Chiefs

by Stuart Woods

  Sonny was bored. The banker, Hugh Holmes, was droning on about service and sacrifice and honor, and Sonny had had it up to here with service, especially, and all that other stuff, too. It had been okay, when the war was still on; there had been something to get your blood going, but for nearly a year the most strenuous thing he had done had been to play poker while he waited, waited, waited to get out of the army.

  His eyes swept the crowded grandstand, the part of it he could see without turning his head. They were here to see him, not these other yokels. Hometown boy—the most decorated soldier in Georgia. Well, probably. He’d damn near had the Medal of Honor, damn near. Somebody had torpedoed him, though. A friend of his, a clerk in the company orderly room, had hinted as much. Shit, if he’d had that one he’d be as famous as Audie Murphy, maybe even have a movie contract like Murphy. He was good-looking enough, he knew, better-looking than Murphy, for sure.

  He knew exactly how he looked, braced up on that baseball field in that uniform the old German guy had tailored for two cartons of Luckies. Not as tall as he’d have liked, only five nine, but service had put some weight on him; he was 175 now. If he’d had that extra 20 pounds when he’d graduated from Delano High he’d have been a sure thing for a football scholarship to Georgia or Alabama or Auburn. He’d had the speed, but not the size, for college ball, the scouts had told him. He would let the blond crew cut grow out. The girls were getting tired of guys who looked like soldiers. He’d get a couple of sharp suits with the poker money, and there was enough for a good used car. A convertible, maybe.

  Sonny heard his name mentioned. Holmes was reciting his list of decorations. Sonny tuned out again, then snapped back, alert. Holmes was saying something he wanted to hear.

  “This morning the Delano City Council voted to give priority on all city jobs to returning veterans, and among veterans, to those with combat records,” Holmes was saying.

  Sonny clenched his teeth. The interview with Holmes the day before had not gone well, he thought. Holmes disapproved of him in some way, was suspicious of him. He’d known the feeling before; his company commander in Belgium had given him the same uneasy feeling. Sonny suspected the CO of torpedoing his Medal of Honor, even though the guy was in a hospital somewhere and had been replaced.

  Holmes continued, “Today I can announce that the first of these openings has been filled by a veteran. From among the available candidates, Sgt. Sonny Butts is being hired to fill a vacancy on the city police force.”

  “Sergeant Butts, two steps forward, march!” The speaker was Billy Lee, Colonel Lee, the highest ranking of Delano’s more than two hundred veterans, someone Sonny had known only as a high school athlete when he himself had been in grade school.

  Sonny stepped forward, and Holmes shook his hand. “Congratulations, son. I hope you’ll continue to make us proud of you. Report to Chief Thomas at eight o’clock Monday morning.”

  “Thank you, sir. I’ll do a good job for you, sir.” Sonny was weak with relief. He had been worried sick about work. His only job before the war had been jerking sodas and stocking shelves at the Delano Drug Company, and his only other prospect, apart from the police job, was the mill, and the thought of the mill depressed him. Now he had a job that would continue to command the respect he had earned by his deeds on the battlefield.

  Colonel Lee formed up the group and marched them off the field in single file. As they passed through the fence next to the dugout, they broke ranks, and people came and pumped Sonny’s hand and offered congratulations. As the crowd thinned out, Sonny found himself confronted by a wiry, wizened figure in the World War I uniform of a first lieutenant. The man had been pumping his hand for several seconds before Sonny recognized him. Jesus, it was Foxy Funderburke.

  “Sergeant, you’ve done a fine job for your country,” Foxy was saying, “and I expect you’ll do a fine job on the police force.”

  “Thank you, sir, I’ll do my best.” When he was a kid he was scared shitless of Foxy Funderburke; they all were; he wasn’t sure just why. Now here was the old fart shaking his hand.

  “And I want you to know that my experience is always available to you. If you ever need any help, you just ask.”

