Last Panda Standing

by Jarrett J. Krosoczka

  “. . . and Jo Cooper.”

  Zengo froze. “What?” he squawked, saying it out loud even though he hadn’t meant to.

  Jo Cooper, who had been standing a little apart from the others throughout the meeting, uncrossed her arms. “Roger that, sir.” She turned to O’Malley and stuck out her hand. “Detective Corey O’Malley, it will be a pleasure to work alongside you,” she said. “I’ve been hearing stories about you since before I entered the academy.”

  If O’Malley was upset about being assigned a new partner for this case, he wasn’t showing it. In fact, he didn’t say anything at all. He took Cooper’s offered hand and gave her a polite smile.

  Zengo’s heart sank. O’Malley was supposed to be his partner, and this was supposed to be his case. A vision of Jo Cooper’s smiling face right next to O’Malley’s on the front page of the Kalamazoo City Krier swam before his eyes. How would he explain that to his parents?

  “Now, Zengo,” Plazinski continued, “wipe that scowl off your bill. You’re not working this case with O’Malley because I’ve got another assignment for you. I got a call early this morning from Mr. Pandini himself. He’s apparently pretty shaken up by this whole affair, and while he has more security on his payroll than the president, he’s asking for some additional help. Namely, he’s requested a member of the Platypus Police Squad to run lead on his protection detail for the rest of the campaign.”

  Zengo’s bill flapped open. But before he could respond, O’Malley stepped forward.

  “Wait a second here,” he said. “You’re not seriously considering sending the kid here to lead Pandini’s protection team, are you?”

  “That’s exactly what I’m considering, O’Malley. Pandini requested Detective Zengo personally. He has been very impressed by Rick’s work.”

  “But, but, there’s no way he’s ready to—” O’Malley sputtered.

  “Look, Corey, it’s not up to you,” Plazinski interrupted. “And frankly, it’s not up to me either. I informed Mr. Pandini that this request was highly unusual, and that I’d agree to it only if Zengo said that he’d be willing—”

  “I’ll do it,” Zengo broke in.

  All eyes in the room turned to him.

  “I’ll do it,” he repeated.

  “But, rookie . . .” O’Malley took a step toward him and seemed to be searching for the right words. Zengo’s gaze hardened. What was O’Malley’s problem? Zengo wanted to keep working with O’Malley, of course, but this was a huge opportunity for him. Plus, being this close to Pandini could be just what was needed to find out who was responsible for the attack. He’d be right there in the middle of the action. Who knows what secrets he would uncover? Maybe he’d end up cracking the case himself!

  “We don’t know how many people are involved in this conspiracy to force Pandini out of the race,” O’Malley finally said. “And we don’t know what else they’re willing to do to accomplish it. It could be dangerous. Heck, Pandini himself could be dangerous. We all know what happened the last time a Pandini ran this city—”

  Plazinski slammed his palm down hard. “O’Malley, I have heard enough out of you,” he said. “First off, Frank Pandini Jr. is not his father. And second, stop calling Detective Zengo a rookie. He has more than proven himself by this point. In fact, I think he might be the best detective Pandini could have asked for. None of us knows where this thug might strike next. Protecting Pandini could take some quick action—and, let’s be honest here, you’re not as fast on your flippers as you used to be. One more word out of you and you’ll earn yourself an unplanned vacation, you get me?”

  O’Malley looked down. “Yes, sir,” he said.

  Zengo opened his bill to say something to his partner, but as Jo Cooper slid up next to O’Malley and crossed her arms, he closed it. O’Malley wasn’t his responsibility—Pandini was. And the sarge was right. If Zengo could nail this assignment all by himself, O’Malley definitely wouldn’t be calling him “kid” or “rookie” anymore. O’Malley’s protests played over and over in his head. You’re not seriously considering . . . It could be dangerous. . . . Zengo’s eyes burned and he had to look away. He stood up a little taller and adjusted his leather jacket. I’ll show O’Malley how a real detective does things, he thought. I’ll show all of them.

