deduct half for taxes, deduct a third for destruction and reclamation . . .”
“What’s that?” the blonde said.
“Environmental clean-up of things like gas stations, and replenishment of the flora and fauna. After that, I divide what’s left by the number of people in the town, and everyone gets an equal share. Doesn’t get any fairer than that. No quibbling and no law suits. Just due process.”
The young couple searched each others’ eyes. “Maybe we ought not move if we have to go back to the city in eighteen years. Maybe sooner,” the young man said to his wife.
“We’ve a lot to think about,” she said.
The Agent made another grimace and added a sugar packet to his coffee. “Some of small towns are gettin’ cagey, consolidating their governments with their county’s. But, in the government chess game, the big dog always wins.”
It was Marshall’s turn to ask a question. “Is there something new comin’ down the pike?”
The Agent laughed an eerie, hollow laugh. “Diversity requirements for city/county incorporations. Like all government entities, they’re going to have to have their fair share of gays and minorities to keep their licenses. Talk about recruiting problems!”
He threw a five on the counter, got his Stetson from the hat rack, and left the cool darkness of Betty’s for the hot and humid southern summer day.
The waitress pulled her sweater tightly around her body. “I wonder how Mrs. Agent Sherman feels being married to a municipal executioner.”
They watched the big black Cadillac pull slowly out of the parking lot. “Didn’t he say he was on his way to Meritsville,” the blonde said to Marshall.
He turned his back on them. “Yeah. Ten miles east of Atlanta,” he said in a low painful voice, “Sherman’s second march to the sea.”
Marshall left Betty’s and called Meritsville Mayor John Carliss to tell him he’d seen the scourge of D.C.. “Sherman’s all we’ve heard, the son-of-a-bitch. Enjoys his work. Ought to be there by ten tonight.”
“Roger that,” Carliss said. Like Marshall, he was middle-aged, but a retired Marine who wasn’t as resigned as the town’s customer friendly recruiter. Neither were the Emergency Volunteers. He called Police Chief Solcross Jones. “Get ready.”
Like a phantom hearse, Sherman’s black Caddy ominously rolled down Meritsville’s deserted Main Street, and came to stop outside the police station at 10:30 P.M. A man in a blue uniform was waiting for him at the top of the stairs.