Timeline: Thursday April 19th 2007. At the Town Hall, Bamptonville.
Greg pulled up on the parking lot outside the Town Hall, brushed himself down and fuelled by his new resolve, plus the energy of his breakfast, ran up the steps into the Town Hall entrance foyer.
The foyer gave into a long corridor that resembled a church with its high vaulted ceilings, flag stone floor and long, oblong windows with arched tops, resembling cathedral windows without the stained glass at its far end. Greg shuddered. He was not sure if it was caused because of the cool temperature inside or the dim, deathly atmosphere of this mausoleum of a place. There was nobody around and Greg walked along the corridor towards an arrowed sign pointing to a doorway that read 'RECEPTION.' His footfall on the flagstones echoed from the walls as he walked. Greg stood outside the heavy wooden door, a lump in his throat and his fist poised to knock. He swallowed and then rapped boldly three times on the door putting his ear to it to listen for a 'come in' from the other side. Instead the door swung open and he stepped back in surprise. A middle aged, petite lady with large, horn rimmed spectacles in a close fitting, black business dress that showed her well kept figure to advantage stood looking at him. She held her head on one side with a mischievous half-smile playing across her full mouth.
'Ohh!' Greg muttered in surprise and her smile became a pleasant chuckle as she said.
'Hello I am Miss Broeckner, the mayor's secretary. Can I take it you are Mr. Mitchell?' She held out her hand and her eyes sparkled, teasing him.
'Umm Yes, that's right, ' Greg stammered, taken unawares. His fingers went to fiddle with the tie he was not wearing. He shook her hand and felt its firm softness as he heard her friendly chuckle once more. Greg felt relaxed and rather silly at losing his composure by being non-plussed by the attractive Miss Broeckner.
'The mayor's expecting you Mr. Mitchell I'll take you right along.' He closely followed her to the far end of the corridor. The clip-clop of her high heels echoed around the cavern of a corridor drowning out the noise of his footsteps. Greg's eyes were glued to the gentle sway of Miss Broeckner's hips and the ripple of her buttocks under the fabric of her tight dress as she walked towards the long windows at the end of the corridor. She stopped and knocked on the last door on the right and put her ear to its panels. Greg could hear the throaty 'Come' from the other side as he stood behind the secretary, looking at her throat with its tiny gold chain and crucifix. She opened the door and stood aside with another coquettish smile.
'You can go inside now Mr. Mitchell. Can I bring you some coffee?'
'Uhh No thanks, I've just had breakfast.' Greg was still discomfited by this alluring woman and she knew it. She flicked her eyelids at him as she stepped back and said 'I see.'
Greg walked open mouthed into the large room with its walls decked with flags, bookshelves, pictures and Native American souvenirs.
Harvey Denton sat behind a huge oak desk in the far corner of the room that was brightly lit from the natural light streaming in through the double French windows forming the outside wall of his office. Harvey was vigorously packing a large, curved Meerschaum pipe from a tin of Half and Half tobacco. The dulled and blackened bowl with its discoloured and chewed mouthpiece spoke of long usage.
'Mr. Mitchell, come in, come in' The mayor waved him in with his free hand and flashed a broad smile of welcome.
Greg stood and pointed at the closed door.
'Good Morning Mr. Mayor! - pardon me, but that is one very appealing lady.'
Denton laughed as he stood up and came around to the front of the desk, his pipe in one hand and the other outstretched towards Greg.
'Miss Broeckner, she sure is, and a very efficient secretary' he said as they shook hands, ' but don't you be getting any ideas, ain't no man yet been able to get near her and many have tried, believe me.'
This was another riddle, Greg fancied the secretary would be good company over dinner, but he was not there to solve that puzzle. The mayor's arm had gone across Greg's shoulder leading him towards the French Windows.
'I've been hearing some good things about you Mr. Mitchell and I'd like to hear some of those ideas of yours people are talking about. It's brightening up outside and I thought we'd sit on the terrace. Do you smoke Mr. Mitchell?'
'No sir, it's not one of my vices.'
The mayor looked quizzically at him as he opened the doors. It seemed he was about to follow up with another question, but changed his mind, stuck his pipe between his lips and led Greg outside onto a pleasant stone flagged terrace shielded from the wind by tall flowering shrubs. Greg recognized the long drooping fronds of Forsythia, covered in close clusters of yellow flowers. His nose caught the heady scent of jasmine. Greg stopped himself in time from remarking on the pleasant change of smell from the more usual odours of Noble and Not-So-Noble Breaths.
Harvey Denton ushered Greg across the terrace to a white, wrought iron table and matching chairs under a candy striped canvas canopy.
