The Golden Boy Returns (The New Pioneers Book 5)

by Deborah Nam-Krane

  "Yeah, neither did I," he muttered.

  "It wasn't anyone in this office," Michael said. "But no one keeps a secret in this town."

  "Were you one of David's donors?" she asked.

  "Yes," Michael answered pleasantly. "And I see the other rumor about you being on his staff is also true."

  She turned sharply to look at Vijay. He put up his hands. "I haven't moved from my desk since you called!" By the way he looked at Michael, she could tell that they didn't regularly chat either.

  Kasi shrugged. "Yes I am, Mr. Abbot. And how much of a donation can we count on you for this time?"

  "I'll be happy to send the check for the maximum—as soon as I’m sure he knows exactly what he's getting into."

  ~~~

  Kasi and Vijay went to the shawarma shop a few doors down from his office. "Is he always that much fun?" Kasi asked after they put in their order.

  Vijay shuddered. "Between him and Emily…Jordan, Carlos and I all look for excuses to lock ourselves in the lab. I'm just glad Emily had an off-site meeting today, or that could have gotten bad."

  "Emily doesn't seem that bad," Kasi said as they took their food to a table. "She looks like someone who knows how to gets things done."

  "She's okay until she gets upset that everyone isn't as much of a workaholic as she is, and by the way she is pissed that Hwang's not running against Castillon for Congress."

  Kasi sighed. "I'm not happy either, but she has something he doesn't: an in with Washington people. Whoever runs has to hit the ground running all over the district, and he can't get up to speed as quickly as she can."

  "So why are you so confident he can take City Hall?" Vijay asked before he took a bite of his food.

  "Because it takes a lot to get knocked down and then stand back up,” she mused.

  “I don’t think I’ve seen you this into...something in a long time.”

  She retorted by throwing her napkin at him.

  ~~~

  Kasi was on her way to the South End address when her phone buzzed.

  Congratulations. Remember who’s been good to you.

  She deleted the message before she crossed the street, but needed to walk around for a few minutes before she stopped shaking.

  Kasi was calm by the time she arrived at the address. David was standing in the room, alone. He grinned when he saw her. "Welcome aboard!"

  Was am I still shaking? "Good to be here. And I have a message for you: Michael Abbot will make a donation as soon as he thinks you know what you’re doing. Oh, and he’s really weird."

  David laughed knowingly. "Weird, condescending donors; my favorite!" Kasi chuckled too, right before Charlie walked in.

  "What's so funny?"

  Kasi and David tried to stifle their laughter. "Weird donors," Kasi managed with a straight face.

  "God bless them!" Charlie said, then laughed too.

  "Is that who you've set me up to meet tonight?" David asked.

