One Night Burns (The Vampires of Livix, #1) (7 page)

“The old days didn’t have the systems and culture we do to survive without feeding.” He leaned closer and brought his eyes up to mine, “Necks and necklaces are delicate in a vampire’s hungry embrace.”

I paused, “So you’re telling me by putting this on that you’ll behave?”

“Yes. Heirlooms old and new to protect.”

He fastened it on. His hand brushed the sides of my neck and a tingle radiated around my thoughts and up and down my spine. My eyes closed as I sunk into the feeling. I bit my lip.

When he finished straightening the necklace I opened my eyes and looked in the car glass, “I like the ensemble,” in spite of the fun-house reflection caused by the curve of the window.

Garin took out his phone and set the camera mode. He snapped a few pictures of me. Close ups and ones farther away.

“This is like prom.” I said between picture smiles.

“I suppose so.” He moved for a different angle. Keeping in character he spun his hat around and had his tongue out while he took a few more candid pictures.

“Now you’re being goofy!”

He laughed as the phone continued making fake camera shutter sounds.

Mrs. Radish, a middle-aged neighbor in the building, came out and stood by the building entry door, “Don’t you two look like the perfect couple!” she waved her hand in a white lace glove for us to come nearer, “Here let me take your picture.”

Garin said, “Aim like so and press on the screen like this.”

“What a snazzy little phone,” she said.

We stood by the tree and black wrought iron fence next to the building. I never thought about it before but the building might be old enough. The years had seen some modernization that hid the old Victorian features well. We marveled at the pictures and said goodbye to Mrs. Radish. The drive downtown slowed. The whole town liked to come to these events. We finally found a parking structure but went around and around until we squeezed into the last remaining spaces on the parking structure roof. People everywhere displayed interesting and fun outfits. Kids and adults rode modern mountain bikes who didn’t fancy parking a car as well as some of those big-wheel bikes ridden by guys with handle bar mustaches. I saw a lot of men with hats.

“Why do you think no one wears a hat anymore?” I asked Garin, watching an elderly couple making their way over the park lawn.

“Fashion industry. More money in selling hair care products and hair cuts and such than ever in the haberdashery business. Now you have a whole pharmaceutical anti-baldness industry trying to grow –” I nudged him for that. “– while hats keep trying to return but never quite get into mainstream.”

“I like your hair products conspiracy.” I said.

He said, “I’m hoping the frilly powdered wigs and coats festooned with a hundred buttons come back. That will be cool.”

“I’m not sure I’d like my men in tights and knickers,” I laughed. Garin looked down at his pants and socks not far from the seventeen hundreds style and laughed too.

We wandered aimlessly doing a little window shopping. Clever little trinkets are always on display in the stores here. I sipped a lemonade I purchased from the candy store. We walked back to the town square when it appeared time for the parade kick off. Garin and I came along with the other people compressing together. We stood under the moody oak tree hunched over the end of the town square. The tree sprouted several hundred years in the middle of grasslands before the founding of the town. I hadn’t yet heard the rumors that some of its branches hung convicts during the wild frontier that the Victorian times hearkened back to – explaining why we had a little more space to stand under the tree than other areas of the square.

The Mayor engulfed the small podium on the temporary stage at the opposite end of the square. A large man in both height and girth and comically cliché for his occupation. He carried his weight well however. He worked out incessantly at the gym in a deathly struggle against the occupational hazard of lunches and dinners with the important and well funded. He pulled out a pocket watch the size of a dinner plate from his widely striped vest and held it up, “It’s Time!” The crowd clapped and cheered.

“Welcome everyone to our 115th year of the Victorian Festival!” He said in his giant showman voice holding the glittery watch in one hand and waved his tall stovepipe hat in the other.

The crowd cheered.

He balanced his hat on his head, “The town continues to grow rapidly with industry and jobs – in spite of the global recession. We like to think our town government is partly to blame for the success we’ve been having.” Like a good comedian, he paused and scanned the audience to see if any caught the joke. He raised an eyebrow. Nothing.

