The Sixth Apostle (via 2003)
They sat in a small, smoky room in River County's First Bank's basement. Thicker than the smoke was the denseness of the decision process. These meetings were held as needed, repeated when a local issue of mistrust or misconduct was in order, to be addressed.
The five persons, all of political status, sat at a circular wooden table of fine oak. In their hands were fine cigars of the best quality, and eavesdropping on their occult conversation were delicate, crystal glasses of imported wine. Each figure of power had their own personal ashtray which constrained stale remains of burned-out cigar butts. Cheeses and meats sat off in the corner, already taking the appearance of roadside carcasses—the dried cheeses surrounding the room-temperature meats. The State's Attorney broke the silence in the room.
"It's quite clear, then, what the decision is," he said, looking about the table, satisfied that the meeting was finally coming to a close.
The Preacher, obviously anxious after sitting for three hours in this bare, cramped room, spoke his response.
"This meeting was rather redundant, given we already knew what needed to be done." He paused, composing himself, his impatience being attempted to be undisclosed. "I assume you'll talk to the Attendant about the job?"
"No, I'll have my assistant do the hiring."
The Preacher nodded. "Very well,” he agreed.
The Banker seemed reluctant to the decision. "Must it be the Attendant?" Everyone turned from the Preacher to the Banker. "I mean, rather, we've only used him once, and that time almost cost us. Can he actually do his part without the slop? Besides, for such . . . unclean work. . . ."
The State's Attorney dropped his eyes to his lap in thoughtfulness. As First Apostle, everyone awaited his response to the Banker's concern.
It should be noted there was always a lack of hostility in this room, even in regards to the honest and justified concerns—no matter how blatant or crude one spoke. Honesty kept the tightness of trust and respect in River County's elite group, in this room. Each individual is this room was dependable on and to the next, each having their share to bring to the community, bettering it for the well-being of the residents. Much of the laws were passed in this room. "Community meetings" were a B.S. front to keep citizens content.
In reality, the public really had no voice, no say so. As small-town, drunkard, factory workers, what can the average citizen possibly know about politics; what works, what doesn't, and what was best for them.
It is like this across the nation, in small towns. These meetings were for the citizens, for the very ones that knew nothing about political circumstances.
The State's Attorney looked up from his lap.
"How the Attendant chose to do his duty for us was fine by me. He had some complications, so he had to . . . improvise. He did a fine job, and for less than what this wine cost me--this wine you drink tonight."
The State's Attorney looked around the table, the heads of three Apostles nodded in agreement to the decision, but the Banker's lack there of was the exception. The Preacher shifted restlessly in his seat, fearing another hour or two in conversation. His wife would question his whereabouts.
The State's Attorney inquisitively looked at the Banker.
"Have you another solution? Who else in this peasant, Midwest town would you trust with such a task? One of such professionalism without falling into financial greed or fall into the vice of the interrogations?"
Three seconds passed, and the air thickened. The State's Attorney was about to speak but was cut short by the Baker.
"Me. I'll do it."
There was a deafening silence, and then abruptly everyone gave into chuckling or laughter. The Banker looked around, hurt, and attempted to vindicate his embarrassment.
"I can to this job. And I ask no fee. Just your trust and your okay. This chore must be completed without flaw."
The Sheriff, who remained silent since the decision, spoke up. "Sir, I assure you that the Attendant can do this job without failing, and there's no risk. If he's fingered—pinched—I'll disrupt the evidence. It's quite simple.
"You," he said, pointing to the Banker, "have no record of spot. Any suspicion of you even being connected to such an event would drive you out of town. Please," he concluded persuasively, "don't offer yourself the trouble of these complications. You have a beautiful wife and daughter to look after."
The district's Republican Representative added, "I, myself, have already made the political contribution to have the Attendant paid off with monies from a 'charity'. Besides, his 'vacation' funds are now ready to be transferred into a secondary account."
The Banker tumbled their arguments in his mind, as he tongued the remaining food in his teeth. He needed assurance.
"Flawless?" After all, this conversation was at his petitioning, his request.
"Completely. Absolutely," the State's Attorney responded with conviction. "It's risky, yes, but it must be done. It's obviously something we don't want to do, but it's in our best interest and the interest of 7000 voters out there. It is they whom we work for."
There was a moment's silence, then all five men rose, with the State's Attorney's leading, standing at their chairs.
The Preacher gave the benediction, the parting dismissal.
"The State's Attorney's assistant will do the negotiations, the hiring. After the completion of the job and the Attendant's on his vacation trip, we'll again meet to discuss updates and further concerns."
The State's Attorney bowed to the Republican Representative. "And thank you, sir, for supporting the welfare of the common people, as well as your generous, financial assistance."
The Rep's hand grasped the State's Attorney's firmly, friendly. "Until next time," he smiled. They grew up together practically as brothers.
Everyone dispersed from the room, to head home to their families.
The only one absent from the meeting was River County's Mayor.
Two weeks later, the Mayor's body was found in the fairgrounds, naked. He was black and blue, and had a a single bullet hole in his forehead. A small, empty baggy of cocaine residue was found nearby, the homicide ruled as a "drug deal gone badly." The Sheriff himself signed the documents himself.
Making decisions without the okay of the other Apostles is prohibited. There must always be a round-table. Always a sit-down. The Six Apostles must always be in agreement.