Safety Valve (Burnside Series Book 4)

by David Chill

  "She's too cute to turn away," Gail said. "I don't fall in love easily, but she's hooked me."

  "You did the same for me," I smiled. Gail smiled back and we spent the rest of the evening cuddling in each other's arms.

  The next morning was Saturday and I slept soundly until 9:00 a.m. Gail was already off to the gym, and after reading the paper online, making breakfast and downing a pot of French roast, I was wondering what I'd do today. The weather was looking warm and sunny and a run by the beach was sounding better and better. Then the phone rang and I found out my new plans.

  "Hey it's Roper," the voice yelled. "Come on down."

  "What do you mean?"

  "I mean we're taking a field trip."

  "Where?"

  "Where? To the spring game, of course. Down at the Coliseum. I thought you were a Trojan. You're supposed to know about these things."

  "Would have helped to have had some notice."

  "Geez, I gotta do everything for you? I'm giving you limo service. You decent?"

  "Yeah, I'm dressed."

  "Then get down here. I'm double parked and there's a freaking cop down the street. Let's motor."

  Chapter 19

  USC's annual spring game at the Los Angeles Coliseum is not exactly a game, it is more of a glorified practice. The coaches are on the field, positioned about 20 yards behind the quarterback. They keep "score" using metrics that allow the defense to score points without actually crossing the goal line, a calculus that perhaps only fantasy football enthusiasts can truly appreciate. The scrimmage resembled something of an NFL pre-season game, where the returning starters get limited playing time to avoid injuries. Most of the ones playing in the spring game are younger guys and reserves, players who finally get their chance to demonstrate their abilities to the coaches. Almost as importantly, they actually get to play on the legendary Coliseum field.

  For some of the crowd however, the spring game was a social event, and this was especially so for Cliff Roper. Current and former players, rival agents, and even some coaches made the pilgrimage to our seats to schmooze, gather intel, pay respects, or jam a proverbial finger in Roper's eye. There's nothing like kicking a guy when he's down. Not that Cliff Roper ever believed he was ever down. The double murder charge was nothing more than a bug on his windshield. In terms of self-image, he presented himself as than nothing less than king of the sports agent world.

  "There he is!" boomed an overweight man with big hair, waddling up to shake hands with Cliff. "I figured you'd have busted out of the tank by now. Someone send you a cake with a gun in it?"

  "If they did, I'd wind up using it on you," Roper retorted.

  "Hey be careful with what you say," the man warned. "Lot of lawyers nearby. I told you not to keep that Glock lying around your office."

  "It was locked in a safe, numb nuts. The media didn't get that part right. Last time I touched it was six months ago. When we went over for target practice at the range."

  "I remember," the fat man smiled. "I thought half the club members were going to wind up in the ER."

  Roper elbowed me in the ribs. "Cullen, this is Burnside. Burnside, Cullen."

  We shook hands. "You working for him?" he asked me.

  "In a manner of speaking," I said, squinting my eyes to avoid the bright sun directly behind him.

  "Runner?"

  I started to laugh. I didn't think I looked the part. A runner was an agent's rep, a young guy, usually in his 20s, someone who ingratiated himself with players, smoothing the path for the agent to sign them.

  "Nope," I said. "More of a consultant."

  "Burnside's gonna find out who did this," Roper declared. "And they're gonna pay a mighty steep price. Then we'll hand them over to the authorities."

  That wasn't quite how I saw the way things would play out. But contradicting Roper on anything was pointless. There did not appear to be much of a filter between what he thought and what he said.

  The man walked away and I asked Roper who he was. "Just another agent," he said. "Been in the business too long. Thinks he can get away with just handing envelopes of cash to guys in college. The world is changing. You gotta connect with the players today, they need more hand holding. Most of them have been groomed to play pro sports since they came out of the womb. Their parents aren't parents, they're more like career managers. Kids need something more. That's part of my job now."

  "Pretty insightful," I acknowledged. "You know something about raising kids. And I'm very impressed with Honey. She's an amazing young woman."

