Ermes Batelier sat at his desk in the turret on the third floor of the mansion on top of King’s Hill. He was the Commissioner of Parks, and he was at home.
From his window he was able to see the headquarters of his private police force, the park “rangers,” as people called them…without affection.
From where he sat, he could also see over the hills of Lakewood Cemetery, looking west-north-west he could see through the trees all the way to Loon Lake. Looking south and west he could see across the Sadler Bird Sanctuary and the Rose Gardens, all the way to the other lake, now named for Harriet Lovejoy.
He sat quietly as the morning sun pushed the pale and fading moon over the horizon.
The aching in his joints told him that there would be a storm. It bothered him, but that was not the only thing bothering him that morning.
The Commissioner had just concluded a telephone call with Karl Thorrson, who had proven to be a reliable, though vexing ally in his struggle to wrest power from the hands of his adversary, the venerable Albert “Guy” Forrester…The Colonel as the folk of St. Anthony called.
Moments ago Thorrson had informed him of his plan to move on a tavern at the edge of the red-light district. A place called The Round-Up, just a short distance from Miller’s Field and Nicollet park that was technically still under the protection of the Fifth Precinct, which the Colonel still controlled.
Thorrson had consolidated power along Lake Street, he had done it while only facing token resistance; plenty of men died, but the Commissioner thought it had gone far to easily for Thorrson and his crew…unless his men were just that good.
The giant gangster had taken over and consolidated the gambling and prostitution markets, the sale of contraband and most of the protection racket, east and west, from the bridge to Pig’s Eye to the Big Island on Lake Minnetonka.
The Commissioner thought it was possible that the ancient Colonel had become less and less interested in the streets of Saint Anthony. He was impossibly old and in the last few years had become obsessed with finding suitable marriages for his daughters.
Almost anyone who might offer an opinion on the matter thought that he might be dying and that he was thinking of his legacy.
As things stood, Thorrson had nearly completed a hostile takeover of crime in Saint Anthony, and had done so with the Commissioner’s blessing, but the Commissioner was also paying for it, compensating the Colonel in cash and the promise of points on future profits to compensate him for his losses, points which his daughters would inherit.
The Round-up however, posed a unique challenge. The proprietor had a relationship with the Colonel that would be difficult to manage, and impossible to get around.
The Commissioner had attempted to make it clear to Thorrson that he wanted him to wait for his permission to move on the establishment, he did not agree with Thorrson’s timing.
The gargantuan seemed overeager on the phone, there was a manic tone in his voice.
The Commissioner told him that they did not need this last piece of Lake Street. He explained that it served their purposes to allow the Colonel some dignity, as well as the Fifth Precinct, allowing them the Round-up meant they would have a place of their own, which would be good insofar as they planned to continue to use those officers to police the action.
No harm could come from waiting, the Commissioner thought…in another year the Colonel might just be gone.
Now, after his call with Thorrson he had come to the understanding that he had lost control of his man; The Commissioner had been unable to dissuade the giant from the course of action he had proposed.
It was then that he decided to remove Thorrson from the field of play, he had served his purpose and now he had to go.
It was then that he placed a call to the man’s estranged wife, Helga Magnusson, where she was hiding out in a town just north of St. Cloud.
The commissioner explained to her the connection between her husband’s recent activities and her disappearance of her lover, Bjorn Elmquist, who happened to be married to Colonel Forrester’s daughter.
Helga had been expecting his call, and the Commissioner told her when and where she could find him.
He knew Helga wanted revenge, he did not know if she would be able to get satisfaction, or what might come of it if she did. He only knew that turning Thorrson’s wife into his enemy would complicate the giant’s life; violence would ensue, he would become distracted, at the very least he would be compromised, weakened, and chaos would follow. Somewhere in the mix an opportunity to dispatch him present itself and the Commissioner would take advantage it.
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