Flea Flicker

by David Chill

  ”I was a hotshot.”

  “Uh-huh. Well, I still got a couple of years to go before retirement, so I’m not rocking the boat. I’ll do what the Captain says. I need to keep my job, so yeah, I’ll keep swimming in this cesspool some people call a city. Then I’ll move up to Nevada. Far away from all of this crap.”

  “I’m sure Nevada will be thrilled to hear that,” I observed.

  Brown glowered at me. “I heard you had a smart mouth. But it’s funny how you show up in the oddest places. Like driving Tyler Briggs home. Or like getting Saavedra to have you kicked after you beat up a motorist. Yeah, I wondered what you were doing in the captain’s office. Yucking it up. Sounds like you and him go way back.”

  “We do. Helps to have friends. You should try it sometime.”

  “Look, Burnside,” he said, “I got a job to do. I just can’t figure out your role here.”

  “I was hired by the coach’s wife to find him. I found him. Now she’s hired me to find out who killed Glasscock. Because she doesn’t believe her husband did it. My role here is to do some detective work. Someone needs to.”

  Orlando Brown glared at me. “You think we aren’t doing our job?”

  “I think you could do it better.”

  “You smartass SOB,” he growled. “If you weren’t buddy-buddy with Saavedra, I’d make you pay for that.”

  “Whew. Lucky for me.”

  “That’s right. And I do things by the book. We have rules to follow. This is why we have a police force,” he said, his eyes narrowing. “We don’t need private cops running around, messing things up.”

  “The free market says otherwise. Look, I’d prefer to work with you and not against you. But I’m not here to punch a clock and collect a salary and let things play out the way they will. I’m getting paid to find out what happened. If I’m certain Briggs did it, I’ll walk away and tell my client that. And the captain. But until then, I’m here.”

  “Yeah, you’re here. Like a bad cough that won’t go away.”

  “That’s a little rude,” I said.

  “I hurt your feelings? You must be from around here.”

  “I am. You mean you’re not?”

  “Louisiana. Came out here when I was ten.”

  “Why don’t you move back?”

  He peered at me, not sure how to take that remark. He finally let it slide. “I deal with enough crazy assholes in L.A. I don’t need to be adding racist crackers to that equation. At least here I got a badge, so I get some respect.”

  “Uh-huh,” I said, getting another sordid reminder of why some people became cops. Without the badge and the gun and the uniform and the backup, Orlando Brown would just be another ordinary guy.

  The detective looked past me and didn’t respond. I turned to see what he was looking at, and didn’t see anything of interest. I thought back to what I had learned decades ago, that there once was a time when local police forces were not just corrupt, they were underfunded and private detectives were needed. The police couldn’t be trusted to do their jobs, and the ones who were honest were often overwhelmed with the caseload. That changed after World War II, when modern police departments were seen as necessary, and resources were allotted to build them. Much of the corruption was weeded out, and the need to seek out private detectives eased. But now that we’d moved into the 21st Century, and people would rather pay less in taxes, police departments had fewer resources, the work started to become overwhelming again, and they had to pick and choose what cases they focused on. Things had come full circle. And with detectives like Orlando Brown, it was no wonder Juan had not objected to my staying on this, notwithstanding the political schemes my old friend was hatching to get himself promoted.

  “So, Detective,” I said, “can you tell me about this eyewitness? I’ve got some doubts about the physical evidence, but this is an element I’m not aware of.”

  “You want a name? Nice try.”

  “I know it was one of Glasscock’s staffers that saw him.”

  “Oh yeah?” Detective Brown responded with a scowl, “Then you know what they saw. A man they later identified as Tyler Briggs entering the Glasscock office after most people had left. They didn’t see either one come out.”

  “Didn’t this eyewitness think that was strange?” I asked.

  “The eyewitness didn’t think anything of it at the time. But you’re right. It was a staffer. That means they’re a city employee. Strange? It was 5:00 pm on Friday. They went home.”

