“PANDINI! PANDINI! PANDINI!” chanted the crowd.
“I’m a fighter,” he said, climbing to his feet and standing at the podium once more. “And I will never stop fighting for you!”
He waved, and reporters swarmed up onto the stage. Pandini ignored them and walked past Zengo without a glance in his direction.
Zengo was ashamed. He would find a way to make this up to Pandini.
PLATYPUS POLICE SQUAD HEADQUARTERS, 7:45 P.M.
Back at his desk, weary after his long day but too unsettled to go home, Zengo opened his computer screen to the Kalamazoo City Krier online edition. As he expected, the lead story, beneath a three-inch-high headline, was CANDIDATE PANDINI ATTACKED AGAIN. Zengo did not recognize the byline—Melinda Smuthers. Probably one of the reporters he had to push past. There were shots of Pandini down, with Myers standing above him and Bobby holding everyone back.
Zengo skimmed the piece. The reporter complimented Pandini’s bravery and panache, and praised his plans to limit nuts in his restaurants and, once elected, in all of Kalamazoo City. As averse as Pandini was to using these attacks to his advantage, it was clear that they were working—another article featured an instant poll that showed his support was continuing to rise. Irving Myers must be pleased, Zengo thought.
He scanned the other headlines and stopped short. Derek Dougherty had gotten his hooks in, all right. INEXPERIENCED DETECTIVE NOT READY FOR PRIME TIME. In his story, Dougherty took Zengo to task for failing to prevent Pandini from being attacked again. He shuddered, shut off his monitor, and turned away, hoping O’Malley, sitting just a few feet away, didn’t pick up on what was going on. He was out of luck, though. He saw O’Malley was looking at the Krier on his computer as well.
“Tough break, Rick,” said O’Malley.
Zengo blinked. This was the second time in one day that O’Malley had called him Rick. Still, he didn’t want to let his old partner know that the pesky reporter had gotten under his fur. “It’s okay,” he said. “I guess I deserved it.”
“This case is all anyone wants to talk about,” said O’Malley. “Figures a little creep like Dougherty would use the opportunity to take a lowball swipe like that.”
Zengo really wanted to change the subject. “What matters more is stopping these attacks.”
“You got that right,” said O’Malley.
Zengo had turned his monitor on again, now pulling up surveillance footage from the rally. There were a few screen captures of the assailant, but all were blurry.
“I don’t think that we’re dealing with a flying squirrel,” Zengo said. It was a theory that he had been mulling over in his brain all evening, but he was now confident enough to say it out loud. “This whole thing just doesn’t add up. I’m beginning to think we’re looking at some sort of conspiracy here. I’m not certain this is even the same squirrel as last night.”
“Well, that’s a theory. Where are you getting that from?”
Zengo swiveled his computer screen and pointed. “Slightly different markings on the tail. Noticed it when I saw the perp earlier today.”
O’Malley took a moment to absorb all of this. “Well, maybe. Don’t forget about the fake mustache. We could be dealing with someone who is adept at disguise. The tail could be a dye job.”
Zengo swiveled his screen back. “Maybe. Either way, those wing flaps were fakes. I’m positive that I clipped him with my boomerang, and he didn’t even flinch.”
O’Malley was silent, mulling over what Zengo had said.
“This won’t happen again. I’m going to stick by Pandini at every public event until we solve this case. And I’ll be keeping an eagle eye out for every suspicious character who gets close to him—whether at headquarters or at his campaign events.”
“That’ll keep you busy,” said O’Malley. “He does seem to attract shady characters—and in my opinion the shadiest of them all are right there on his own staff.” He pointed at the Krier on his screen. “And all the positive press these attacks are generating . . . it just doesn’t smell right to me. If the true purpose of this conspiracy you’re talking about is to bring Pandini’s campaign down, seems to me like it ain’t working. Who’s benefiting from this? Pandini, that’s who.”
“I’m really trying hard to keep an open mind,” said Zengo, noticing O’Malley’s expression change. “I mean, about Pandini’s inner circle. So far nobody has done anything to get in my way. They’ve all welcomed me. And yeah, Irving Myers seems to want Pandini to take as much advantage of the publicity from these attacks as he can, but that’s a long way from saying he’d ever do anything to harm Pandini.”
