for next year.” That was news to Nora, who was biting a fingernail and holding her breath.
“But not like this,” Treen managed to grunt. Salino shot him a look that said, “Be quiet!”
“I have two calendars in my office and two on my desk,” Luther said. “We have one by the phone in the kitchen. My watch tells me precisely what day it is, as does my computer. Haven’t missed a day in years.”
“We’re raising money for crippled children, Mr. Krank,” Salino said, his voice suddenly soft and scratchy. Nora felt a tear coming.
“We give to crippled children, Officer,” Luthershot back. “Through the United Way and our church and our taxes we give to every needy group you can possibly name.”
“You’re not proud of your policemen?” Treen said roughly, no doubt repeating a line he’d heard Salino use on others.
Luther caught himself for a second and allowed his anger to settle in. As if buying a calendar was the only measure of his pride in the local police force. As if forking over a bribe in the middle of his living room was proof that he, Luther Krank, stood solidly behind the boys in blue.
“I paid thirteen hundred bucks in city taxes last year,” Luther said, his eyes flashing hot and settling on young Treen. “A portion of which went to pay your salary. Another portion went to pay the firemen, the ambulance drivers, the schoolteachers, the sanitation workers, the street cleaners, the Mayor and his rather comprehensive staff, the judges, the bailiffs, the jailers, all those clerks down at city hall, all those folks down at Mercy Hospital. They do a great job. You, sir, do a great job. I’m proud of all our city employees. But what’s a calendar got to do with anything?”
Of course Treen had never had it put to him insuch a logical manner, and he had no response. Salino either, for that matter. A tense pause followed.
Since Treen could think of no intelligent retort, he grew hot too and decided he would get Krank’s license plate number and lie in ambush somewhere, maybe catch him speeding or sneaking through a stop sign. Pull him over, wait for a sarcastic comment, yank him out, sprawl him across the hood while cars eased by, slap the handcuffs on him, haul him to jail.
Such pleasant thoughts made Treen smile. Salino, however, was not smiling. He’d heard the
Quite a brouhaha erupted overnight. The Mayor was incensed as complaints flooded city hall. The director of the PBA got fired. The undistributed calendars were pulled and burned while the local TV station recorded it Live!
Nora kept theirs in the basement, where she secretly enjoyed it all year.
The beefcake calendar was a financial disaster for all concerned, but it created more interest the following Christmas. Sales almost doubled.
Luther bought one every year, but only because it was expected. Oddly, there was no price attached to the calendars, at least not to the ones delivered personally by the likes of Salino and Treen. Their personal touch cost something more, an additional layer of goodwill that people like Lutherwere expected to fork over simply because that was the way it was done. It was this coerced, above-the-table bribery that Luther hated. Last year he’d written a check for a hundred bucks to the PBA, but not this year.
When the presentation was over, Luther stood tall and said, “I don’t need one.” Salino cocked his head to one side as if he’d misunderstood. Treen’s neck puffed out another inch.
Salino’s face turned into a smirk. You may not need one, the smirk said, but you’ll buy it anyway. “Why’s that?” he said.
“I already have calendars for next year.” That was news to Nora, who was biting a fingernail and holding her breath.
“But not like this,” Treen managed to grunt. Salino shot him a look that said, “Be quiet!”
“I have two calendars in my office and two on my desk,” Luther said. “We have one by the phone in the kitchen. My watch tells me precisely what day it is, as does my computer. Haven’t missed a day in years.”
“We’re raising money for crippled children, Mr. Krank,” Salino said, his voice suddenly soft and scratchy. Nora felt a tear coming.
“We give to crippled children, Officer,” Luthershot back. “Through the United Way and our church and our taxes we give to every needy group you can possibly name.”
“You’re not proud of your policemen?” Treen said roughly, no doubt repeating a line he’d heard Salino use on others.
Luther caught himself for a second and allowed his anger to settle in. As if buying a calendar was the only measure of his pride in the local police force. As if forking over a bribe in the middle of his living room was proof that he, Luther Krank, stood solidly behind the boys in blue.
“I paid thirteen hundred bucks in city taxes last year,” Luther said, his eyes flashing hot and settling on young Treen. “A portion of which went to pay your salary. Another portion went to pay the firemen, the ambulance drivers, the schoolteachers, the sanitation workers, the street cleaners, the Mayor and his rather comprehensive staff, the judges, the bailiffs, the jailers, all those clerks down at city hall, all those folks down at Mercy Hospital. They do a great job. You, sir, do a great job. I’m proud of all our city employees. But what’s a calendar got to do with anything?”
Of course Treen had never had it put to him insuch a logical manner, and he had no response. Salino either, for that matter. A tense pause followed.
Since Treen could think of no intelligent retort, he grew hot too and decided he would get Krank’s license plate number and lie in ambush somewhere, maybe catch him speeding or sneaking through a stop sign. Pull him over, wait for a sarcastic comment, yank him out, sprawl him across the hood while cars eased by, slap the handcuffs on him, haul him to jail.
Such pleasant thoughts made Treen smile. Salino, however, was not smiling. He’d heard the
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