Stranger in Paradise

“You know,” Crow said, “and I know, that you aren’t going to scare me off.”

Jesse nodded.

“I didn’t figure I would,” Jesse said. “But it was worth a try.”

“I don’t think that’s why you came to see me,” Crow said.

“Why did I?” Jesse said.

“You’re just trying to get little sense of what I’m like.”

“That why you came to see me, before?” Jesse said.

“Yeah.”

Jesse drank some coffee. Crow finished his omelet and carefully wiped his mouth with his napkin.

“So?” Jesse said after a time.

“So you know I’m not going away,” Crow said. “And I know you’re not going away.”

The tablecloth in front of Crow, Jesse noticed, was immaculate. No spills. No crumbs. It was as if no one had eaten there.

“Yeah,” Jesse said. “That’s about right.”

8.

He was a smallish man with gray curly hair, pink skin, and a bow tie.

“My name is Walter Carr,” he said. “I am a professor of urban studies at Taft University.”

Jesse nodded.

“This is Miriam Fiedler,” Carr said, “the executive director of the Westin Charitable Trust.”

Jesse said, “How do you do.”

Miriam Fiedler nodded. She was tall and lean and had horsey-looking teeth.

“And perhaps you know this gentleman,” Carr said. “Austin Blake?”

“We’ve not met,” Jesse said.

“I’m an attorney,” Blake said. “I’m along as a sort of informal consultant.”

“This is Molly Crane,” Jesse said, nodding at Molly, who sat in a straight chair to the right of his desk. Molly had a notebook in her lap.

“We are here representing a group of neighbors,” Carr said, “in order to call your attention to a problem.”

Jesse nodded.

“You are interested, Mr. Stone,” Miriam said, “I assume.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“As you may know,” Walter Carr said, “there is a plan being implemented to transform the former Crowne estate on Paradise Neck into an alternative school for disadvantaged students.”

“Mostly Latino,” Jesse said. “From Marshport.”

“Paradise Neck is very elite. The streets are very narrow. The ocean impinges on either side.”

Jesse nodded.

“There is no opportunity for expansion of the present roadways,” Carr said.

“True,” Jesse said.

Blake the lawyer had a deep tan and snow-white hair worn longish and combed straight back. He was sitting quietly with his legs crossed, observing. It was an approach Jesse admired. Ms. Fiedler was impatient.

“For God’s sake, Walter, the point is simple. The neighborhood cannot support busloads of unruly children coming and going in so narrow a compass.”

“How about ruly children?” Jesse said.

Blake smiled faintly.

“Excuse me?” Ms. Fiedler said.

“Is it the number of buses?” Jesse said. “Or who’s in them.”

“Those buses will represent a huge traffic problem,” Ms. Fiedler said.

She looked at Molly, who was writing in her notebook.

“What is she doing?” Ms. Fiedler said.

“Her name is Officer Crane,” Jesse said.

“Whatever it is, what is she doing.”

Jesse smiled.

“I don’t know,” Jesse said. “Molly, what are you doing?”

“I’m a female,” she said. “I have a compulsion to sit near the boss and take notes.”

“Notes?” Ms. Fiedler said. “This is an informal discussion. There’s nothing here for the record.”

“What record is that?” Jesse said.

“Don’t be smart,” she said. “I do not want any notes taken.”

“Okay. But I’ll probably forget a bunch of stuff,” Jesse said, “without notes.”

“I want to hear what she has written,” Ms. Fiedler said.

“Miriam,” Blake said softly.

“No, I insist,” Ms. Fiedler said. “What have you written, young woman?”

Molly riffled back though the leaves of her steno pad for a moment, studied a page, and said, “No spicks on Paradise Neck.”

Blake looked down. Jesse’s face didn’t change expression. Ms. Fiedler was horrified.

“How…my God in heaven…how dare you.”

Walter Carr rose to his feet.

“We have said no such thing,” he said.

His pinkish face had gotten much pinker. He looked at the lawyer.

“Is this actionable, Austin?”

Blake’s face was serious, but Jesse could see the amusement in his eyes.

“Most things are actionable, Walter,” he said. “This is not something in which I would expect the action to go your way.”

“She has insulted us,” Ms. Fiedler said.

“I think she’s just kidding you a little, Miriam,” Blake said.

“Well, I think she’s insulting,” Ms. Fiedler said.

She turned on Jesse.

“I want her reprimanded,” she said.

“You bet,” Jesse said. “How many kids are going to attend this school?”

“Twelve,” Carr said.

“So,” Jesse said. “A bus will deliver them in the morning and pick them up in the afternoon.”

No one answered.

“Twelve of them,” Jesse said. “Age?”

“Preschool,” Carr said.

Jesse nodded.

“The worst kind,” he said.

Carr didn’t say anything.

“It is,” Ms. Fielder said, “the tip of the camel’s nose. It needs to be stopped at the beginning before the value of the Neck simply vanishes.”

“Real-estate value?” Jesse said.

“All value,” Ms. Fiedler said.

Jesse didn’t say anything. The room was silent.

Finally Ms. Fiedler said, “Well?”

“Twelve preschoolers and one bus do not seem to me a public safety issue,” Jesse said.

“That’s not your decision,” Ms. Fiedler said.

“Actually, it is,” Jesse said.

“In a democracy,” Ms. Fiedler said, “the people rule. You work for us.”