  Chapter 9

  The next morning reverted to being dour and dreary, and a fresh layer of fog descended over the region. In most parts of the country, ice and snow were the chilly reminders that Christmas was coming; in L.A., it was fog. I made a mental note to stop at Toys R Us to pick up a few things for Marcus. We had ordered most of his presents online, and while I was still trying to find affordable Rose Bowl tickets, it did not appear likely to happen.

  I waited until the morning rush hour had subsided, which these days often meant around 10:30 am, and drove to Koreatown. What had once started out as a small ethnic enclave near Olympic and Vermont many decades ago, had mushroomed into a vast community with its very own name. It was far bigger than L.A.’s Chinatown, but less of a tourist Mecca. I drove up Normandie, and noticed the usual storefronts with Korean names, the restaurants, dry cleaners, and liquor stores, but now they included accounting firms, law offices, immigration services and medical centers.

  The Korean community in L.A. was thriving in a way that other groups were not. It was a community that made a point of helping immigrants assimilate. Businesspeople loaned money to newcomers to open shops, with the pointed understanding that when they became successful, they would pay it forward and do the same for others coming here. It was an effective strategy, although being of Korean heritage was a requirement. Outsiders were not given the same treatment, and the response to any criticism was simply a shrug. L.A.’s Koreans did what other ethnic groups boasted of but did not always back up with action. They took care of their own.

  Arthur Woo was someone I had known for a few years, and someone whose family had done extraordinarily well in America in a very short time. His brother Justin had been elected governor a few years ago, and Arthur had offered me a job handling security for him. That I had initially been hired by Justin’s opponent, Rex Palmer, was of little concern; they knew what I could do and they respected it. I also knew the family was not very forthcoming, and I would have had problems working for them. Realistically, the only opportunity that could have persuaded me to give up running my own business was a coaching slot with USC. And when I left coaching after three years, I had received another call from Arthur offering me a new job overseeing security, this time for him. Arthur had been running for a city council seat of his own last year, to represent Koreatown, and it did not surprise me that he had won, only that he did not win in a landslide. I considered his offer for roughly two seconds. Arthur was an extremely bright guy, but he would have made a terrible boss.

  I parked on Vermont, just north of Wilshire, and walked into Arthur Woo’s building. Like Colin Glasscock, Arthur maintained an office in his district, as well as at City Hall. Unlike the Glasscock office this week, Arthur’s was humming with activity, vibrant and loud, with serious-looking people moving quickly up and down the hallways. All were Korean.

  I entered the reception area, and a young, thin, pretty woman with wire-rimmed glasses looked up at me. She said hello crisply and waited for me to speak.

  “I have an appointment with Mr. Woo.”

  “Ah, you must be Mr. Burnside,” she said, rising from her desk and motioning for me to follow her. We walked into a modest office, and she gestured for me to wait until the city councilman was finished speaking into his phone. Arthur Woo talked rapidly, shooting off specific instructions, not waiting for the person on the other end to respond. He ended the call with a quick thank you.

  “Mr. Woo, I believe you know Mr. Burnside,” she said.


  Arthur Woo stood up and smiled as he shook my hand. It was a politician’s smile, one that revealed perfect teeth, an agreeable demeanor, and little more. I knew that smile. It could turn into a blistering frown in a moment’s notice. His assistant quietly exited the office and closed the door behind her.

  “Mr. Burnside. We meet again.”

  “Under circumstances I would not have imagined. City councilman. Quite a shrewd move. But I guess when your brother’s the governor, you don’t have a problem with name recognition.”

  “No,” he said. “But I do carry my brother’s baggage. When the state budget talks deadlocked last year, it affected my campaign. We powered through it and I won, but it was closer than it should have been.”

  I nodded. “I assume you like your new job.”

  “It’s fine for now,” he said without a hint of any more smiling.

  “Oh?” I asked. “Planning bigger and better things?”

  “Politics is the family business, Mr. Burnside. We always look at the next rung on the ladder.”

  I gave a low whistle. “You’re running for Mayor Gonsalves’s job.”

