Death in Nostalgia City

by Mark S. Bacon

  “I’m Mike Lopez, Channel 6 News.”

  “Looks like you’re the first ones here.”

  “We’re the only ones here. The guards at the main gate have orders to keep us out. But then you probably know that.”

  “No, I didn’t. I wouldn’t--”

  “Yeah? You’ve got this pretty well sealed off. My camera person’s boyfriend is a paramedic. If we hadn’t come in with the ambulance, we’d still be outside. Guess you like to keep a lid on your accidents, right?”

  “A lid on it?” she said, pointing to a man aiming a cell phone camera at the mangled monorail cars. “This is on Twitter already. I’d rather have real newspeople reporting this. I’m not stupid.”

  Showing her frustration to the media would not improve on a disaster. She took a couple of breaths then explained that it was her first day on the job, that she never ordered the media to be barred, and that she’d let them know whatever she found out.

  She left the camera crew and walked over to the supervisor Bates had pointed out. She found him kneeling over a heavy piece of twisted metal near where the monorail must have left the track. Dark slashes of grease decorated his shirtsleeves. He glanced up from his work with a frown and a serious look in his green eyes. Kate bent over to speak.

  “Do we know what caused this?”

  The man looked at Kate and turned his head, trying to read her ID badge. She straightened the badge and told him who she was. His face was shiny with sweat, his hands coated with black dust. He introduced himself as Dennis Zorn.

  “Among other things,” he said, “I’m chief safety engineer.”

  That kind of engineer, Kate thought. “The media will be asking all kinds of questions. I’ll have to tell them something.” She could only imagine what must be going on in his mind.

  Zorn brushed off his hands and stood up. “It jumped the track. Neat trick for a monorail, but it had help. Luckily the track wasn’t far off the ground at that point.” Kate glanced over at the broken section of track, only a couple of feet in the air.

  “We won’t know everything for sure ’til I collect all the pieces.” Zorn’s face had a trace of sadness, or was it guilt? “That may take a while.” He gestured toward the smashed cars. Jagged bits of sheet metal and steel parts littered the square.

  Kate glanced away and saw the TV crew focusing on two children covered in blood. She knew how that would look on the 6 o’clock news. “We’ll have state or federal inspectors out here investigating, right?”

  “Nope.”

  “I don’t understand. Who, who...”

  “Regulates us?”

  “Yes. Safety regulations. Is it federal or state?”

  “Neither.”

  Kate stared at him.

  “We’re in an unusual position. Theme parks are exempt from federal oversight.”

  “But what about consumer...something?”

  “Consumer Products Safety Commission. But they only regulate rides in carnivals and fairs--the ones that move from place to place. Theme park regulation is left up to the states.”

  “So Arizona--”

  “Doesn’t regulate us either. Not yet. We’re one of a few states that don’t have theme park regs.”

  Kate slowly shook her head. Before she could say anything, Zorn continued.

  “Until Nostalgia City was built, Arizona didn’t have a major theme park, so we didn’t need regs.”

  “So who inspects the rides? Who’s the final word?”

  “We are.”

  Chapter 11

  Lyle insisted on riding in the ambulance with Williams to the emergency room in Polk. Lyle’s sole injury was a scratch on his right hand which he received clearing glass and debris off his friend. When they arrived at the hospital, paramedics carted Williams into an examining area, relegating Lyle to the nearly empty waiting room.

  He leaned against a wall. “Right in front of me,” he said. “I was right there.”

  A woman at the other end of the room looked up momentarily then went back to her reading.

  In a few minutes, other ambulances arrived. Family members and friends of the injured filled up the waiting room, hospital personnel rushed in and out of the ER, and Lyle paced.

  After many tours of the room, he stopped in front of a vending machine. “Sodas. Nothing but sodas,” he said to no one. “No goddamn beer.” He walked outside.

