Swim Move

by David Chill

“Just a fling, man. Just a fling.”

  “I’ve heard she’s been involved with a few other players.”

  “Wouldn’t surprise me. Girl look like that. Football players are young, rich and we’re in great shape. And we like to have fun. She was a little different from the others, though.”

  “In what way?”

  “Seemed very impressed with my money. Maybe they don’t pay her well at Fox. Went crazy over my Ferrari. I see that with lots of girls. But you don’t expect it from girls that grew up in Beverly Hills. You know what I’m saying?”

  I said I did, even though I didn’t fully understand. “Anything else?”

  Xavier shrugged. “Once you get past the party girl stuff, it struck me she was a little messed up inside. Don’t know what the problem was. A couple of months ago she called me and said something about her family having money problems, and wondered about getting a loan from me. I joked with her and asked if her family was mobbed up, and she didn’t laugh. Something there, but I wasn’t about to pry.”

  “Okay. Any other players she might have been involved with? Anyone who might have had a problem with her?”

  Xavier scrunched up his mouth. “Yeah, you know, in fact I do. And he lives in L.A., he’s with the Rams now. Name’s Rhett McCann. Played with him a couple years ago when he was with the Bills, plays nose guard. He got traded to the Rams right at the end of training camp last summer. Worked out great for him, they’re still in the tournament. Next playoff game’s on Sunday.”

  “You think she just had a fling with him, too?”

  “I don’t know, but it got nasty. She went into her act with him, trying to be a tough girl, I don’t think it ended well. That’s the rumor anyway. But I learned my lesson, you never put your hands on a woman. Learned that with Desiree years ago. So for me, I just walked away from Amanda. Right out the door. With Rhett, sounded like things got weird.”

  “How so?”

  “I think he might have hit her. Least that’s what someone said. No video, no police report, so no proof. It never got out, so the league never stepped in. But I heard he was pretty mad at her about something.”

  “What do you think set him off?” I asked.

  Xavier raised his hands upward. “Could be anything. Some women just get off on drama. With Amanda, she was flirting all the time, always after something. Plus, the money thing. That stuff gets old.”

  “Okay. Tell me about Rhett. Nose guard. Must be a big guy.”

  “Big just scratches the surface. Dude weighs about three-forty. Thing is, he’s quick, too. Not fast, just quick.”

  “Is he from L.A.?” I asked.

  “Nah, and maybe that’s part of the problem. He’s from a small town in Texas, or someplace like that. They got some hot girls in Texas, hell, there’s hot girls everywhere if you know where to look. But not many of them do men like this.”

  “Rhett have a temper?”

  “He’s a grown man. And a football player. And he plays on defense. So yeah. What’s your guess?”

  It didn’t take much for me to conjure up a scenario. Football players are aggressive by nature, and defensive football players take that up a notch. Angry guys, the ones with the chips on their shoulders, naturally gravitated to defense. It was almost in their blood. The other team’s offense is trying to move the ball, which takes a lot of scheming; the defense tries to stop them, which takes a lot of fury. I knew something about playing on defense, that was my side of the ball, and I recognized anger comes with the territory. I carried my share of anger, too.

  “Let me ask you this. If I told you someone was stalking Amanda Zeal, would you believe it?”

  “Sure. Hot girl like that, oh yeah.”

  “If I told you someone tried to assault her on the street, would you believe that?”

  “Yup. Girl be crazy. Nothing would surprise me. Hey, you know what else I remember? She told me she tried to change her last name to Zzyzx. Can you believe that? Must have really wanted to get attention.”

  “Zzyzx?” I asked.

  “Yeah, that’s that place on the way to Vegas? Everyone driving from L.A. to Vegas seen it.”