“Yeah, but what about Bobby? And that creep Carpy? They’re not exactly model citizens. And if Pandini becomes mayor, those are all the ones who stand to benefit the most, cushy jobs in the mayor’s office and all. I’m just saying I’d suggest you watch your back—and your front—when you’re with that crowd.”
“I hear you,” said Zengo. “In the meantime, I’m not going to jump to any more conclusions. I have to admit, Pandini’s been straight with me since he brought me on. And it’s hard to argue with his record. He’s given a ton of money to the city.”
“Not a day goes by when he doesn’t mention it in some way,” said O’Malley. “McGovern’s done quite a bit for the city, too. He’s spent his life fighting against corruption as district attorney. Plus, he’s from my side of town—where folks work hard for every penny. McGovern has never forgotten his roots. And he thinks a mayor’s job is to do good—for everyone. Can you say the same for Pandini? Sure, he’s built buildings, stadiums even—but the only time I ever saw him standing up for reform was when he was clearing the path for his own run for mayor.”
“You have an interesting point . . .” said Zengo, thinking. “Any chance McGovern might be behind these attacks?”
“Seems a little obvious to me,” said O’Malley. “And he was leading in the polls prior to the attack. Why take the risk?”
But Zengo wasn’t sure, and he could tell O’Malley wasn’t either. McGovern was Pandini’s opponent, and he had a lot to gain from Pandini dropping out of the race. Maybe Mr. McGovern was worth a closer look.
ZENGO HOUSE, 6:50 A.M.
Patrick McGovern’s campaign ads played during every single commercial break throughout Kalamazoo City Today, the city’s morning news program, blaring as usual from the Zengo family’s kitchen television. Each one featured the district attorney in front of local landmarks, like the library and the zoo, in middle-class neighborhoods like Corey O’Malley’s. Every commercial highlighted his humble beginnings while taking digs at Pandini’s past. Though this was just politics as usual, Zengo had begun to think it was not fair to smear someone because of what his father had done years ago. He pondered his suspicions about McGovern that he had voiced last night. Could he possibly be behind this conspiracy?
“We all know what my opponent’s father did to this city,” Patrick McGovern’s voice intoned as old black-and-white photographs of crime scenes flashed across the screen. “There was the infamous Kalamazoo City Bank robbery, which nearly shuttered the doors of the historic KC institution. It took us decades to recover. Then, there was the Great Fishing Boat Attack.” Another photograph appeared, this one of sullen fishermen, their arms crossed. One held a sign reading “No boats = no fish.” It was rumored, but never proven, that when KC fishermen refused to pay a special fee to Pandini Sr., he had their vessels sunk and made a fortune by importing his own fish from the black market.
And then came the lowest blow of all—a photo of Zengo’s late grandfather. “And who can forget the murder of one of our finest, Lieutenant Andrew Dailey.” Zengo looked at his mother. The image of her father brought tears to her eyes every time the commercial aired. When the camera was back on McGovern, he held up a mug shot of Pandini Sr. “Ask yourself—do you really want to hand over the reins of the city to this man’s son?”
Mrs. Zengo dabbed at her eyes with a napkin. Zengo patted her ha
nd. “I just don’t see how you can work for that man, Ricky!” she said.
Zengo’s dad had his bill buried in the morning newspaper. “Those lousy reporters!” said his dad, neatly folding his paper and placing it on the kitchen table. Zengo spotted the article he had been reading—it was the one about his failure to protect Pandini. “Don’t let them get to you. That story was rubbish.”
Zengo let out a breath. He was glad his father felt that way. “Mom and Dad, you can be sure I’ve got my eyes open. But I’m really trying to keep an open mind about Mr. Pandini, at least while I’m reporting to his headquarters every day.”
Zengo’s dad took a sip of his coffee. “That’s quite admirable, Rick. They say ‘the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree’ . . . but sometimes that apple can roll down the hill and grow a whole new tree of its own. Speaking of which . . .”
At the sound of this, Zengo’s mother stopped wiping down the countertop, poured herself a cup of coffee, and sat down at the kitchen table next to her husband.