  "Yeah, no thanks to her crazy mom. Shared custody is a bitch. When I had time with her, I made sure she had a good, grounded idea of what life was all about. The good and the bad. I spoke frankly with her. I think she appreciated it. And I think she listened."

  "Honey's terrific," I agreed. "She'll go far. Unlike some guys I've met lately."

  "Anyone in particular?"

  "Ted Wade is the one I'm thinking of."

  "Yeah, yeah, we talked about him the other day. Kid's a washout. Built like a Mack truck but he's got the backbone of a lollipop. Throw in a drug problem and you've got a Halloween bag full of trouble. Why the focus on Ted?"

  "What did you know about Ted and April?" I asked.

  "What did I know? What didn't I know. Look he's a sick kid. Hot or not, who goes and bones his aunt?"

  "Step aunt," I pointed out.

  "Same difference."

  "You don't think Ted could have had anything to do with Gil and April?"

  Roper smirked. "I think you're barking up the wrong tree. Maybe if it were an accident, or Ted happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time. Still ... nah. Kid wouldn't have pulled the trigger. He's a wacko and an ingrate, but no way he did this. Not after everything Gil did for him. Gil was the guy who treated him like his own son. Gil tried to teach him right from wrong. But he couldn't undo the mess his father made. Marv's an idiot. The kid's damaged goods. But a murderer? Nope. Not Ted."

  "Okay," I said, and as I was about to add something, a wide shadow formed over us. It was as if a cloud was passing overhead and a blanket of shade was thrown across the Coliseum. It was, in fact, just thrown over the two of us.

  "Well, look who's here," Roper crowed, glancing up with a sudden smile pasted onto his face. "You looking to come back into the fold, big fella?"

  Patrick Washington smiled and shook hands with us. "I just came by to pay my respects."

  "As well you should, my friend. It's a small world. I can help you make money in ways you never dreamed of."

  "I can just imagine, Mr. Roper," he said and turned to me. "How you doing, my man?"

  "Hanging in there."

  "Heard you really pack a punch," he smiled.

  "Word travels fast," I said, impressed.

  "What the hell?" Roper asked, looking bewildered.

  Patrick turned back to Roper. "Your boy here slapped around both Ted Wade and his dad last night. Both needed treatment from the paramedics."

  "Geez, you don't exactly toot your own horn, do you?" Roper exclaimed. "I'm paying you for info. That's big info. I want to know about that stuff."

  I shrugged. "Minor altercation. Ted started something, I finished it."

  "Yeah," Patrick laughed, "you also shut his dad up pretty good. Lots of people been wanting to put their fist down Marv's throat. But you're the one who did it."

  "Glad I could be of service," I managed. "I imagine you talked to Oscar."

  "Yeah. Old Oscar said he'd be here today, but I don't see him. You didn't take him out too, did you?"

  "Oscar's not in my league," I explained. "Some people you don't mess with."

  "Hey Patrick," Roper broke in, getting antsy about not being the center of attention. "What brings you down here today? You're not a Trojan."

  "No, but I got a cousin who's a redshirt freshman here. Devin Jackson. Looking at being second-string nose tackle this year. Probably be a starter soon. He's a beast, he'll do well. Wanted to support him. I'
m still an L.A. guy at heart, you know."

  "Yeah, yeah. So who's representing you now?"

  Patrick Washington smiled and pointed a few rows up in the stands. "Josh Lieberman. He used to be with you a few years ago. Broke off and started his own agency. We got a good rapport. I just signed with him."

  Roper looked at him warily. "Josh is a good kid," he said. "But if you want to make a grown man's income, you and I should talk."

  Patrick laughed. "I wanted a Jewish agent. Get me the best deal."

  "So why didn't you call me?" Roper asked, acting hurt.

  "You're Jewish?" Patrick peered at him.

  "Let's not quibble about details," Roper said, giving him a wink.

