Wednesday, June 11th, 2014
Noland Troutman III looked at himself in his rearview mirror and adjusted a lock of his sandy blond hair to be just so. He guided the black Audi that was a present from his father for his 21st birthday to the front door of the Zanesville City Club. The car had a few years on it now and he had decided it was time for a new one but that would have to wait until after the election.
As he stepped out in front of the valet station, he straightened his tie, buttoned his jacket and checked the fall of the crease in his pants. He wished he could have worn his Columbus Police Department dress blues to look older and more authoritative but he was here representing himself today and not the hour distant department. He shook his head at the thought that he wouldn’t have to be going around making speeches at all if Crane hadn’t gone and thrown her hat into the ring.
The Valet approached him. “Park it away from other cars. I don’t want any dings.” He handed off his keys and went inside.
The membership of the club was a roster of the politicos and the old money families of Zanesville. His great grandfather, a sawmill owner back in the day, had been one of its founding members. His grandfather, Noland Troutman Jr., was a current member but he wouldn’t be present today. He maintained a residence in Zanesville but he wasn’t there often. Right now he was Sail fishing in the Bahamas. It was just as well; Noland wanted to work the good old boys of the Club before and after his speech without the input and the meddling of his grandfather. This was his chance to score some covert points with the real movers and shakers in town.
A tuxedoed man at the member desk greeted him. “May I help you sir?”
Troutman didn’t extend his hand to the man. He was the help after all, not a member. He drew himself up though and stated, “Noland Troutman III, candidate for Sheriff. I’ll be addressing the Club today.”
“Very good sir. One moment.” The man stepped away and returned moments later with a portly balding man with a Roosevelt style mustache that must have been years in the making.
“Mr. Troutman, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” The man clasped his hand. “I’m Stanley Chappell, the club Secretary.”
“Mr. Chappell, the pleasure is mine.”
“Our families go quite a ways back, the Chappell’s and the Troutman’s. Your Grandfather speaks very highly of you. I must say though, I thought you were a little bit older.”
Troutman grimaced internally but steeled his face. “I’m 24 Mr. Secretary and I’ll be 25 by the time I take office as your next Sheriff. I believe it’s experience and drive that counts, not my age.”
A third man, one with roughhewn features who appeared to be in his late 50s or early sixties, joined them at that moment. “Experience you say? Crane, who’s already serving in the position, has several years on the force and more than a year as the Sheriff. She’s doing a fine job.”
“Noland...I presume it’s all right to call you Noland?” At his affirming nod, the Secretary continued, “Might I present Aiden Quinn Jr., our reigning club President.”
“Mr. Quinn.” Troutman extended his hand but withdrew it quickly when Quinn ignored it. In a little bit of a setback for himself, he knew Crane had just cracked a major case that involved Quinn properties and employees and he had half expected Quinn to be one of her supporters. The open hostility to him though came as a surprise. The Troutmans and Quinns had always maintained a cordial local relationship.
He nodded to Quinn, “With all due respect to Ms. Crane sir,” he reminded himself not to call her ‘Sheriff’, “I too practically grew up here. I know the area and the people here quite well.” Troutman looked between Chappell and Quinn pointedly, letting the implication that he also knew the unspoken class structure of the area sink in. He continued, “A few years on the Columbus City force has prepared me well beyond my years to handle any criminal activity going on in Muskingum County and my background will assist me in handling more delicate matters.”
A bell sounded. A man in tuxedoed livery informed the gathered men and a small smattering of women milling about that luncheon was served.
Noland Troutman looked about. The stars of the small city had come out for this luncheon meeting, no doubt to hear him speak. He puffed out his chest a bit but then grimaced as he noticed the Mayor among the crowd, a Democrat in a city of mostly conservative Republicans. He’d have to be sure to get out the old money and the senior votes to win the election and he knew just what to do. That’s why he was here, in this particular place, after all.