Zengo looked between his parents. “What is it?”
“Well, your mom and I were thinking . . .”
Zengo’s mother placed her webbed hand on her husband’s back.
“Now that you have a job, it might be time for you to . . . branch out as well? You know, get your own place?”
Zengo almost choked on his toast. Move out? Sure, his parents annoyed him at times, but his mom knew just how he liked his toast. She greeted him with a freshly brewed hot chocolate every morning. Zengo thought of the clown mug he had stuck in the back of the cabinet his first day on the squad. He suddenly missed it.
“Right, of course,” he said. But where would he go?
“Oh, Ricky, this doesn’t mean we don’t want to see you anymore,” his mother began.
“Oh, I know that, Mom,” he said. And he did know that. But he had gotten so comfortable in his routine here.
“We knew you’d understand, Ricky,” said his dad. “Remember, we can’t really fly until we leave the nest.”
Zengo nodded. So his father did think he had some growing to do. Zengo placed his hand on the Platypus Police Squad badge that hung around his neck. The metal was cold.
“I’d better get going,” he said as he gulped down the last of his orange juice. “I want to stop at the station before I head over to Pandini Towers.”
“Oh, Ricky, we are just so proud of you.”
“Thanks, Mom,” he said as he threw on his lucky leather jacket. His mom handed him his hot chocolate in a to-go mug, and he darted out the front door. He took a deep breath. Yes, he did have some growing to do. With every passing day, he learned more about what it took to be a good cop. Yesterday was a rough day, but today could only get better. He had a job to do. And he was going to prove to everyone that he could do it, all on his own.
PANDINI ENTERPRISES, 8:00 A.M.
After a briefing with the team back at Platypus Police Squad headquarters, Zengo arrived at Pandini Towers and was whisked past security to a VIP elevator, which shot him straight to the top floor. The elevator doors slid open to reveal Bobby, who escorted Zengo into the main room. Pandini looked up from the paperwork on his desk and greeted the detective. “Good morning, Rick.” The sun was still rising above Kalamazoo City—the view was even more breathtaking in daylight hours.
Zengo nodded. “Mr. Pandini.” He noticed that the candidate had increased his security detail. In addition to Bobby, who remained by the elevator, there was a ferret prowling the perimeter of the suite, and, circling the ceiling, there were three seagulls, one wearing an eye patch. Guess it couldn’t help to have more eyes on the scene, thought Zengo.
“I’m sorry that I wasn’t there to foil the attack yesterday. I—”
Pandini put out his hand to silence the detective.
“Nonsense. You clipped the jerk’s wing. You did what you could and I appreciate it. We’re that much closer to bringing this guy to justice.” Pandini continued to sign the paperwork and then handed the stack to a staffer who brought it to the next room.
“To help me do my job better, I need to ask you a few questions,” said Zengo.
“I’m an open book,” replied Pandini.
“Have you done anything in recent months to anger anyone? Does anyone on your payroll have any sort of”—Zengo looked around the room and lowered his voice—“grudge?”
“Detective, I’m a businessman and, now, a politician. I can’t breathe without someone getting irritated. But I have no reason to believe that any of my actions in recent months has warranted such attacks, and I can’t think of anyone who would have cause to do this. As I hope you have seen firsthand, I treat everyone with respect. I can only guess that whoever is perpetrating these attacks is holding a grudge left over from my father’s era.”
The bell at the elevator dinged and the doors slid open to reveal Irving Myers. “Frank, the morning poll numbers are in, and we are looking good!” Myers strode across the room, threw his briefcase on Pandini’s desk, and opened it. He held up a stack of papers, each with a different set of graphs.
Pandini sat back in his chair. “That’s wonderful news,” he said with a subdued smile.
“You’re up ten points from just a few days ago,” the strategist said excitedly.
“Well, I’m glad that people are responding to my message.”
The voice of Pandini’s office manager rang through the phone speaker on his desk. “Mr. Pandini, call for you on line one. It’s Patrick McGovern.” Pandini and Myers shared a look. Pandini cocked an eyebrow.
“Thank you, Candace,” he said, then picked up the receiver and, with a quick glance at Myers, tapped a button, picking up the call and putting it on speaker.