'Sit down Mr. Mitchell, you don't mind if I smoke?' The mayor began lighting his pipe without waiting for an answer. Greg pulled out a chair and sat opposite Denton and waited for the mayor to reappear from behind a cloud of white smoke. The mayor waved it away with his hand once he had his pipe drawing to his satisfaction.
'Did Miss Broekner offer you refreshments Mr. Mitchell?'
'She did, thank you, I've not long had breakfast. It's a real nice place you have here Mr. Mayor.'
'It is, but it's too big for us now. It used to be a regional administration building with a company of US Cavalry billeted here in the bad old days before it became a State and bigger towns grew up elsewhere.'
Greg nodded his appreciation. 'You can feel the history here.'
Denton struck another match and held it to his pipe and sucked before answering.
'That's then and this is now have you met Ross Noble yet?'
'Not yet Sir, I'm meeting with him next Monday.'
'Good! Good! Now I'm hearing all sorts of things about you Mr. Mitchell, mostly good I must say.'
'You mean you are hearing some things that are not good about me Sir?' Greg's tone conveyed his concern and the mayor brushed it away with a flourish of his hand.'
'Not bad, maybe uncertain. That's all. Folks hereabouts take a while to get used to strangers. I hear you knocked down young Jess White and you're putting him to rights with his medical bills and have ideas to help him stay at school?'
'Yes Sir, I knocked him down by accident and it stopped him getting a job at MacKendricks Stores. His benefactor recently died and he needed that income to support himself at school.'
'Yes yes,' the mayor shook his head,' 'bad business Bob Stuart going dying sudden like that. Nobody knew he was unwell you understand?'
'Yes Sir.'
"So you plan to fill the gap?' The pipe came out of the mayor's mouth and his eyes widened as they scrutinized Greg and waited for his reply.
'That's right Sir. It seems I was last in a line of bad luck that boy encountered and he was at his wits end to find a way to carry on. I am presently at a loose end and can help, so I thought, 'Why Not?"
The mayoral eyes remain fixed on him, however, he did not speak and Greg felt uncomfortable, as if he wasn't believed.
'Do you doubt me Sir?"
'No, No, not at all it's just that you'll have to stay here a long time, just to see things through. Don't take offence now, but I believe in plain talking and some folks are saying out on the street that you might have other intentions after getting to know the boy. It's just what some folks are saying and I'd like to hear your take on that rumour?'
Greg gritted his teeth and slapped his thigh.
'Let me put you straight on that Sir. I have no designs on Jess White other than to help him cut through the barriers that are stopping him completing his education. In a way it will be knocking down barriers put up against me. I don't expect you to understand that, but I believe that any barrier to any person's advancement is a barrier to society itself.'
'Wow, that's too deep for me, so tell me how you're gonna do this.'
Greg spent the next ten minutes explaining his ideas for setting up a bio-diesel plant, recovering the waste cooking oil and converting it to diesel. The mayor forgot about his pipe and leaned forwards towards Greg to be sure he caught every word. When Greg had finished he lit his pipe again and asked.
'Are you sure this is safe and it'll work?'
'Absolutely Sir, all the chemicals and poisons used in the process are already everyday household items. The fuel produced is as good as any diesel you'll buy at any gas station.'
'Then how come everybody's not doing it?'
'In most other places they are and have been doing so for years. In some countries the major oil producers are mixing ten percent of bio-diesel with normal refined oil. Nobody on record has been injured by it and no serious accident has ever taken place where people have exercised sensible precautions handling the chemical agents. We're talking drain cleaner and stove oil here.'
The mayor looked confused and Greg spent the next five minutes explaining the process and finished by saying.
'I invested in a company doing this in Florida a couple of years ago. It's now one of the leaders in the field. Wayne Fisher, the company's President is coming to spend this weekend with me. I could bring him around to see you.'
The mayor was becoming excited, but waved away Greg's offer to meet with Fisher.
'That won't be necessary. Tell me what does it cost to convert this oil to diesel fuel. I have a big headache with fuel costs for my school buses as well as getting rid of the waste cooking oil. Could I use this in my school buses? Can they be converted to use this bio-fuel? How much would the conversion cost?'
Greg allowed himself a half smile and felt again the distinctive buzz of success pass through his body that he felt whenever he had successfully closed a sale in his past life. He kept his cool and kept the excitement out of his voice when he replied.