  It was indeed true there was a Zzyzx in the Mojave Desert, right near the Nevada border. An ex-partner on the LAPD told me his grandfather had once gone there for treatment of an injury. Legend has it that Zzyzx began as a health spa, founded by a doctor who went on to become a minister. He was said to have discovered what he claimed were natural hot springs, a divine cure-all for nearly every sort of malady, from sore feet to cancer. He called it Zzyzx because he wanted it to be the last word in health care. In the end, the founder was revealed to be neither a doctor nor a minister, and his natural hot springs were little more than a series of man-made ponds heated by a boiler. His cures relieved nothing, except money from the pockets of unsuspecting marks. The founder ultimately went to jail, and his Zzyzx creation became little more than a curiosity, a strangely memorable freeway signpost for Angelenos headed to and from Las Vegas.

  “I guess the name didn’t get approved,” I said, wondering why anyone would ever want to change their name to something associated with a con artist.

  “Nope. Someone at Fox straightened her out. Got her to just change her name to Zeal. But who even thinks of doing that? Like I said. Girl be crazy. The thing about that, though, she brings out the crazy in a lot of men.”

  “Then what do you think actually went down with Amanda and Rhett?”

  “Can’t say that he hit her or didn’t hit her. And I don’t want to cast aspersions.”

  “Aspersions?” I peered at him.

  “Yeah,” he smiled. “My new favorite word. My agent’s an attorney. Really smart dude, I think you know him. I’m picking lots of things up. Trying to improve myself.”

  “But getting back to Rhett,” I said, trying to refocus him. “You might not rule out him being involved in something violent here?”

  “Can’t say. But I will tell you this. All of us have hangers-on. Friends of friends that want to get close to us. Do us favors so they can hang with us. I get it. Comes with the territory. I have to be careful what I say and who’s around when I say it. If I’m mad at someone, one of these guys may go, hey, I’ll take care of that person for you. Try to get into your inner circle. Sometimes they don’t even tell you until afterward. That’s how it works. Again, no idea if Rhett’s involved. And I’ve probably said too much. But that’s just how it is.”

  “You know how I might contact Rhett?” I asked.

  Xavier nodded slowly. “I’ll call him and set something up. He’ll meet with you. But don’t let on I told you everything. That wouldn’t go down well.”

  “No problem.”

  “You know, I wouldn’t do this for most people. Heck, I don’t think I would do it for almost anyone else, outside of family. But you helped me out of a big problem a few years ago. I owe you big time. I wouldn’t be where I am today if it weren’t for you. That’s the truth. Any way I can help you, I’ll do it. Want to rob a bank? I’ll drive the getaway car.”

  I smiled. “It won’t come to that. But I do appreciate your help. And I’m glad I was able to get you out of that mess with Desiree. Speaking of which, do you ever hear from her?”

  Xavier smiled back. “Oh man, do I ever. In fact, she’s sleeping upstairs.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Nope. We worked out our stuff. And guess what? We’re going to be parents in about four months. Ain’t that something? Wouldn’t have happened without you. I’d probably be in jail and she’d be living in a one-bedroom apartment along Crenshaw. You changed the course of human events.”

  I took in a breath and managed to congratulate him. I thought of telling him if he was going to have a stable family he’d need to stay away from sideline reporters like Amanda, and away from girls like that in general. But some things weren’t exactly my business. And I figured Xavier knew what the right thing to do was. Actually doing it was the hard part.

  * />
  I began driving back down the hill toward La Brea when my phone started buzzing. The area code seemed familiar but I couldn’t place it. Hoping it wasn’t another telemarketing call trying to sell me on solar panels, I tentatively pushed the speaker button.

  “Burnside.”

  “Well, that’s a name I haven’t heard spoken a while,” boomed a familiar, gravelly voice on the other end.

  “Coach Fultz!” I said loudly, resisting an urge to jump up and stand at attention.

  “Who’d you think it was?” he demanded. “You called me, I’m calling you back.”

  I chuckled. Coach Fultz had been leading the Culver City High football team for over four decades before he retired a few years back. He was almost seventy-five when he stepped down, and he hadn’t lost his edge. His decision to hand over the coaching reins was more to give his longtime assistant an opportunity to coach for a few years, not because he was losing anything. He had said at his farewell dinner that he felt he could coach winning teams until he was a hundred, and there were a few of us who thought he just might be able to pull that off. He often said age is a state of mind, and when one of his former players jokingly asked him what it was like to be old, the coach replied that he’d let him know one day when he found out.

