For the Good of All (the sequel to "Two Sides of the Street")

The Aldermen's meeting room consisted of a ring of desks about ten feet from a central desk. The ring of desks was for the Aldermen, while the central desk was for the town mayor. Every desk was occupied. On the mayor's desk were a gavel resting sideways on a small wooden plate and a telephone.

It had not been a quiet evening of discussion, to say the very least. Argumentative would have been more accurate.

“You said that you would enforce this rule!” one of the Aldermen shouted.

“A rule is not a law,” the mayor said as calmly as he could. “During my time as mayor, I've done what I could to keep those who aren't adults yet from congregating. Even if you demanded it, I couldn't send the bobbies to every single bloody house in town and you know it. That's like putting up a neon sign, saying that none of us can be trusted. The inter-denominational fighting is thankfully nothing more than a memory for some of us old enough to remember it. The children of today thankfully never experienced any of it. Don't they deserve a chance to evolve from the past rather than just repeat it over and over again? Saying that it's for the good of all isn't an answer.” The mayor pointed to a man who stood up just then. “Yes, Gareth?”

“I know I don't speak for everyone here,” Gareth said calmly. “But I speak for myself and my brother – who couldn't be here – and for everyone who frequents our pub. There is no danger in letting both denominations mingle in public. Our pub is proof of it.”

“You're just one of those whiny, weasely –” one of the elder Aldermen started to say.

The mayor slammed the gavel hard on the small wooden plate. “You are out of order, sir! It is Gareth's turn to speak. When he is finished, you are welcome to take your turn. Is that understood?”

The elder Alderman made a face and shrugged, but said nothing.

“Thank you,” the mayor said. “Do you wish to continue, Gareth?”

Gareth nodded. “I have no desire to see any return to the years of violence that nearly tore apart both Ireland and Northern Ireland. My brother and I both know about the destructive force of that violence. Our parents were killed when a bomb exploded in the train they were traveling on from Dublin back to Belfast.”

The elder Alderman snorted. “An I.R.A. bomb, I bet.”

Another slam of the gavel by the mayor. “Do you wish to be ejected from this meeting, sir?” the mayor asked him.

“I'll do better than that,” the elder Alderman said and stood up. “I'll eject myself from this stupid, useless farce. The Orangemen don't care to be silenced like this. If you're smart, the rest of you would follow me out.” He left his desk and walked out of the meeting room without looking back.

“Is there anyone else that wishes to do the same?” the mayor asked the rest of the Aldermen.

Some nodded, stood up, and left. The rest stayed seated.

“Now, then,” the mayor said, trying to calm down. “I believe that it's still your turn, Gareth. And then anyone else who wishes to speak will be permitted to do so.”

No one interrupted this time.

Gareth sighed. “I've heard my share of arguments at our pub, but they're usually much more civil. Even when you can hear them from twenty feet away. Which is no mean feat in a pub as noisy as ours can be.”

The mayor smiled and nodded. “I've been there on some of those noisy nights.”

“Words are permitted but not weapons,” Gareth went on. “So far, we've had no trouble with that policy. But lately, things have changed. Not always overtly. Even the police aren't as tolerant as they once were. Possibly since the hiring of the new chief constable. My brother and I did argue against his hiring, but we were outvoted at the time. Harold Mencken was never one to keep his opinions to himself. Neither in London's East End nor here in our town. To say that he struts is putting it mildly.”

“I've seen him do it,” another Alderman said. “I don't know who he thinks he's trying to impress.”

“He should've gone into politics,” grumbled another Alderman. “His ego belongs in the House of Commons. It doesn't belong here.”

Rather than fuss about the interruptions, the mayor glanced from one Alderman to the other. “And how do you propose we deal with the fact that we're stuck with him for the foreseeable future?”

“Fire the stupid bugger,” the second Alderman said. “Send him back where he came from.”

“If only it were that easy,” the mayor said. “Because if it were, I would've happily gotten rid of him long before now.”

“Either you can do something and refuse to, or you can't do anything,” the second Alderman said. “Which is it?”

“We could take a vote of no-confidence,” the first Alderman suggested.

“What good would that do?” the second Alderman demanded. “That's like slapping him on the wrist. He'll just keep doing what he's doing. Bloody Bantam rooster doesn't belong in our town. If I could, I'd kick him in the knickers and send him on his way.”

The mayor sighed. “We seem to have a plethora of suggestions, but no solutions.”

“Can't we complain to anyone?” another Alderman asked. “After all, how did the problem get solved the last time?”

One of the elder Aldermen who stayed said, “By the idiot getting shot in the back. The bloody fool thought he could do what he wanted in our town. Let's just say we disagreed with him.”

“Well, I'm sorry but I don't think we can get rid of Mr. Mencken in the same manner,” the mayor told him. “Much as I wish we could.”