  Maxwell had offered him a bonus to investigate the sabotage, but as much as he wanted to help preserve his new job, he didn’t want to be a cop again. Now NC’s problems had collided with him--and his buddy was in the ER. When he saw Clyde Bates drive up and walk into the ER, he followed him inside.

  As a television news crew interviewed a nurse in the admitting area, Lyle stopped at the desk to ask about Earl. Nothing yet. They were swamped. Lyle crossed the hall, looking for Bates.

  With anxious people now crowding the waiting room, the air carried the smell of nervous sweat.

  “Are you Lyle Deming?” asked a voice behind him. He turned to see a much-too-young doctor in scrubs. “Your friend is going to be okay. He has just a mild concussion and some bruises. We took X-rays. There’s no fracture.”

  “But all the blood?”

  “Superficial cuts. Head wounds tend to bleed a lot.”

  “How long will he have to be here?”

  “A day. Just to be sure. He’s gonna be fine. We tried calling his family but couldn’t locate anyone. Can you help?”

  When Lyle came out of Earl’s room a few minutes later, having assured himself that his friend--now quiet and disoriented--would be back to normal soon, he looked for Bates. He found him loitering around the admitting desk. He was wearing a black suit and dark glasses and looked as inconspicuous as J. Edgar Hoover in a dress.

  “How’s Williams doing?” Bates asked.

  “Doc says he’s okay. You find out what happened?”

  “Engine jumped its track. Lots of injuries, a few critical. Thought you didn’t want to be involved.”

  “I changed my mind. Can you fill me in?”

  With people everywhere, Lyle and Bates walked outside. This was the third or maybe fourth time Lyle had seen the security chief and each time he was dressed the same. He looked as if he followed the IBM dress code of the ’60s: a white shirt and solid, dark tie, plus shiny, black brogans. Lyle had an idea Bates was not just dressing for Nostalgia City.

  “There was something over the track. Looked like scaffolding.”

  “Where’d it come from?”

  “Crews were working on a wall next to the spot where the monorail derailed. But the scaffolding and power equipment was supposed to have been put away for the day.”

  “So, it was intentional?”

  Bates uttered a mirthless laugh. “Some of the bolts that held the track in place were taken out.”

  “Sabotage.”

  “No. Just an accident. That’s our official story. For now.”

  “Official story?”

  “You know, for the press.”

  “How many people were hurt?”

  “Twenty five, maybe twenty six. Some just had cuts and bruises, but more than a dozen had to be hauled away to hospitals. Most of ’em are here. A few serious went to Flagstaff.”

  “Awful.”

  “Coulda’ been worse.”

  “Worse?”

  “One of the monorail cars hit the carousel, but it was between rides. Only a few kids were hit. Only one or two of ’em look bad.”

  Lyle leaned on a railing and stared out across the street to a vacant lot dotted with sagebrush. “Do you have any better idea of who’s doing this?”

  “We pieced some things together.”

  Lyle waited. Bates was obviously weighing how much to tell him. He fumbled in his pocket for a cigarette, lit it, and exhaled a cloud of smoke. Lyle moved upwind.

  “We have descriptions of people,” Bates said. “People who were around the yo-yo ride when it was sabotaged. They might match the description o
f someone who was in the vicinity of that stolen car--before it crashed into the gas station.”

  “The Torino was stolen?”

  “Couple from L.A. rented it. Reported it missing.”

  “What’d the witnesses see?”

  “One witness said she thought it was a Hispanic, but another witness identified the man as Native American--Indian.”

  “Was it the same person?”

  “You know eye-witness descriptions. They’re all over the map. Could I make a guess? Yes. I’d say it’s one or more Indians. And I’d say they sabotaged the railroad bridge, too.”

  “Any witnesses today?”

  “We’re still asking questions.”

  “You think it was Native Americans because the bridge collapse was on reservation land?”

  Bates nodded. “But we have no witnesses there.”

  “Prints anywhere?”

  Bates gave Lyle a look between a frown and a sneer. “On NC rides? Not likely. They handle thousands of people a day.” The funny expression stayed on Bates’s lips. It made his flat, rectangular face with its gray, guarded eyes look like a gargoyle.