'If your buses are old they will need to have their fuel hoses changed from rubber to composition. That is all. They will need no other conversion. They will run on this fuel as well as on regular diesel oil, or a mixture of the two. In very low temperatures, like in winter time, it might be better to mix the bio-diesel with regular fuel to ensure it doesn't crystallize. That can happen with bio-d made from tallow and animal fats, but waste cooking oil should be ok.'
'Yes yes. But what does it cost.' The mayor leaned right across the table and was plainly excited. Greg pursed his lips as if in thought to keep him waiting.'
'Well Sir, that's the sixty-four dollar question and it depends on many things.'
'What things?" The mayor's impatience to know was encouraging for Greg.
'Well Sir, we need premises with drains, power and water..'
'We have them out back here, the old stables aren't being used would they do?'
Greg looked out over the courtyard at the back of the Town hall where the four yellow school buses were parked ready to go out and the neat row of solid stone built stables that flanked the roadside.
'They would be perfect Sir, when could we move in and what rent would you charge?'
'Never mind the rent and you can move in as soon as you like, what other costs are there.'
'There's the cost of equipment.'
'Yes yes, but once you've got it, it's paid for, what I want to know is how much does it cost to turn a gallon of waste oil into diesel fuel?'
Greg kept him waiting.
'Then there's the cost of labour and collection. I don't know what that will come to, but it will govern how much waste oil we need to collect on a weekly basis.'
'But won't you be doing that yourself? Collecting and converting and all that?'
'Not for always Sir; in the beginning yes. I mean to set up this business so Jess White can run it and he can't do that full time and be at school as well, he'll need help. I can't be here for ever - otherwise folks will think I have improper designs on young Jess and that's what's keeping me here anyway.' Greg couldn't resist making the snipe and gave the mayor a crooked smile. Denton's face flushed red with embarrassment.
'Point well taken Mr. Mitchell, how much did you say the process cost?'
'At present commercial prices, and I checked them this morning. We can buy Methanol at $2 -$3 a gallon and Caustic Soda at $500 a ton.'
The mayor looked perplexed. 'That don't mean much to me Mr. Mitchell.'
'Bear with me Sir. The amount of Methanol we use is the same every time: for every 4 gallons of waste oil we need to add one gallon of Methanol.'
The mayor started tapping his finger-tips and his lips quivered as he counted.
'I make that between 40 and 60 cents a gallon. My God, why ain't we been doing this already? Why ain't nobody told me about this before?' The mayor had risen to his feet. His pipe dropped onto the table and his face flushed a deeper colour of red.
'Do you know what happens here right now Mr. Mitchell. Now we have to pay a contractor to come in from Alliance to remove it and he'll only come in when there's 500 gallons. Folk have tried feeding it to chickens and hogs, but there's too much of it and it builds up. A lot goes to landfill to feed rats and if what you tell me is right, and I've no reason to believe otherwise this can be the answer to two big problems I have here. If it works, it's a winner- a vote winner.'
Greg smothered his snigger and the mayor sat down sheepishly having said too much and Greg picked up on it.
'I take it you're up for re-election soon Sir.'
'That's right, next year.' The mayor continued looking embarrassed and began probing his pipe with a pen knife. Greg moved the discussion forward by asking.
'May I ask how much you pay the contractor and how often you have to call him in?'
'It's 500 dollars a time, dollar a gallon. It varies with the time of year, but about three or four times a year.'
Greg pursed his lips and Denton picked up his dismay and leaned across to grasp his forearm. ' but there may be more. I suspect the caterers are pouring a lot down the drains to avoid paying the contractor's fee.'
'Even so Sir, we'll need more oil than that. I've been doing some calculations and to make this work we'll need to collect about 180 gallons of waste oil minimum a week and that should give us 160 gallons of good oil to sell as fuel at $2 a gallon.'
The mayor looked agape. 'But I thought you said the chemical cost two - three bucks a gallon?'
'That's not all, there's another chemical we need as a catalyst, Sodium Hydroxide, caustic soda, drain cleaner, it costs $500 a ton.'
'And you'll need a lot of that stuff, will you?'
Greg was on firm ground now.
' The amount of caustic that we need depends on the quality of the waste oil we collect. I suspect it's been boiled up a few times before it gets thrown out?
'You can bet your life on it,' the mayor said with a chuckle.
'That means there'll be a lot of water in it. We have to do what they call a Titration test. It's not difficult, but it's very important and this will tell us how much caustic we need to add to each batch of oil. Normally you put three grams per litre for good, clean oil to catalyse the process. In plain language that comes out at about six pounds on 180 gallons.'
The mayor whooped and slammed the table with his fist.
'But that's peanuts at 500 bucks a ton?"
'Yessir, but I reckon we'll need double that for the oil we'll collect.'
