Bubble Screen (Burnside Series Book 3)

by David Chill

  I nodded. "Who could have imagined she'd come back with a loaded gun?"

  "You must have had some suspicions about her, I know you." Juan said. "But I have to question why you'd even bring your girlfriend along on this adventure."

  I didn't have a good answer for that one. It was a question I'd be torturing myself over for a long time. "We all have regrets about things."

  "It's not his fault, Lieutenant," Gail said, her voice still quiet and serious. "I wanted to come. And I have experience as a security officer. We had no idea it could possibly turn out like this. If anything, it was Billy Ray Fox who was the concern."

  Juan looked at her and sighed. "Look, it's getting late. We'll finish up here. Don't pull this type of stunt again."

  "No worries," I said, sensing Juan was softening.

  "So I guess I'm going to see you at the game tomorrow," Juan managed.

  "You certainly will."

  "Yeah, you were a little vague on where you were sitting."

  "That's true. I'm not sitting anywhere. I'm going to be on the sideline."

  Juan stared at me. "Sideline passes?"

  "Better than that. I'm leading the USC football team out on the field. I'm honorary captain for the game."

  "Well," Juan said, digesting all this and not responding for a moment. "I guess it's a good thing for UCLA that I'm letting you go."

  *

  Gail and I spent a quiet Friday evening at home. We didn't say a lot, but held each other most of the time. I made a few resolutions that night, one of which was to never again involve her in one of my investigations. Curiosity and the cat. Gail was too important to me. I wasn't taking any more chances.

  I slept fitfully, my mind kicking me awake a number of times. I couldn't remember any dreams, but the real life nightmare-that-almost-was kept playing in my mind. And I needed to come to grips with that thing I had been thinking and feeling for quite a while.

  Ms. Linzmeier woke me early with her pulsating aerobics program. If she was up, I was up. Moving into the kitchen, I began the process of brewing a pot of French roast coffee, extra strong. Just as the first cup had finished drizzling its way into the decanter, my phone buzzed. The incoming phone number had a 702 area code. I had a hunch I knew who was calling.

  "Detective Chandler," I said. "You're up early."

  "As are you, pal. Got some good news for you."

  "I'm always into hearing good news."

  "That fellow you were asking about the other day, that Adam Barber. He was picked up at McCarran Airport last night. Had a satchel with $800,000 in cash, headed to Switzerland. Non-stop flight to Geneva, if I recall correctly."

  I laughed. "No law against leaving Las Vegas with a boatload of money is there? Unless the IRS took notice."

  "Ha!" Chandler laughed. "Looks like his luck ran out. He was traveling with this couple, man and a woman, each of them had over $2 million in cash themselves. There was a warrant out for them for embezzlement, wire fraud, a few other things. They'll probably add tax evasion to the list. Looks like your man Barber was traveling with the wrong companions, that's how we got him. But for this Barber guy, we've got an extra special charge lined up."

  "What's that?"

  "Murder. The idiot checked a bag with a handgun in it. Turns out that was the same gun used to shoot Henry Simon, that security guard that bought it last week."

  "Taking a gun overseas. No one ever said crooks were smart."

  "Yeah. Just when you think you've seen everything. Anyways, when the name Adam Barber popped up, I recognized it and figured you'd want to know."

  "Absolutely, I'm very glad you called. And the smart money says his two companions were named Isabelle Larson and Glen Butterworth."

  "Winner," he replied. "The funny thing was the charges were apparently filed in Los Angeles by a family member. Someone named Clara Larson. And she had a hunch they'd be leaving out of Vegas. Interesting world they must live in."

  Interesting barely scratched the surface of that one. I thanked Detective Chandler for the news. Apparently Clara had wasted no time in taking steps to rebuild her life. Doing so meant taking down her daughter. It was a price she seemed to have no problem paying. I took Gail through what had happened and she listened quietly and intently. We both agreed that the Larsons were as dysfunctional a family as had ever been thrown together. And we also agreed that this didn't have to be the case. It could easily have been different. Most families were.

