The Good Doctor's Tales Folio Eight (4 page)

“I think I’ve figured out what I want to do about Focus Biggioni,” I said.  Keaton had forbidden me from revenge on the people who abused me in the CDC, but she meant murder, or torture.  I had other things in mind for Focus Biggioni.

Hank closed down, wary.

“Yes, ma’am?”

Formal, because he was ready to argue against it. “Since Focus Biggioni was the Network representative at the CDC, the only information the average Focus knows about what happened is her version.  Is that a safe guess?”

Hank nodded.

“In that event, I want to present my side of the story.  Say, in a letter sent to as many Focuses as possible?”

“A political attack?” Hank said.  I
had him off guard, until he remembered what sort of life I led before my transformation.  This wouldn’t be the first time I had used letters as a tool.  Large numbers of offended parents could have quite an effect on school boards and school administrators.  “That does sound appropriate, although I think you’re going to shock some of the Focuses who still believe that Arms can only talk in grunts and curses.  Tonya does need to be reminded every so often that she’s still a human being.”

What sort of history did Hank and Focus Biggioni have, anyway?  Perhaps someday I would ask.

We moved to the kitchen table in my new house, and I wrote out a letter stating my case.  I showed it to Hank and he winced.

“What’s wrong?”

“Ma’am, I think we have another problem to put down in your journal,” Hank said.  The damned journal was his idea – I would be writing down everything I did, including any problems I noticed along the way.

“So, what’s the problem?”

Hank took a deep breath.  “Your composition skills are still about at the fifth grade level.”

I grabbed the letter from him, then a newspaper, and compared the two.  He was right, though it took me a bunch of staring and thinking before I got it.  This was going to be a pain in the ass to fix.

“Well, then, it seems I have a problem. Can you redo it?”

“Sure,” Hank said, relieved.  Relieved that he didn’t have an angry Arm in his face.

The final draft of the letter was perfect.

After we finished, we made copies of the letter, and sent the copies to all the lower ranking Network Focuses he and I were able to get addresses for.  Lower ranking meaning those not on the Council.  Zielinski also strongly recommended against sending my letter to any of the first Focuses, even those who didn’t hold political power.

I followed his advice.  If I worked this right, Lori would have Tonya’s seat on the Council and I would be free to dispose of Tonya
privately
.

Tonya’s Troubles [expanded]

(1)

“Polly!  It’s a pleasure to hear from you,” Tonya said.  Young Stalker, her current cat, wound his way between Tonya’s feet while she talked on the telephone.  She sat in what would eventually be her office, now nothing more than studs and construction materials.  Her office currently took up a full suite in the Bridgeport, a turn-of-the-century hotel in downtown Philadelphia, and everything else remained a maze of dry wall and building supplies.  She loved the place as much as she loved the location, near St. John the Evangelist.  Within walking distance!

Her people expected to finish
her office two weeks from now, but in the meantime, all she had were the bare studs and an old desk.  At least they had finished with her bedroom.  Finally, she had a place to sleep away from their old residence, the one Keaton had ruined with bad juice.

The construction
went far more smoothly than it had in moves past.  The construction business her people had started several months ago was showing results in the professionalism of her people.  Now, if their business would start making money…

“Hello, Tonya,” Polly said.  Her voice was thin and tinny over the long distance line.  “Congratulations on your move.  Is everything going well?”

“So far so good,” Tonya said.  They made small talk for a while, households and families and living arrangements.  Polly hadn’t called her to make small talk, though.  Only a few locals called her these days to make small talk.  This was business, and she suspected this was going to be bad.

Tonya
used her own strong charisma on herself, to calm herself down, and ran her left hand through the waves of her black hair.  Although, as all Focuses did, she appeared to be a beautiful nineteen year old, Tonya was in her fifties.  She knew very well when the hammer was poised to fall.

“So,” Tonya said, after a bit.  “What do I owe the pleasure of your call?”

“I have a favor to ask of you,” Polly said.

“Hmm?  What sort of favor?”  Stalker stopped rubbing her legs and jumped up
on her desk, eyeing the plate of sandwiches Arthur had brought in.  Tonya tore a substantial piece of bologna off one of the sandwiches and tossed it.  Stalker leapt and caught the treat in mid-air, then scurried under her desk to make a snack of the bologna.

“
Our backers would appreciate it if you made a formal presentation at next week’s Council meeting.  They’d like to hear about the Arm flap of last March.”

Four months in the proverbial doghouse due to the fallout from the Arm Flap, and now Polly was ordering her to rub salt in the wound, yet again.  “Whatever for?  I’ve already done a formal report, and…”

Polly cleared her throat.  “They would like it to include what you left out, Tonya.  A Sunday morning report.”  Sunday morning.  The time for discussing the darker aspects of Focus life.  Tonya’s breath caught for a moment.