  “He’s termed out next year. Someone has to be the next mayor. Why not the best?”

  “And your brother? He’ll be termed out in a few years, too. What happened to your plans for a presidential run for Justin?”

  Arthur looked up at the ceiling. “Outside of California there is an anti-immigrant sentiment. We are the victims of prejudice, and the time is not ripe for an amendment to allow him to run. But no matter. Justin will be fine. And I’ll be waiting in the wings when he steps down after his second term.”

  I smiled. Arthur Woo never lacked confidence or bravado. He was an Ivy Leaguer, an elitist who made no bones about the fact that he was smarter than most people. That his brother was the governor only meant Arthur likely felt the annoying burden of being born five years afterward. I had learned long ago that it was far better to be on the side of people like the Woos than to be in their path. Not much was going to stop them; an oval office bid only would be derailed by a small matter called the United States Constitution.

  “Well, in the meanwhile, how are you enjoying your role as a city councilman?”

  “It’s a joyous honor,” he replied, no hint of joy evident on his placid face, only the suspicion that the mental clock in his brain had begun ticking. “And what brings you here today, Mr. Burnside? Have you reconsidered my offer to handle security?”

  “Sorry, no.”

  “Too bad. I could use someone now. Call me in a year, though. The mayor’s office will need a larger detail. Bigger job, bigger paycheck.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” I said dryly. “But I’m here to talk with you about one of your colleagues. Colin Glasscock.”

  Arthur Woo looked at me. “Terrible thing,” he said. “Colin was a fine man. A pillar of the community.”

  “Not among the community I’ve talked with. There seem to be more than a few people who were livid at his actions. Adding bike paths, taking away traffic lanes, approving housing development in dense urban neighborhoods. He was no longer that popular.”

  “And your interest here is what, Mr. Burnside?”

  “I’ve been hired to look into the homicide charges. The suspect’s wife is convinced her husband didn’t do it.”

  “Ah,” he said. “The lovely Hannah Briggs.”

  “You know her?” I asked, eyebrows raised.

  “L.A. is a small place, Mr. Burnside. At least in the circles I travel in. Yes, she works in the City Attorney’s office. I hear she’s competent, nothing more. Quite a beautiful woman, though. Very desirable. More than a few gentlemen have expressed interest in her.”

  “Oh?” I said stupidly, a casual trick that sometimes kept the conversation flowing. But the downside with Arthur Woo was that he was a man who told you only things he wanted you to hear.

  “A bit of gossip for you,” he said. “Of course, I wouldn’t know if she took them up on those offers. My sources only go so far. Women who look like that attract many types of men. You of all people should know that.”

  “How so?” I asked, managing to string two words together instead of one.

  “Mr. Burnside, you needn’t worry. Your beautiful wife has had offers, too, but she’s been faithful. I know for a fact she’s turned them all down.”

  I felt my mouth open and close. I had come here for some information, and I was getting it. The trouble was, the information wasn’t necessarily what I had expected, hoped for, or had properly steeled myself against. I knew I had a beautiful wife, and beautiful women were sometimes propositioned by men at all levels. I just chose to not allow myself to go to those dark places, nor consider the possibilities. I trusted Gail unwaveringly. But like all men married to a beautiful wife, I saw the way other men looked at her, and unlike certain smug husbands who took pride in seeing others ogle at their spouses, I didn’t like it one bit.

  “That’s so good of you to share that with me, Arthur,” I managed. “But what does Hannah Briggs have to do with Colin Glasscock?”

  “Perhaps nothing. But Mr. Glasscock was known to have bedded a number of women outside of his marriage. And I heard he was very particular about them. He liked bright, attractive engaging women.”

  “Don’t we all.”

  Arthur smiled slightly. “Glasscock was said to be having affairs with a few women who worked in city government. One might have been in the mayor’s office, one possibly in the city attorney’s office. I believe one even worked for the LAPD. There may be more, I’m just giving you the topline on the gossip.”

  “I don’t suppose you have any names, do you Arthur?”