  “What about the scaffolding on the track?”

  “We checked for prints--where we could. Doubt it’ll be helpful. Sheriff is investigating that, too.”

  “Deputies were here earlier, talking to victims,” Lyle said.

  “One of them a tall, skinny, Hispanic guy?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s probably Rey Martinez. He’s undersheriff, second in command. He’s not as big a prick as the sheriff.”

  “So, we get a lot of cooperation from local law enforcement.”

  “You should talk to Maxwell about the sheriff.”

  Chapter 12

  Next morning, Kate read the details on the front page of the Phoenix Standard: twenty-five people hurt, fourteen hospitalized, a popular DJ injured, one ride destroyed, one damaged. The tearful face of a young child stared out from a photo next to the story. Blood streamed down the girl’s cheek as a paramedic cradled her in his arms. The shattered remains of the carousel formed a macabre backdrop. Kate had already seen the same photo on the pages of a dozen online editions of the country’s largest papers. Somehow, an Associated Press photographer had slipped past Bates’s shock troops.

  She set the paper down on her lap and looked over at Maxwell. He stood with his back to her, staring out his office window. When she heard a noise, she turned around to see Lyle, the cab driver, walk in and take a seat next to her in front of Max’s desk.

  He wore a sport coat and slacks--no bow tie or yellow cap in sight. Kate discovered that he was trim and handsome. Hadn’t she noticed before? His thick, light brown hair and dark brown eyes were appealing. For a second she wondered how old he was.

  Max walked back to his desk and sat down. “Okay. Just talked to Earl Williams. He’s doing fine. Wants to get back on the air. Kate, what’d you think?”

  “I think he ought to take it easy for a while. He was unconscious for a few minutes.”

  “No, I mean about his publicity.”

  “I think we should let him come back to work quietly, without fanfare. When he’s on the air he can tell listeners that he wasn’t seriously hurt and that the park is back to normal.”

  “I suppose you’re right. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? Okay. You’ve met Lyle, right? He’s going to investigate. Find out why the hell this is happening. What about the publicity? How bad will it be?”

  “How bad?” She held up the Phoenix front page. “This is how bad. We were on all the network newscasts last night, plus CNN, Fox, you name it. Today we’re on the front page of every major paper in the country.

  “We’ve had phone calls from The Daily Star in Toronto, the BBC, Japanese Broadcasting, Russia, Australia--all over the world. Videos of the wreckage already have over a million hits on YouTube.”

  “But we’ll get this behind us, right?”

  “We’ve got fourteen people in the hospital. One of them might die. This is the second serious accident in three weeks. Max, this story is not going to go away overnight. Count on it.”

  “What’re you going to do?”

  “Right this second? Nothing.”

  “You’re going to wait?”

  “No, I’m going to be prepared. We’ll tell everyone we’re shutting down the monorail, inspecting, and rebuilding before we open it again and instituting even more strict safety standards. I’ll get Dennis Zorn to talk about safety on TV.”

  “All right. Get started.”

  “Hold on a second. We have to be careful. We can talk safety, but the more we talk, the more we remind people about the accidents. Reporters will keep asking us if our rides are safe. Sometimes you need to know when to shut up.”

  “We can’t wait. Attendance and hotel reservations are critical. Number one priority.” Maxwell shifted uneasily in his chair. “We can’t let the numbers dip. Understand?”

  “I hope they won’t. I also hope you’ll let me handle media relations.”

  “What’d you mean?”

  “I mean your chief of security locked the press out of the park yesterday.”

  “But some got in anyway,” Max said.

  Kate glanced at Lyle, then back at the boss. “Max, hiding stuff from the press always backfires. Always. I had to make excuses and apologies all afternoon. Besides, it was all over the Internet. Ever heard of Twitter?”

  “Bates was just trying to keep everything quiet.”