  “Yes, sir, I sure will.” What the hell was he talking about? What experience? But before Sonny could wonder any further, the tightly uniformed figure had spun about and marched away. Sonny stopped himself from laughing out loud.

  Back on the field another group of ex-soldiers was forming. They were all black. Delano’s black community was filling the stands. A few whites hung about to watch. Holmes repeated much the same remarks and singled out one or two men who had been decorated. Among them was Marshall Parker.

  Marshall, who had been in some of the heaviest fighting during the D-Day invasion and had won a bronze star, noted that there was no mention of city jobs in Holmes’s address to the blacks of Delano. Never mind, though; he had saved his money, and he had plans. Before the war he might not have dared to dream he could own a business, but his army service had changed him as it had changed his black contemporaries, and the war, he thought, had changed things for the better for all of them. Holmes had encouraged him, had indicated that a loan might be forthcoming for the right project.

  As he stood in the sun and listened to Holmes’s speech and accepted handshakes from the banker and Colonel Lee, Marshall Parker felt something he had rarely felt before—optimism.

  Hugh Holmes and Billy Lee sat in Holmes’s study and sipped bourbon. Billy laughed aloud. “You’re pretty sneaky, you know. I never knew you had a secret stash of whiskey in this room.”

  “Last time you were in this room, you weren’t old enough to know.”

  “Let’s see, I was twenty-eight, I think.”

  “Too young to be trusted with my secret.”

  “I’m flattered to be trusted with it now.”

  “Well, if anybody ever had any doubts about you, and I don’t think many folks did, your war record certainly has removed them. Your daddy would have been real proud of you.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “That’s quite a girl you’ve got there.”

  Patricia was in the Holmes garden with Virginia, looking at azaleas and such.

  “I know it, believe me. She’d rather be in here with you and me now than looking at flower beds, too. I’ll have to square it with her tonight by telling her everything we’ve talked about.”

  “She’s like that, is she?”

  “Yes, sir, and I’m glad. She’s smarter than I am.”

  “You’re a lucky man, then. She can help you a lot. I don’t think her being a foreigner will hurt a bit.”

  “Hurt?”

  “You are still interested in politics, aren’t you?”

  “More than ever.”

  “Good. Have you made any plans? You going back with Blackburn, Hedger, etcetera, etcetera?”

  “They want me. Partnership within a year, they’re saying.”

  “What are you thinking of, Congress?”

  “It crossed my mind.”

  Holmes shook his head. “The way I see it, only one Atlanta area seat is weak enough to change hands this year, and you’ve never lived in that district. There are at least two good men, veterans, who’ve already announced, and they both have roots there. You’d be at a big disadvantage.”

  “That’s true. I’d thought, too, about moving back here and running.”

  “Against Joe Collins? Forget it. Not even I could support you against Joe. He’s done too good a job for us, and he’s a good friend of mine.”

  “What do you think I should do?”

  “Are you only interested in going to Washington, or does Georgia politics have any interest for you? What about governor, eventually?”

  “That interests me a lot.”

  “Good. I think it’s a better goal, even if you want to end up in Washington. The Senate’s the place, and Walter George is an old man now. Good for a few more years, I expect, and governor, or even
lieutenant governor, would be a better springboard to that seat. Mind you, not for another eight years. Old Gene Talmadge is already running hard for one last shot at the office, and he’ll win, I think. His health’s not good, though. He might not live through a term. Melvin Thompson will probably be elected lieutenant governor and would succeed for the remainder of his term if Gene died in office, but I don’t think he could be reelected on his own hook. I think Herman Talmadge will have it next time. By the time Herman finishes his term, you should be about ready, I’d think.”

  “Where do you think I should begin?”

  “I think you should run for the state senate.”

  “Which district?”

  “This district.”

  Billy swallowed hard. “You thinking of retiring?”

  “I am. I’m seventy. I’ve been dealing with those scoundrels for thirty-five years. I’d stay on the state board of education and keep my hand in a number of other areas, but I’d be ready to leave the senate if I knew I were being replaced by the right young man.”

