A Simple Persuasion

Dear Readers,

This will be a short story that's going to turn a little violent eventually. There is true romance at the heart of it, but it is a little rough around the edges. I hope to have the next chapter written by the time this one is posted. As always, please post your thoughts or send me feedback. I always love hearing from you!

Titania

P.S.

This in no way is a negative critique against firemen (and women). But I had to use someone hot in a uniform :)

***

The large conference room at the town hall was crowded, standing room only. And though it was Maine, it was not impervious to the August heat that only added to the discomfort of overcrowding. The old building's air-conditioning was not strong enough to cool two hundred over-heated bodies. The ever-constant thrum of excited voices vied for position in the crowded air. For many, the buzzing and heat and crowding were overwhelming, increasing the tension of the already terse talks

Budget planning for the next fiscal year was never a simple or easy task, but this year seemed even more difficult; the fire department was asking for a twenty percent increase. Fire Chief Paulson wanted to expand the fire department's services to include emergency medical response, effectively making the ambulance system obsolete.

The small town contracted with the larger town of Machias, insuring an ambulance stayed in Davenport, ready to transport a patient to the hospital in the larger town. Many of the town's people thought the arrangement worked well and didn't understand the chief's push to change it. The small coastal community, though friendly, was also feisty. Arguments broke out often, distracting most from the trail of reason needed to settle the issue.

At the front of the room, a long table separated the citizens from the five-member council and the mayor. They all thumbed through piles of papers that held numbers, itemized costs, projections, proposals, and summaries. As the unofficial leader, Henry Jenkens led the discussion, acknowledging any constituent that approached the podium and mic. As an obvious opponent of the measure, Councilman Lowe led the debate with the chief.

After the councilmembers asked their questions and expressed their resulting opinions, the mayor called for the vote. Both councilman and woman Jenkens and Clare voted in the affirmative for the increase, while councilmen Lowe and Philman gave their nays. The last to vote, Gracie Whitlock, waited anxiously for the mayor to call on her. She had been on the council only two months and this was the first serious vote they had taken.

Though she shunned gossip and useless politics, she knew when the truth lie hidden under the presented front. She instinctually distrusted the chief, though she couldn't have pinpointed why. However, when her friend Paige, who worked at the Davenport Savings & Trust, told her he had moved a substantial amount of money from the bank to an off-shore account, her interest was piqued. He didn't come from a wealthy family and his salary didn't afford him that sort of cash.

She had begun a low-scale investigation, primarily consisting of nonchalantly bringing up the chief's name during conversations with various townspeople and feeling out their emotional response to him. She noted that while a few seemed to think he was a good man and a good fire chief, a large majority thought there was something discolored about him. With nothing concrete and no clear accusations, her investigation slowly dwindled away until she had nearly forgotten it.

Grace was eating lunch at the diner when a man in a suit sat in the booth behind her. His conversation on his cell phone was background noise to her until he mentioned the chief. "I know, I've looked over the place. I don't know how the old man got a two point four million policy on it, but the fire chief said the scene was a simple wiring issue. Yeah, that's right. The chief here said there was no arson." There was silence as the man listened. "Well, I thought so, too. This one makes the third multimillion claim in the past six months in this county. But the chief is positive it isn't arson. Hell, I don't know. All I can say is that we need to make sure our policies accurately reflect the appraised value of the properties. I know, I think it's strange too..."

Though she had little details, she knew there must be something suspect with those fires. She continued her inquiries with as much discretion as she could manage. Granted, she was not with the police or the district attorney's office. She had no skills in uncovering a mystery and no authority to do anything about it once she had. Despite the seeming futility of it, she knew she had to try.

When Al Sweeney, owner of the diner, nominated her for the vacant position on the council, she was reluctant to take it. However, since graduating from NYU, she had been relegated to menial jobs while living in Davenport. So, eager for a task to better suit her education and adult responsibilities that could make a difference in the community, she accepted. With the lingering suspicion about the fire chief and his involvement with suspect fires, she bided her time before casting her vote.

Sitting at the councilmembers' table, looking out at the crammed room, her eyes fell on a pair of gray, menacing ones. His face was slightly reddened from time in the sun, and he looked as though his cholesterol was higher than it should be. He was fit, but he seemed stuffed into his uniform, and the uncomfortable appearance made him look short-tempered.

