Phule's Company Part 6

"Hah! Before I would give such an apology, he would have to show me that I am wrong . . . that he can tell a mixing bowl from a toilet bowl."

Remembering Phule's earlier response to such insolence, the hotel manager found himself wondering where he could find another chef on such short notice. This time, however, the commander had a different tactic in mind.

"Very well, then," he said. "Bombest, I'd like to rent your restaurant and kitchen for a full day . . . shall we say, day after tomorrow? Sergeant Escrima will require it to prepare the food for our company. "

"My kitchen?" the hotel chef shrieked. "You cannot-"

Sensing disaster, the hotel manager broke in. "I'm afraid, sir, the cost would be-"

"Five thousand dollars should cover it," the commander finished. "Of course, we'll provide our own supplies. The current kitchen help can have the day off, with pay, except . . ."

He turned to address the chef directly.

"You, sir. I shall personally pay you double for your normal day's wage, if and only if you are present in the kitchen for the entire day to sit and quietly observe how our mess sergeant conducts himself with food. You are also invited to join us for dinner, at which time you will be given an opportunity to tender your apology to Sergeant Escrima . . . if you feel he deserves it. Agreed?"

The chef opened and shut his mouth several times before nodding his silent consent.

"All right, then, Sergeant Escrima, make a list of the Legionnaires you want to a.s.sist you in the kitchen and give it to Brandy. C.H.!"

He didn't even have to raise his voice this time, as the supply sergeant had been loitering nearby throughout the entire exchange.

"Yes, Captain?"

"You're excused from normal duty tomorrow. Get a list from Sergeant Escrima as to what he needs in the way of supplies and get him whatever he asks for . . . top of the line. Got it?"

"Got it. Umm . . . Captain?" Harry dropped his voice and leaned close to the commander. "Are you sure you want to do this? Truth to tell, our chow ain't been all that good."

"I appreciate your concern, C.H.," Phule murmured back, "but I suspect Escrima's a better cook than you've seen so far. Even if he isn't, though, I'm not going to stand by and let an outsider mouth off at one of ours without doing my best to see he gets a chance to his licks in return."

"Us against them, eh, Cap'n? Okay. I kin relate to that. I'll see what I can do."

"Thanks, C.H. I'm counting on that." Phule flashed the sergeant a quick grin. "As to the 'them against us,' though . . . it may be true, but I wish I could offer you better odds. "

"Been up against worse all my life, Cap'n." Harry winked. "No sense to start holdin' out for a better hand now."

The commander waved a farewell as the supply sergeant headed off, then turned back to the front desk.

"Sorry to jump in like that, Bombest, but it seemed the best solution to an awkward situation."

"No need to apologize, Mr. Phule. Your offer . . . and solution . . . were more than generous under the circ.u.mstances. Would you like the keys to the penthouse now? You could probably use a little quiet after all this."

"You're right . . . but it's a luxury I can't afford. My butler, Beeker, will pick up the keys and see to getting my gear settled. Right now I have to pay a personal call on some key people here in the settlement."

"The governor?"

Phule managed a weak smile.

"Actually I was thinking more of the chief of police."

CHAPTER FIVE.

Journal File #021

Though it is seldom noted in action/adventure novels dealing with the military, one of the main tasks of a commander is serving as liaison between his or her force and the civilians they come in contact with. Similarly, such contacts in real life are rarely brought to the public's attention (normal military duty being, almost without exception, exceedingly dull) unless he or she has made a real hash out of dealing with the media, in which case the commander or force in question is inevitably portrayed as being bloodthirsty, stupid, or both.

Realizing the nature of the individuals we had just relocated into the settlement, a visit by my employer to the local constabulary was a wise, if not necessary, move . . . one which I would normally applaud. In this specific instance, however, there was an easily antic.i.p.ated problem with such a tactic: the current chief of police.

The world of law enforcement is quite complex, but the individuals within it can usually be divided into two categories: administrators and policemen. The administrator of the local constabulary held the t.i.tle of police commissioner as well as a seat on the Settlement Council. The chief of police, whom my employer chose to deal with, was responsible for coordinating and managing the day-to-day law enforcement on a "street" level, and was, by anyone's definition, "a cop."

