Washington D.C., the Senate Office Building.
Russell Warren was sitting behind his desk, a pen in his hand, hovering over a docunt.
"Boss, Ron Smith has been trying to get in touch with you."
His chief of staff, David Kingsley, reported in a low voice, standing before the desk.
"He says the whole thing was a misunderstanding. That he was forced to work with that kid from Pittsburgh for the sake of jobs in Erie. He wants to co to Washington to explain in person."
The pen in Warren’s hand ca down, and he signed his na on the docunt.
"That won’t be necessary."
Warren closed the docunt and casually tossed it aside.
"Tell Ron I’m busy."
He looked up, his gaze icy through the thick lenses of his glasses.
"That’s my money," Warren said, pointing to the docunt he’d just signed. "And that’s my district."
"Ron, and that Joe Byers from Scranton, they seem to have forgotten that. They think that as long as I stay quiet, they can have it both ways."
"They think they can take my federal funding to go stump for that Democratic Party mayor and get away with it."
Warren snorted.
"They’re testing my limits. They want to see if the leash is really fastened around their necks."
"Since they find this partnership with Pittsburgh so tempting, since they think the Industrial Revival Alliance can save their skins."
"Then let them go earn Pittsburgh’s money."
"Turn off the tap."
"I’m going to make them understand who really controls the water supply in this state."
...
Erie City, Pennsylvania.
Mayor Ron Smith was in his office, still calculating how much he could bill Pittsburgh for this week’s engineering projects, when his secretary burst in, pale-faced.
"Mayor! Sothing’s happened!"
The secretary placed two docunts on his desk.
The first was from the Federal Transportation Departnt.
A notice regarding the suspension of special appropriations for dredging the Erie Port channel.
The justification was full of pompous officialese: ’In light of recent changes in Lake Erie’s water levels and updated environntal assessnt reports, the planned twelve-million-US-Dollar dredging project requires a new compliance review. The funding is frozen effective imdiately, pending the completion of said review.’
The second was from the Federal Environntal Protection Agency.
A letter deferring the disbursent of the soil rediation fund for Erie City’s heavy industrial zone.
The reason was even more direct: ’Budget reappraisal.’
Ron Smith stared at the two docunts on his desk.
Twelve million US Dollars in special funds for port dredging, plus eight million for the soil rediation fund.
Twenty million US Dollars in total.
Ron Smith knew exactly where these docunts ca from.
This was a gambit, a test.
He had known from the very beginning that this was a tightrope walk—using orders from Pittsburgh to keep local factories afloat while still trying to use funding from Washington to keep the city governnt running. Playing both sides like this was dangerous.
He had anticipated a reaction from Warren.
According to conventional political logic, Warren should have sent a ssage through an interdiary, or maybe blocked so small, insignificant project as a warning.
That would have been a rap on the knuckles.
It would have ant the big man still cared, that he still considered you one of his own and was just telling you to watch your step.
But now, Warren had cut off a twenty-million-US-Dollar funding stream just like that.
It was too heavy-handed.
Such a rciless move could only an one thing: Russell Warren was getting extrely anxious.
Murphy’s speaking tour across the state, and that Industrial Revival Alliance Leo had cooked up in Pittsburgh, had really hit a nerve with Warren.
Only soone who’s been pushed into a corner would disregard party decorum and co down this hard on a mayor from his own party.
The phone on his desk rang.
Smith picked it up.
"Ron, it’s Joe."
The voice of Scranton’s mayor, Joe Byers, ca through the receiver.
"My highway maintenance subsidy got cut—eight million US Dollars. The contractor just stord into my office and said if I don’t pay up, they’re going to park their bulldozers on my front lawn."
"Sa here," Smith said calmly. "The EPA and the Transportation Departnt both sent letters. The reason was ’budget reappraisal.’"
"The old bastard’s lost his mind," Byers cursed. "He’s trying to kill us. Ron, what do we do? If we pull out of the alliance now and apologize to Warren, do you think we can get the money back?"
"Don’t even think about it."
Smith cut him off coldly.
"Joe, use your head. Warren has already made his move. He’s making an example out of us."
"If we kneel now, not only will he not restore the funding, he’ll just see us as weak and easily bullied. He’ll use us as a cautionary tale—hang us out to dry to warn anyone else who’s thinking of wavering."
"Besides, the mont we pull out of the Revival Alliance, the orders from Pittsburgh will stop imdiately."
"That would be the real disaster."
Byers was silent on the other end of the line for a mont, apparently still weighing his options.
Smith continued.
"Think it through, Joe. The funding from Washington, or the orders from Pittsburgh—which one is more important?"
"The money from Washington is for the governnt. It’s for fixing roads, paying pensions, and keeping City Hall running day-to-day."
"If that money disappears, our track records will certainly look bad. The roads will have potholes, pensions might be delayed, and civil servants will complain about not having coffee. But that’s just a matter of our political performance."
"The seniors who don’t get their pensions, the citizens complaining about the road conditions... they’ll curse us out, sure. But most of them are vested beneficiaries of the system or middle-class folks who are used to complaining. They have savings, a way out."
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