Bobby twisted his neck, gave Mickey a dour look, mouthed, “Asshole,” and turned back.

Councilman Whitfield held up his hand resignedly and invited, “I’ll have a look at that if you don’t mind, Boston.”

“Not at all,” Boston murmured into the microphone in front of him, moved from the podium, presented the papers to Whitfield and returned to the podium. “As you’ll see in the addendum attached to that paper that a goodly number of businessmen and women in this community, who voted that action, are concerned about this issue.”

“In other words, the rich folk, thinkin’ they’re high and mighty and their money should get them attention, wanna throw a fit about somethin’ none of us get but if they get their way, could put us in danger,” a man called from the gallery.

Whitfield looked from his study of the papers over the reading specs he’d slid on in the direction of the voice. “Tom, if you have something to say, we ask you say it during your turn at the podium.”

“And make me listen to this crap in the meantime?” Tom, who I saw was the Tom who ran The Shack on the wharf, returned.

“Everyone has a voice in this meeting and if a citizen takes their time to share their thoughts with this council, as servants to this town, it’s our duty to listen,” another council member replied.

“Not if their thoughts are full of it and it isn’t worth your time,” Tom shot back.

There was a titter and I caught Mickey grinning at his lap.

“Tom—” the council member started but was interrupted when someone else spoke up.

“This is crazy. The boys at the MFD volunteer. And just last week, they put their asses on the line, makin’ sure the entire jetty didn’t go up in flames like it could have.”

“I’d ask you to refrain from using coarse language, Jeff,” the council woman named Louise requested firmly.

“What else would you call it?” Jeff asked. “Straight up fire or fire damage closed down that whole shopping area and if the worst happened, those same things coulda took out the folks fightin’ it. I call that puttin’ your ass on the line. Now, no disrespect, Louise, but I didn’t hear about you in your gear fightin’ that blaze. I sure as hell didn’t hear about Stone doin’ it.”

That got another titter.

“They aren’t all asking for salaries,” someone else called loudly. “They want one salary for one guy. Town’s over two hundred years old and we never paid a single firefighter. Only pay a chief and he acts for the whole county so we don’t even pay his full salary. Think it’s about time we did that. Shoot, if it was up to me, they’d all get paid.”

“Yeah,” Jeff said.

“I agree,” a woman piped up.