“Before I forget, my building department asked me to remind everyone as you continue home and business improvement projects this summer, be sure and sign in with the building department. Pleasant and helpful. We’ve been trying to get out of the dark ages and work with you in partnership. My part, for me personally, is that it’s not about the petty ‘revenue’ or darkness of ‘taxes’. We greatly understand our obligation to reduce costs and increase services. We’ve been striving for that goal.

“I’m introducing Gordon from Velocity Motive Consulting. He’s been working with our government offices applying Lean Manufacturing techniques to the processes and methods we use. He’s using knowledge that he honed in manufacturing plants around the globe and it works! You can go to our town’s website and see as many arts and charts you care to on how he’s been helping us reduce the need for taxes.”

Gordon stood and tipped his hat to the crowd. Ribbons fluttered in the wind and medals sparkled on the front panels of his long coat as he sat back down.

The Mayor turned, “We have the same number of office and field workers but we are handling three times the workload we did two years ago.” he leaned forward, almost crushing the little podium, “See I told you this town is growing. And my office and field workers find it’s easier to get the job done right and ahead of schedule without the red tape and delay our old methods caused.”

Approving whistles issued from the Mayor’s office staff on the podium.

Garin whispered to me, “This is good. We’ve used Velocity Motive teams at some of our struggling plants we invested in. Those are making money now. A lot of money. They have a knack. They say they
Fast Forward Your Business
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and they do.”

The Mayor’s voice boomed, “So we’ll be refunding your taxes this year –” he crashed his hands like drums on the podium, ba-dum-bum! “– Ok, we’re not doing that but we ARE cutting them. Significantly. And you won’t be waiting for the State of Michigan assessments to roll through and slim it down through future years. We are doing this now – you’ll see the reductions in your summer tax bills getting mailed this next week.”

The crowd cheered.

“That’s what I like!” He beamed in his famous elect-me smile, “The other part of the money saved we are putting into some school projects since they keep you rooted here, property values up, and that maintains a growing and strong workforce which encourages more companies to locate in our town. More growth for our downtown retailers. A virtuous cycle. With that money we are also sending the same consulting teams that worked with us to – let’s face it –” he leaned forward on the podium, “for a lot of reasons our education system hasn’t changed much in fifty years. I’ve been challenging our Board of Education,” he nodded to the other people sitting on the stage, “that we’re expecting to get more done, with the existing people, easier, than ever before. We’re already seeing student test scores rise.”

The crowd cheered although not as loud as for the taxes statement.

“Now here is Dr. Theron Aravant, Chief Executive Officer of The Bank of Draydon, to say a few nice words. Oh, and before I forget, remember me on election day next year!” The Mayor gave an exaggerated wink, his big politician smile, and an artful arm flourish with his tall hat to the next speaker.

Dr. Aravant stood and approached the podium. His dark wool three piece suit fit him with perfect tailoring, his head topped with a matching bowler hat. Sharply groomed black hair streaked with white swept back under the hat. Dressed like a Victorian Banker he put his hands on the podium like a professor. A vivid blue thin tie sparkled in the sunlight as the only color about his body.

“Thank you, Mayor,” he spoke with a studious European accent, “I don’t have such wonderful news as giving tax money back. But that is indeed a theme of my talk. Everyone here likely has friends or family in towns around Detroit or other parts of the country effected by this recession precipitated by the housing crisis. And no … ” a grim pause of his lips, “The Bank of Draydon did not participate in that foolishness of the other banks. We mark our age in centuries. We tend toward stodgy since we originally came out of England and Central Europe before the founding of Livix but that conservatism kept us from writing bad loans. We’ve assisted companies and homeowners caught in tough binds with other banks to right their rafts.”

Theron paused and looked across the quietly assembled people. They recognized how powerful and prominent a figure he stood in this region. Many of their homes and businesses paid monthly mortgages or working capital loans to the Bank. Or if not directly the other scattered banks around did business with Draydon. So those in the know knew how long the fingers of The Bank of Draydon stretched, and the conservative grip Aravant enforced.