“I’m not sure
that’s wise, Polly.  There’s a lot of things about this mess that shouldn’t come in front of the Council.”  The problem was Keaton’s rescue of Hancock from the CDC Research complex.  Tonya hadn’t been particularly informative the last time she made the report and she didn’t see how she was going to do any better this time.  Officially, according to Council edict, Crows didn’t exist.  Yet, without the Crows’ involvement, the rescue wouldn’t have occurred.  Thus, she couldn’t give the full story.

Nobody trusted Tonya much these days.  Focus business used to weigh her down, requiring her to act directly or as a facilitator.  No longer.  Council business
had also stopped. The other Council members either ignored her or dealt directly with her boss, East Region President Schrum.  Esther Weiczokowski, the Midwest Council Rep, had said it most cattily: why bother with Tonya when you can deal with the real decision-maker directly.  Even her secret letter writer, likely the Madonna of Montreal, had given up on her after the Arm Flap, not sending even a single bit of cryptic advice.  In her newfound free time, Tonya had found a way to leverage herself into the local Crow letter-writing circle, under an assumed Crow identity.  All that had gotten her, so far, was the knowledge the Crows feared her more than the Focus community feared her.  Even Keaton no longer returned her letters or phone calls.

“The Council needs t
he information,” Polly said.  “Someone is still kidnapping female Transforms at the rate of one a month, and killing about three male Transforms a month.  We need to do something about it.”

Meaning the Council needed to appear to be doing something about it, Tonya thought.  This was a bad time for all Transforms: the Focus Network was crippled,
an unknown enemy was kidnapping and killing Crows, and someone was ambushing and hunting the Arms on a regular basis.  Tonya was the only one who cared about the big picture, but she couldn’t do much to help in any event, not when she was this far out of the loop.  Right now, she half-wished Rizzari’s rebellion would succeed and toss Tonya out of her Council Seat.

It would have been extremely impolitic to say any of her thoughts
aloud, though.

“Polly…” Tonya started.  The scream of a circular
saw roared in from the next room, drowning out her voice.  Tonya waited, and then told her people to go work somewhere else.  “Sorry about that.”

“No problem,” Polly said.  “We’re looking at the possibility of having the Arms protect
us from whoever is behind it.”

“I’ll support that vote,” Tonya said.  Lupe Rodriguez officially handled the Arms these days.  Both Arms lived in the West Region, where Tonya had the fewest supporters.  “For what little
my vote is worth.”

Polly laughed.  “Are you worried about Lori Rizzari’s rebellion and her Council candidacy?”

“I’ve spent the past month making sure I don’t have to worry,” Tonya said, trying not to think about the time and money she had poured into the effort.

“Suzie just wants to make the vote look legitimate.  You don’t need to worry.”

“I won’t, then,” Tonya said, not believing a word of what Polly said.  Although Suzie said she still wanted Tonya to be her handpicked representative on the Council, Tonya sensed new tension, and tension meant problems.

“There’s one other thing,” Polly said.

“Hmm?”

“You need to watch what you say to the FBI when they come calling,” Polly said, a tone of light artificiality in her voice.

“Always,” Tonya said.  Why would Polly need to ask?  “Why?”

“They’ve
started a formal investigation of Ginny Mansfield.  Racketeering.”

“Where could they possibly have come up with that kind of nonsense from?  As hard a time as
she’s had, having the FBI on her case is just terrible.  Whoever thought up this bright idea ought to be hung.”

Tonya remembered Ginny from the Council meeting back in March, after she had lost much of her income.  Ginny had been distraught, and in tears, with no idea how she would be able to support her household.  Adding in this kind of nonsense was just cruelty.

“Nevertheless, it’s time to guard our words carefully.”

Tonya always did.  She had her own off-the-books income sources, several of which an overzealous prosecutor might consider racketeering.  Many other Focuses did as well.  If the FBI cracked down on
the Focus off-the-books activities, lots of the Focuses, including Tonya, could find themselves in trouble.  Even worse, Tonya did business with Philadelphia mobsters, something she wanted to keep secret from the FBI and the Council.  Legitimate business.  Well, nearly always legitimate business, mostly verifying the authenticity of smuggled jewelry and artwork.  Suzie already knew, of course.  This was her hold on Tonya.

Ginny, however, had always been so clean.  Polly’s comment was nearly an accusation.  “Of course.  What
is
Ginny doing for money these days?”

“I’m not telling you anything,” Polly said, her false tone replaced by a hard firmness.  “I don’t know anything, and
neither do you.  Remember this when you talk to the Feds.”

