Bubble Screen (Burnside Series Book 3)

by David Chill

  "You have concerns."

  "I have concerns."

  "About boosters and agents getting to him?"

  "Yeah. He's money and everyone knows it. There have been some rumors. Mostly agents. The boosters mean well, but they sometimes overstep the boundaries. They donate a lot to the university. The agents are just plain scum."

  "Anything you can share?"

  "Remember Kyle Otto from back in the day?"

  "Sure. He played center. Three year starter."

  "Yeah, he's got a business now up in Las Vegas. Chain of pizza joints, artisan pizza, something like that. Anyway, he told me Marcellus has been to Vegas a few times. Livin' large."

  An 18-year-old college freshman was not an atypical site in Las Vegas, but one who was enjoying a lavish lifestyle was sure to get attention. And if he were an athlete, it was not the kind of attention any coach wanted.

  "Okay," I said, making a mental note. "I'll look into it. Anyone else involved in this?"

  "Yeah. The name Larson keeps popping up. I gather you and Miles have been introduced."

  There it was. The Provost was the one who put me together with Miles but it was Johnny who passed me to the Provost. Johnny was subtle and knew how to pull strings behind the scenes.

  "Yes," I said slowly. "Thanks for the referral. I think."

  "You're good at what you do."

  "And what is it you want me to help out with here?"

  "We need to get out in front of this. If Marcellus has been taking things, it will come back and haunt this program. If he's accepting gifts, we need it to stop. And we need someone to get that message across to both Marcellus and the agents loud and clear."

  "And it's tough for you to play the heavy here."

  Johnny sighed. "I have to keep the players focused and motivated. I can't be the one who comes down on them too hard. And I have to be on good terms with our big donors. Miles has supposedly been introducing some of the players to agents. But he's been very generous to the university. It's delicate."

  "I'm glad you thought of me."

  "We can't step on any toes here."

  I smiled at Johnny. "I'm Fred Astaire."

  Johnny shook his head. "No, you're not. And you have an attitude. But you can do things we can't. And we need your help."

  "You got it. But getting through to Marcellus may be trickier. We're from different generations."

  "Both of you are USC football players. You've got that in common. You're family in that way. And deep down he's a good kid. But he's still a kid. Look, I'll take him aside and say you'll be in touch so he knows it's coming. That you're a former player, a safety, you might have some ideas for him. I'll tell him it's okay to speak with you."

  "Sure."

  "And there's something else I wanted to talk with you about," he said.

  "There always is."

  Johnny smiled. "Oh yeah. This one you'll love."

  "Go ahead."

  "I'd like you to be honorary captain for the UCLA game."

  Few things surprise me in this world. But my jaw dropped at this one. I managed to get a sound out of my mouth before my jaw fell any lower. "Huh?"

  "This year we've been bringing back some of the old boys to lead the team out onto the field. We also ask them to address the team before one of the practices. It's good to connect the kids with the tradition. Helps them understand the heritage. That a lot of great players came before them and wore the cardinal and gold with pride. This has been good. A number of former players have come back and done this. The team gets really motivated."

  "I'm honored to even be considered," I managed, and thought about it for a moment. "But there are plenty of former players who are a lot better known than me. My NFL career never took off. You know. Torn ACL."

  "Yeah, I remember. But you bring something else. You spent all those years with the LAPD. You live a life that has meaning and value. You help people. You live by a code. I want the guys to know there's more out there than just football."

  "Fair enough."

  "Most of these guys have dreams of playing pro ball. But the reality is only a few players make it. The League is uber-competitive now. Most of these kids are going to have to find their way in life when football stops being part of their dream. I want them to think about some options. And I want them to know there are good and bad ones out there. You know that better than anyone."