"Grace Whitlock, what say you?"

She stared the man down, fear shivering through her despite the calm easing her features. "Nay." She saw his eyes momentarily flash and then chill into steel.

The mayor continued with his bureaucratic speech, announcing the rejection of the budget proposal and declaring the accepted plan. The crowd cheered and bustled, commotion taking many forms. Grace never lost eye contact with the man she was quickly assessing as a brute. She still didn't know enough about him to make a lawful accusation, but staring into his steel eyes, she had the acute impression he meant her harm. The meeting was adjourned, and those sitting stood and those standing began moving about. Amidst the heated chatter of the general populace, Gracie slipped out the side door and down the hall. She had done her duty to stand for something good, but felt the need to immediately escape. She found herself in her car, breathing harshly in and out. Surely she exaggerated the danger she sensed from him.

As Gracie collected herself in her '89 BMW, a rage-filled Robert Paulson stalked to the back of the meeting room. He had to ignore the clamor around him as many townsfolk, including the snotty little newspaper reporter from the Davenport Tribune, accosted him for his opinion of the verdict. He eagerly sought the man who stood in the corner, arms folded across his chest. "She knows something," he harshly whispered to the young man. "Why else would she veto the bill? Did you see? She didn't even ask any questions. She's young, but she's not stupid. Goddamnit! I knew something like this would happen." He fumed visibly, effectively keeping commentators at bay.

"Maybe she just doesn't like you."

"I know the girl, her family, she isn't like that. She's one of them high-and-mighty, full-of-principle types. She wouldn't just vote no without a goddamn good reason."

"Maybe she thinks the proposal's full of shit."

Robert rubbed his face vigorously. "Then she would have asked questions about it, tried to persuade the others, what with her fancy law degree; she likes arguing. No, I'm telling you, she's gotta know something, and if she does, she's a liability to me." He looked meaningful at the quiet man who still had yet to move from the position Robert first found him in. "Well?"

"Well what?"

"You goddamn well know what. Fix it!" he hissed. "Find out what the fuck she knows and fix it! Silence her if you have to, get any hard evidence back. Just fucking fix it."

"You forget, I'm a fireman, not a fixer."

"Don't be a smart ass. The one time I ask you to use your real abilities, and you can't even do that? What the fuck are you worth? I can get a hundred guys to go running around in a uniform putting out fires; I need a goddamn handyman now. Got me? So pull your dick out of your ass and do what it is you do."

Giving the slightest sigh, Lachlan Payne pushed away from his dark corner and wove through the crowd. His uncle was a prick, but he was also the only authority he recognized at the moment. After coming back to the states from his duty, he bounced around, landing one hit job after the other. Eventually, he wound up in Maine, saving lives instead of taking them. He never felt as though he belonged, but knew he had no direction either. He was content to sit and wait.

Now, sliding into his 84' Toyota Land Cruiser, he eyed the crowded parking lot for her little car. She was peeling from the back lot as he started his engine. He didn't know what the mission would include, and that left him feeling uneasy. He had seen Grace Whitlock around the small town on a few occasions and had even thought about approaching her. But she didn't seem like the quick 'fuck-em-and-leave-em' sort so he had tried to stay clear.

Of course, a beautiful girl with too much vodka in her is hard to avoid in a small bar. Davenport only had one, Small's Iron, and it therefore served many different types of clientele. The average patron was a hardworking middle-aged man from the docks or mechanic shop. There was a token bar slut, Janette, who, trying to nurse her divorcee heart, would sidle up to any unattached man. The retired basketball coach and a few men from the Elk's lodge would often gather to throw darts or discuss by-gone days of sports glory. But, as it was a small-town bar, it usually remained quiet. The exception came on a Friday or Saturday night when young girls stepped out in their shimmer, drawing the young men after them.