  Billy was quiet.

  “Well?”

  “It’s a wonderful opportunity, Mr. Holmes, but—”

  “What’s bothering you? You think Patricia might not want to live in Delano instead of Atlanta?”

  “Oh, no. In some ways I think she’d prefer it down here.” Billy shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Mr. Holmes, after Daddy died you were about the closest thing to a father I had. Even after Mama married Mr. Fowler, as good a man as he is, I still felt closer to you, and I want you to know how grateful I am for the advice you’ve given me over the years and your efforts on my behalf with the army and all—”

  Holmes waved a hand. “Billy, you’ve never really needed my help in any important sort of way. You’re going to rise to the top in whatever you decide to do. But I can help you now in many ways, and I want to. Ginny and I never had children, and I think of you as a son.”

  “Thank you, sir. I really appreciate that. But what I have to make clear to you is that…well, I have to be my own man right from the start if I’m going to really be effective in government. Forgive me for putting it bluntly, but I don’t want to be elected to the state senate to represent Hugh Holmes.”

  Holmes grinned sheepishly. “Well, I guess I’m a pretty pushy fellow sometimes, and I’ll admit I’d hope that you would pursue some of the same goals in the legislature that I did.”

  “I’m sure I would, sir, but you and I are going to disagree on some things sooner or later, that’s only natural, and I want you to understand that I couldn’t accept your help unless I felt free to follow my conscience.”

  “I have a feeling you have something specific in mind.”

  Billy shifted in his seat again. “I think the war has changed a lot of things irrevocably. I think we’re going to be in for some upheavals in the South, things that a lot of Georgians are going to find distasteful.”

  “Billy, has the army turned you into an integrationist?”

  “I think we have some painful transitions to make in this state. Those colored boys out at the school this afternoon fought and bled in the war just like everybody else, and they’re entitled to the gratitude of their community. A lot of them were treated like grown men for the first time in their lives, and they’re not going to forget it. They’re just not going to accept things the way they were. And if I’m elected to the state senate I’m going to be representing those men.”

  Holmes grinned slightly. “That was a very politic answer to my question. Let me tell you where I stand on this. I think that for the races to start mixing and intermarrying would be the worst thing that could ever happen to this country, would ruin it. I don’t want to see us become a nation of mongrels. But I think our colored people are entitled to things—education, work—just like white people, and I’ve always taken care to represent them in the senate.”

  “I know you have, sir.”

  “However, in spite of my views on miscegenation I know there are some important changes coming. My concern in all this is to try and prevent a confrontation which would be disastrous for all of us, white and black. One of the major concerns of my life has been education in this state, and that includes the education of Negroes, too. I think—and if you ever quote me on this I’ll call you a liar—we’re going to end up being forced to integrate the schools in the next fifteen or twenty years by the federal government. I’ll hate to see it happen, but I’ll do what I can while I live to see that it doesn’t destroy our public education system. So, you see, even though we might not quite see eye to eye on this question, we’ll still have some common goals, and I think we’ll be able to work together.”

  “I’m relieved that you feel that way, sir, because I don’t think I could ask for or accept your help if I had to fight you tooth and nail on this issue. I want you to know, too, that I’m not going to lead any integration movements. I want a career in government, and to have that you have to keep getting elected. I’m enough of a realist to know that.”

  Holmes cocked his head to one side and examined the young man who sat across from him. “You know, I think you might be even more ambitious than I thought.”

  “I think governor is what I’ll be aiming for. I don’t want to get ahead of myself.”

  “Right. You’ll run for the state senate, then? You’ll have my full support, and I don’t think we can anticipate any difficulties.”

  “Yes, sir, I will. And I can’t thank you enough for the opportunity. I hope there’s room for another lawyer in Delano.”

  “You know Harry Mix died three months ago?”

  “Mama wrote me about it.”