  "I don't think anyone has ever referred to Lucy Bartolome as 'weird'."

  ~~~

  Watching David and Lucy reconnect was odd. She had a (well-earned) reputation for being cold and businesslike, but she was what could only be described as affectionate with David. They were clearly mentor and apprentice, but they appeared to be more like parent and child. Kasi didn't need to be told that her relationship with Richard was very different.

  "Why is this time going to be better?" Lucy asked.

  "Is that a Socratic question?" David replied.

  "That depends on you," Lucy answered.

  "For one thing, Cervino isn't running again."

  "So I've heard," Lucy said knowingly.

  "And my goals aren't as far-fetched as they seemed four years ago."

  "But they're still going to call you a technocrat," Lucy cautioned.

  David shrugged. "Then I'm going to go with it—and shake as many hands as possible at every public event I can get to."

  "The likable technocrat," Lucy said with a slight smile.

  Kasi bit the inside of her lip. David's ideas were more acceptable than they had been—in other areas of the country. Bostonians did not like feeling that it was keeping up with something that someone else had done; they liked to feel that they were the first. Another mistake he made the last time, she thought.

  "Firsts in Boston," Charlie muttered the next day at lunch when she brought it up. They had secured a small office in the South End that would be big enough for five more staff members plus campaign materials. Nothing was going to be announced until David had tied up his loose ends in New York, but there was plenty of groundwork to be done before that. "One of Boston's first public relations scores."

  Kasi shrugged. "It's not a bad thing as long as we don't use it as an excuse not to take other people's good ideas."

  "Other people's good ideas," Charlie repeated. "Uh huh. Ever go to King’s Chapel Burial Ground?"

  "The one on School and Tremont? I've walked by it, but I've never gone into it. Because it’s a burial ground."

  "You should. The week of the Fourth of July they give historical tours. Ever see that big black cylinder that's sticking up near the gate?"

  "Yeah, but I don't know what it's for."

  "Neither do most people," Charlie said. "A tour guide dressed as a Patriot asked us to make some guesses. Most of us thought it was storage for something used at the cemetery or church. We were wrong. Want to know what it's really for?"

  Kasi leaned back. "I'm dying of anticipation," she said drily.

  "Train lines," he said simply.

  Kasi sat up. "They put circuits in there?"

  He shook his head. "The first train system to run in the country runs right underneath the cemetery. One thing you don't hear is that New York City was right behind us with an underground system. Thisclose, in fact. They were probably going to beat us, so Boston rushed the schedule. The only problem was that they wouldn't have time for proper ventilation. Then someone realized that they could get away with, literally, a hole in the ground. And they had the perfect spot."

  Kasi looked from side to side. "In the cemetery?"

  "In the cemetery. Just one problem: there were graves in that perfect spot."

  Kasi waited a moment. "So how did they get around it?"

  Charlie opened his hands. "They moved the bodies—in the middle of the night."

  Kasi's eyes widened. "They put them into different graves?"

  "They put them all into one mass grave," Charlie said simply.

  Kasi's jaw dropped. "And the families were okay with that?"

  "Not much they could do after the fact."

  "The city of Boston didn't tell them what they were doing?!"

  "Why would they? Who would agree to that unless they despised their ancestors?"

  "That's horrible!" she exclaimed.

  "And that, Kasi, is how important 'First in the Country' is to Boston." He leaned forward. "How far do we want to go to indulge that?"

  Kasi scoffed a second later. "At least we're not as bad about public schools as the state of Massachusetts. To my knowledge, we didn't force kids to school at gunpoint."

  Charlie winced. "Oh, no! We are not talking about the schools right now. We're going to do enough of that when we're on the trail, and hopefully I'm going to be a little bit drunk when that happens."

  "I have to be sober for the both of us? What do I get then?"

  He looked up. "Protection from Paloma."

  Kasi nodded in agreement. "Fair enough."

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  When David Hwang ran for City Council, his record of innovation as a community organizer had been embraced by Boston voters all over the city. People were genuinely excited by this young man who had both good ideas and experience implementing them.

  Given that, it perplexed Charlie that David had been so camera-shy during his first race. "You are running for city-wide office," he said at one point. "Sit down with the press!"

  "They don't want to inter
view me," David replied. "They want to find a 'gotcha' moment they can write up so they look like they're doing their job."

