A Criminal to Remember (A Monty Haaviko Thriller) by Michael Van Rooy

drive me out of the city. The fallout from that monumental fuckup never seemed to end.
    “So you are a bad guy?” He probed and the old man and the kid kept watching.
    “I was one. Maybe I still am. But right now I want to have coffee and Danishes here and meet some people. Even bad guys have to drink coffee and eat Danishes and meet with people.”
    The man glanced back towards the bakery and I saw a huge fat man filling the doorway. He was maybe six foot five and easily 400 pounds and looked like the guy in front of me at 150 percent magnification. His head descended once abruptly and he went back in.
    “You can stay.” The waiter was magnanimous.
    “Thank you. Could I get a large coffee with cream and sugar and a cheese Danish?”
    I ate it with hunger and licked the tips of my fingers and drank some coffee which had improved a little since the last time I was there. Someone had told me that Muslims licked their fingers when eating because they never knew what part of the food held God’s blessing. I did it because I liked the taste.
    And, deep down inside, I was never sure of the next time I would eat.
    A little after six Dean Pritchard and Brenda Geraghty showed up in a dark-blue, low-end BMW sedan and came in with huge smiles on their faces. They each carried slim leather briefcases with brass fittings and Brenda wore a narrow fanny bag around her thin hips as well.
    They said, almost in unison, “ SO glad you accepted!”
    They ordered coffee and biscotti and were somewhat ticked over the absence of espresso, lattes, chai or imperial cookies (I concealed the knowledge that I had no idea what an “imperial cookie” was). As they dosed their coffee I watched them and wondered which one had ratted me out to Devanter, because it pretty much had to be one of them. When they were comfortable I started. “You want me to run for the position of chief of the police commission?”
    “Yes.” Dean spoke and both he and Brenda had notepads of canary-yellow paper out with mechanical pencils ready to go.
    “So, I guess we need a contract between us ensuring you’ll cover the expenses. However, please, explain to me what exactly it is you want me to do.”
    Brenda spoke up and made boxes on her sheet of paper. “Okay. The way it currently works is that the mayor is in charge in the city. Beneath his office is an appointed cabinet— I guess cabinet is the best word—who are elected and who support him no matter what and beneath that is the city council, also elected. The mayor orders the specific departments who report directly to him, however, not to the council or the cabinet.”
    She looked at me expectantly and I nodded understanding. “The new plan is to have a police council put in place. That would provide oversight to the police department specifically and deal with budgeting issues, complaints, staffing and so on, anything having to do with the police.”
    “Winnipeg doesn’t have this already?”
    “No. Most cities do though; we’re not reinventing the wheel. We’re copying an existing system and putting it into place.”
    I thought about it. “Okay. Currently how are the police responsible to the city?”
    “Through the mayor. They also have a union and massive grass roots support, so they can bring considerable political force to apply through any elected official whenever and however they feel it is needed.”
    She said it blandly and I could imagine the network of politics in city hall with all the authority ending with a single individual. It didn’t sound very pretty. “Who proposed the police council?”
    “The mayor.”
    I wondered why. The current setup had all the tools in the hands of the mayor’s office; he had absolute control over the police force, so why would he want to give any of it up? My dead friend Smiley had said, “This is the truth: Some people like to fuck. Some people like money. And some people like power.”
    Politicians liked power; it was pretty much in their job