Much is made in literature of the instant camaraderie between two strong-willed men. In actuality, such a meeting is apt to produce the same results as attempting to add a second tiger to a hill: hatred on sight.

Chief Goetz was a bull of a man who would look more at home pacing the sidelines of a football game than sprawled behind a desk. His hair was close-shaved, some said in an unsuccessful effort to hide his receding hairline, and only accented the squashed pumpkin shape of a head that seemed to grow directly out of his shoulders. The rolled-up sleeves of his wilted white shirt were tight around biceps that showed no trace of fat, and, as a lingering tribute to his time on the beat, he had "Miranda" tattooed across the knuckles of his beefy right hand. Even when he smiled, which was seldom, his scowl and clenched jaw failed to completely disappear . . . and he wasn't smiling now.

If anything, his expression held all the warmth and affection one normally reserves for the deposit left on one's new carpet by a wormy dog, which would be a generous interpretation of his feelings for the slim figure in black who had come to roost in his office.

"Let me see if I've got this straight, General . . ."

"Captain," Phule corrected gently, but Goetz continued without acknowledging the interruption.

"You've moved some two hundred of your soldier boys into the settlement while the barracks and grounds the Legion rented are being remodeled . . ."

"That's right."

"And in the meantime, they're going to be strutting and swaggering around my streets, in uniform, like trouble looking for a place to happen."

"I wouldn't put it that way . . .

"Well, I G.o.dd.a.m.n well would!" Goetz snarled, surging forward in his seat. "Those tin soldiers of yours are going to be like red flags in the face of every street-tough bull who wants to see how he stacks up against a genuine army type."

Phule let the army label slide for the moment.

"Really, Chief Goetz. My Legionnaires have been in town before. I don't see why there should be any difference now . . ."

"The difference is that there weren't two G.o.dd.a.m.n hundred of them before!" the chief roared. "Before, they were outnumbered and stayed the h.e.l.l away from rough-and-tumble with the locals! Now you've evened up the odds, so they're going to want to go anywhere and do anything they want, and you can bet your a.s.s there's going to be trouble when they try."

"I see." Phule- smiled thinly. "I guess I overestimated the control the police have of the streets. The information I had gave no indication that the settlement was a hotbed of crime ready to explode."

The police chief's face puffed out with red-purple storm clouds, the sight of which in the past had sent many of the men under his command to the locker rooms for a change of trousers.

"Now, just a G.o.dd.a.m.ned minute!" he exploded. "We've got the lowest crime rate of any . . ."

The storm blew over as quickly as it had appeared, leaving only a ruddy hue in its wake, and even that slowly faded as the police chief hung his head and stared at the files on his desk.

Phule waited patiently.

When Goetz raised his head again, his eyes shone darkly under heavy, suspicion-creased brows.

"You nearly had me going there, General," he said through clenched teeth. "Any particular reason you want to pull my chain so hard?"

"I just thought you should hear yourself, Chief." The Legionnaire shrugged. "By your own words, my troops haven't been able to go where they want or do what they want in the past. Since they have the same rights as any citizen to enjoy what the settlement has to offer, and their money is certainly welcome anywhere I know of in the settlement, I fail to see where my 'evening the odds' is anything I should apologize for or correct . . . And it's 'Captain,' not 'General.' "

The police chief's lips pressed together in a tight grin.

"Sorry," he said, without a hint of remorse in his voice. "I never did pay much mind to rank among you soldier boys. Fact is, I pretty much ignore 'em altogether . . . unless they step out of line. If they do . . . well, then I treat 'em like I would anyone else disturbing the peace or otherwise breaking the law. Is that fair enough for you?"

"Well, Sergeant . . ."

"That's Chief!"

"Sorry." Phule showed his teeth. "I guess I a.s.sumed that since you didn't think rank was important . . ."

He let the sentence hang in midair.

Goetz glared at him for a moment.