Troutman had the fortune of being seated with the DA, Tyler Whitesell, during lunch. He lauded the man with heavy praise for the recent arraignments of Ryan McClarnan and Levi Jones without alluding to the person who really deserved the credit, Melissa Crane. The arrests and sure to come convictions of the two career criminals who lived on the fringe represented a minor setback to his own plans but the DA was an important ally that he needed to cultivate and, in the grand scheme of things, McClarnan and Jones were easily replaceable.
“Gentlemen and ladies,” Noland flashed his bright white smile around the room, I thank you for graciously allowing me to speak with you today. It is truly an honor and a privilege. I don’t plan to be long winded up here...” he paused for a brief moment as the listening crowd laughed. “I know full well that many of you need to get back to your practices and your businesses. It’s those practices and businesses that I want to talk with you about.”
“Muskingum County is under attack. It’s under attack by moonshiners, and methamphetamine dealers and a whole host of other drug dealers and unsavory characters that don’t have any qualms about turning Zanesville and the surrounding villages – the surrounding countryside – into a war zone where gangs and drugs rule. The illegal products they’re growing and manufacturing out here are being pushed into Ohio’s cities, to be sure, but not all of them. A lot of the stuff they’re pushing is staying right here and it’s getting into the hands of your loved ones, your children, the workforce...” He paused for effect. “They’ll all pay a horrible price for their addictions and so will you, the leaders of this county in your businesses and in your professional practices if these drugs are allowed to continue spreading.”
Troutman pointed to the District Attorney, “Mr. Whitesell just nailed two of these guys and got them charged. Oh, but if they were the only ones!” He shook his head dramatically.
“The flow of intoxicants out of this county and the surrounding counties into Columbus and beyond hardly blipped when those two guys were taken off the street last week. It will be my mission, as your next Sheriff, to continue the work your former Sheriff, Caden Carter started to root all of the dealers out of their dens and see them behind bars.”
He looked around from face to face for several seconds, “Now, I know what you’re thinking; How does this young, wet behind the ears kid think that he’s going to do that? Let me tell you something; my youth is on my side here. Coming out of a big city department in this time and in this place, I’ve seen more and been exposed to more than my opponent has in her 12 year career as a county cop. I’ve had access to the latest technology, the biggest databases, you name it. I’ve built connections and established sources Melissa Crane can only dream of.” Troutman looked at Aiden Quinn and took note of the cold, hard look in his eyes.
He adlibbed a little, “Don’t get me wrong, Crane is a good cop. Her record...as a Deputy...is exemplary. Her record as your stand-in Sheriff, until this very latest incident, is rather unremarkable.” Troutman threw her a small bone and then quickly yanked it back. Aiden Quinn, he noted, continued to look unimpressed. As he glanced around at some of the other faces in the room though he noticed some interest brewing. It’s time to reel them in, he thought.
“My fiancé, Kelly Rice, has served as a Sheriff’s Deputy here in the county for the last several years. She recently stepped down to dispel any semblance of a conflict of interest as I campaign for the office of Sheriff.” He smiled outwardly while he thought inwardly about telling the little white lie that possibly only the DA knew about at this point. He trusted that the attorney he hired for Kelly would take care of her sloppiness and her transgression would be a non-issue in the campaign.
Troutman continued, “Kelly lives in the county. She knows and loves this county. I spent most of my growing up years here. I love this county too. When we’re married this fall, whether I’m your new Sheriff or not, we plan to make Muskingum County our home. A vote for me in August is a vote to protect Muskingum County, a vote to protect your livelihoods and a vote to bring a Sheriff with real family values back to Muskingum County.”
“I promised I’d be brief. I thank you all very much for lunch and I thank you for your time.”
“What did you mean by that last bit, ‘real family values’?”
Noland Troutman stepped closer to Stanley Chappell and another older, white haired gentleman that joined them after the speech and lowered his voice, “You mean you don’t know?”
“Know what?” Chappell asked while the white haired man stood by looking puzzled.
“Melissa Troutman is gay. She’s brought her female lover to live with her and her sister in their grandparents house with her sister’s kids living right there in the house.” He arranged his face in what he hoped was a look of disapproval.
“Gay?” the older gentleman intoned loudly. Several people glanced in their direction. Troutman simply nodded. He’d accomplished exactly what he’d intended.