  I took a deep breath. Johnny was right and I was living proof of that. My NFL career was derailed when I helped USC's campus security chase down someone burglarizing a car. I wound up tearing up my knee in the process, right before the NFL draft. It was a grueling period in my life, but it led me into a new journey and an unexpected career. And I do get to see the best and worst of society. There are some wonderful people in the world, but also some that are absolutely putrid. And we get to choose with whom we associate. Our lives are defined by our decisions. Sometimes early on. Sometimes too early.

  "So when do you want me to address the team?'

  "We have Arizona this weekend but that's an away game. Next week. Probably Wednesday or Thursday. The Bruin game will be that Saturday. I'm hoping it will be a day game."

  "Me too. I've always thought football should be played during the day, not under the lights. Especially the USC-UCLA game. Lot of history there."

  "Yeah. But the TV networks decide when we play. We're at their whim."

  "It's never perfect when money does the talking."

  "I know that for a fact. So are you in?" he smiled.

  "I'm in," I said, and smiled back at him. I remembered one of our traditions from a few decades ago. A big metal sign reading "I'm In!" was hung over the locker room doorway. Tradition held that before the game, each player would slap the sign on his way out onto the Coliseum floor.

  "Great."

  "And I'd be happy to address the players. But you mentioned my attitude earlier. I'm not sure I can check my attitude at the door. It's a package deal. No one vets my talk. If I address them, I do it my way. I have to be myself."

  "Your attitude's not a problem," Johnny said with a smile. "In fact, I was hoping you would bring that along with you."

  "It's a deal," I said, getting up and shaking Johnny's hand. "I just hope you know what you're in for."

  Chapter 4

  It was pitch black outside when I left my apartment in Santa Monica, not surprising for a November morning at 5:15. The Malco installers began their shifts early with a briefing meeting at 6:00am sharp. Then they jumped into their vans and headed out to customers' homes for their first job of the day. Each installer was assigned three appointments a day, although most could only complete two. The customers who were booked third were apparently out of luck.

  A touch of light was beginning to appear in the eastern sky as I pulled into the parking lot at Malco. There were numerous cars already there. As I walked into the assembly room there was a buzz of talk going on, mostly about this weekend's football games. A large box of doughnuts lay open on a table, with most of them gone. I helped myself to a cup of watery black coffee and sat down on a brown metal folding chair.

  A few minutes later, Peter Larson walked in flanked by two men. The first was a slim, tanned man in his early 50s, with thinning silver hair that was combed over to try and hide a bald spot. The second was a lean, swarthy man who limped a little as he walked and used a black wooden cane for support. The swarthy man was carrying a stack of papers and struggling a little to move forward. No one stepped up to help him.

  "Good morning everyone," Peter said. "We have the day's jobs here. Per our new policy, you're only getting the paperwork for the first one. The moment you're finished and in the van, call Dispatch and we'll give you the second job. If there's any issues, call Glen right away."

  The silver haired man spoke and revealed a surprisingly deep baritone voice. "It's important not to waste any time. Like Peter said, call me immediately if there's any problem whatsoever. The people at Eagle are measuring us against their
other shops. We have to be more efficient."

  Glen Butterworth was nothing like the man I imagined in my mind. While not having an especially disarming physical stature, the timbre of his voice was strong and masculine. It was the type that an actor might have, one that might work well for voice-overs in TV commercials.

  "We expect all of you to complete three jobs each day," Glen said."We know some of these jobs are tough, but this is what Eagle Cable is requiring."

  "Are they requiring we skip lunch too?" asked a beefy looking installer with a walrus moustache.

  "Chase, we've talked about this," Peter broke in, sighing. "You'll need to grab lunch on the go. Eat it in the van as you drive. Everyone's under a lot of pressure from Eagle to meet quotas. And the fourth quarter is our busy season. We just have to deliver for these guys."

  The beefy man shook his head and muttered to himself even though everyone in the room could hear. "It just gets worse and worse," he managed.

  "But we're being paid by the job, right?" said one of Chase's co-workers who had a wiry frame. "Most of us work 10 or 11 hours a day, but we get paid like we're working for 8 hours. Ain't that right, Valdez?"