  “The bank hasn’t appointed another counsel yet. You’ve got all our work, so you’d better start reading up on your banking law—not quite the same as being a trial attorney.”

  “That’s wonderful, sir. Thank you.”

  “You’ll get some work from the mill, too.”

  “Doesn’t Blackburn, Hedger still represent them?”

  “Oh, yes, but I’ve already had a word with Tom Delano. You’ll get whatever they need doing locally and maybe some of their trial work, too.”

  “Blackburn, Hedger won’t like that, much.”

  “They won’t have to.”

  “How is old Delano, anyway?”

  “Eighty-two and still ruling with a steel-trap mind and an iron hand. I reckon that between the bank and the mill you’ll get ten thousand a year in business. That ought to be enough to get a young lawyer started.”

  “That’s business any lawyer would give his eyeteeth for.”

  “You’ll need an office. There’s space on the second floor of the bank building. Small, but it’ll do for a beginning. You’ll need a library, too. You save any money in the service?”

  “All my flight and overseas pay, plus some. I’ve got about eight thousand in war bonds.”

  “Good boy. Still, you’ll need more to get set up properly— you’ve got to have a place to live, too, and since there was no building during the war, housing is very short. I’d suggest we find you something temporary; then you build. That’ll show folks you’re serious about staying here.”

  “I’ve promised Trisha a farm, a working farm.”

  “Good, good. We’ll find you some land hereabouts and work out a mortgage. Farmer-lawyer is a hard political combination to beat in this state.” Holmes got to his feet. “I think this calls for another drink.”

  “I’m having a tough enough time keeping my feet on the ground now.”

  Holmes began to pour for both of them. “Nonsense. Since you were a small boy, Billy, your feet have never been anywhere but on the ground. You’re going to do well, boy, really well.” He sank back into his chair and looked at Billy appraisingly. “There’s just a chance, with a lot of luck, that you could go all the way.” He sipped his bourbon and stared into the fire. A tiny smile played across his lips. “The first southerner since the War Between the States. Wouldn’t that be something.”r />
  As they drove home to his mother’s house in his stepfather’s car, Patricia snuggled close to him. “All right, then. Let’s have a report,” she said.

  “Well, it appears I’ve just been appointed to the Georgia State Senate.”

  “Appointed? Don’t you have to get elected?”

  He laughed and put his arm around her. “Oh, I have to run. You’re going to get to meet every storekeeper and dirt farmer in the TriCounties. But in this particular district one vote elects, and I’ve already got that vote.

  “All right, start at the beginning.”

  3

  SONNY sat at a table on the edge of the dance floor at Fletcher’s, a road house five miles north of Delano, and watched the girl. A hillbilly band in cowboy suits was cranking out something mournful, the whine of the steel guitar leading the way, and the floor was crowded, but Sonny saw only the girl. Charlie Ward, Delano’s only other police officer besides the Chief, sat at his elbow and peered at Sonny through the thick glasses that had kept him happily out of the war.

  “Jesus, Sonny, it’s going to be great having you on the force, it really is. You and me together are going to snatch some folks sideways in this town, you wait and see.”

  “Yeah, sure, Charlie.” Sonny signaled the waitress for another Pabst. He nodded at the girl as she drifted past in the arms of a beefy type in a sailor’s uniform. “Who is she?”

  “The redhead? She’s from La Grange. Name’s Charlene something. Not bad, huh?”

  She was better than not bad. She was tall and had her hair swept back on one side with a flower behind her ear. Her angora sweater was pulled down tightly over her breasts and secured at the waist by a belt. “I love that,” Sonny said. “I love slim girls with big tits.” He took a short swig of the fresh beer and started toward the floor. Charlie grabbed his sleeve.

  “Hey, listen, that guy’s got a mean reputation around here. You better wait ‘til she sits down.”

  Sonny took hold of Charlie’s wrist and squeezed until the fingers opened. “Don’t crease the uniform, kid.”