  “Sure he was. It looked like we were trying to pull a coverup. And Max, did you know our rides aren’t regulated by the state? We can’t say we conform to government standards because there aren’t any.”

  “Nothing wrong with our safety standards. Our insurance carrier mandates regular inspections. Zorn’s people check every ride every day.”

  “I know. I’ve been telling the press that ever since the crash. God help us if something else happens.”

  “That’s where Lyle here comes in.” Maxwell turned to Lyle. “You’ve got to get started right away. But stay low key.”

  “Sure, okay.”

  “Ask questions, but don’t tell anyone what we know. We’ll try to keep the details to ourselves.”

  “What about Bates?” Lyle asked.

  “Of course. He knows what’s going on. He’s working on it, too.”

  “Where do I start?”

  “Wherever you want. Told Clyde to give you copies of the files on all the incidents. Do whatever’s necessary. Clyde’s conducting the ‘official’ investigation. You’re our backup.”

  “And I report directly to you?”

  “Right.”

  “Sounds as if Indians are Bates’s prime suspects for everything. I’ve heard some of them aren’t happy with the railroad going through their territory.”

  “That’s an angle all right. Tribe stands to make a mint on this, but one band is upset about the whole thing.”

  “We’re lucky,” Kate said. “None of the stories today mentioned the reservation bridge collapse. But some reporter is going to remember it. Then it’s going to look as if everything’s been intentional.”

  Lyle looked at Kate then over at Max. Neither man spoke. Kate had a sinking feeling in her stomach. “What? Something I don’t know?”

  Lyle looked uncomfortable. Max was annoyingly unperturbed.

  “Turns out, these weren’t accidents,” Max said. He nodded at Lyle. “You tell her.”

  “The gas station thing was deliberate,” Lyle said. “Someone stole the Ford and sent it crashing down the street. We don’t know who did it. And the railroad bridge was pulled down one night after work was finished. It didn’t just fall over.”

  “What’s going on, Max?” Kate’s voice rose. “Was the monorail sabotaged, too? Is someone trying to destroy the park? Is that it?”

  “We don’t know what’s going on,” Lyle said, “except the ‘accidents’ weren’t accidents.”

  “If the car crash
was on purpose,” Kate said, the magnitude of their troubles sinking in, “that guy under the awning was murdered.” The last word gave her a sudden, oppressed feeling. “And now the monorail. All those people. What next?”

  “Nothing,” Max boomed. “We’re going to find who’s doing this, and you’re going to contain this goddamn publicity.”

  Kate wanted to throw up her hands and shout, or just spend five minutes berating Max. But she wouldn’t do it in front of someone. She forced herself to think before she spoke. “You could have told me about this. If I’m the spokesperson and I’m trying to put the vandalism or alleged accidents into perspective--” She sighed. “Shit, Max, what a mess.”

  Max’s indifference was infuriating, yet not out of character. She knew what she was getting into when she went back to work for him. “I don’t know what’s worse, admitting the park is being sabotaged, or having people think we’re careless.”

  Kate got out of her chair.

  ***

  In the elevator, Kate stood next to Lyle, her arms folded across her chest. They both stared up at the lighted floor numbers above the door.

  “You didn’t know the gas station crash was intentional when you said you’d come to work here,” Lyle ventured. “Did you?”

  “No. I didn’t. I read about the accident, but that’s how it was treated, as an accident. There wasn’t even any speculation. It probably wouldn’t have made a big difference, but...” She wanted to tell him how, in the past, Max deliberately forgot to tell her something when the news was bad. “I should have guessed there was more involved when Max made me the offer.”

  “Guess he’s tough to work for.”

  Kate put her chin down slightly and glared at Lyle.

  “Hmm. ’Course he is.” Lyle grinned wryly. “Least I have a grasp of the obvious.”

  Kate let out a breath and relaxed against the back of the elevator. “Could you do me a favor? If anything else happens, or if you uncover a plot to drop a neutron bomb on Nostalgia City, tell me.”