“We recognize the impact of the compounding work that the Mayor is doing. If you are paying thirty percent of your income and a percent or two of your property value and six percent of everything you purchase on sales tax along with extra taxes on fuel every year for government services,” he leaned forward, “you are not buying things. Nor will you have excess money to invest in small businesses to make and sell things and create jobs. You may not be able to afford college educations for your sons and daughters and then they will not bring back the necessary skills to invent something to change the world.” He looked across the audience, “Taxes underpin the whole economy. It takes hard choices, very hard choices, by our government officials but that’s why we elect them – to work hard for us. If taxes go down, and not by increasing debt but true cost reductions in the government, the system gets more attractive,” he turned and nodded toward the Mayor. The Mayor half stood and waved to the audience. Dr. Aravant lifted his arms, “Livix is more attractive. We’ve lured corporate headquarters and plants into our town. They recognize the educated workforce we have means they can immediately produce products without expensive training. They understand the games other towns play with tax rebates. Livix didn’t have to give any short term rebates to attract new business. Our Total Cost of Operation is more attractive and on a reductive trend. We are bringing manufacturing back from Asia and Central America. We are the new Low Cost Town.

“I want you to remember to stay diligent about system costs in our government and even your own businesses and jobs. How much more competitive can your business be if costs are cut in half? Can you use two steps instead of four? That’s the audacious goal to challenge your thinking – chip away at the minor wastes as well as the major costs. Think what you do for the town. Your costs go down so you can sell to your neighbor for less. They build on that keeping their costs down and so the town is more competitive and thrives.” Dr. Aravant paused, scanning the audience, “I want, and we need, the town to thrive. Thank you.”

Clapping started low and then rose in volume as many in the audience stood to emphasize their approval.

Garin leaned into me, “You should see the data Livix is sharing on costs and the number of companies with planned facilities projects in town. They can hire more people to do value added tasks that increase sales. It’s not cutting wages but structural costs.”

I said, “That sounds really promising.” Maybe the work I do at Marilyn’s firm has a lot more future growth potential than I guessed.

The mayor grabbed the microphone off the podium, “Thank you Dr. Aravant. A town must work together so it can play –” And in his loud circus voice he shouted, “Here’s the Livix High School marching band and the start of the parade!”

The clapping became louder and everyone moved to line against the parade barriers. Some took places in the parade as the marching band streamed from behind the Mayor’s stage and went around the town square. The band made three loops around the town square allowing people to join in their positions in the tornado of sound.

Garin and I laughed at the little kids on scooters with driving hats and suspenders. Church groups eased by on floats. Old time tractors chugged along pulling a threshing machine. Wagons pulled by horses advertising a local riding stable. The police rode horses. A group of outlaw cowboys clicked by with their spurs ringing to the beat of music having also affixed heal and toe taps to their boots. Ten feet tall guys and girls on stilts strode by with teens on skate boards and unicycles weaving among them. A low pair of mid-century cars with excessive tail fins drove by. Placards hung on the sides by the local dentist offered kids coupons for every pound of candy brought to him from the parade. Right behind the dentist a big ring of little old ladies in lace tossed fistfuls of candy at the kids on the curb. Some kids from the crowd darted out between the dresses and lace and snatched up the bits of candy that fell.

The low rumble of a local Harley-Davidson rider group rode by on highly polished bikes. Most of them wore modern riding leathers but riveted tall stovepipes on top of their helmets. “How tall do you think those hats are?”

Garin squinted, “Must be at least five feet tall.”

Behind them circled a dozen classic big-wheel bikes. They zipped and turned and twisted among themselves so much I worried they would collide. A full fife troop came next dressed like they strode out of General Washington’s army. The snare drums rolled and struck the beat of the march. Exquisite uniforms covered them down to the long buttoned coats that trailed below the knee.