The girls had entered and immediately bellied up to the bar so Josh could pour them shots. From the far end of the bar where it curved around to face the open room, Lachlan watched the girls as they giggled and wiggled and looked around hungrily. She seemed reluctant to be there, which wasn't surprising considering he hadn't seen her there before. She was dragged along by a short red head he recognized as working at the bank. They all took their shots and then yelled out bawdily. Except for Grace. She stood there, a wary look on her face as she regarded her friends. Her gaze slowly fell across the dive until she ended up catching his eye. He didn't smile, but she blushed and looked away.

Intrigued by the glittering sight of five pretty girls cutting loose, Lachlan watched them through the night. Shot after shot, Grace scrunched her face and turned her sour look to the red head and always received a pep talk to keep at it. Four of the bunch found different men to latch onto on the dance floor. Grace was left to fend off the stream of offers. Occasionally, her eyes would drift back across the bar to spy the appealing face at the end of it. The connection would always cause her to blush and redirect her gaze.

Nearing eleven, Grace was accosted once again by a young man who repeatedly told her he owned a fishing boat, as if that were his selling point. He turned somewhat grabby, trying to pull her onto the dance floor. Wrestling her arms from his grasp, she continued to deny him. "I think she's not in the mood to dance," his quiet but firm interjection came. The man turned to contend with the interloper, but after sizing Lachlan up, he only scowled before he submitted and slunk away.

"Thank you, he wouldn't leave. It was rather annoying." Her speech was slow and a little slurred. He could see the drooping of her eyes and knew she wouldn't last much longer. He only smiled tightly at her, suddenly regretting interfering at all. But before he could make his departure, she surprised him. "And, I actually think that's my cue to leave." She stood but immediately lost her balance. He caught her and momentarily stared down at her face, her eyes trying to stay open. She gave a whimper, and he sat back down on her bar stool. "Ah, I suppose that means I can't drive, huh? A cab! Oh, no, this isn't the city, they don't have cabs here. Crap," she sighed. "How in the world did I let Paige drag me out here?" She looked up at him, her brown eyes capturing him from moving on. "It's not my fault. I just have awful friends. Well, that's not fair, is it? I have friends who enjoy things that I do not. I don't even think I've come to this bar since I've been back. I mean look at me," he sighed and sat on the stool next to her as she prattled on. "I obviously can't drink and I have absolutely no desire to be chatted up by any of these guys. And that's what you do at a bar, isn't it? You get drunk and flirt shamelessly with strangers. Ridiculous. Of course, you are being chatted up by a stranger now, aren't you? Sorry about that," she said, truly remorseful.

He felt bad that she felt bad. His reaction surprised him and he slanted his eyes at her, scrutinizing her pretty face. She caught his scowl and gave a small frown in return. "Like I said, you don't have to stay here and listen to me talk."

She was possibly drunk enough to not remember tonight. He analyzed her a few minutes more, fighting the irresistible urge to offer to take her home. But when she rested her head on her hand and elbow on the bar, her eyes closing, he knew she was also too drunk to even try to fuck. He sighed, disappointed he wasn't more of a bastard. The noise woke her out of her momentary sleep. She looked at him and then the sweetest smile broke across her lips. "Thanks again," she sighed as she leaned towards him. Before he could react, or maybe fight the desire to not react, she pressed her warm lips against his.

He was quickly charged by the sensation of her eager tongue. She thrust it against his lips and he opened, flushing at the erotic feel of her. He followed her ardent lead, allowing her to rub her tongue against his. She tasted heady, but sweet, unique. He was letting her taste flow through him, calling childhood memories to mind when her mouth was viciously ripped from his. He opened his eyes to see the red head firmly grasping Grace's shoulder.

"Grace, what the hell! Hey man," she said, turning her attention to him, "I don't know who you are, but Gracie isn't like that. She's too drunk to know what she's doing, so, you'd better let her be."

"Ah, Paige, he was kissing me," she whimpered sadly, staring at his wetted lips.

"Actually, you were kissing me."

"I was?" she grinned. "Was I doing a good job?"

He couldn't stop the smile in return. "Yeah, you were doing a good job."

"See Paige, I was doing a good job," she pleaded, never breaking from his gaze.

"I don't care if you were getting a gold medal; you don't go around making out with strange guys. You'd be sick with yourself in the morning. Remember? When I begged you to come out with me, I promised I wouldn't let you make a mistake. Grace," she said sternly and waited for the blonde to look up at her, "this guy is a mistake. If he's interested, he can come look you up at the Geek Hut on Monday. But as it is, I'm taking you home now." She pulled her up and led her through the crowd and out the door.