"All right, Captain, " he growled finally, "you've made your point. "

"Good. Now then, Chief, as I was saying, I'm afraid that my troops aren't to be treated exactly like any other lawbreaker. I believe there's a specific law regarding that, that they are to be turned over to the local commander-in this case, me-for whatever discipline is necessary rather than being bound over for civil trial."

"There is?"

"Yes," the commander said firmly. "If you're not familiar with it, I could provide you with a copy of-"

"Oh, I'm familiar with it," the chief said with a curt wave. "It's just that usually, when we've taken one of your wayward lambs into custody and called out to your base to ask someone to come pick him up, he's ended up sleeping it off in one of our cells. I'm just surprised at the sudden concern for proper procedure, is all."

"Different commanders have different priorities," Phule said. "I'm sure the same thing is true in police work. All I can say is that while I'm in command of the Legionnaires stationed here, none of them are going to be left to rot in one of your cells . . . provided we're duly informed that they've been restrained, that is. I trust you'll see to it that word is pa.s.sed to us on a timely basis?"

"Don't worry, we'll let you know." Goetz smirked. "Of course, whether or not it's on a timely basis will probably depend on whether or not anyone's answering the phone at your end."

"We're using the penthouse at the Plaza as our headquarters while we're in the settlement," Phule said, scribbling quickly on a page in his notebook, which he tore off and tossed onto the chief's desk. "That's the number, in case you don't have it already. If I'm not there to take your call, someone will who can relay the information to me immediately."

Goetz made no move to pick the note up, but rather scowled at the Legionnaire.

"Excuse me for pointing out the obvious, Captain," he said levelly, "but weren't you just telling me I wouldn't have any trouble out of your crew? If that's the case, why are you so all fired eager to be sure we know what to do when we arrest one of them?"

"I believe I said I didn't expect there'd be any more trouble than usual," the commander corrected. "I'm not trying to kid you that there won't be any trouble, Chief. We both know there's bound to be some incidents once in a while. I'm just trying to establish a rapport between us to ease things when and if anything does happen."

"Well, when and if anything happens, you can rest a.s.sured that . . ."

The phone on the desk exploded with sound, interrupting the chief in midsentence. Frowning, he s.n.a.t.c.hed up the receiver.

"Goetz. What's the . . . I see. Well, put him on."

The chief's eyes sought and held Phule's as he smiled into the phone.

"Chief of police . . . Yes, sir . . . I see . . . Just a moment. "

Covering the receiver with one hand, Goetz leaned back in his chair and smirked at the Legionnaire in his office.

"What do you know, Captain? It seems we have an incident, as you put it, already."

"What is it?"

"I've got the hotel manager of the Plaza on the line here. It seems a couple of your law-abiding troops are brawling in his lobby. Do you want to handle this, or should I send a few of my boys over to break it up?"

The commander held out his hand for the phone, which the chief pa.s.sed him after a moment's hesitation.

"Phule here, Bombast. What seems to be the problem?"

"That's Bom--- oh! Mr. Phule," came the hotel manager's voice through the receiver. "It's . . . ah . . . nothing really. "

"If it's nothing, why are you bothering the police?"

"I just . . . I didn't know how to reach you, sir, and a couple of your . . . troops are fighting in the lobby. Now, I'd like to be tolerant, but I have a responsibility to the owners if any damage is done, and my security can't . . .

"Is one of them a woman?"

"Sir?"

"Come on, Bombast, you know the difference. Is one of them a woman . . . fairly short?"

"As a matter of fact, yes."

"Can you hold for a moment?"

Phule covered the receiver with one hand while he counted slowly to ten.

"Bombast?"

"Yes, Mr. Phule?"

"Are they still fighting?"

"Well . . . no, sir. It seems to have stopped."

"Then that's that. Oh, and Bombast?"

"Yes, Mr. Phule?"

"I don't think it's necessary to trouble the police with every little scuffle that occurs. If I'm not around, let one of the lieutenants or sergeants know and they'll handle it . . . and I'll personally guarantee any damages to the hotel. All right?"

"Y-yes, Mr. Phule."