  "They have a point," said the swarthy man standing next to Peter and Glen, still holding his stack of papers. "This has to be addressed in our next union contract."

  "Look, I know there's a lot being asked of you," Peter continued. "But this is becoming a 24-7 business and everyone has to adapt. A lot of people out there don't even have jobs."

  "Why is it that the harder we work, the less we seem to make?" shouted another man.

  Peter's face grew tense and pointed to the swarthy man. "Mr. Valdez and his union team are in negotiations with the company now. We hope to get this resolved soon."

  Some low-level grumbling was audible, but no one else directly addressed the room. Peter continued. "One more thing. I'd like to introduce a new person joining us today. Mr. Burnside, can you rise, please?'

  I stood up and looked around the room. About one-half of the installers stared back at me with a remarkable amount of disinterest. The other half didn't even bother to look.

  "We're going to have Mr. Burnside do a few ride-alongs with you guys so he gets a feel for the business."

  "What's his job here?" Valdez frowned.

  "Mr. Burnside is a consultant. He's going to be helping us out in the warehouse. He'll report to Glen."

  Feeling like a giraffe in the zoo, I sat back down on my metal folding chair.

  "That's it fellas," Peter said. "And remember that you guys have a really important role here, not just in doing the installs and repairs. You're the last line of defense. If a customer is thinking of disconnecting, or backing out of their installation, it's up to you to keep them with Eagle. We can't lose them to Telco or Satellite. Your job is critical."

  The next sound was the scraping of chairs and the low murmur of resigned discontent. I waited in line with the installers to get our work assignments from Valdez.

  Peter glanced at me as I approached. "Burnside. Talk a minute?"

  He motioned me to follow him to a corner of the room. "We're putting you with Chase Walker today," he said in a low voice. "He's one of the malcontents I'm concerned about. See what you can find out from him. I'm not sure if he's part of the theft ring, but he's been a problem for a while."

  "If he's a problem, why don't you just fire him?"

  Peter looked uneasy. "I tried, but Dad stepped in. Chase is a long tenured employee and I guess Dad has a soft spot for him. I don't know why. But I know he's trouble. If I can prove he's stealing, Dad will dump him in an instant. Dad doesn't fool around when it comes to money."

  "I'll keep that in mind."

  Taking a look around the room, I watched as the installers reviewed their paperwork and began taking boxes and equipment out to their vans. I approached Chase and waited for him to finish eating a sugar encrusted bear claw. A few white particles clung to the edge of his thick moustache.

  "That doughnut makes you look like a cop," I remarked.

  Chase looked at me. "That's probably the only thing I have in common with cops," he said and stuck out a pudgy hand. I shook it and looked around to see if there was any Purell nearby.

  "You riding with me today?"

  "Looks like."

  "Okay," he said. "Smart of them to have me show you the ropes."

  "How's that?"

  "I'm one of the few assholes around here who knows what he's doing."

  I shrugged and helped him load the equipment. He had a white Econoline van with a number of deep scratches on the side and some small dents around the front end. Before Chase shut the rear doors, he unrolled a large decal that said Eagle Cable in red, white and blue, and showed a tough looking bird watching a flat-screen TV. Securing it onto the side of the van, he gave it a final slap and said let's roll. We backed out of the parking lot, and as we headed up the Harbor Freeway, Chase handed me our assignment.

  "What's that address we're headed to?" he asked.

  I scanned the job sheet. "Haddington Drive. In West LA," I said and placed the paperwork on the floor.

  ”Aw crap," he scoffed

  "Why's that?"

  "It's in Cheviot Hills."

  I frowned. Cheviot Hills was one of the better parts of West Los Angeles. Tucked away between Westwood and Culver City, it was a desirable community featuring gently sloping hills and beautiful homes. The neighborhood was not as exclusive as nearby Beverly Hills, but it was considered a very nice place to live. Growing up in Culver City, I remembered going trick-or-treating in Cheviot during Halloween and getting a very warm reception.