The telephone chose that moment to interrupt.

The mayor looked at it, then sighed and picked it up. “Mayor Kirkwood here.” He listened, nodded once or twice. “Keep them there. I'll try to be there in about fifteen or twenty minutes, at most.” He listened again. “I guess we both have our hands full, then. See you soon.” He hung up the phone. “That was someone calling from the police station. Mencken is there and demanding my presence.” Demanding was putting it mildly. Howling with rage and impatience would've been more accurate.

“Need anyone at your back?” the elderly Alderman asked. “I wouldn't trust that bugger any further than I could throw him. Which, at this point, wouldn't be more than a few feet.”

“If it isn't any trouble?” the mayor asked.

The elderly Alderman smiled. “No trouble at all, sir.”

The mayor looked at the Aldermen. “If there are no protests, I move that we continue this meeting tomorrow at noon.”

“I second it,” the elderly Alderman said a moment later.

“I third it,” Gareth said.

“Anyone else?” the mayor asked. Everyone else shook their heads. “Then it is moved that this meeting continues here tomorrow. Same time, same place.” He banged to gavel to signal the end of the meeting.

Everyone but the mayor and elderly Alderman departed.

“You really don't have to, Terrence,” the mayor told him.

“I know, sir,” the latter said. “I've been in this town since I was a little tyke, sir. My parents came from here, as did their parents. My grandfather was one of the workmen who helped construct the Titanic in Belfast. I've seen the booms, the busts, and everything in between. Instinct tells me that you might need me at your side at the police station. There's no telling what the chief constable might do if you went there alone. Probably something either foolish or stupid.”

“Probably,” the mayor said. “All right. But no weapons. I don't want to give Mencken any chance to claim that he's the victim.”

“Understood,” the elderly Alderman said. “And if all goes well, we can go get a pint or two at the pub afterward.”

“As long as I can treat you,” the mayor said.

“It's your nickel,” the elderly Alderman said.

“So it is,” the mayor said. “So it is.”

----------

The chief constable sat on the edge of his desk, facing Niamh and Devon. “You two bairns are old enough to know the rules about line-crossing. What made you think you could break them with impunity?” He shook his head. “I've spoken with the headmaster at each of your secondary schools. They're of the opinion that I don't really need to involve the police in this.”

“And I gather you disagreed, Harold?” Niamh's father asked calmly.

Mencken frowned at him. “Things have been far too lax in this town before I was hired. Rules bent in all sorts of directions. You'd think we were in bloody America instead of Northern Ireland.”

“Punishing our son and their daughter isn't going to fix those problems,” Devon's father said.

“Probably not, but maybe it will send out a message that this sort of misbehavior will not be tolerated any longer,” the chief constable said. “Or do you want the children in this town to end up like the ones in America?”

“Or like the ones who fought in the 1970s and 1980s, shooting and bombing at will?” Devon's father asked. “My brother Niall was involved in that and not one of you bleeding hearts ever put a stop to it. He killed Eoin's uncle. But did he get incarcerated? Of course not. Just a pointless slap on the wrist. And you're blaming us for bad management of our children?”

“I'm warning you, Padraig,” Mencken said, pointing a stiff forefinger at him. “You're not in charge of this town, much less its police force. I could have you arrested.”

“For what? Insubordination?” Devon's father asked, mildly surprised. “I don't work for you. Is that what you're stooping to, Harold? Just throwing people into gaol when they disagree with you and your supporters?”

Mencken was about to respond when the mayor arrived, along with the elderly Alderman. “Kirkwood. Terrence. I guess I shouldn't be surprised to see you both together.”

“We aren't dating, if that is what you're trying to insinuate,” the mayor said.

“Not yet, you pair of pansies,” Mencken said. “Someone should've crowned you both as queens a long time ago.”

Terrence's eyes narrowed at the chief constable, but he kept quiet for the time being.

“There's no need for that kind of language here, Harold,” the mayor said.

“This is my territory, not yours,” Mencken told him. “What I say here, goes. If you don't approve, you know where the exit is. After all, weren't you the one who agreed with my employment here?”

“I was out-voted, if that's what you mean,” the mayor said. “Now to get back to topic: What were you discussing when I interrupted the proceedings?”

“Line-crossing,” Mencken said. “And how to punish those who willy-nilly break rules they know about. Don't give me any guff. They knew and they broke them anyway.”

“Are you insisting that we ground them?” Niamh's mother asked. “If so, shouldn't that be left up to the parents, not the local police?”

“Mum!” Niamh protested.

Her mother nudged her. “I'm sorry, but he might have a point. Grounding might be better for you both than just letting it slide.”

Mencken smiled approvingly. “That sounds better already. Now see? That didn't take much, did it?”

“Just the application of some undue pressure,” Niamh's father pointed out. “From someone who has never had any children. Or even been married, for that matter.”

