8
Jim promised himself he would only spend an hour in the office before heading over to campaign headquarters a few blocks away. As he walked into his office, he noticed the receptionist was at the front desk on her computer.
“What are you doing here, Mina?”
“Reading the coverage from yesterday’s debate. Have you seen the Courier’s editorial yet?”
“No, but that still doesn’t answer my question. You’re only paid to work five days a week, and I’m sure that new husband of yours would rather you be with him at home than here at the office since you aren’t actually earning any money.”
“He understands and he doesn’t mind. He’s just binge-watching Star Trek: Enterprise on Blu-Ray.”
Well, he might not mind, but the California Labor and Workforce Development Agency kind of cares if I’m forcing my employees to work overtime without compensation.” He paused, shifting gears. “You mentioned something about the editorial in the Courier. How did they treat one of their own?”
“It was kind of mixed. You should read it for yourself.” She handed him a copy of the paper. It had been a long time since he had read a print newspaper regularly, preferring the online version of the paper. But the district office had been getting copies of the paper for years and, from time to time, there was an article or two that was clipped and scanned for future use. Besides, if people didn’t see the paper when they visited the office, they would think the assembly member wasn’t up to date about what was going on in the district. In politics, perception was most definitely reality.
Mitchell’s Debate Performance is Both Hit and Miss
Assemblyman Jim Mitchell’s (I-Emerald Valley) performance at Friday’s debate at Foothill University was both hit-and-miss, which is not surprising for a lawmaker who’s only been in the job for a couple of weeks.
Mitchell was always a quick study when he worked for the Courier, so it makes sense that he answered the policy questions fairly well. He even provided a good answer for why he voted down the social services bill, providing a passionate explanation of how we need to deal with immigration in a fair and just manner for all involved.
What tripped him up, however, was his own ego. When goaded by Walnut Mayor Linda Dooley about his record as a reporter, he stood up for the Fourth Estate without reservation. But he took his defense too far and decided to get a little snarky by talking about the Pulitzer Prize he and Melissa Jenkins received for their coverage of the “Tragedy at Crestline” series that ran in our paper several years ago.
He and Melissa did an admirable job reporting the mass suicide and subsequent fallout, but when it was revealed he had concealed his own personal connection to the story, he faced some serious consequences for his actions.
Along with being flippant, Mitchell seemed to have forgotten that one’s past has a way of sneaking up on you when you least expect it.
He made a rookie mistake. Whether it’s a fatal one remains to be seen.
Finishing the piece, he looked up. “So, what do you think we should do about it?”
“What me, seriously?”
“Absolutely. What media strategy would you employ?”
She thought for a moment. “Actually, I wouldn't do a thing. If I may be so bold, it was a rookie mistake…”
Jim shrugged.
“You already admitted in the debate that you’re not perfect, so you don’t need to repeat yourself. It you keep talking about it, the mistake becomes the story, not all the good things you said last night.”
He nodded. “Are you happy with your job?”
“What do you mean?”
“Do you like what you do? Would you rather be doing something else? Something more perhaps?”
She scrunched up her face as she considered her response. “I’ve been very happy here. The assemblywoman was a great boss, and you and Mr. Coulter are good to work for…”
Jim saw her uneasiness and sought to put her out of her misery. “Don’t worry, I’m not letting you go or anything.”
She exhaled loudly. “What a relief. I was afraid I was being fired for sure.”
“No, nothing like that. It’s only that I’ve seen you handle callers and visitors with such skill I think your talents might be wasted as a receptionist. With me getting a promotion, you’ve been handling a lot of calls from the media, and I don’t see why you couldn’t do that full time. We can find someone else to handle the front desk duties, but why don’t you come work for the campaign as our media manager? If that works out, and I get rehired in a couple of months, maybe we can bring you on as communications director for the office full-time.”
She covered her mouth in shock. “That would be amazing! Thank you so much for the opportunity.”
“Not a problem. I like working with good people and besides, I can’t keep answering all the media questions myself. I have to do that lawmaking thing every now and then.”
The two shared a chuckle before going back to work.
_____
Twenty minutes later, the intercom on Jim’s phone buzzed. “Sergeant Strojny from Emerald Valley Police Department is here to see you.”
His curiosity piqued, Jim opened the door and invited the man into the room. Well over six feet tall, the officer’s stride was marked with precision, and his muscles were subtle but present under his crisp uniform. The short-cropped light-brown hair held a smattering of gray, and his solid face even sported a cleft chin.
The officer introduced himself as Ray Strojny, and, while he looked to be about Jim’s age, his abs were a lot flatter than the assemblyman’s.
“So, you’re my bodyguard?”
“Chief Gibson assigned me to lead your protection detail.”
“Sounds good, but I’m surprised he didn’t call himself.”
“He told me you’re a busy man and that I should just show up myself.”