  "What's wrong with it?"

  "Full of snooty people," he sniffed.

  "And that's a problem?"

  "Wait until you've been doing this job for a while. These people will have you work all day, not give you so much as a drink of water -- much less lunch -- and then call your boss and complain you forgot to remove some bubble wrap before you leave. They're a nightmare."

  "Perhaps they just have lofty expectations."

  "Maybe. But I'm the one who pays the price for their expectations."

  I sat back and didn't respond for a while. We drove through downtown, past USC and the Coliseum, and then changed freeways and headed towards the Westside. The sun had started to rise behind us, and a warm streak of sunshine trickled through the rear windows. As we pulled off the freeway, I leaned over to grab the job sheet off the floor. As I did, I noticed a contraption hooked up under the driver's seat. Mostly concealed from view, but visible nevertheless, was the butt end of a pistol. I decided not to bring up my discovery.

  "How long have you been working here?" I asked.

  Chase smirked. "Too long."

  "How did you get into this line of work?"

  "Fell into it mostly," he shrugged. "I was in school at Cal State Long Beach. Sophomore year my girlfriend goes and gets herself pregnito, so I needed a job to support the kid. Never got my degree. It's tough getting a good job without one. Had a friend who worked for Malco and he recommended me to the Larsons. And the rest, as they say, is history."

  "How do you like working for them?"

  "Aw, Miles is okay, he seems to like me. I helped him out on something once. His kids are worthless, though. They think they're smart, but all they did was win the sperm lottery. Classic example of being born on third base and thinking they hit a triple."

  I laughed. "Is Miles grooming one of them to run the business?"

  Chase gave another smirk. "Doubtful. I think Miles plans to be around forever. He's got one other kid who probably could do the job. Works on Wall Street or something like that. Name's Eddie, makes a lot of money. Or so I hear. I met him once, he stopped by the office when he was in town a couple of years ago. Bright guy. Give him credit for making it on his own and not relying on Daddy to give him a job."

  We turned onto Haddington Street and pulled up at the address of our first customer. The home was a two story McMansion
that took up the bulk of the lot on which it was sitting. The house was painted Cape Cod blue and had a charcoal gray shingle roof that looked like it would require an extremely long ladder to access. As we got out of the van, Chase walked around and surveyed the property.

  "Aw, balls," he said when he came back. "This one looks nasty."

  We approached the front door and Chase ignored both the doorbell and the large brass knocker. Instead, he balled his hand into a fist and pounded on the door. A young woman holding a small child greeted us a minute later.

  "Yes?"

  "We're with the cable company," Chase said brusquely. "Here to assess the property for an install."

  "Oh," she said, a bit taken aback. "I thought you were going to hook us up today."

  "Well ma'am, first we do an evaluation. Did you previously have the house wired for cable?"

  "Um, no, we had satellite. But we just bought the house last year, so I don't know what was here before."

  "Mind if we do an inspection?"

  "No, of course not. Come in," she said, swinging the door open wide for us. Chase stepped on the welcome mat and made a big deal of sweeping his shoes prominently across the mat to communicate his respect for the cleanliness of the home. I did a much more subtle swipe and followed him inside.

  "You know we cancelled our satellite subscription already, so we're hoping to get this handled today."

  "We'll see, ma'am, we'll see. Is there an attic we can look at?"

  The woman led us up a circular staircase and through a lovely hallway with a beautiful cherrywood floor and colorful paintings on the wall. She pointed up to a small strand of rope dangling from the ceiling that apparently led to the attic.

  "You can climb up through there," she said.

  Chase paused for a moment. "Hey Burnside, give that a tug will you? My arms don't reach that high."

  I pulled down on the rope, which revealed a small folding ladder. We climbed up into the attic and, because of the limited space, got down on our hands and knees and began to crawl through it. There were some clear plastic boxes of storage items and a few other pallets of belongings. Chase did a quick circuit of the perimeter and shook his head.