J.D. Trafford - Michael Collins 02 - No Time to Die by J.D. Trafford

bag.
    He looked up at Jane.
    “Wondering where you was.” He took a drag off of one of his hand-rolled cigarettes. “I seen the lights on and a little action inside, so I figured you’d be here. Can’t pull one over on ol’ Miggy.” His small laugh turned into a fit of coughs.
    “ We’ve got a meeting tonight.” Jane crouched next to him. “So you can’t show me your secret. No spirits tonight.”
    “ It’s important.” Miggy’s eyes got wide. “When you gonna come with me? The spirits are telling me to bring you there. I don’t want to make the spirits mad.”
    “ I’m sorry, Miggy.” Jane put a hand on his shoulder, squeezed, and then stood. “It can’t be tonight. Those people inside might shut us down tonight, so it’s a big meeting.”
    “ Them people in there now?” Miggy sat up further, and then pulled his slight body to his feet using the crutch. He looked into the window at the men and women in suits. “You need me to talk to ‘em. I’ll talk to them for ya. Put in a good word.”
    “ Thanks,” Jane put her arm around him, “but I’ll take care of it.”
    Kermit stepped forward.
    “You and Michael go in,” he said. “I’m not much of a corporate-meeting type. Me and Miggy will go find a place for a hot meal and I’ll find him a good place to spend the night.”
    Miggy licked his lips, excited about the possibility of a meal.
    “ Thank you,” Miggy said, and then to Jane, “I don’t want to leave you, though.”
    “ I’ll be fine.” Jane turned to Michael and put on a brave face. “Let’s do it.”
     
    ###
    The office felt heavy. This is the end , Jane thought. There were stilted conversations and forced laughter, but underneath it all, there was undeniable sadness.
    Jane sat at one end of the table with the board members sitting in the rest of the chairs. Michael sat off to the side, merely observing the confessions and apologies.
    “I’ve been with you from the beginning, Jane.” A middle-aged woman with clunky red glasses put her hand on her forehead, and then she began rubbing one of her temples. “I don’t understand the foundations. I don’t know why we can’t get the grants, but I do know that we can’t function without money. We’ve got nothing. It’s upsetting to me.”
    “ Is that a statement in favor of the motion?” The board chair asked. He was a silver-haired man in a dark, tailored suit.
    The chair waited, and eventually the woman with clunky red glasses nodded her head.
    Another man spoke up, and the chair recognized him for the record.
    He was bald with half-rimmed glasses.
    “Jane, I know I speak for everyone when I say that this is not personal, but all of these foundations are looking for objective measurements of success. They want a big impact for their dollar. They want to know how many people you helped and how you helped them.”
    He shook his head and looked around the office. It was the first time that Jane felt embarrassed by the mess of files.
    The man with half-rimmed glasses continued.
    “ The organization hasn’t been and wasn’t ever designed to do that. The days of wandering around the fields and asking workers what they want are over. We needed a strategic plan to improve their lives with measurable benchmarks. Frankly, I think Miami Legal Aid is in a better position as an organization to fill that role. They grasp the new normal. So I vote in favor of the motion.”
    The chair scanned the other individuals sitting at the table.
    “Anyone else?”
    There were no further comments. The seven board members sat in silence.
    “Do I have a motion to end discussion and vote on the motion?”
    There was a motion from the woman with red glasses.
    “And a second?”
    A few other board members seconded the motion.
    The board chair paused, and then cleared his throat.
    “ We call the motion and it’s time for the vote. Assuming that the motion passes, we’ll begin the wind-down procedures for the organization. The office will