Corner Blitz (Burnside Series Book 5)

by David Chill

  "Interesting."

  "You've waited a while to become a father. It's a little tougher when you do it late in life."

  "Sure," I said. "I'm a real old man. Next year at this time, the baby will be more thrilled with his dad walking a few steps than vice versa."

  Juan chuckled and then peered at me. "So what's the case you're working on with Stone Canyon?"

  I held up my hands. "Can't tell you just yet. Confidential. You know."

  Juan shook his head. "Ah, Burnsy. That may cost you."

  "How so?"

  "I think maybe now I'll be looking for three tickets to the Stanford game."

  *

  I spent the rest of the day trying to hunt down Xavier Bishop, Desiree Brown or any of Desiree's neighbors who might be able to tell me something. It was all in vain, as everyone was either in class or not answering their door. I drove to the Stone Canyon School, but noticed they had a security gate with a guard standing watch. I tried calling the other students who were at the Coliseum with Molly, but none answered and none returned my calls. Given the governor's specific request for discretion, it seemed as if I was reaching a dead end today.

  I picked Gail up in the late afternoon and we drove over to Westwood. We stopped for a quick dinner before the debate, Gail deciding she wanted a falafel. In addition to cradling the UCLA campus inside its hillsides, Westwood was also known as the Persian capital of Los Angeles and had an abundance of Middle Eastern restaurants. Having done her undergraduate work nearby, Gail knew the terrain. The falafels were delicious, and not surprisingly, nobody else in the restaurant was over the age of 22. As we were eating, I pointed out falafels actually originated in Egypt. Gail acknowledged this with a perfunctory nod, before she went back to focusing on her dinner and taking another bite.

  We made our way to Royce Hall, and once I gave my name in at Will Call, we were ushered to seats in the front row. This time, Gail was duly impressed.

  "You have clout here," she cooed. "I like the extra leg room."

  "How are you feeling?"

  She took a deep breath. "Like I can't wait to have this baby and get the pregnancy over with. I once heard a girlfriend call her pregnancy a ball and chain. I didn't like that remark and still don't. But at least I understand it better now."

  "It'll be over soon," I reminded her.

  A few minutes later, the moderator stood up and addressed the audience. She was a bubbly, young anchor for one of the local news shows, and she began by reminding everyone the debate would be broadcast throughout California. Asking the audience to please be respectful of the candidates, she wanted the debate to be a civil and objective discussion of the issues. A number of students sitting in the back of the auditorium began to boo. The young woman looked a little flustered, repeated her request, and then sat back down.

  "Were you this way in college?" I asked, pointing to the back of the auditorium.

  "What do you think?" she said with a slight glower.

  "I'd think probably not."

  "My biggest act of rebellion was eating extra spicy hot wings."

  "You sound like you were a good girl."

  She gave me another look. "Still am."

  I laughed and put my arm around her. At that point, a young Asian man sat down on the other side of me and we introduced ourselves. He was Arthur Woo, the brother of Justin Woo, one of the candidates. He was excited about the debate, the campaign, and the prospect of the first Korean-American getting elected to the statehouse.

  "This is amazing," he said with a slight accent. "I have to pinch myself every day."

  "Are you involved in the campaign?" I asked.

  "Oh, yes. Our whole family is going non-stop, every day. Rex Palmer is weak. He's a dinosaur. We have a real shot at unseating him."

  "Well, good luck," I said.

  "Who's your candidate?" he peered at me.

  "I don't have one yet. I'll see how this debate unfolds first."

  "Are you with the media? Local news outlet?"

  "Nope, not me."

  "So you're not part of a campaign, and you're not covering the debate as a journalist. Just how did you get seats like these, Mr. Burnside?"

  I smiled. "You ask a lot of questions, Mr. Woo."

  Arthur Woo didn't smile back. "You are an interesting man. You don't give too much away."

  "Perhaps."

  He sniffed. "Tonight will be a very memorable night. Maybe historical."

  "Do you mind if I ask you a personal question?"