  “Now, if there isn’t anything else,” said Plazinski, giving each of them a look that could cut glass, “get to work. Diaz, Lucinni—I want you running support for Cooper and O’Malley. Their wish is your command, got it? Let’s start by taking a look at the venues for Pandini’s upcoming campaign speeches. As for you, Zengo, Mr. Pandini is expecting you at Bamboo.” Plazinski leaned hard on his desk. “Remember, Detectives, we are all a team. Ain’t no one else going to do this job for us, and those reporters out there ain’t going to give us an inch of slack. It’s up to us to solve this case and restore faith in this great city of ours.”

  A team, sure, thought Zengo. But to him, headquarters was starting to feel just a little bit crowded.

  PPS SQUAD ROOM, 9:45 A.M.

  The detectives were absorbed back into the hustle and chaos of the precinct. Phones rang, blue-uniformed officers led shackled criminals to and from their holding cells, and Peggy struggled to hold back a couple of reporters who must have tried to sneak into the squad room.

  Zengo gathered his things and shut down his computer. He looked up to see his partner standing over him with an apologetic smile on his face. Zengo did not smile back.

  “What do you want, O’Malley?” he said. Zengo didn’t have anything to say to him, and he could sense a classic O’Malley lecture coming on.

  “Listen, kid—” O’Malley caught himself and fidgeted with his tie. “I mean, Rick. I’m sorry about what I said in there. You’re a great detective—you’ve saved my tail more times than I can count. But like I said last night, this isn’t your average case. There are going to be eyes on you all the time. And I’m not just talking about the reporters.”

  “And maybe you’d rather those eyes were on you?” Zengo wheeled on his partner. “Is that it? Are you jealous I got chosen for this assignment? The rookie got selected over the great Corey O’Malley?”

  “No, that isn’t what I’m saying.” O’Malley put his hands on his hips. “Now you are acting like a little kid.”

  “Just because you can’t admit that you’re upset Pandini picked me and not you—”

  “I didn’t come over here to argue about this, Rick. Believe whatever you want to believe. But I’m just looking out for you. Take my advice: watch your back with Pandini. It seems to me he’s willing to do whatever it takes to win this election. It’s all he cares about.”

  Zengo blinked. Wasn’t O’Malley the one who was always telling Zengo not to jump to conclusions about Pandini?

  “I’m just telling you to be careful, is all,” O’Malley finished.

  “I can handle myself,” said Zengo. “Plazinski thinks so. It’s high time you did as well.”

  “Fair enough.” He dropped his tie and stepped back. “In that case, here’s the deal. You’re going to be at a lot of rallies, a lot of inner-circle events. You’ll be with Pandini every time he’s out in public. We’ll need you to keep an eye on every person who seems even a tiny bit suspicious.”

  “I’m a detective, O’Malley,” said Zengo, grabbing the last couple of files he needed from his drawer. “That’s what I do. Rule number one: pay close attention to the world around you. Remember?”

  He tucked his badge into his inner pocket. O’Malley opened his bill to say more but then closed it as Cooper approached with a mile-high stack of papers.

  “I’ve run a background check on Pandini’s campaign manager, Irving Myers,” she said in her brisk, businesslike voice. “I think we should start our search by investigating the election team, to see if anyone isn’t who they say they are. This guy Irving, he’s run some very successful campaigns, but no one wins in this game without breaking a few rules. He may have a hidden agenda. And that might be the
case for others on the team as well. We need to know everything we can before we go sniffing around his business.”

  She handed O’Malley half the stack. Maybe O’Malley finally got the partner he always wanted, thought Zengo. Looks like Cooper is even more methodical than he is.

  Zengo threw on his sunglasses and walked out of headquarters without looking back.

  BAMBOO, 10:25 A.M.

  Zengo brought his car to a stop in Bamboo’s empty parking lot. Pandini’s popular club didn’t open for lunch for another hour. He walked across the pavement, pushed open the club’s doors, and was greeted with a handshake by Pandini’s bodyguard, Bobby. It was quite the contrast to Zengo’s first visit to Bamboo. Bobby had almost thrown him out before he’d even been in here a minute. Things were a lot different than they were back on his first case. He was a lot different. He removed his sunglasses.

