Even if I could, Badde thought, why would I?
It sure doesn’t hurt me when Carlucci looks incompetent.
Especially if his campaign promise of Law and Order crashes and burns.
“First of all,” Badde said, “I’m out of town, so meeting today won’t work. And, second, as much as I’d like, I just don’t know how I’d help otherwise.”
There was another long silence, during which Badde thought that he overheard someone in the background speaking to Stein.
Stein finally said: “I cannot tell you how genuinely disappointed I am to hear you say that. I was just thinking, however, that perhaps Councilman Lane could suggest some ways. One that comes immediately to mind: Cross repudiates the scurrilous message of the police being killers and then resigns from CPOC.”
Willie Lane? Is that supposed to be a threat? Badde thought, and suddenly felt a chill despite the tropical heat.
And there’s no way Lenny’s gonna give up his CPOC gig.
“Resign?” Badde said. “Really?”
“That of course would be what I consider the best-case scenario. But it doesn’t have to go that far. What he absolutely has to do is stop with the direct attacks on the police department. If he fails to do so, I’ll see that he’s removed for cause from CPOC. And his removal will not reflect well on the council member who appointed him.”
Badde was quiet a long moment. He looked at Janelle Harper. She was holding up her phone and pointing anxiously at it.
Damn it! Badde thought.
I don’t need this attention with everything else I’ve got going.
I need to think of something. Fast . . .
“Mr. Stein?” Badde said.
“I’m here.”
“I think this might actually be Josiah calling,” Badde lied. “Can I put you on hold a second?”
“Certainly. Go ahead.”
“If somehow we lose our connection, I’ll call right back,” Badde said, then flipped the phone closed, breaking off the call.
—
H. Rapp Badde Jr. and William G. Lane had more than a little in common, beginning with the fact that both their fathers had been city council members, then served back-to-back terms as mayor of the City of Philadelphia.
When the senior Lane had left office—after midway through his term having been named as one of the top five worst big-city mayors in a U.S. News & World Report magazine cover story—the senior Badde won election to his seat. While a distinguished newsweekly publication later had not labeled Badde among the nation’s worst mayors, his failure to improve on his predecessor’s contemptible record had many saying that Badde certainly had, at least in one unfortunate sense, lived up to the family name.
It was no secret that both sons aspired to become mayor, and, like their fathers, had taken the first step of being elected to the city council. And that, also like their fathers’ rivalry, they kept a wary eye on the other.
Philadelphia had seventeen total city council members, ten of whom were elected to represent their respective districts, and the remaining seven, to promote a balanced racial representation, were elected to “at large” seats.
As the first order of business upon beginning their term, the seventeen members voted who among them would serve as the city council president. Among other duties, the council president selected who would serve on which of the council committees—more importantly, who got appointed chair of each committee.
As there were far more committees than council members, the members were appointed to as many as ten committees each. Juggling the demands of multiple committees—which covered all city business, from oversight of the international airport and the ship docks on down to ensuring the filling of potholes and the collecting of refuse—was an exh
austing, if somewhat impossible, task.
Thus, there existed a mutually agreed upon, though unspoken, compromise—each member concentrated the vast majority of his or her energy on the committee that he or she chaired.
They would of course show due diligence. They sat in on meetings of all the various committees, sometimes even asking a pertinent question or two. In the end, though, the members usually followed the lead of the committee chair, whose expertise on the given subject they said was to be commended.
“Usually followed” because, occasionally, there was—there naturally had to be—dissent. It came in the form of “no” votes—after, perhaps, some calculated political theater, the raising of voices during debate, say, or even the leaking of embarrassing memos to the media. It all was accepted as the cost of doing business—unless, however, the “no” votes were too many and caused the chair of the committee not to accomplish what he or she felt necessary.