'Even so,' the mayor protested ' it shouldn't bring the cost up to two bucks a gallon.'
It was an accusation and Greg uncrossed his legs slowly to take time to reply.
'It's labour costs. I hear there are unemployed folk in the town that would like to work. I'm hearing about a bunch down at Whitewater that could be available. We have to pay them. Then again, it's not a fool proof system. If we get it wrong the whole batch of oil turns into a worthless jelly that we have to pay to get rid of. To make a decent profit to put young Jess through school, we'll need to charge $2 a gallon. That's still a good price with diesel presently at $2.80 and rising. It's a 28 per cent saving, plus you don't pay for collection charges and you'll get the waste oil collected for free every week.'
'Yes Yes,' the mayor watched his fingers as they fiddled with his pipe on the table. 'It's still good. My school buses each have to make a round trip of fifty miles twice a day, five days a week. They average out at 8 - 10 miles a gallon. We could use all you produce in the buses. I'd want the best price you can give me.'
'Yessir, we'll see what we can do."
'Tell me Mr. Mitchell, are there any downsides to this, such as dangers, wastes or anything you've not mentioned.'
'No sir, with normal precautions it's safe. The only waste is the residue after processing and that is Glycerin which is a degreaser that we can hand out to those who want it.'
'Or sell it to bring down the price of the finished fuel.'
'We could do that too Sir, but then there would be other costs that might make that sideline non-viable.'
The mayor grunted and stood up.
"Would you like to see the stable block?'
'Yessir, I would.'
The mayor led Greg down into the courtyard and along to the farthest stable door nearest to the road entrance and opened it up. Inside Greg saw partitions for four horses on a solid, cobblestone floor; sound, tiled roof and small fanlight windows. He found the water supply and opened it to run. After a few moments of gurgling noises, brown water spurted out of the faucet. Greg ran it into the drains until it came clear. He was also pleased to see that the drains worked as they carried the water away. The place was perfect for their needs. The mayor switched on the lights, but nothing happened.
'I'll get our electrician on to this. When would you want to start?'
'This weekend if that's possible Mr. Mayor.'
'Call me Harvey when we're off parade, you'll want to lock it up so I'll get Miss Broekner to send you round the key. Or would you prefer to come and collect it from her,' he asked with a wry grin?
Greg forced an innocent expression onto his face, 'Why Harvey, whatever are you suggesting? Of course I'd rather collect it from her.'
Denton roared with laughter and slapped Greg's back. 'I thought you would, but I'm telling you, you're wasting your time there with that one.'
The mayor walked Greg to the entrance and called in on Miss Broekner's office to say cheerio. She said good bye from beneath lowered and fluttering eyelashes. Both men knew she was playing with them.
Greg stood with the mayor on the Town Hall steps to shake hands and make their farewells. Before they parted Denton asked.
'It looks like you'll be staying around Bamptonville for a while. Does that mean you'll be staying at the motel?' There was mischief in his eyes as he cast a backward glance that suggested, ' if you have designs on Miss Broekner, you'll have to do better than a motel.'
Greg chuckled. 'It's only temporary. I might buy locally if something suitable comes on the market.'
The mayor walked down two steps with Greg and gripped his elbow, his face serious. 'Don't get me wrong here Greg, but this town is 88% ethnic white. Their families have been here a long time, for most there was nothing here when they arrived. The 12% of ethnic other people mostly live out at Whitewater, which you mentioned. Mostly they're the ones out of work and on social benefits. I just wanted to say we have had some closures recently at the Fawley Food and Grain mill and we do have a few good folks out of work who don't live in Whitewater. What I'm saying is, you won't need to go to Whitewater to get your labour. You hear me now?'
It had gone well, but the mayor's meaning was crystal clear. Greg noted the pained urgency in the mayor's question and body language. It sounded like a threat and it marred their meeting. A dirty taste came into Greg's mouth as he shook hands with Denton for the last time.
'I hear you Harvey, I hear you.'
'That's good, you can move into the stable whenever you want, rent free, collect the key tomorrow. Good bye now.'
He turned and walked back into the building without waiting for any reply from Greg. He watched the door close behind the mayor and spat the foul taste in his mouth onto the steps as he walked down them; thinking.
'It seems we have a bit of a race issue here and he's just told me to steer clear of it. Will I? Well I might or I might not! I just don't know yet."
The good that came out of the meeting overrode the badness at the end and fed the spring in Greg's stride as he walked to his car to drive to Larksville. He switched on the radio to hear that Todd Fritsch number that he heard first thing this morning. Greg recalled enough of it to hum along with the tune.