“Good morning, Pat.”
“Frank, my old friend. I am calling to offer you my best wishes. What terrible news to come out of your campaign in the last few days. I’m just calling to make sure you’re all right.”
Friend? thought Zengo. Is this the same guy who Zengo had just watched tear Pandini apart in a commercial this morning? Though he had to admit, McGovern did sound much more sincere than he did in his ads.
“Well, I appreciate the well wishes, Pat,” said Pandini. “But you know me—it’s going to take more than a couple of errant boomerangs to stop me. You’re going to have to be on your toes in the upcoming debate.”
“You mean like you were at the Branbury Prep homecoming dance?” McGovern laughed.
Pandini chuckled too. “Well, there’s at least one embarrassing piece of my past you haven’t dug up for those ads of yours.”
“All’s fair, Frank, my boy. You’ve known me a long time, long enough to know that I’d do anything for Kalamazoo.”
“We still have something in common, then. Take care of yourself, Pat. See you at the debate.” Pandini replaced the headset on the receiver.
“He’s feeling the pressure,” said Myers happily. “I can tell.” Humming to himself and gathering his charts, he left the room.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Pandini said before Zengo could open his bill. He grinned sadly and shook his head. “It’s not McGovern who’s behind these attacks, I promise you.”
“But Mr. Pandini,” Zengo began, “he has the motive, and I bet he has the means. In my opinion, I think it’s worth the other detectives giving him a very close look.”
“I’ve known Patrick all my life,” said Pandini. “He was the only one of my old friends who stuck by me when my father went to jail. We even went to college together—I studied business and Patrick studied law. We always told each other we’d come back to Kalamazoo City and work together to make it a better place—I would start successful businesses to make the economy strong, and Patrick would become district attorney to keep the city clean.”
“So how come you’re running against each other?” asked Zengo. “And why is he saying such mean things about you in his ads?”
“I don’t know,” said Pandini. “If I had to guess, I’d ventu
re that he thinks I’ve been spending the last few years catering only to the rich and powerful. Of course, you and I know that nothing could be further from the truth, but it’s been a long time since I’ve talked to Pat the way he and I did just now—not since Bamboo opened, that’s for sure. I would like to think that if I were in his position I’d be kinder, but it’s hard to tell for sure, isn’t it?
“In any event,” Pandini continued, “I know that Patrick McGovern would never do anything to truly hurt me. That is not in his nature. And those attack ads don’t count. Like Pat said, it’s just politics.”
Zengo wasn’t completely convinced. But he could see that Pandini wanted him to drop this theory. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll try to look at it your way from now on.”
“You do that,” said Pandini, smiling. “We’ll get to the bottom of this little crime spree, and then we’ll go on and win the election!”
Myers came back in with more paperwork, but Pandini’s phone buzzed again. “It’s Jacob Nutter, line two,” said his receptionist over the intercom.
Pandini picked up the handset this time to take the call. Not wanting to hover over Pandini, Zengo crossed to the windows in the large, open office. He looked down to the city streets.
Somewhere down there O’Malley was cruising around with his new partner. Zengo knew his job was important, but sitting there with Pandini as he took his phone calls, he started to feel like a glorified babysitter. All the talk of graphs, polls, inventories, bottom lines—it all sounded like a foreign language to Zengo.
Pandini suddenly raised his voice. Zengo’s ears perked up. “I am sorry that you feel that way, Jacob. Yes, I know we have been in business for years, and I greatly value our partnership, but times are changing, and nut allergies just present too much of a risk—I can’t abide the chance of another child being rushed to Kalamazoo Memorial Hospital from one of my restaurants again. We had this same conversation last week, and I have not changed my position. I know what an important part of Kalamazoo’s economy Nutter’s Nuts presents. But I won’t put my patrons, or this city, at risk.” Zengo hadn’t ever heard Pandini so agitated. His face grew redder as he listened to Mr. Nutter on the other end of the call. “Yes, I understand that, Jacob, but I’m still going to have to cancel my orders, now and in the future. And if that’s how you feel, good luck to you, sir.”
Last Panda Standing Page 5