  “Coach, it’s good to hear your voice.”

  “I’m sure it is. I was wondering what happened to you. Coaching over there at USC one moment, then Johnny Cleary leaves and you disappear. You get out of coaching?”

  “I did. Loved the players, hated the hours. Wanted to see my son grow up.”

  “All right,” he said. “I’ll let you slide on that one. How old’s your son?”

  “He just turned five.”

  “Gonna be a football player?”

  “I don’t know, Coach,” I started, “that would be fine by me. But my wife’s got other ideas. She’s concerned about concussions.”

  “Your wife’s a smart cookie. I wrote all that concussion stuff off, but I’ll tell you, the doctors are coming back with proof now. I think they’re right. Hate to say it, because I love all that hitting that goes on. I didn’t personally see any of my kids get hurt, but the problems are showing up later in life. I see it out here in Palm Springs, some guys in my bowling league are having memory issues. A lot of them played in high school. I’ll tell you, football’s going to be a different game in a few years.”

  “You may be right,” I said.

  “Of course I’m right. And you listen to that little wife of yours. Women are smarter than men, you know that, don’t you?”

  I smiled. “Yup, I do.”

  “Good. Everything going okay with you back in L.A.?”

  I paused. “For me, things are fine. I’m back to being a private investigator. I’m actually working on a case for Phil Zellis. Remember him?”

  “Of course I do. Private eye, huh? Oh, I’ll bet you’re good at that. You were one of the smart ones. You and Phil, couldn’t believe my good luck to have you two studs on my defense that year. The year we went to the title game.“

  “That was a great season,” I concurred. It was our senior year, and we had gone undefeated the whole year, won three straight playoff games and went to the city championship game at the Coliseum. Little did I know that would become my home for the next four years in college. We played Dorsey and it was one tough game. It was late November, and it was drizzling the entire day. Dorsey had the lead 14-13 with two minutes to go, but we were driving down the field. On a first-down play on the Dorsey twenty, our quarterback faded back to throw but was overwhelmed by the pass rush, got strip-sacked and Dorsey recovered the fumble. We never got the ball back, and they won the game.

  “You boys did well. I always said that was the best team I ever coached.”

  “Sorry we couldn’t bring home a ring for you, Coach.”

  “Now, you remember what I told you after the game?”

  I did. Coach Fultz borrowed a line from Vince Lombardi and said we didn’t lose that day, the clock just ran out on us. It was exactly the type of line Coach loved to use. In the beginning of the year he said he didn’t care if we lost all of our games, as long as we played hard and never gave up. And he added that if we always played hard, good things were bound to happen. Coach Fultz was tough as nails, but more than fair in a lot of ways. He told us to never complain about a referee call, no matter if they were dead wrong, and to also never castigate a teammate for a loss. We won as a team, we lost as a team. He taught us to avoid being put in the position of having to try and win a game in the last minute, because anything can happen on one play to affect the outcome. He said with our talent we should always be ahead by three touchdowns in the fourth quarter. He would rail at us during the week, but on game day he was a happy warrior, cheering us on, patting us on the helmet after a good play, telling us to put our mistakes behind us and not focus on them. As a teenager, Frank Fultz was the closest thing I had to a decent father figure.

  “Coach, I remember everything you taught us.”

  “Good. But it sounds like you didn’t call just to reminisce.”

  “No, and I’m sorry, but I have some bad news.”

  “What?”

  “It’s the Moose. He passed away. Tragically, I’m afraid. Someone shot him.”

  “Oh my God,” he said. “I’m sorry to hear that. Real sorry. Deep down, Moose was a good guy. But you know, I can’t say as I’m totally shocked.”

  I blinked as I steered onto La Brea and headed toward the 10 freeway. “How’s that, Coach? You stay in touch with Moose?”

