Agents of Change, Page 2

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  Philadelphia’s City Hall was once, for a considerable length of time, the tallest building in the city. It now stands as one of the tallest masonry buildings in the world and is smack-dab in the middle of Philly, at least Philly as it was designed by its founder.

  Behind its rock-solid limestone, granite, and marble façade, sits the city’s mayor, Terry Haslett. A former local business owner and city council chairman, Haslett sits in a large, black plush leather chair, one of those in which you’d imagine someone of great importance sitting.

  Sitting on the other side of Haslett’s freshly polished cherry wood desk is his successor as council chairman, Wes Henry. In many ways, Haslett and Henry are polar opposites.

  Haslett is tall and sinewy, elected despite Philadelphia’s history of voting mostly against white mayoral candidates since the late 1990s. He accomplished this while overcoming the attention drawn by his abnormally long schnoz. Recently, a local political cartoonist depicted Haslett’s nose to be like that of Pinocchio. Haslett, however, liked it better when that same cartoonist used to depict him as Gonzo from the Muppets.

  Despite this unfortunate feature, Haslett is charismatic and speaks slowly, giving the impression of a perpetual calm to go along with a quiet confidence. When he dies, it will not be from complications stemming from heart disease and high blood pressure.

  On the other hand, Henry is rotund with understated facial features. The bottom of his gut threatens to break free of its captivity as it spreads the pleats of his slacks. Meanwhile, his nose is as small as the button on his shirt.

  Henry is known as a yeller and screamer. He was able to ascend to the top of the city council food chain despite his abrasive personality. The consensus, however, is that this is as far as he will get. Even if Haslett becomes the governor of Pennsylvania, Henry’s spot will most likely remain in his now-flattened seat as city council chair. Unlike Haslett, Henry’s short fuse will probably cause a fatal myocardial infarction.

  “When are you going to get rid of Commissioner Sears?” Henry says his predecessor.

  “I can’t,” Haslett says. “He knows.”

  “Does he know everything?”

  “No. But he knows enough.”

  Henry exhales loudly as he looks out into the dwindling sunlight illuminating the city. From this vantage point, he can see a steady flow of white headlights coming toward the building as well as a river of red taillights floating away from the building.

  “So he knows about our transportation situation?” the large man says, adjusting in his chair to compensate for its arm digging into his leg.

  “Yes. The rolling stock, the track at Suburban Station. He knows about all of that stuff.”

  “Who told him?”

  Haslett shrugs. “I wish I knew.”

  Henry exhales loudly again. In general, Henry breathes loudly but he’s more agitated than usual at the moment.

  “Relax, Wes. We’re not in danger.”

  “I wish I had your confidence.”

  “You would if you knew what I know.”

  “Yeah? What’s that?”

  “Our protection,” Haslett says with a deliberate cadence, “knows no boundaries.”

  “I hope so. I have kids to feed. I’m not going down like this.”

  “Wes, when will you learn to stop referring to your stomach as your children?”

  “Not funny.”

  “Hey, you’re just as guilty as I am. Stop pretending to be innocent.”

  Henry looks down at the floor, his stomach obstructing his view.

  “Now, please,” Haslett says, leaning over his desk, “stop … freaking … out.” He then motions for Henry to leave his office.