Swim Move

by David Chill

  “You played poker with Ed and a bunch of guys. Some ex-cops, some ex-football players. A few referees, too. Something else you probably didn’t know was that Ed had another side hustle going on. He was a shylock. He was lending money to the refs. When they couldn’t make their vig, he coerced them into shaving points on football games.”

  I watched Chief Bates carefully. The tactics Ed Zellis had employed came right out of organized crime’s handbook. It was a mob strategy. Once they got their meat hooks into someone, they would fleece them any way they could. In Ed’s case, I didn’t know why he went down this route; Ed didn’t seem to need the money. Maybe he needed people to fear him. That’s why some guys become cops. And why some guys then become ex-cops.

  “So, that’s what got him killed?” Chief Bates managed.

  “It led to a string of events, but yes. Ed began winning money when the teams he bet on won. The games the refs fixed. He told his granddaughter about it, and she told her boyfriend. Maybe someone else, a family acquaintance, and he didn’t meet a good ending, either. The granddaughter’s name is Amanda Zeal, you might have seen her on TV a few times. Near as I can tell, the secret didn’t get any farther. But then some conference officials began getting suspicious. The refs apparently called some penalties that were just patently absurd. So an investigation began.”

  “Did Ed get caught up in it?”

  “No, but the refs stopped helping. And then Ed started losing. But Amanda began losing in much larger chunks. She owed a lot of money to some bad people. They went after her, and they went hard. Attacked her in front of her apartment building. That’s where I came in. Ed’s son Phil hired me to look into what was going on with her.”

  “Go on.”

  “You probably heard about that homicide in Beverly Hills this week. Anthony Machado. He was caught up in it, placed some bad bets and ended up a victim. That’s when the granddaughter disappeared. Apparently she agreed to conspire with this gang to pretend she was kidnapped.”

  “Sounds like a lovely gal,” he muttered.

  “Yeah, I’ve seen better. They asked Amanda’s father for five hundred grand. He turned them down.”

  “I don’t know Ed’s son very well. Does Phil even have five hundred grand to spare?” Chief Bates asked.

  I rubbed my lower lip. “Yes. I’m sure he could find it if he wanted to. But Phil decided to call their bluff. Said no. Didn’t want to give in to blackmailers.”

  Chief Bates nodded. “That I get. But I take it he didn’t call in the FBI. Or anyone else in law enforcement. He was scared they would kill her if he did?”

  “That’s right. So after Phil said no, their next stop was Ed. He responded by falsely agreeing to pay the money, but instead tried to trick them into coming out into the open. At the drop, he left what was effectively an empty bag. When they took it, he followed them. At some point they had a face-to-face. That was yesterday. And this morning, Ed’s body was found. Can’t be certain if he was killed in his house, or somewhere else and the body was moved. My guess was at the house. Crooks aren’t big on making deliveries. If they wanted to dump a body they probably would have just tossed him behind a Burger King somewhere.”

  “And you found out where someone in this gang lived. I take it that was Compton.”

  “It was. Phil and I went over there today. Mostly to see if we could find Amanda. Which we did. Mind if I ask you a question?”

  Chief Bates threw up his hands. “Well, why not? I’m always happy to serve our P.I.s. Especially the ones involved in murder and mayhem.”

  “How did the sheriff’s department know I was in Compton? I know all about license plate readers, but they’re not on every intersection. And you normally don’t get the results this fast.”

  “The incident was called in by one of the neighbors. They saw an altercation between some kids and a couple of old men.”

  “Old men?” I said, raising my eyebrows.

  “They said the old men were beating up some kids. Then one of the kids pulled a gun and that stopped the fracas.”

  I processed this and wondered why the nosy neighbor didn’t bother to call the cops right away, not because of a public brawl, but because two people were taken away at gunpoint. Instead they waited until we burst out of the house and roared off, a hail of bullets following us in our tracks. And the neighbor wrote down my license plate, somehow thinking Phil and I were at fault.

  “The fracas stopped,” I told him, “because we had a gun drawn on us. And then we managed to escape. So one of the good citizens of Compton calls the sheriff and reports me for getting shot at. Am I missing something here?”