He nodded. “Well, I imagine P.J. told you all about me, but I don’t know much about you. And since you’re going to be around me all the time, we should fix that, don’t you think?” He offered the officer a seat.
Strojny’s posture relaxed as he shared his background with Jim. “OK, I was raised out here but moved back to North Carolina 11 years ago to take a job near my wife’s family. I was a Field Training Officer at my old agency. I basically took on recruits who were so fresh out of the academy that their umbilical cords practically fell out of their belly buttons and rolled out onto the street.”
Jim chuckled. At least he’s got a good sense of humor. “Why are you back in California?”
“My father was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s last year, and I wanted to be closer to Mom. Our girls weren’t too happy about the move, since they’d grown up there. But then our oldest heard that California boys were cute, so she changed her tune.”
“Sounds like trouble.”
“Oh, don’t worry. I have several firearms at home, all licensed and everything, and I remind my daughter of that fact quite often.”
Jim looked the very tall officer over. “I’m guessing you played a little ball back in high school or college.”
“Yep. Basketball. We won the National Championship my junior year.”
“Really. Where’d you play?”
Strojny grew oddly quiet.
“I’m guessing you’re about my age and you were probably 20 when your team won, which would have been…” Jim started counting backwards in his head. “You played for UCLA, didn’t you?”
“Chief Gibson said that might be a problem.”
Jim pointed a thumb back at the USC degree hanging on his wall. “Yeah, kinda…”
The officer smiled. “At least we know how to guard things well.”
Jim rose to the challenge. “Oh, so now you’re trash talking?”
“Eleven national championships, thank you very much.”
“And how’s that football program going for you guys? I think you last won a title when Eisenhower was president.”
“You gu
ys haven’t won the big one for the last decade, so neither one of our teams has room to brag.”
“No, I suppose that’s true,” Jim conceded with a chuckle. “Don’t worry, Sergeant. I think we’re going to get along just fine.” He closed the door behind them. “Did the chief happen to give you any new information about the investigation into Delores’s murder?”
“He’s working with the FBI to follow up on some leads, but he doesn’t have anything solid, yet. He said he’d let you know when he did.”
“I want to show you something.” Jim opened a desk drawer and pulled out a file folder that he laid on the desk. Opening the folder, he showed a letter to the officer. “We received this the other day. Our receptionist, Mina Mendoza, opened it, but she’s the only person who touched it. I wasn’t going to report it, but after yesterday, I’m thinking that staying quiet isn’t such a good idea.”
Glad you voted the right way on that illegal alien bill. Hopefully you will keep protecting real Americans. It would be a shame if you didn’t…
The officer eyed the letter carefully but did not touch it. He noticed the envelope had been paper-clipped to the back. “Any return address?”
“Nope. Just our address handwritten on the front. I was surprised whoever it was didn’t send an email.”
“Actually, it can be easier to track an email than a letter. Sure, if he or she has done something in the past, we might have their fingerprints or a sample of their handwriting on file, but if they are a first-timer, it could be a lot harder to track them.” He used two pens to flip the letter over and examine the envelope. “The postal mark says the letter was processed in Los Angeles, which doesn’t give us much to go on.”
“To be honest, that doesn’t make me feel very safe.”
Strojny picked up the file. “Listen, I’ve got a friend at the Los Angeles field office of the FBI. Let me ask him to run this and see what he comes up with. Until then, we’ll make sure to be watching you. If it makes you feel any better, it sounds like you’re on his good side.”
Yeah, for now.”
9
Tuesday, September 6
It’s going to be a weird day.
The humid weather on the early September morning wasn’t the only thing causing Terry Gould to break out in a nervous sweat. As he opened the door of the metallic green VW Beetle he bought last fall, he consciously slowed and took a deep breath to calm down. Terry then picked up his navy-blue satchel from his passenger seat and calmly exited his car.
Shake it off, dude. Nothing’s going to happen.
But that’s what he’d thought eight years ago.
Before the shots rang out and life on campus changed forever.
At least history doesn’t usually repeat itself.
The AP Government and European History teacher laughed to himself. History repeated itself all the time. The world wars that ravaged Europe not once but twice were just one pair of examples among many.
He shook off his concerns as he crossed the faculty parking lot of Emerald Valley High School. Headed toward the campus’s administration building, he drank in the details: students speeding through the student lot or honking their horns at their friends in jest, parents giving last-minute advice and affection to children whose ear buds kept them cocooned in their own little worlds.
He pulled open the green and gold doors of the main office, recalling the afternoon the English department chair at EVHS had texted him about the possible opening in the social science department. He had been a Matador at Valle Vista High School across town since he began his teaching career right out of college. Making the move had been a bit daunting, but it was a good switch in the end because the assignment included honors classes.
“Come on,” Norman had said. “You’ll get to teach the best and the brightest students we have. How can you pass up on that?”