  “No, sadly, that I do not. The only commonality they seemed to have was being blonde, so I suppose that rules out your wife. But the rumor around City Hall was that Glasscock had it coming to him. You can only play with fire so long before it finally burns you.”

  “I see. And have you shared this with the police?”

  “They haven’t asked me, but if they did I imagine I might. It’s of no use to me now.”

  I took a breath and remembered where I was, in the office of a shrewd politician who had been saving these insidious morsels of gossip, in the event Arthur ever ran against Colin Glasscock in a citywide election. That Glasscock was dead meant the value of the information had diminished to the point where he could hand it out freely. Its currency had died along with the councilman.

  “So, you think Tyler Briggs may have indeed committed this murder.”

  Arthur Woo nodded vigorously. “It all fits together. From what I’ve been told anyway, by someone at Parker Center who’s seen the evidence. This has all the earmarks of a hot-blooded act. I’ve sometimes heard it referred to as an honor killing. A cuckolded man takes a violent action to defend what’s left of his dignity, of which, I understand, Mr. Briggs had very little.”

  “You don’t think this was politically motivated.”

  Arthur Woo shrugged. “You can’t rule it out. But there isn’t much for anyone to gain politically. Oh, I’ve heard a few local activists are going to run for his seat in November, but its moot now. They’ll lose. The appointment of his successor will be made shortly.”

  “Who’s replacing Glasscock?” I asked. “That is, if you can speak freely on this subject.”

  Arthur Woo smiled. “Promise you won’t tell the media, but the deputy mayor will be taking Glasscock’s council seat. Neil Handler. Professional bureaucrat. He’ll be acceptable, won’t rock the boat.”

  “Good to be the mayor’s friend,” I said.

  “Actually the president of the city council makes the selection, but no matter. City Hall is a chummy bunch.”

  “And you’re happy that Handler won’t be a candidate for mayor next November.”

  “I’m not worried in the slightest about Neil Handler. He can handle some local businessmen running in his district. I believe that’s your district, too, if you still live in Mar Vista
. It’s a win-win appointment. Everyone’s comfortable with Neil.”

  I looked at Arthur Woo and marveled at the brimming self-confidence. I knew it wasn’t just bravado; he truly believed in himself and his intellect. I wondered where that came from, and guessed, with his brother an even more successful politician, it all started in the home. Parents who provided direction, structure and goals. We did that for Marcus, but I sensed he would never turn out like Arthur Woo. Marcus was headstrong and had ambition, but he also had two parents who loved him dearly. I wasn’t that sure Arthur Woo had been so blessed.

  “Well,” I said, rising from my seat, “I thank you for the tidbits. You’ve given me a lot to chew on. And it’s also very good to know my wife’s been faithful.”

  “You’re a lucky man, Mr. Burnside. To have a wife who’s both smart and alluring and has a pleasant personality as well. I’ve met her at a few functions and have always come away impressed.”

  “And you’re wondering what she’s doing with me,” I joked.

  “I would never say anything like that,” he said through a smile. I took pains to not add that he was thinking it.

  “I’m indeed fortunate,” I said.

  “Yes. But everyone has a fatal flaw, we’re all humans. Your wife is lovely, but she’s not perfect. None of us are.”

  “What are you implying, Mr. Councilman?” I peered at him.

  “Nothing, of course. Just that she’s ambitious. And ambition comes with tradeoffs. I’ve made mine. I don’t see my family much, and far too many people know me. Some don’t like me. But it’s the price one pays for public service. Just so you’ll know, Mr. Burnside. In the event your wife chooses to enter politics. Frankly, I think she’d be quite good at it. But like I say. There are tradeoffs, and ambition can rupture a marriage. Your wife has a fatal flaw. And I suspect you do, too. I just haven’t quite figured out what that is yet.”

  *

  I left Arthur Woo’s office knowing more but understanding less. Nothing he said was shocking, but his remarks were food for thought. And as much as I tried to focus on Tyler Briggs, his marriage and his peculiarities, I found my mind scurrying back to review my own. And I wasn’t liking it very much.