  We left soon after for the Coliseum. It was still early in the morning, but our leaving now was not just to beat traffic or to get a parking space. For the first time in over 20 years, my presence was required in the Trojan locker room. My eyes were wide with delight, and I was going to enjoy this day. The weather was perfect for football, the type of day an athlete prays for. The sky was a bright blue and there were a series of high, skeletal clouds. They formed a quilted pattern which indicated rain soon, but not for another day or so. The temperature was cool for the region, maybe in the low 60s, with hardly any breeze. I had a good feeling about today. In a lot of ways.

  I didn't speak to the team before the game, that was the job of Johnny Cleary and he gave an inspired pre-game pep talk. By the time he was done, I was ready to put on a helmet and pads myself. Along with the team captains, I led close to 100 players through the Coliseum tunnel. A crowd of over 90,000 fans stood cheering as we poured onto the field. It was a sellout, which was not unusual. Having two nationally ranked college football teams in the same state was unusual. Having them in the same city, separated by all of 10 miles was as unique as could be. USC-UCLA was a football game unlike any other.

  The two universities recruited the same football players, played in the same conference against the same schools and monitored each other carefully throughout the season. At one time the L.A. Coliseum -- site of the 1932 and 1984 Summer Olympic games -- was home for both teams, despite the fact that the stadium was practically in USC's back yard. And when the two schools played each other each year, both wore their home uniforms, the Trojans in cardinal jerseys, the Bruins in powder blue.

  Even after UCLA moved its home games to Pasadena in the early 1980s, the tradition of both teams wearing their home-colored jerseys continued for a while. Then an NCAA statute was passed for college football, requiring the visiting team to always wear white. This was a silly legacy dating back to an era when many people had black-and-white TVs in their homes and they needed a way to distinguish the two teams. But the light blue shade of UCLA's uniforms were enough to give viewers the opportunity to tell who was who.

  It was many years before a solution was reached that allowed both teams to wear their colors at the same time. The first time this happened was on UCLA's home turf in 2008. When the teams ran out on the field, the officials immediately threw a penalty flag on USC for not wearing white jerseys. The referees penalized them and took away one of their three time-outs for the first half. In a supportive gesture, UCLA immediately called time out, to prevent one team from having an undue advantage. It was a fine demonstration of sportsmanship. The tradition continued for a couple of years that way, with the home team returning the favor and burning a time-out to keep things even. This required a sense of trust and honesty, something both schools maintained in earnest.

  Finally, as a direct result of what USC and UCLA were doing, the NCAA came to its senses and eliminated the penalty on visiting teams for wearing colored jerseys. And while UCLA would occasionally wear white when they came to the Coliseum, today they were decked out in their blue and gold, the blue jerseys having become a little darker over the years. As I ran out onto the Coliseum turf for the first time in over two decades, I couldn't help but think of how we'd all changed quite a bit over the years.

  I went over and shook hands with the UCLA head coach, and even got to participate in the traditional mid-field coin toss to start the game. We won the toss and Johnny told the team captains to defer receiving the kickoff until the second half, a decision that would h
ave huge ramifications on the outcome of the game. I returned to the sideline where I was joined by Gail. We wore our sideline passes proudly, and enjoyed the sights and sounds that can only come from being right next to the players.

  USC kicked off to start the game, and UCLA responded by immediately returning the kick up the sideline for 90 yards, before the Trojan kicker was able to wrestle the UCLA ball carrier to the ground. This being a USC home game, the crowd was primarily comprised of USC fans, but there was still a large UCLA contingent in attendance. The Bruin fans roared, but their thrill ride was short-lived. The Trojan defense stiffened and UCLA settled for a field goal to go up 3-0.

  The first half was mostly a cautious tale of short passes and interior running plays. It was reminiscent of a boxing match where the two fighters keep feeling each other out, each one looking for a chink in the other's armor. Finding little, both teams took calculated shots, but the main goal was to avoid making a mistake. Marcellus Williams caught a couple of passes, but was essentially bottled up by a UCLA defense that shadowed him closely the entire half. At one point UCLA fumbled on their own 30-yard line and the Trojans moved the ball close to the end zone, but ultimately had to settle for a field goal. At the end of the first half, the score was tied 3-3.