  “Look, I don’t begin to put myself in the shoes of the citizenry. They saw something, they called it in. Better that they did than they didn’t. But what were you two doing, going to Compton by yourselves?”

  “Time was of the essence. We originally thought Amanda had been kidnapped, we needed to get her back, and we didn’t have the ability to coordinate between a bunch of different police departments. I actually asked Juan if he could do that, but he turned me down.”

  “As well he should have,” Bates said. “Two murders in two other cities and a girl being held hostage in a third. I can’t say as I like it, but it’s not up to the LAPD to lead the charge here.”

  “So yeah, I could have filled out an application with the county sheriff to investigate what turned out to be a false kidnapping orchestrated by a girl who’d had an affair with one of the deceased and who was the granddaughter of the other. Let that sink in. I’d have gotten more cooperation from TMZ.”

  “And then you two go off to Compton, find where Amanda is, get into a fistfight with a couple of gangbangers, have a gun pulled on you, and then escape with your lives. And now you’re here. Do I have that timetable right?”

  “Actually, we stopped for lunch first.”

  Chief Bates slapped his hand on his desk and looked up at the ceiling. He was probably wishing the weekend was here already. I was, too.

  “All right,” he continued. “In Compton, we now have a group of people who very likely had an involvement in two homicides, and they are walking around scot free. That is, if they haven’t bolted for Mexico already. And Amanda Zeal could be on a plane to someplace in the world. Maybe one where they don’t allow extradition.”

  “No,” I said.

  “No? What do you mean, no? Where is she?”

  “She and Phil are waiting for me downstairs. They’re in my car.”

  Bates stared at me. “Waiting downstairs? After all that’s happened? How do you know they haven’t disappeared into the wind?”

  “Because I asked them not to.”

  “Oh, good heavens,” Chief Bates said as he pushed a button on his intercom. A female voice came on the line. “Anderson. Get my detail. We’re going out of the building.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  With that, Chief Pete Bates stood up and picked up a pair of sunglasses. He walked briskly around his desk and toward the door. Although he didn’t actually invite me, I followed behind him. We walked down the hall to the elevator, where we were met by three middle-aged men wearing dark suits. The chief turned to me.

  “What kind of a car do you have?” he asked.

  “A black Pathfinder.”

  “Are either of these two armed?”

  “Not to my knowledge.”

  The chief gave me another long stare. “Not to your knowledge. Well, let’s hope they aren’t. And let’s hope they’re still there. I may need to issue a citywide manhunt if they’re not. There is nothing worse than a man whose child is in danger, I don’t care how old the child is. The parents do dumb things and they’re often reckless. And I can assure you, if anything happens as a result of their actions – in my jurisdiction – I swear, I’ll have your license pulled.”

  I didn’t say anything, and I didn’t bother to inform the chief that my private investigator’s license was issued by the state, not the city, and even if it were issu
ed by the city, he didn’t have the ability to pull it. But I decided it would be prudent to hold that comment for a bit. One step at a time. The elevator came, and as we rode down, the chief gave instructions to his detail. I would walk toward the car, his detail would be following me, a few paces back. If there were any indications of danger, don’t hesitate to take someone out quickly. We were in a downtown area that was already in rush hour mode. Don’t endanger innocent lives, even if it means overreacting to the suspects.

  We walked out of the LAPD headquarters building and into the late afternoon. The tall buildings of downtown shielded us from direct sunlight. Shadows were forming, but it was still warm. I walked down the street to my Pathfinder, not entirely sure of what to expect. I absently brushed my right hand across my holster, but I remembered I had surreptitiously stowed my .357 away in the Pathfinder. I started getting nervous as we turned the corner. But as we approached my vehicle, my apprehension stopped. I rapped on the window, the gold wedding band on my ring finger doing all the damage that needed to be done, which is to say, make some loud noises. In an instant, and with little fanfare, I managed to jolt both Phil Zellis and Amanda Zeal awake from what appeared to be a very deep sleep. They blinked a few times and looked confused. I told them to get out of the vehicle. Real slow.