"This is really quite unjust. You beg me to come out with you and then drag me away the moment I begin to enjoy myself."

"I know, life's an ironic bitch. But we're going." And that was it. The pushy red head had absconded with the girl, and he wasn't the type to go chasing after her.

A month later he heard she had been elected to the town council, which surprised him. He really didn't know much about her, but then again, he tried to know as little about everyone in that town as possible. When his uncle's proposal came up before the council, he decided to make an appearance at the town meeting, though he wouldn't have admitted it was because he hoped to see her again.

Lachlan watched her enter the meeting room with apprehension and caution written across her beautiful features. He was trained to read people, and he knew she had personal reservations against his uncle beyond the common, objectionable reasons of the other committee members. His uncle was right; she knew something. He watched as she bravely denied him his increase, knowing she feared her decision as well as accepted the responsibility to deliver it. She was an ever-increasing mystery.

As he tailed her to her cottage, he sighed in disappointment at what lied ahead. He had never liked interrogating captives, even during the war, but that was what his uncle needed of him. He was right, this is what he did. He subconsciously noted her driving habits and skills, unable to turn off years of training. The sun was setting, causing the sky over the ocean to darken dreadfully. She lived at the end of the long lane lined with the Atlantic White Cedar trees. The land rose as it neared the rocky cliffs and became more densely covered in the tall softwoods. He parked forty yards away across the small road at a rundown house, backing his SUV up into the empty carport.

He watched her walk up to her home. He waited five minutes, and as he was about to get out to do some close-up surveillance, he saw her exit the back of her cottage. She was wrapped in a fluffy white robe and was heading down a well-worn path towards the ocean.

Curious, he eased from his vehicle and followed the road to the dead end. Edging up the soft hill, he walked to the north, taking advantage of the cover of trees that embraced the cliff's edge. From there he was able to watch as she floated down a long wooden staircase to a small, sandy beach below. He stood, watching the scene unfold. She walked to a large rock not far from the water's edge and disrobed. She was completely nude. Though he didn't notice, his breath hitched in his throat and he stood as still as the trees, not even the evening breeze rustling him.

The goddess-like form sauntered to the waters' edge. She slowly stalked into the rhythmic waves, as though she were hunting a gazelle. He watched with dizzying pleasure as the water slapped at her knees and then her toned thighs. When at last the blue swirled and caressed the junction of her thighs, he felt strangely as though it was his breath, seeking to discover her depths. Rolling her head back and forth, she stood, enjoying the caresses the waves brought. At last, she dove in and began to swim vigorously out to sea. He watched as she faded into the darkness of the waters, hidden from the setting sun. He waited almost an hour before he saw a figure emerge onto the sand, illuminated by the rising moon. He could no longer make out the perfection of her form, but could see flesh and her white, flashing robe. He watched the ghost ascend the stairs and make for the back of the shingled-house. Lights began to glow from the windows, illuminating it like a jack-o-lantern.

Lachlan stood in the outside, the night cloaking him in its darkness. He stood next the golden light hitting the ground, careful to stay out of view. He was far enough away from the house that his angle gave him a decent view of the insides. He slowly stalked around, taking note of layout, escapes, and any technology for surveillance or detection that might exist. She was out of the shower and dressed in a black, satin nightgown. He approached the house and stood under her window. Through the glass he could hear her conversation on the phone.

"No, Henry and Ellen voted for it. Yeah, that's right. Well, on the face of it, I think it's a silly duplication of a service that already exists. Under the surface though, I really think it's a scheme for the chief to get more control." There was silence. She was walking out of the room and he could no longer hear her conversation. He quickly moved to the next window, and then the next until he heard her voice again. "I know, I will. Thanks, grandpa. I'll see you tomorrow. It's Friday so that means lunch from the diner. Yeah, yeah, I know how you like your burger, but you could at least try a salad sometime." She laughed at his response. "Fine. Want fries or onion rings? Okay, I'll do it. Alright, see you then. Bye, grandpa."