  Gail and I stayed on the field during halftime and enjoyed watching the marching bands from the two schools perform. The Trojan band had a larger contingent, and when spread out, they covered the field from goal line to goal line. After about 20 minutes, the teams returned from their respective locker rooms. As USC lined up to receive the second-half kickoff, I noticed the hint of a smile on Johnny Cleary's face. I also noticed the same look on the face of Marcellus Williams.

  We were standing near the closed end of the Coliseum, and the Bruins kicked off the other way. The ball floated just past the goal line near the peristyle end which featured colonnade arches, supporting the Olympic cauldron torch in the center. The Trojan kick returner fielded the ball one yard deep in the end zone and then went down on one knee, signaling a touchback that would bring the ball out to the 25- yard line.

  "Strange," I commented. "We usually run those kicks out of the end zone."

  Gail nodded, but said nothing. She was still learning the game and I think she just enjoyed being on the sideline with me on such a beautiful day. And the fact that whatever mayhem was happening around us was controlled and legal.

  USC's offense moved quickly onto the field and lined up without a huddle. The UCLA defense looked around in confusion and began to get mildly panicked by what they saw. The Trojans lined up in a no-back formation, with four wide receivers lined up bunched to the left side. The Bruins scrambled around before both safeties and a linebacker scurried over to where a lone cornerback had been positioned to try and defend whatever Johnny Cleary had up his sleeve.

  The quarterback took the snap and three of the receivers shot forward as blockers, knocking down the safeties and causing two other defenders to trip over themselves. One of the wide receivers moved two steps backwards and the quarterback then threw a bullet pass directly to him. With the three other receivers serving as blockers, a clear path had been forged. The Trojans were executing a bubble screen, UCLA was thrown completely off guard, and Marcellus Williams had the ball. There was only one defender in front of him.

  The beauty of the bubble screen is that the formation makes it look like the offense is setting up for a normal downfield pass. But instead, the quarterback quickly throws the ball laterally and gets it in the hands of a specific wide receiver, while the other receivers block for him. It effectively turns the wide receiver into a running back, something unexpected. The exceptional receivers can then use their speed and agility to move forward in a manner they don't always have the opportunity to employ. The downsides are big, though. If a bubble screen pass is intercepted, the defender can usually just waltz into the end zone for a defensive touchdown, because there is no one in his path. High risk, high reward.

  Marcellus caught the pass and quickly cut to his right, past the gaggle of Bruin defenders being overpowered by the three receivers. The one defender in his path was a linebacker. Marcellus put a juke move on him, bobbing his head and dancing back and forth very quickly. Unable to keep up, the linebacker simply lost his balance and fell to the ground. Marcellus ran by him, never touching the defender, it was all shuck and jive. In athletic parlance, Marcellus broke the other guy's ankles, because it looked like he couldn't stand and he just fell over. And with that, Marcellus Williams was on his way to the end zone 75 yards away. A linebacker tried to move over and dive at Marcellus' legs, but he was too late. There is nothing worse than being too late. No one was in front of Marcellus and no one was going to catch him.

  Great athletes have what is sometimes referred to as an extra gear. When they need to outrun someone, they dig down and accelerate at a pace beyond their normal stride. Their fast-twitch muscle fibers are properly conditioned to allow them to build speed in short distances. And that was exactly what Marcellus was doing. His legs were simply moving up and down faster than anyone else's. A pair of UCLA defenders chased him for about 50 yards before slowing down and finally stopping, their hands on their hips in frustration. From their perspective, Marcellus had become a blur. Nothing but tail lights.