“Of course!” Tonya said, mildly offended that the question even came up.  The damned Arm flap had lost Tonya what little remaining trust Polly had in her.  They had once been best friends, allied lights against the dark world surrounding them.

Their alliance had foundered far too many years ago.

Polly continued with a series of questions about some dues collection problems in the Midwest Region.  No, Tonya didn’t know a thing.

“One last thing,” Polly said, many minutes later, hopefully with the last bit of annoying Council business.  So far, no hammer.  “As you suspected, the firsts and the Council weren’t pleased with the ultimatum the Arms gave to us after they took out Focus Peshnak in Houston, when they demanded all the Arm business go through Keaton.”

“Uh huh,” Tonya said.  She had made the Arms aware of the Council’s easily predicted displeasure, through Zielinski.  Neither Arm had bothered to respond.

“So, to prevent a range war between us and the Arms, several of us” meaning the firsts and their current Council favorites, which didn’t include Tonya “have decided we need to rein in Hancock.”

“We.”

“You, actually,” Polly said.  “You have the most experience with the Arms, and you aren’t going to fall for Hancock’s charismatic blather the way certain other unnamed Focuses have.”  Meaning Rizzari, Laswell and Rodriguez, all of whom said that if you wanted to deal with Hancock you had to go through Keaton.  Everyone on the Council now realized the Arms, like some of the Focuses, possessed juice-powered charisma potent enough to sway even the powerful.  Hancock, the Arm with the most noticeable charisma, was a grave danger to the Council, especially since she wasn’t the boss Arm.  Such nonsense made a complete hash of the way the world worked, at least from the Focus’s understanding of things.

“Look, Polly, I’d love to take you up on this, but because of my experience dealing with the Arms, I need to tell you that your proposed course of action is more likely to cause a range war than stop one,” Tonya said
, attempting to dodge Polly’s hammer.  “Keaton won this round.  If you want to avoid violence, take the hit and do things her way.”

“You’re not thinking,” Polly said.  “If we do it Keaton’s way, we’
ll end up recognizing the Arms as an independent organization.  That’s not going to happen.  There’s only one organization: the Focus Council.  Period.  End of question.  So.”  Polly paused.  “You
are
going to rein in Hancock for us.  Understand?”

Tonya winced at the obvious stupidity.  “Are you making this an official order?”

“This is an official and public Council President order,” Polly said.

With Focus Schrum’s backing, Polly didn’t need to say.  Not if she used the term ‘public’.

“So be it,” Tonya said.  Hancock, again, who already thought Tonya was an irrational enemy.  This wouldn’t be easy.  These were Arms.  Blood would be spilled.  People would die.

The worst thing about this was that Tonya had a bad feeling Polly wasn’t done punishing her for her so-called transgressions.

(2)

Tonya awoke to the sound of light rain on her tent and shook her head.  The Council was holding its ’68 summer Council session in a rocky excuse for pastureland in the Wisconsin Dells.  She didn’t look forward to the secretive Sunday morning session, not after every one of the other Council members had been so painfully polite to her yesterday.

She had never seen the Council so hip-deep in problems.  The Arm Flap and its consequences still topped the list, the nastiest being the membership loss of a third
of the Network.  The Rizzari rebellion and its demands came second, every single demand of Lori’s having at least one Council member favoring it, but none having a majority.  The disappearance, perhaps kidnapping, of a baby Chicago Focus, Gloria Frasier by name, and her partly built household of two triads and her attendants made the exceptional list as well.  Evidence pointed to Focus Casso, who had vanished just beforehand – but Iris Casso was a below average Focus with no ambitions and no interest in such shenanigans.  The letter denouncing Tonya by Arm Hancock, pointedly sent to all the Focuses except the first Focuses and the Council members, also made the list, much to Tonya’s embarrassment.  All of those problems dwarfed the usual Council business, already too much for them to handle.

Tonya adjusted her household’s juice first thing
in the morning, embarrassed at yesterday’s slipshod juice handling.  She had gotten so distracted by the goings on of the Council meeting she had let things slide, enough to get Delia to tap her on the shoulder and remind her she was still a Focus.  Embarrassing.  Tonya rehearsed her presentation, again, her mind off in never-never-land while she ate whatever food her people put in front of her for breakfast.

Polly greeted her warmly as they trooped into the rented farmhouse.  The story behind the farmhouse and land was pure Focus angst – the Focus household who owned the place bought it to be a combination tourist rental property and productive farmland.  Unfortunately, the only tourist group interested in the place was an annual field trip by some Midwestern university’s Geology program, and the only thing productive about the hundred and fifty acres of ‘farmland’ was that it could support about ten goats.  The land alternated between thin soil over rocks and muddy water meadows.  Only a fool or a Focus could see anything usable about the place.