  “Thank you for coming, Detective, we’ve been expecting you,” Bobby said. He motioned over to the bar, where the bartender was changing out the root beer kegs and testing the taps. “Carpy, please show Detective Zengo some hospitality with one of our award-winning root beer floats.”

  “No need,” said Zengo. “You’ll have plenty of paying customers to serve soon.”

  “Nonsense,” chuckled the koala, who barely reached the bar top. “You’re part of the family now. Families take care of one another.” He plopped a scoop of vanilla into a freshly poured root beer and slid it down the bar, where Bobby caught it and handed it to the detective.

  Zengo didn’t like being called “family” by these characters, but man, that bubbling vanilla smelled delicious. Plus, it would be rude to turn down such a generous gesture.

  “Thank you,” said Zengo as he took a big foamy sip. Bobby raised an eyebrow and handed him a napkin. “Oh, right,” said Zengo, a little embarrassed as he wiped his bill.

  “Come on. Mr. Pandini is waiting for you.”

  Bobby led Zengo to a panel in the wall that opened, revealing a dark stairway that wound its way upward. Zengo had never noticed this door before. He followed Bobby up to Pandini’s second-floor office.

  It was an impressive space. Frank Pandini Jr. spared no expense. One entire wall was a huge one-way window—it looked just like a wall from down in the club, but from up here someone could watch everything happening on the floor. There were video screens and computers all around the room, lots of comfy couches, and even his own root beer bar. He could probably run his entire empire from this room—and in style, too.

  The candidate sat behind a huge mahogany desk. He was deep in discussion with Irving Myers, who sat on one of the sleek chairs across from him. “Ah, Detective Zengo,” he said, glancing up. “I’ll be with you in just a moment.”

  Pandini’s walls were adorned with photos of the mogul with Kalamazoo City’s most famous and upstanding citizens. Each black-and-white photo was crisply matted and framed. It looked like an art gallery. This was a collection of all the most powerful people in town. There was even a photo of Pandini with his opponent in the mayoral race, Patrick McGovern, presumably taken during less competitive times.

  “Your poll numbers have transformed overnight,” said Myers, indicating a row of numbers on a chart he was showing Pandini. “In an instant poll taken by Channel Five Action News following the incident, your favorables shot up to eighty-eight percent. This is exactly the shot in the arm the campaign needed!”

  Pandini exhaled heavily and lifted his arm that sat in a sling.

  “Apologies, Mr. Pandini,” Myers backtracked. “Poor choice of words.”

  “I won’t have us playing the victim in the press,” Pandini said. “If we’re going to win, we’re going to do it on the back of the campaign platform that you and I crafted—making this city the best it can be. I want you out there talking to reporters, turning their attention back to the issues that matter. I’ll be out of this sling in a couple of days, and I don’t want to be taking any more questions about the attack.”

  “Mr. Pandini, if I may.” Myers adjusted his glasses. “This isn’t my first rodeo. Opportunities like this don’t come around very often, and—”

  “You heard me, Irving. Three days to quash this story, and I don’t want to hear another word about it. Hopefully by then the assailant will have been apprehended, and we can forget this entire thing ever happened. Speaking of which—it’s lovely to see you, Detective Zengo.” Pandini flashed his signature smile. “Mr. Myers, if you don’t mind, I’d like to speak to my new head of security.”

  “Of course.” Myers gathered up his papers. “Remember, we’ve got the rally tonight at Kalamazoo City University.” He made his way to the stairs. Bobby followed him out, leaving Zengo and Pandini alone together.

  Pandini gestured to the other seat in front of the desk, and Zengo sat down, careful not to spill his root beer float. The last thing he needed to do his first day on the job was ruin one of Pandini’s expensive chairs.

  “Detective Zengo, I can’t thank you enough for coming here, and for your willingness to help with my security detail.”

  “Please, Mr. Pandini,” Zengo found himself saying, “call me Rick.” If he was going to get close enough to Pandini to find out what was going on, the best way was to keep things friendly.