  From where we were standing, Marcellus was practically running right at us. And as he passed us by, running full tilt, I could have sworn I saw a smile breaking through his lips, a shine of delight in his eyes, and an expression of unmitigated joy. He looked up at the Jumbotron near the top of the Coliseum. The huge HD screen's primary purpose was to give fans a greater view of the game. But it also served to give players something of a rear-view mirror to see who was behind them, and just how far back they were. When Marcellus looked skywards at the Jumbotron he saw just how much distance he had on the defenders. And as they slowed down, he slowed down, too.

  At the 5-yard line, Marcellus turned around and backpedaled into the end zone, high-stepping, and holding the ball out at the defenders in a mixture of taunting and defiance. The ref threw a penalty flag for unsportsmanlike conduct, but it would matter not. Marcellus tore off his helmet and danced around the end zone, fist pumping, exhorting the wildly jubilant crowd into even more histrionics. His teammates finally caught up with him in the end zone and mobbed him. The entire Trojan bench was going crazy, jumping up and down, and the partisan USC crowd was as vocal as could be. Even the air felt like it was shaking. The extra point made it 10-3, and the tide had turned.

  Over the next 17 minutes, USC rained five more touchdowns down on UCLA, with two of these going to Marcellus, giving him three TDs for the day. By the time they were done, the score was 45-3 and some fans, mostly UCLA's, had already begun exiting the Coliseum. With most of the 4th quarter left, Johnny began to insert some of the backups and walk-ons, the guys who had contributed mightily in the team's practice and preparation, but rarely ever got to play in a game. The match ended without any more scoring, but the rout had been administered.

  As the clock went to 0:00, I approached Marcellus to high-five him, but he gave me a big bear hug instead. He also hugged Gail, which I'm sure she enjoyed more than I did a few feet away. I found Johnny and congratulated him. The fans had poured onto the field and started dancing on the Coliseum field. The Trojan band began to play and some of the players took turns climbing a stepladder, grabbing the ceremonial sword and conducting the band. When it was Marcellus' turn, he climbed to the very top of the ladder and lifted the sword high in the air, leading an inspired version of "Fight On."

  Gail and I watched the festivities and then I walked her over to the peristyle end of the Coliseum. The Olympic cauldron torch above us, was lit as it always was during the fourth quarter of Trojan football games. It was a bright, burning reminder of the Coliseum's heritage as the host for two separate Olympiads. And I was going to make it even more memorable for us.

  I took Gail's hand, smiled, and then nervously bent down on one knee. In the bac
kground the band and crowd began to spell out USC's SO-CAL cheer.

  "S-O-U-T!" they yelled.

  "I've been thinking a lot about us," I began, raising my voice so she could hear me.

  Gail looked at me and said nothing, but I noticed her gray eyes widening.

  "I have to have you in my life. There's no other option."

  "Oh my. Is this going where I think it's going?"

  "H-E-R-N!" the crowd chanted loudly.

  Behind us, two guys with a video camera and boom approached us. "Can we record this?!" they asked, screaming to be heard.

  Gail and I looked at each other and smiled at the same time.

  "What do you think?" she asked me.

  "Why not?" I yelled hoarsely, and turned to them. "Go ahead!"

  "C-A-L-I!"

  "I don't think I can live without you," I managed, suddenly having some trouble speaking.

  "I don't think I can live without you, either," Gail answered, her voice not containing the least bit of hesitation.

  "So will you do me the honor ... " I gulped.

  "F-O-R-N-I-A!

  I took a very deep breath and let the words spill out loudly. ".... of marrying me?!"

  Gail pulled me to my feet and wrapped her arms tightly around my neck.

  "SOUTHERN! CALIFO-RRRRRRRRR-NIA!!!"

  Though the crowd was roaring, I could hear Gail perfectly as she whispered in my ear, the words I'd been dying to hear, but scared to death of hearing. And in the whirring, frenetic pace of a single moment, my world came together, and everything suddenly aligned perfectly.

  "Of course I will, honey," she whispered, in the sweetest voice I had ever heard, in a timbre that was decisive and final and crystal clear. "In fact, I thought you'd never ask."

  THE END

  Thank you for investing the most valuable commodity you have -- your time -- in reading my novel. I appreciate it very much and really hope you enjoyed it!