  Patrick laughed again and went back to his seat. Roper stared onto the field and watched the next play unfold and Patrick's cousin helped out on the tackle. "Devin Jackson. Got good bloodlines, but I don't see him making it," he said. "He has Patrick's size but not his athleticism. I don't see him starting. He's two years away from being two years away."

  Down on the field, the punter boomed a 60-yarder but he outkicked the coverage. The punt returner caught the ball, moved up the field and found a seam in the coverage. He cut back across the grain and then outran everyone on his way toward the end zone. The crowd came alive and began to cheer as he crossed the goal line.

  "Who's that?" I asked.

  "Andre Mazin. True freshman, just enrolled this spring. I watched him play high school ball down in Santa Ana last season. Kid's a natural. Best tailback I've seen in years. He'll be starting before the end of this season."

  "Tailback's one of the few positions a true freshman can come in and start making plays right away," I acknowledged. "With that position, it's all about talent. Speed and moves. If he can handle the faster pace of the college game, he doesn't need to learn that much. Unlike most other positions."

  Roper looked at me curiously. "I sometimes forget you used to play this game."

  "Yeah," I said, a little wistfully. "Me too."

  Over the years, I had tried to watch as many Trojan games as my free time allowed. But between LAPD shifts and the demands from running my own agency, my work often took me away from the game. I tried to attend at least one or two football games a year. Hopefully, Gail would take a shine to this culture and join me.

  "So you got anyone else you're looking at for this case?" Roper asked. "Ted Wade sounds like a dry well."

  "I'm still looking at Oscar Romeo. And Horne's assistant has a husband who may hold a grudge. But neither strikes me as the one. Just a hunch. I'm still scratching the surface here. There's more to this, I know there is. I just need to keep digging."

  "Dig faster," Roper commanded. "And oh yeah, one other thing I need to say. Honey's off limits to you."

  I looked at him. "She's a little young. And I'm a little engaged."

  "Yeah, yeah, don't give me that engaged stuff. Everyone who meets her wants to get into her pants. You've seen what she looks like. And she's not too young, you're too old. And you don't make enough money."

  "I'm glad you've laid out the requirements for her prospective mate. Have you told Honey about these?"

  "I'm telling you," he warned, pointing a finger at me. "You got a good thing there with that lawyer girlfriend, she's way hotter than someone at your pay level deserves. Stick with what you got and count your blessings."

  I sat back and took a deep breath. Cliff Roper's innate ability to quickly size up a situation was impressive. I assumed Honey told Cliff about our lunch and he snapped the pieces together. Just like I did in my job. But it's a lot harder to look at yourself in the mirror and put things into perspective. I know people often have bachelor parties and some have one last fling before tying the knot. But that didn't seem appealing to me. And whether or not Gail was above my pay grade was inconsequential. We were together because we filled the holes in each other's lives. I just needed to make sure I didn't create any new holes. Staying away from Honey Roper was not bad advice.

  Chapter 20

  Cliff dropped me back home in the late afternoon. Gail had learned about a fenced-in dog park near Santa Monica Airport, so the three of us piled into my Highlander to go check it out. Chewy had a blast running around and making some new friends. She seemed to take delight in teasing the other dogs into chasing her, and then using her speed and moves to outrun them. If she were a human, she'd be a natural tailback.

  The next day was Sunday, and we slept in. I got up and cruised the Internet for a little while until Gail began to get hungry. During a casual lunch at Izzy's, a local coffee shop, we went over some wedding plans. Or I should say, Gail went over them, and I agreed enthusiastically and complimented her on her excellent taste and keen sense of design. I think I listened to most of what she said, but I couldn't be sure. Then I told Gail I'd need to go off and do some work today.

  "You've got a 24-7 business," she remarked.

  "It's the nature of what I do. Feast or famine. I had a steady paycheck for years with the LAPD, but then I needed to move on to something else. So I picked a new job, and became the person who did it. Whatever my case is, I dive in fully. This is who I am now."

  "And I do love who you are," she said. "And I respect the fact that you care so much about your work, and that you feel it's important. I need to be with someone who has a passion for what they do."

