the DSS to begin securing the first buildings slated for privatization. Rest assured, their first order of business will be to deal firmly with any squatters.”
“Why FEMA?” Werner inquired. “And why the DSS? Is there a security connection?”
“It’s the refugees. Some of them are officials and party members from neighboring states who need to be taken care of. Flooding and refugees come under FEMA’s mandate, so they’re funding a lot of this. Just don’t tell anyone I said so, okay? Only the top people at the local FEMA office are in on it right now.”
Kendall flashed a boyish grin.
“And what about the current tenants?” Werner followed up. “Will they get to stay in their apartments after their building has been privatized?”
“Interesting question. It all depends. You see, the way it worked when the Russians and Eastern Europeans tried this sort of thing back in the ‘90s was that each tenant would get a voucher for the value of his flat and then the privatization authority or other private parties could make him a cash offer for it. The tenant then had the choice of selling or holding, knowing that he would pay a higher rent after privatization. But, just between you and me, Frank, if the BHA makes you an offer for your apartment, just take the money.”
“And if I don’t?” Werner challenged.
“Believe me, just take the money.”
“And run?” Werner asked with a conspiratorial smile.
“You said it, not me,” Kendall laughed.
Before Werner could think of a response, the Mercedes pulled to the curb. They were back where they had started.
****
Frank Werner rolled the empty hand truck around the corner to the delivery van and returned it to its place before driving north toward Concord. The news of Harry Kendall’s planned reception came as a welcome surprise, not only for the additional business it would bring, but also for the prospect that senior FEMA officials would attend. But the information by itself did not amount to a plan, as he could not be certain that Fred Rocco would be among those invited or, if he was, that he would attend. Werner mentally filed the information in his “operational leads” file for consideration at another time.
Even more interesting, however, was Kendall’s uncharacteristic disclosure of confidential information about the BHA’s privatization plan. A man of Kendall’s stature had nothing to gain by disclosing this to his bootlegger and could not possibly have known the information’s relevance to Werner. So Werner had no reason to doubt it. But the information confirmed his worst suspicions about Harriet Waterman and explained them in a way he could not have guessed on his own.
The drive to Concord took less than half an hour. Werner pulled the van into the driveway at 50 Middle Street, and parked with the van’s cargo doors as close as possible to Nancy Widmer’s back door.
Entering the laundry room through the mudroom, he saw stacks of open and sealed boxes marked “Donate,” “Discard,” or “Keep” piled against the walls.
Nancy heard him enter and greeted him in blue denims and an old ski sweater. After a suggestion or two about how to maneuver between the cellar and the back door with his hand truck, she pointed out that the family who bought the house from her would be moving in on Monday from their farm near Fitchburg. What with gas rationing, unreliable rail service, and the father’s new job in downtown Boston, the Kiernan family could no longer function so far away from the city and needed a place within walking distance of the rail line, shopping, and schools.
But since the couple could not afford to pay cash for the house and no mortgage financing was available, Nancy had decided, against her attorney’s advice and over her daughter’s objections, to hold the Kiernan’s mortgage, taking the credit risk upon herself.
“I never would have considered it if I hadn’t met their children,” she declared.
“Why FEMA?” Werner inquired. “And why the DSS? Is there a security connection?”
“It’s the refugees. Some of them are officials and party members from neighboring states who need to be taken care of. Flooding and refugees come under FEMA’s mandate, so they’re funding a lot of this. Just don’t tell anyone I said so, okay? Only the top people at the local FEMA office are in on it right now.”
Kendall flashed a boyish grin.
“And what about the current tenants?” Werner followed up. “Will they get to stay in their apartments after their building has been privatized?”
“Interesting question. It all depends. You see, the way it worked when the Russians and Eastern Europeans tried this sort of thing back in the ‘90s was that each tenant would get a voucher for the value of his flat and then the privatization authority or other private parties could make him a cash offer for it. The tenant then had the choice of selling or holding, knowing that he would pay a higher rent after privatization. But, just between you and me, Frank, if the BHA makes you an offer for your apartment, just take the money.”
“And if I don’t?” Werner challenged.
“Believe me, just take the money.”
“And run?” Werner asked with a conspiratorial smile.
“You said it, not me,” Kendall laughed.
Before Werner could think of a response, the Mercedes pulled to the curb. They were back where they had started.
****
Frank Werner rolled the empty hand truck around the corner to the delivery van and returned it to its place before driving north toward Concord. The news of Harry Kendall’s planned reception came as a welcome surprise, not only for the additional business it would bring, but also for the prospect that senior FEMA officials would attend. But the information by itself did not amount to a plan, as he could not be certain that Fred Rocco would be among those invited or, if he was, that he would attend. Werner mentally filed the information in his “operational leads” file for consideration at another time.
Even more interesting, however, was Kendall’s uncharacteristic disclosure of confidential information about the BHA’s privatization plan. A man of Kendall’s stature had nothing to gain by disclosing this to his bootlegger and could not possibly have known the information’s relevance to Werner. So Werner had no reason to doubt it. But the information confirmed his worst suspicions about Harriet Waterman and explained them in a way he could not have guessed on his own.
The drive to Concord took less than half an hour. Werner pulled the van into the driveway at 50 Middle Street, and parked with the van’s cargo doors as close as possible to Nancy Widmer’s back door.
Entering the laundry room through the mudroom, he saw stacks of open and sealed boxes marked “Donate,” “Discard,” or “Keep” piled against the walls.
Nancy heard him enter and greeted him in blue denims and an old ski sweater. After a suggestion or two about how to maneuver between the cellar and the back door with his hand truck, she pointed out that the family who bought the house from her would be moving in on Monday from their farm near Fitchburg. What with gas rationing, unreliable rail service, and the father’s new job in downtown Boston, the Kiernan family could no longer function so far away from the city and needed a place within walking distance of the rail line, shopping, and schools.
But since the couple could not afford to pay cash for the house and no mortgage financing was available, Nancy had decided, against her attorney’s advice and over her daughter’s objections, to hold the Kiernan’s mortgage, taking the credit risk upon herself.
“I never would have considered it if I hadn’t met their children,” she declared.
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