  "But we don't have any gotchas," Charlie said in exasperation. "Your positions are well-thought out and they make sense. Show them that."

  "My positions don't give good sound bites," David said impatiently. "You've got to follow me for a paragraph or two. You take one sentence out of context—or put them together in the wrong order—and people are going to think I'm trying to make the city into San Francisco or London and turn everyone into smart robots."

  Charlie was bewildered. He hadn't been able to keep Chauncy away from a microphone or camera, even if he knew he had nothing to say; David acted like he was allergic to publicity, and he sounded good. "I have to put you in front of the press. You're not going to get elected if you don't speak to them."

  David nodded after a moment. "Here's a deal: we make it to the primary, I'll sit down with the Globe, the Herald and Boston Magazine. Hell, I'll sit down with the Metro. But until then, no official press interviews."

  Charlie stared at him. "How the Hell are you going to make it to the primary if you don't speak to the press?"

  "By speaking to the voters," David said simply.

  In a city like Boston, there is always something to do and somewhere to go. Of course, not everyone gets an invite, and some people are more welcome than others, but no one should be bored in Boston or complain that they can't meet anyone. David made the same calculation that Cervino had: show up to all of them so that people remember you when the time comes.

  David, of course, had to work a little harder; there was a substantive difference between remembering someone's face and knowing that they remembered you. He introduced himself at each event, told people that he was running for City Council and shook hands. Within a few weeks he found himself surrounded by people who wanted to tell him their ideas and complaints.

  A savvy, seasoned politician would have formulated promises; instead David set up a hotline in his office and a companion website to help people figure out who to contact if the issue could be fixed before the election. His office, and sometimes David personally, reached out to City Hall and current city councilors to see if requests could be accommodated.

  "This is not your job yet," Charlie advised at one point. "You don't want to piss off anyone at City Hall—on any of the floors—until you're elected."

  David frowned. "Charlie, we're not doing anything except connecting people to the right offices. If I don't get credit it doesn't matter. This is the right thing to do."

  "Not get the credit," Charlie repeated, then put his head in his hands. "So we're not even putting our results on our website?"

  "And say what?" David asked, irritated. "‘Mrs. Torpey's street in Dorchester now has a working sewer line. Mr. Johnson in the South End will not be getting his electricity cut off. The Sanchez family in JP finally got their bus stop changed. And Mr. Lee of Chinatown is finally getting inspectional services to come to his landlord's building.' We are not going to brag about alleviating a little bit of misery." Charlie grinned. "What?"

  "You remember everyone's name," he said. "It's something."

  A week later, David pulled Charlie over to him. "Isn't Shirley Davis in Chauncy's district?" He showed Charlie the address. "She's out of her mind about the playground down the street from her. Little kids don't go there anymore, it's filled with litter and at night she can hear adults drinking and yelling."

  "Willow Park," Charlie said automatically, and then nodded when he looked at the address. "Yes she is."

  "Can we reach out to Chauncy about this?"

  Charlie clenched his jaw. "You will be wasting your time, trust me. She isn't even the tenth person to complain about this playground, and that's just this year."

  David waited a moment. "So what did his office do about it?"

  "We referred it to City Hall," Charlie answered stonily.

  "There wasn't anything you guys could do?"

  "Chauncy isn't like you," Charlie answered. "He doesn't want to take on battles he might not win."

  "Battles?" David repeated. "How hard would it be to get the playground cleaned up and set some activities up there to encourage parents to bring their kids again? And ask the local police station to patrol that area more?"

  "Yeah right," Charlie said in disgust. "Chauncy is not going to do anything if you bring this to him."

  David thought for a moment. "What if we told him what to do?"

  Charlie nodded to the side. "Maybe, but he'd be reluctant to release his people when he's running for re-election."

  "Even if the voters saw them in action for something that directly affects them?" Charlie shrugged and frowned. David scoffed. "Okay, fine—then what if we gave him our people?"

  "What?"

  "It's a city-wide election," David said with a defiant smile. "It's in our purview."

  "But let me guess: you're not going to send our people wearing the Elect Hwang t-shirts?"

  "Let's not alienate Chauncy."

  "No one listens to Chauncy!"

  "And yet he still manages to get re-elected."