Mencken narrowed his eyes at Niamh's father. “That has no bearing on this.”

“Doesn't it?” the latter asked. “How often have you punished the bairns in London's East End? Taken it on yourself to do your worst to them, often without even notifying their parents.”

“You ever been in the East End?” Mencken asked him.

“My accent may have changed over the years, but my memories haven't,” Niamh's father replied. His accent changed and he didn't sound anymore like the father she'd grown up with. He sounded more like Eliza from “My Fair Lady”. “I grew up there and with far more to fear than your bloody ego. You should try walking the streets there without your band of thugs at your back. You probably wouldn't last half an hour. We'd have you down on the ground before you knew it. You'd be crying and screaming bloody murder at us, and you know it.”

“Eoin,” Niamh's mother said, sensing that her husband's temper would boil over even more than it already had.

“I don't have to listen to this strutting bastard spewing his hate and ignorance in my face,” Niamh's father said and turned to leave.

One of the officers blocked his way, shaking his head.

“Surely you'll let him leave, Harold,” the mayor said. “After all, all he's done is told the truth. You can stand to hear the truth, can't you?”

Mencken swore under his breath. “Fine. Let him go. Anyone else care to join him?”

Niamh's mother nodded and followed his husband out of the chief constable's office.

“Now that we've gotten the idiocy out of the way, perhaps we can get down to the real core of the issue,” Mencken said. “We have a pair of adolescents who care nothing about line-crossing, much less mingling with those on the other side of the street. The rules are strict about it. But they broke those rules.”

“As Niamh's mother suggested, why not just ground them and get it over with?” Devon's mother asked. “Would that appease you? Or would you demand that more be done to them?”

“Not just grounding, but absolutely no communication between them,” Mencken said.

“Does that include email?” the mayor asked.

“Especially not via email,” Mencken said. “Are we in agreement, then?”

“And you'll leave them alone for the duration of their grounding?” the mayor asked.

“Yes,” Mencken said.

“Promise?” the mayor asked.

Mencken fumed but nodded. “Fine. I promise. Now get out of here before I change my mind.”

---------

Niamh lay face-down on her bed, her face resting on her crossed arms, and trying not to cry.

Her mother sat next to her. “I'm sorry, dear, but if I disagreed about anything else the chief constable said today, he was right about your breaking the underage mingling rule.”

“You let me,” Niamh said. “I asked and you said I could.”

“That was at the pub,” her mother said. “Why didn't you tell me that you'd not only met him in the park after school but also sent him an online message at that poetry website?”

“And if I had,” Niamh said, “would that have changed anything?”

“Maybe, maybe not,” her mother said. “Something you have to do something for the good of all, rather than having special exceptions for specific people. If you keep allowing some to break the rules, then the rest will ask why they can't break them as well. You have to draw the line somewhere.”

“Even if it's down the middle of the street,” Niamh said.

“If it's any comfort, imagine what it's like for Devon at his house,” her mother said. “His parents weren't exactly pleased to hear what he'd done with you.”

Niamh looked up at her mother. “How did you know that?”

“I could tell when we were in Mencken's office,” the latter said. “Also, I talked with Devon's mother afterward.”

“Is there any way I could send a message to him?” Niamh asked.

Her mother shook her head. “That was part of the agreement about grounding you both.”

Niamh's eyes lit up. “We can't … but you could.”

“Dearie,” her mother said. “You've bent the rules. Haven't you done enough harm as it is?”

“He didn't say the parents couldn't communicate with each other,” Niamh went on. “Only that Devon and I couldn't. Please say you'll send him a message from me. Please?”

Her mother sighed. “Lord, but you're stubborn.”

“Just like Dad?” Niamh asked with a grin.

Her mother made a face. “All right. If it isn't a long message. A page at the most.”

“And I can say anything I want to?” Niamh asked, hopefully.

“Within reason,” her mother said, then shook her head. “From the sounds of you, one would think you two had done more than just talk. You did only just talk, right?”

Niamh nodded. “And drank some Coca-Cola at the pub. With no rum in it.”

“I'll call Deidre and ask if we could talk for a bit,” her mother said. “I can't guarantee that she'll agree to give your message to Devon. All I can do is ask if she's willing to.”

“Good enough for me,” Niamh said. “I'll have the message ready in a few minutes.”

“And I'll give you some privacy in which to write it,” her mother said. “Do be careful, Niamh. Mencken isn't anyone to play games with. He isn't like us or Devon's parents. If anything, he has much more in common with Devon's Uncle Niall.”

“Warning taken,” Niamh said. “Thanks, Mum. I owe you one.”

“Indeed you do,” her mother said and left Niamh's bedroom, shutting the door behind her.

Devon –

I hope this message reaches you. I asked my mother to give it to your mother. If your parents permit it, look for a poem from me at the poetry website.

– Niamh