  Pandini smiled. “All right, then. Rick, I’ll be straight with you. My security guys are good, but I fear even they aren’t prepared for what I think might be out there.” Pandini lifted his left arm again. “Despite what I just said to Mr. Myers, I fear this attacker wasn’t working alone. I believe there is someone behind this, and that he or she will try again. I need someone who can not only protect me, but also help put an end to these attacks once and for all.”

  Zengo nodded. “I understand. But . . . why me?”

  Pandini leaned in. “You love this city, Detective. I’ve known that from the moment I first met you, right down there next to the bar. And when you didn’t hesitate to chase a criminal through the crowded dance floor below us, I knew you’d stop at nothing to make sure this city is safe. Now, I love this city as well, and I too have worked tirelessly to turn it into one of the most enviable and respected cities in the whole country. But you and I both know—we can do better. This city can be better. Better schools for our children. Better care for our elderly. Better resources for those in need. Safer streets at all hours of the day, in all parts of the city. That’s why I am running for mayor—to make a difference. Not just for the rich, who—let’s face it—are the ones who have most benefited from my many businesses. But for everyone, rich and poor alike.”

  Pandini stared hard at Zengo, and Zengo tried to return his stare with equal intensity. It was not easy. Once again, Zengo was moved by what Pandini was saying. But was he being honest? Or was it just a very well-rehearsed campaign speech?

  “I know what you see when you look at me,” said Pandini. “And I can’t say that I blame you.”

  Zengo didn’t know what to say. “I’m not exactly sure what you mean. . . .”

  “When you look at me, you think about your grandfather,” Pandini continued. “My father brought much pain and grief to you and your family. Just as he did to this city.”

  Pandini paused and his eyes lost focus, looking off past Zengo, who was frozen to the spot. Pandini’s father had committed many crimes as Kalamazoo City’s most notorious crime boss, including killing Zengo’s grandfather. The detective began to sweat, and gripped the leather arms of the chair tighter.

  “My father brought shame to this city,” Pandini said finally. “It’s been my life’s mission to reverse the damage that he did. And it’s been an uphill battle. But nothing could prepare me for this campaign. In business, it doesn’t matter what anyone thinks of you—all they care about is whether your restaurant is the best, or your gym, or your nightclub, or your ballpark. But running for mayor . . . this is different. What people think of you matters just as much as what you do. And no matter what I do, it’s almost impossible to change what people think of me, of
my name. None of them know the real me, they know only my image, my family, my past. It hasn’t been easy, convincing them who I really am. That I’m ready for this. That I can lead this city. Can you understand that, Detective?”

  Zengo certainly knew what it was like to be judged by someone in your family who came before you. He thought about his grandfather, and the hopes his parents had for the police lieutenant Zengo might become. And he thought about O’Malley, who kept calling him “rookie,” even after everything Zengo had done, all the cases he’d solved, all the criminals who would still be on the street if it wasn’t for him.

  Zengo had never trusted Pandini. He’d never get over what Pandini’s father had done. And he still wasn’t sure that the selfless little speech Pandini had just given about making Kalamazoo a better place for every citizen, rich or poor, was genuine. But right now, Zengo couldn’t help but feel like Pandini might be the only one who really knew how he felt.

  Finally, Zengo said, “I can understand that, Mr. Pandini.”

  “If we’re going to work together,” said Pandini, smiling, “I must insist you call me Frank.”

  Despite everything, Zengo smiled too.

  The office door swung open and Bobby entered with a plateful of fresh, steaming fish. He lumbered across the room and placed the tray before Zengo.

  “Caught by Kalamazoo City’s own fishermen,” Pandini said proudly. “The best KC bass money can buy.”

  Pandini might care about the less fortunate, thought Zengo, but he sure doesn’t eat like them. Was all that talk about the poor just baloney? Zengo supposed it didn’t matter. He was at Pandini’s side to protect him, not to fall for his campaign promises. And certainly not to indulge in all this extravagance.

  Still . . . Zengo loved fresh bass. The smell of the fish just below his bill made his mouth water. This assignment doesn’t have to be all work, Zengo thought. He picked up his fork and dug in.