  "Welcome to Boston," Charlie said as David picked up the phone. "Who are you calling?"

  "Ernie. Let's get him to run point on this."

  "But he's not in that district!"

  "He's right next to it."

  Ernie came into the office that evening. He hugged David and shook Charlie's hand. "Tell me you are going to talk some sense into this guy," Charlie begged. "He thinks he can re-engineer everything in Boston before we even make it to the primary."

  Ernie waved his hand. "Charlie, I know a few people in our fair city, and this hotline and website are having the kind of impact you want it to have. People are paying attention."

  "But it would be really nice if some of them were donating too," Charlie snapped.

  "Give it time," David said. "We can afford the staff we have now through the primary, and if we make it through we'll be able to fundraise more aggressively. I don't want to tap the well dry before we have to."

  "You make me a deal: we do this thing in Chauncy's district, we send our people, we don't take any credit—but I use this when I talk to donors." David opened his mouth and Charlie put up his hand. "Discrete donors."

  "Don't be stubborn," Ernie said quickly.

  "Fine," David said reluctantly. "But if I see one word about this in the papers, you're collecting trash on Blue Hill Avenue for a month."

  "Lucy would be so proud," Ernie snarked.

  "Very funny," David said in exasperation. "Ernie, what do we need to make this playground safe for kids?"

  Charlie strongly advised that he not attend the meeting with Chauncy, and David agreed. Everyone knew he had left Chauncy for David; no need to rub it in his face.

  Chauncy spoke mournfully about the state of the playground and neighborhood for ten minutes, then spent the next twenty outlining all of the larger problems that would prevent him from getting anything done. David and Ernie listened patiently before Ernie laid out the plan they had. Chauncy’s face was blank until it was explained that David's office would take no credit for it. When Chauncy mentioned that he was short staffed "ever since my chief of staff left", David told him that he wasn't planning on publicizing his role in the project. Chauncy finally, reluctantly, agreed.

  "I need a shower," Ernie said as soon as they left. “That guy is smarm.”

  David looked straight ahead. "Just think about kids being able to play in a clean park that parents won't be afraid to send them to."

  "We'll clean up the park," Ernie said. "But how are we going to make sure it's not used late at night for drinking and drugging?"

  "We're going to pay them a little visit," David said.

  "We?"

  "Charlie and I."

  "Oh boy."

  Charlie and David got to the park at ten the next evening. They were dressed in dark clothing so as not to announce their presence too quickly. It ha
d occurred to David that this wasn't the brightest idea, but he needed Charlie to feel like he had some control over this. It also didn’t hurt that he had asked Ernie to line up some men he knew to drive around the block so he could call them if needed.

  Half an hour later, two young African American men, no older than twenty two, and one young white woman, showed up. They sat down on a park bench and almost immediately started arguing. One of the men pulled a paper bag, obviously filled with a bottle, out of his backpack. David moved to approach them, but Charlie held up his hand.

  "You were supposed to get the food!" one of the men screamed at the woman. "You have plenty of room in your backpack!"

  "The security guard started following me as soon as I walked into the store," she said loudly. "I'm not getting arrested for a bag of chips."

  "Then get out of here!" the second man said. "You're not getting anything here if you can't keep up your end."

  "Well, maybe there's something else I can do," she said pleadingly as she moved closer to the men. Charlie nodded and pointed.

  "What's up?" he shouted as he and David started walking over to them.

  "Oh, no!" the woman exclaimed, but the first man stood up before she could move.

  "What do you want?" he asked defiantly as he looked Charlie and David over. David could guess what he was thinking: Charlie was a little shorter, but he was in better shape. He’d start with David, because everyone thought he was scrawny. Good thing he didn't know about the boxing lessons.

  "I want to know what you think you're doing here," Charlie said as he walked closer to the group. "Can you not read the sign? This is a playground, only to be used by children under the age of thirteen, from dawn to dusk. In case you couldn't tell, it is after dusk, and you are most certainly over the age of thirteen."

  "That seems very unfair to the fourteen year olds," the second man piped up.

  "Shut up!" the woman wailed.

  "What's the matter with you?" the first man said. "These two aren't cops. They're just do-gooders who aren't smart enough to know when they should go home."

  "Why aren't you at home?" David asked.

  "I don't have a home," the woman said softly. "My mother kicked me out of her house two years ago."