  "You may ask," he said cautiously.

  "I detect an accent. Did you grow up here?"

  "My family moved here from South Korea when I was a young boy. It's hard to fully shake your accent. Why do you ask?"

  I shrugged, thinking back to my first conversation with the Palmer campaign. "I'm just a curious guy. I'm interested in people."

  "Understanding people is critical in politics," Woo said in a manner that sounded almost mechanical. But then he turned to Gail and gave her a long look. "I'm sure you're going to have a beautiful baby."

  Gail grinned in appreciation. "Thank you. Sounds like you may be running for office one day."

  Arthur Woo gave the slightest hint of a smile. "Perhaps," he said.

  The lights dimmed and the debate soon began. It started with introductions, not unlike a sporting event. I couldn't get away from the similarities between political campaign and ballgames. There were winners and losers, statistics, and rabid fans on both sides. And as the candidates took the stage, they each evoked wild applause and derisive yells. So much for civility. The two politicians were both dressed predictably in navy blue suits, white shirts and red and blue ties. They actually looked like they were on the same team.

  The moderator began by asking the governor a question about his biggest accomplishments. Rex Palmer moved into actor mode, deftly detailing how he had cut wasteful spending in Sacramento, toughened the laws against violent criminals, and stopped tuition increases at all California colleges and universities. The last line brought a big cheer from the audience in the back of the auditorium. The moderator reminded the crowd to be impartial and the students responded with another round of boos.

  "Typical UCLA crowd," I whispered to Gail. She responded by giving me an elbow in the ribs, maybe a little harder than I'd have liked.

  The moderator then asked Justin Woo to assess the governor's term in office, and he took the opportunity to lay into Rex Palmer, calling his administration, among other things, a failure, a disaster, and the worst thing to hit California since the devastating earthquakes a few decades ago. Woo was scathing in his attack, accusing his opponent of neglecting the state's economy and allowing large corporations to move their headquarters to other states. Then Woo touted his business degree from Harvard and his experience working for startup companies in the Silicon Valley. He was a sharp speaker, and you could tell he was getting the audience's attention.

  I noticed Justin Woo spoke with the same accent his brother did. Only Justin's accent was a little heavier. It was a clipped way of speaking and had a staccato ring to it. He would pronounce certain words with a little difficulty, one being California, which he pronounced, "Cal-phone-ya." And apparently I wasn't the only one who noticed. Whenever Woo spoke, Governor Palmer was scribbling notes. And about three-quarters of the way into the debate, the governor took an opportunity to bring this issue to the surface. And he did it in a way he would likely regret forever.

  Politicians should avoid making jokes in public. Many are awkward at delivering punch lines and little good can come of it. I was a social science major at USC, which meant I took a lot of courses in psychology and political science. I'm not sure where I learned this bit of wisdom, it might have been in a political communications course. But it stayed with me. And when Rex Palmer went down this path, I knew immediately it would come back to bite him and bite him hard.

  "Justin Woo," he said, "talks about California as if he is an expert. And yet he's only lived here less
than half of his life. We should honor the fact that he has accomplished a lot in his brief tenure here. He came to America from a foreign country and he earned both a college degree and an MBA from a very good out-of-state school. I, on the other hand, went to college at Stanford and law school at Berkeley. I have lived in California all my life, and so have my parents and their parents before them."

  The governor paused for a moment and smiled before turning to Woo and dropping his bombshell. "But if someone is looking to become governor of California, the least you could expect from them is to learn how to pronounce it correctly."

  The large auditorium became very quiet, very quickly. The only sound audible was that of a few people gasping. Without waiting for the moderator to signify it was his turn to speak, Justin Woo turned to Rex Palmer and went after him.

  "Governor, that is a most despicable and insulting thing you just said. I don't think I have ever heard any public figure say anything so nasty and bigoted. I think you owe an apology, not only to me, but to the millions of immigrants in this state. Your comments are reprehensible. And I wonder, and I think every voter should wonder, what kind of a man insults one-third of his state's residents and then thinks he deserves to lead them. How is that even possible? You do not deserve to lead them, sir. No, you do not deserve that at all."