  Chapter 12

  On Monday morning, Amanda Zeal and six gang members were hauled into court and arraigned on multiple counts. Amanda was charged with conspiracy, fraud, and being an accessory to murder. Her lawyer was Preston J. Pierpont, a renowned criminal defense attorney who was best known for charging an arm and a leg, or in this case, a quarter of a million dollars for a retainer. It is likely Phil Zellis picked up the tab. Because of her public profile as what was generously referred to as a sports journalist, Amanda was the only one who had in-depth articles written about her in the L.A. Times. Not surprisingly, perhaps, she turned out to be the only one of the accused who was able to post bail, which escalated well into six figures.

  Gail also had her name in the Times a few days later, when she publicly criticized City Attorney Jay Sutker of poor leadership, and of failing to exercise proper executive authority over his office. She also declared that the next mayor of Los Angeles should come from the city council, as they had both the breadth of experience and the keen wisdom to fulfill the duties of the office. Sutker responded quickly, endorsing Shane Karp for City Attorney and accusing Gail of politicizing her position. Shane Karp enthusiastically accepted Sutker’s endorsement, calling him a great visionary.

  Later that week, the Times ran an exposé of Jay Sutker, pointing to a variety of unsavory activities that began with questionable decision-making on deeming who to prosecute and ended with alleged abuse of power. Sutker immediately denounced the article as a hatchet job, but the next day, an op-ed piece appeared in the paper, written by a Korean businessman who owned a string of convenience stores. He accused Sutker of routinely refusing to prosecute shoplifters, and ignoring his pleas for justice. Finally, a woman in the public defender’s office came forward with allegations of sexual misconduct, and that was that. Gail and I watched Sutker’s press conference where he dropped out of the race, and resigned his position as City Attorney. Shane Karp was noticeably silent, and I didn’t bother to mention the lurid photos I had found on his Facebook page; I doubted we would need them. But I did imagine that somewhere, Arthur Woo was enjoying the images of a disgraced rival, and that he had an uncommon cat-who-ate-the-canary smile on his face.

  The Rams won their playoff game and advanced to the Super Bowl to play the Patriots. In the past few years, the Super Bowl was important to Marcus, mostly because of the wide variety of snacks we laid out. From mini hot dogs to barbecued potato chips, Super Bowl Sunday was second only to Halloween in being able to indulge in treats. We usually tried to have him eat healthy, but when I’m eating a stuffed-crust, meat-lovers pizza, it’s difficult to say no to virtually any other culinary request.

  This Super Bowl was particularly special because we got to host an honored guest. It is not every day that a pro football player accepts an invitation to come to your home, but when Xavier Bishop said yes, Marcus was especially thrilled. I had to admit, I was a little impressed, too.

  In California, the opening kickoff for the Super Bowl is at three-thirty in the afternoon, so Marcus and I had some time to throw a Nerf football around in the backyard before I ran out to a crowded supermarket for more chips, and a few last minute ingredients to add to my guacamole recipe. Xavier arrived at a little after three, with a very pretty Desiree on one arm and a wicker basket on the other.

  “Got a surprise for you!” he exclaimed.

  “You brought Desiree,” I said, introducing them to Gail and Marcus. “That is a very nice surprise.”

  “Not only that,” he said. “She made my mama’s special fried chicken recipe. You are going to love it.”

  “What’s special about it?” asked Marcus.

  “It’s the crust. You like Cap’n Crunch cereal, young man? Well, this one’s dipped in ground up Cap’n Crunch. Sweetest fried chicken crust you’ll ever taste.”

  “Oh, wow!” Marcus yelled.

  By comparison, my guacamole and chips paled when held up to the fried chicken. It was very good fried chicken. To Marcus, it was indeed the best thing in the world. Marcus managed to secure a drumstick before we were able to even put it on the table, and he bit into it with a smile on his face. When Xavier sat down on the couch, Marcus asked him for an autograph, but X did him one better.

  “Come here, little Burnside,” he said and patted his lap. “We’re doing a selfie together. You and me.”