  “No, but I stay in touch with a few players. A few of the dads, too. Funny you should bring up Phil. His dad, Ed, is one of the fellas I kept up with. He’d always be at our games. Called me up during the season, mostly just to talk football. But he also kept up with a few of the guys on your team that year. Guess Moose had a rough life. Maybe he’s in a better place now.”

  “Why do you say that?” I asked.

  “Ed told me Moose was heavy into gambling. Had some losses. Went and asked Ed for a loan.”

  “What did Ed do?”

  ‘Well, Ed isn’t the kind of guy who gets all mushy. I guess he told Moose to go face his problems like a man. Not sure I would have been that tough on him.”

  “You think his gambling debt might have something to do with Moose’s getting shot?”

  “Can’t say for sure. And it doesn’t quite make sense to me. If the wise guys wanted their money, it seems that shooting Moose wasn’t going to get them that.”

  “You know,” I said, trying to piece all of this together, “Moose was hired by Phil to look after his daughter, Amanda.”

  “Oh yeah, I see her all the time on TV. A real cutie. You say she needed looking after? How come?”

  “Someone tried to assault Amanda the other night. Phil asked me to look into what happened,” I said, realizing I hadn’t exactly been doing a bang-up job myself. “Ed ever mention his granddaughter?”

  “Oh sure. He was proud as heck of her. Phil, too. Ed was glad they didn’t have to do what he did.”

  I frowned. “How’s that? You mean police work?”

  “Yeah. You know about the Largo PD. Crooked cops and all.”

  “I heard the rumors over the years,” I said. “Was Ed involved in this?”

  “You seen that house he lives in now?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then you know the answer.”

  “Hey, Coach,” I broke in. “How do you happen to know this?”

  There was a small pause. “A couple of my other kids had dads that worked Largo. I heard things. No one in your class, it was a few years after you graduated. I had to suspend one of the kids from the team when he was caught with some coke. Learned he found it at home, the dad was a cop, he had taken it off of some drug dealers. I heard cops sometimes use that stuff as payment to snitches. Maybe they took some extra on top of that. You’d know better than I would. But something didn’t smell right.”

 
“Yeah,” I said, wondering if that’s how Ed financed their nice lifestyle growing up. The vacations, the nice cars, the private college tuition at Vassar. All handled through dad, which meant it was paid for through some means other than a civil servant’s paycheck. I also wondered how Phil would have turned out if he hadn’t wound up going to college at an exclusive school. He wouldn’t have met his first wife, the daughter of a Beverly Hills tycoon, he wouldn’t have ended up taking over a multimillion-dollar business, and he might have had more of a hardscrabble existence.

  “Coach, can you tell me who the dad was? I’ll promise to keep your name out of it. You won’t have a problem.”

  There was a brief silence, then an exhale of breath. “All right. His name’s Bart Sokolov. And don’t worry about me. I can still handle myself.”

  I jotted the name down. “Thanks Coach, I appreciate it. And I’m sorry I had to tell you about Moose.”

  “Yeah, well, I hope you can catch the scum who did this.”

  “We’re working on it,” I said, making a note to call Detective Slick for an update. “How are you doing, otherwise? Life good in Palm Springs?”

  There was a long pause. “I’m getting by.”

  “Just getting by? Coach, I have to tell you. You sound pretty spry. The wife told me you were busy all yesterday.”

  “Thanks, but the reality is I was getting an infusion yesterday.”

  “Oh no.”

  “Yeah. I’ve been getting chemo treatment. Prostate cancer. The doc puts me on steroids for a few days around the time I get infused. Takes some of the sting out of pumping toxin through your body. I like to joke the steroids are adding muscle, but you know the side effect is I have a ton of energy during this period. I’m so wired, I go on a five mile run. No joke. But once I stop with the steroids, I crash and do nothing but sleep for a few days. It’s tough, but I’m managing.”

  I hated to hear that. In addition to feeling for Coach Fultz, this brought back some sad memories of when my mother was diagnosed with lung cancer. She chose not to go onto chemo. As a nurse, she saw firsthand what some cancer patients often had to go through, and she wanted no part of it. She elected to try and tough it out, but cancer is not always a winnable battle, and it wasn’t in her case.