  The governor tried to respond, but he began to stammer. He knew he had slipped badly and didn't know how to recover. And he was all alone on the stage. Justin Woo did the smart thing, which is not interrupt and let his opponent keep babbling. When a politician is self-destructing, the best course of action is to stay out of his way. Rex Palmer did not exactly apologize but he tried to laugh it off as a joke, which may have made matters worse. And for the rest of the debate, Justin Woo hammered home the point that Governor Palmer was out of touch with the people of California and should not be awarded a second term.

  When the debate ended, an excited Arthur Woo shook our hands and moved onto the stage to give his brother a hug. Gail and I started to move toward the exit when a familiar face approached. As thrilled as Arthur Woo was, Bill Thorn appeared equally dour.

  "You need to stick around. Shelly would like to speak with you."

  "Sure," I said. "Any other orders?"

  "This isn't a good night to get cute with me," he snapped.

  "Fine, I'm sure there'll be other opportunities."

  "You don't know when to turn off that charm."

  I shrugged. Actually I did. "Where is she?"

  "She'll be in the spin room," Thorn said.

  "Spin room?"

  "Uh, yeah. That's where the media will be. Post-debate quotes. Follow-ups. Things like that," he said and pointed toward a door. "Go through there. At the end of the hallway is another room. Can't miss it. Unless you're an idiot."

  We followed a group of important-looking people down the hall. They were dressed smartly in expensive business suits, and chattering non-stop as we entered a brightly lit ballroom. It was loaded with a variety of local luminaries, not just the on-air media and the candidates' staff, but virtually every politician looking to get his or her face on the 10:00 pm news.

  As we moved into the spin room, there was a bevy of activity. Shelly Busch was nearby, already in full disaster mode. She downplayed the governor's flub, and tried to highlight a few of Justin Woo's shortcomings. Across the room, a number of outraged members of Justin Woo's campaign were rehashing how Rex Palmer was unfit to lead California.

  I turned to Gail. "So you mentioned an interest in getting into politics one day?"

  "I did."

  "This is what you have to look forward to do," I said. "Arguing the issues of the day has taken a back seat to destroying an opponent or conducting damage control."

  Gail sighed. "I know. It's the world in which we live."

  "I suppose if you move forward with becoming a public figure one day, I'll be part of this world, too."

  "I'm not worried about you, sweetie," she smiled at me.

  "Good. I'll be worried enough for the both of us," I said, fully aware my witty rejoinders often had a biting edge to them.

  "You know," Gail said, "while you're chatting up the staff, I think I'll go say hello to the city attorney. Can't hurt to get a little face time with the boss."

  "With a face like yours, I'm sure you'll get his undivided attention."

  Gail kissed my cheek and walked off to engage in some office politics. I began to walk toward Shelly, when an old acquaintance stepped in front of me and blocked my path. His large, round body and Cheshire cat grin was impossible to miss.

  "Now I didn't think I'd be seeing you here," said Virgil Hairston. "Have you traded in your P.I. license for a job as a political operative?"

  "Not exactly," I said. "But I didn't think the local Santa Monica paper would be sending journalists to a gubernatorial debate."

  "They probably didn't. But I'm not with the Outlook any more. Moved over to the Times earlier this year. A bump up."

  I shook his hand warmly. "Good for you, Virgil. Glad to hear it. Although in some circles, working for the Times isn't exactly taking a step up. My SC friends like to call your paper the Fish Wrap."

  Virgil Hairston was a reporter I had met a couple of years ago. He was covering a case I was working on at the time, the murder of my friend Wayne Fairborn. Virgil and I developed a nice rapport and were able to help each other do our jobs a little better. Virgil was an excellent journalist, someone I had wanted to stay in touch with. Like a lot of people. But then Gail came back into my life, work intensified, and time began to slip away. It had been a couple of years since we had last spoken.