  Marcus jumped into his lap, and I was thankful Xavier didn’t have a drink in his hand at the time. He lifted Marcus up with one hand, a feat that was easily done when you bench press over three hundred pounds a day. With his other hand he snapped the picture and then air dropped it to my phone. I went and printed out a copy and gave it to Marcus. True to form, Marcus took it and went back to Xavier again to ask him to autograph it for him. This time Xavier laughed and agreed.

  Desiree was helping Gail in the kitchen, and Marcus ran in to show her the autograph. Xavier turned to me with a smile on his face, albeit a wistful one.

  “You got a great kid, there,” he said.

  “I know. We are blessed in more ways than I can count.”

  “How do you do it?” he asked.

  I looked at him carefully. “What do you mean?”

  “Desiree is due in May. I’m nervous already. So many things can go wrong with kids. I shouldn’t be worried, but I’m worried. I’ve seen bad things happen to good kids. Too many times. How do I shake this fear? In everything else in life, I’m fearless. Not afraid of anything. I’ll take on anyone, anywhere. But this? It’s got me sidetracked.”

  “I hear you. But I’ve got to tell you that the feeling you described doesn’t go away real easily. You want the best for your kids, but you know there’ll be instances you can’t protect them. You won’t be around all the time. You just have to raise them right, teach them to defend themselves, tell them to treat people the way they want to be treated. And then hope the world takes good care of them. It usually does, although you never know. But the fear? It’s like having butterflies before a big game. Doesn’t ever fully go away. You just try and get the butterflies to fly in formation. You learn to live with it.”

  “Man, I never knew what being a parent would really be like. I always figured I’d get there, but I never thought through the details.”

  “It isn’t as tough as you think. If you got this far, there’s a good chance your kid will, too. Maybe even do better than you. Your kids will have advantages you didn’t have.”

  “I hope so.”

  “How are you and Desiree getting on?” I asked.

  “Good, real good. You know, she’s so smart. I never really appreciated that in her until we started getting serious. She began law school this year. How about that? Me, married to a lawyer!
Guess you and I are going to have something in common.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “It’s good to be partnered with someone smart. Beats the alternative.”

  “Ha! You know, Desiree told me she read something about Gail in the paper. That she might be running for City Attorney or something?”

  “Looking pretty likely,” I said. “Talk about worrying. If Gail ends up with a very public position, it means I’m going to be a public figure, too.”

  “Yeah, you already are. Former football player, former coach. Plus, once in a while I see your name in the papers. Cracking some case.”

  “I try to keep a low profile. The private investigator title does have the word private in it.”

  “Speaking of which, I saw Amanda Zeal got busted this week. She’s not going to look real hot in an orange jump suit. You have anything to do with that?”

  I held my thumb and index finger close together. “Maybe a little.”

  “Yeah, uh-huh. Maybe a lot. I wonder if that means our friend Rhett McCann can stop worrying about Amanda.”

  “I don’t think he has much to worry about on that score. Except he won’t get back the ten grand Amanda stole from him.”

  “Ten grand?” Xavier said incredulously. “Damn. That girl was just plain trouble. Capitol T. Well, Rhett’ll be okay. You know the players on the winning team today walk away with two hundred thousand. Even the losing teams, the players get over fifty large. Just being on the roster of a Super Bowl team gives you a good payday.”

  “Nice work if you can get it,” I smiled.

  Gail and Desiree laid out the food on the table, I went and pulled a couple of Blue Moons from the refrigerator for Xavier and myself, and I got Marcus a Coke. Gail passed on a beer and Desiree rubbed her belly at the suggestion of something to drink, and said water would be just fine. We settled in and watched the game, which was mostly a defensive struggle. For Xavier and myself, it was a masterpiece; to everyone else, it was not. Marcus got bored in the second quarter and went off to his room to draw in a coloring book. Gail and Desiree chatted about law school. Xavier and I gossiped about players we knew in the league, and how much time Johnny Cleary would have to get the Bears into the playoffs. I asked if Cliff Roper was still his agent, and he laughed and said yes. Cliff was still annoying, but he could deliver money to his clients like no one else. In the end, that’s all that mattered in an agent.