  I sensed a "but" coming along, so I provided it for her. "But...?"

  "No buts, amigo. I do like spending time with you."

  "Good thing, because we're getting married soon. And at some point, we'll have more time together. So much so, that I may wind up getting underfoot."

  "And that's where some of my concern comes in," she said, eyeing me closely. "If you work every weekend, we'll be getting ourselves into patterns. I'll find other things to do, hobbies of my own, and when you become available, you may not want to share these with me. Or you may, but only because you'll feel obliged. And you might end up resenting it."

  I held up my hand. "I think we're getting ahead of ourselves here. Not every weekend is going to be like this. And I think I'm getting closer to cracking this case."

  "How so?"

  "Gilbert Horne was having affairs. Lots of them. So was his wife April. It's possible one of their playthings found out they weren't the one and only as it were, got mad and did something about it. But there's also some bystanders that may have gotten hurt. Meaning there's at least one woman who had her marriage wrecked over it. Maybe this couple would have broken up anyway. But it's possible one of these spouses could have gone off and taken some action on their own."

  "You also mentioned Horne had money problems. Are they related to what happened to him in the end?"

  "Maybe," I said. "This one's a little complicated because the Hornes' extra-marital indulgences spilled over into their business interests."

  "How does Roper's daughter fit into this?"

  I froze. "What do you mean?"

  "I mean," she said, her clear gray eyes staring straight at me, "why are you spending some of your valuable time with her?"

  "She's part of the case," I said, and this was partially true. And partially not. Honey Roper certainly gave me some insight into the Hornes. But I had gone out of my way to see her for a different, more personal reason, a reason I was still trying to untangle in my mind.

  Honey was my last fling, figuratively perhaps, a flirtation that I thought neither of us wanted to let get out of hand. Her father even more so. But there was something else. In an odd way, she reminded me of someone from my past, someone I kept trying to forget but really couldn't. Judy Atkin, the 17 year-old runaway who changed my life. But Honey wasn't Judy. Honey was a young adult and seemingly self-assured. But Honey did strike me as a little damaged inside. Her exterior brimmed with confidence, but maybe not so much within. I had met enough people in the entertainment industry to see the signs, and Honey had them. A part of me would always feel the need to reach out to someone who was wounded. Call it pate
rnal instinct. Or maybe just foolishness.

  "Do you like her?" Gail asked softly.

  I stared at her. "It's different. She's not you. You're my life, she's not. I can't fully explain it other than to say you have nothing to worry about. We have nothing to worry about."

  "That's good," she said quietly.

  "How did you come to bring up Honey Roper?" I asked. Gail wasn't the type to read my emails, and I doubted Honey would try to phone me at home.

  "Cliff Roper called me."

  "Cliff Roper called you?" my eyes widening, and starting to blaze. "Why?"

  "He wanted to know when you would be home yesterday. Said he needed to speak with you about Honey. He also said I had nothing to worry about, which suddenly made me start to worry. I guess he wants to look out for his daughter. Said he needed to have a conversation with you. Did he?"

  "He did," I replied. My first reaction was to go and throttle Cliff Roper for sticking his nose into my personal business and for saying anything at all to my fiancée. But as I thought it through, I began to understand his fatherly concern, as twisted and poorly executed as it might be. Cliff Roper looked at the world of women in the same way athletes did, that they were there to service men and that was the beginning and the end of it. Honey was different however, as daughters often are. Cliff's talking to Gail about this, however, was going beyond what I considered reasonable behavior.

  "So Cliff talked to you about her," she said. "And?"

  "And I assured him nothing was going on. And I'm assuring you the same thing. There's only one woman in the world that I want to be with. That's you."

  "Good," she said, her face starting to relax. "That's good. I want our marriage to work. And trust is imperative. You don't have to tell me everything you do. But I want to be able to trust your heart."

  "You can," I said, and then smiled and took her hand. "And I know it's especially important because we have another mouth to feed."