  "Yes, I'm aware my paper probably doesn't sit favorably in the minds of your Trojan buddies. But I'm sure you'll agree it's nice to have a wider audience," he said. "So just what brings you here?"

  "The usual," I replied. "Business."

  "Ah," he said. "Sounds intriguing. We should get together soon and talk. Catch up. Maybe lunch?"

  "I'd like that," I said. "As long as I pick the place. Fried chicken and bacon cheeseburgers aren't part of my regular diet."

  "Ha! You have a good memory. All right. Let's do it. Very soon. And maybe you'll be more forthcoming about your case here. I always love a good story. And I still haven't forgotten about doing a piece on a model LAPD officer turned rogue private eye. Might help build readership."

  "I don't know about helping you on that one," I said. Some people think any publicity is good publicity. I wasn't so sure.

  Shelly Busch had finished providing her take on the debate, and the bright lights surrounding her had dimmed for a moment. Virgil and I parted, and I approached Shelly. Her facial expression was tight, and she did not look happy.

  "I guess this isn't a good night for you," I said, providing as much of an understatement as I could.

  "Full blown catastrophe," she said. "We'll be in the field tonight with polling, and tomorrow I'll have a better idea of how bad this really is."

  "I don't think this gaffe is going away."

  "No. Woo isn't going to let it. Best we can do is just highlight Rex making an innocent joke and paint Woo as an intransigent with no sense of humor."

  "Oh," I said, wondering about the wisdom of taking that stand. "What about making an apology?"

  "I don't think so," she said. "The governor doesn't like to apologize. He learned it from his father. Buster says it shows weakness. He goes by the Henry Ford motto: never complain, never explain."

  "I don't think that works so great in the 21st century."

  Shelly looked like she needed a cigarette. Or a stiff drink. "In the end, the boss has the final say. I just give advice. I'm not the decider."

  I nodded. "Understood."

  "So where are we on our little girl lost?" she said, the night's events obviously weighing on her diplomacy and tact, revealing a side of Shelly that I did not like.

  "I found Diego," I said. "But not Molly. They left the Coliseum together and I gather they both spent Satur
day night at his parents' apartment. But she left there on Sunday. Rather quickly, too. I'm still trying to pick up her trail. Unless the governor eases up on his request to be discreet, I won't be able to move forward here. This is important. She may be in some danger. I'll need to talk to her friends at school, maybe her teachers, too. I'll need access."

  "Let me speak with Rex tomorrow and I'll let you know," she said. "There are some issues. And he obviously has other things on his mind right now."

  I stared at her. The idea that someone's daughter might be in trouble was not sinking in. I thought of Gail, her interest in politics and our impending arrival in late December. I began to feel my skin crawl.

  "Of course," I said, dryly. "Let me know."

  I walked over to Gail and waited patiently as she kibitzed and talked and buttered up the city attorney. There was a group around him, but he seemed more focused on Gail. I didn't really blame him. I was, too.

  After a few minutes of standing in the background, I moved next to her and cleared my throat. Gail noticed me, picked up my signal and immediately made introductions. At that point, Gail gracefully told everyone we needed to go. When you have a husband with a big mouth, leaving the scene quickly is a wise move. We walked outside and headed toward the parking structure. I took Gail's hand, partly because it was cold outside, and partly because I liked doing it.

  "Quite a night," I said, as we strolled across a darkened, empty lawn. I recalled something one of my professors told me when I was a student. He had taught at USC for 20 years, working in that not-so-great part of inner-city LA. Every night, he would walk from his classroom to the garage, often after 10:00 pm. Despite the dreary neighborhood surrounding USC, he never had an incident. Yet one evening he had attended a symposium here at UCLA, nestled between the wealthy communities of Bel-Air and Westwood. And as he entered the parking structure, he was robbed at gunpoint. They took his wallet and his watch, possessions that were easily replaced. But they also changed his perspective. That the nicest parts of LA were not necessarily the safest. Things could jump out at you when you least expected them to.