Norman had been right, but Terry learned over the last ten years here that advanced and average students shared many of the same problems. They both wrestled with meeting the expectations of their parents and, while there might have been fewer love triangles than with his regular students, advanced students still got into toxic relationships and every now and then were caught buzzed before a school dance or sending nude selfies to their boyfriend or girlfriend.
I’m so glad I made most of my mistakes before the Internet made everyone famous, or infamous, as the case may be.
The thought brought a smile to his face as he walked in the door and greeted Jessica like he did every morning. The receptionist waved at him as she gave a substitute teacher directions to the band room.
The moment he entered the teacher’s lounge, his eyes locked on the doughnuts someone had brought in. He considered picking up the chocolate cake one with chopped peanuts on top, but then patted his stomach and resisted the temptation. His wife, Rachel had been on him to get to the gym and lose the extra 15 pounds he had been carrying around for years.
The first teacher he saw was Kimberly Blair, the science department chairwoman.
“’Morning, Kimberly!”
“Hey, how’s it going?”
“Not too bad for a Tuesday after a 3-day weekend.”
Glancing at his box he noticed a copy of the discipline referral he had submitted online the Friday before. It wasn’t one of his students, but the troublemaker had barged into his classroom and threatened one of his students. The offender had apparently apologized to the student he’d threatened, and they’d given him after-school detention for three days—but not suspended him.
That’s going to come back to bite them on the tail if they’re not careful.
Terry didn’t give the problem much thought as he mentally prepared for the day. He began and ended the day with history, but his government classes made up the middle chunk. His sophomores would be examining how Greek philosophy influenced Renaissance thinkers, while the seniors would be debating whether Plato and Aristotle had the better model for government.
Terry said hi to a few students as he walked to his room and waved at Norman as the latter opened his classroom door.
Even though he taught honors students, his first period class was always a bit sluggish, and he had to employ a little extra energy to get them going. He’d been hearing about plans in the state legislature to delay the start of the school day for an extra hour and, considering how tired his students usually were, he thought it was a good idea.
First period went better than he expected, but as the students were filing out, he’d already begun making plans to fix one or two things for his last class of the day.
Justin and Caitlyn walked into class hand in hand. Boyfriend and girlfriend, they had Government, English, and Band together. They were good students, A- and A respectively, and kept the flirting outside the classroom.
“Hey, Mr. Gould!” Caitlyn said.
“Hi, guys.”
Justin pulled out his phone. “Have you seen the new ‘Star Wars’ trailer?”
Terry smiled. “I have indeed. It’s way cool.”
“I know, right? The ships look amazing. And the light sabers are pretty awesome, too.”
Some days he felt like a Sherpa guiding his students up the mountain of knowledge in front of them, while other days he was simply King of the Nerds, a title he cherished as he had been too smart for his own good in high school and would have welcomed a teacher who shared his same interests.
Leslie and Esther walked into class together and he greeted them both, concerned more about Esther since she was the one who had been threatened on Friday. Like students had done for years, she had been dating someone who wasn’t a good fit for her. Terry could tell Jarret Ross was trouble the first time he’d met the teen. He had his hand a little too low on Esther’s back for Terry’s comfort, and he thought it was a good idea to call the teacher by his first name.
Terry admitted to himself he was glad when Esther told him the two had broken up.
The bell rang and the students settled down as Terry sh
owed the video announcements for the day on the screen in front of his room.
After they finished the Pledge of Allegiance and took a seat, Ben’s hand shot up. “Can we watch the new Star Wars trailer?”
Shouts of “Yeah!” and “Can we?” spread across the room.
Terry motioned to quiet them down. “If we do really well in our debate today, and we have a few minutes left at the end of class, we’ll see what we can do.”
Quickly scanning the class, he determined where his best debaters were and in his head, picked sides for the class project. “OK, you guys on the right will be arguing that Plato’s ideas were best, while the folks on the left will try to convince us Aristotle was the smart one here. You’ll have 15 minutes to gather your research before we—”
Terry looked to his left when he noticed Jarret had entered the room and closed the door. He employed his authoritative “Teacher Voice” to hopefully discourage him from doing anything foolish. “We’re in the middle of class, Mr. Ross. Perhaps you should return to where you’re supposed to be, and we can talk at break or lunch.”
“No, Terry Boy, I have something to say right now, and it can’t wait until ‘break or lunch’.”
The teacher moved behind his desk to his phone. “Do I need to call campus security to escort you back to your class?”
Jarret stunned them all when he pulled a handgun from his waistband. His untucked shirt and baggy shorts had concealed it well. “I don’t think that will be necessary, do you?”
Terry raised his hands. “Whoa. Let’s calm down, Mr. Ross. Let’s just put the gun away, and we can talk about whatever you want.”
Keeping an eye on the teacher, Jarret walked over to his ex-girlfriend. She screamed as he grabbed her arm.
“Get up!”
“Stop hurting me, Jarret.” Her voice was a whimper.
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