“Not directly, No. Carl wanted a more permanent solution, and on a larger scale, nationwide. He understood that the homeless would always be left at the bottom of political priorities and budgets. They don’t vote. They have no money to give to political campaigns. They will never be a political block that commands more than lip service from the politicians. They’ll never have political clout like the gays and the Latinos and the Blacks.”
“So?”
“So Carl’s special charge is to use the Trust’s money to form a Political Action Committee, or PAC. The PAC will campaign around the country on behalf of the homeless. Sponsor initiatives for more and better shelters and more and better services. Get in the face of the public. TV, radio, billboards, direct mail, and internet. Make John Q Public ashamed of the way these poor people have been abandoned to their plight in the midst of all the wealth in this country.
But the charge is uniquely specific in one particular way.”
“Tell me, Judge.”
“Jesse Unruh, the tall, rotund speaker of California's Assembly during the early 1960s, once said, ‘Money is the mother's milk of politics.’
And so it is. The Trust is specifically directed to contribute money all over the U.S. to the political campaigns of those politicians who are willing to take a stand and promote solutions for the homeless.
Campaigning congressmen, senators, governors and mayors will find they can tap into big bucks from the Trust’s PAC for their campaigns, if they have the right planks supporting aid for the homeless, and follow through once elected.”
“And there’s a billion dollars to give out, Judge?”
“Yes.”
“My God, Judge. I can hear the sucking noise now as politicians line up to nurse at the nipples of your trust.”
The Judge smiled, then reached over to put his hand on top of hers.
“Thank you for being so brave, Katy, so supportive. I’m sorry you got dragged into it.”
“It was a wild ride, Judge. Ferris wheels and roller coasters are going to look pretty tame from here on. But then…. you’ve always been a wild ride for me. That’s one of the reasons I love you so.”
CHAPTER 52 – EPILOGUE
10:00 AM Monday, Ten Weeks Later.
The Judge stared at a smear of jelly spread over Katy’s belly. It almost wobbled like Jell-O with each breath. The nurse had gone a little overboard with the gel in the Judge’s view.
Katy was nervous. She was breathing anxiously. Looking up at the monitor every few seconds, even though there was nothing to see.
Finally, after what seemed forever, Jim Blake came in. Jim had been a fraternity brother of the Judge’s back so many years ago at USC. Pre-med.
Katy jumped as Jim put a plastic unit that looked like a TV remote on top of the jelly and began to slide it around her tummy. The monitor began to show indistinct images.
Jim pointed out the relevance of the shadowy shapes they were seeing. Katy was riveted on the screen now, her nervousness forgotten.
The Judge was secretly hoping for a girl. It would take the heat off coaching gigs. He wouldn’t have another male competitor for Katy’s attentions. And he’d heard that a special relationship existed between dads and daughters.
Katy had been convinced all along it would be a boy. “Our little Judge,” as she’d been calling the baby.
“So that’s pretty much the picture,” said Jim. “Everything looks heathy and right where it’s supposed to be. Did you want to know the sex?”
“Yes.” The Judge and Katy answered in unison.
“Look here, guys” said Jim, pointing with his finger at a spot on the screen but turning to look at the Judge with a twinkle in his eyes. “Brass balls! Just like the Judge.”
######
A Note from the Author
I hope you enjoyed your read. For my Mystery Lovers, here’s a small test:
-Who did the Latino gang member call that night on the beach as they huddled at the spot where the Judge went into the water?
-What was wrong with the Uniform Officer Saunders wore when he interviewed the Judge, fresh out of the water at the pier?
-Why did Kaminsky take the hunt for Carl Greene’s murder so personally?
-In the parking garage the Latino gang member got a call from who?
-What did old Gerald Jenkins say to the Judge which might have tipped the Judge off the old man was going to step off his balcony? (See the questions in chapter 25)
-Why did the Judge make his one more phone call “from the lobby” in Chapter 49? Who did he call?
I hope you enjoyed reading Silicon Beach as much as I enjoyed writing it, and perhaps here and there it made you smile a little…..
Davis MacDonald
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Thanks to those good friends that help me so much to write this book. Dr. Alexandra Davis, who was the first to see every word; my amazing Editor, Jason Myers, who did yeoman work on the edits and kept me on the straight and narrow; Justine Prado, the talented screen writer who helped me chart my way through the themes and chords of the tale and create clarity from confusion; Marc Hankin, the amazing Los Angeles Patent Lawyer who educated me on how the Patent Law works; Dane Low who helped me design the distinctive cover (www.ebooklaunch.com); my longtime friend, Garry Spain, who’s introduce me to so many extraordinary experiences over the years; and last but not least, my old friend and poker playing dentist, Dr. Bruce Jones, who delivered an education on playing poker while I had to keep my mouth ‘Open’ in his chair.
Thank You All.
Davis MacDonald
Silicon Beach is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses organizations, clubs, places, events and incidents depicted in this book are either products of the Author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance or similarity to actual persons, living or dead, or events, locales, business organizations, clubs, or incidents, is unintended and entirely incidental. Names have been chosen at random and are not intended to suggest any particular person. The facts, plot, circumstances and characters in this book were created for dramatic effect, and bear no relationship to actual communities or their denizens.
About Davis MacDonald
Davis MacDonald grew up in Southern California and writes of places about which he has intimate knowledge.
Davis uses the Mystery Novel genre to write stories of Mystery, Suspense, Love, and Commitment, entwined with relevant Social issues and Moral Dilemmas facing 21st Century America.
A member of the National Association of Independent Writes and Editors (NATWE), his career has spanned Law Professor, Bar Association Chair, Investment Banker, and Lawyer. Many of the colorful characters in his novels are drawn in part from his personal experiences and relationships (although they are all entirely fictional characters.)
Davis began this series in 2013, with the publishing of THE HILL, in which he introduces his new character, “The Judge”. THE HILL is a Murder Mystery and a love story, which in addition explores the sexual awakening of a young girl, how sexual manipulation can change lives forever, and the moral dilemmas love sometimes creates.
THE ISLAND, is a Murder Mystery and a love story, which also explores the dysfunctional attitudes of a small town forced to either drop old ways of thinking, or face extinction.
NEWPORT BAY, a Murder Mystery, will be published in the Fall of 2016. The first two Chapters of NEWPORT BAY are included at the end of this book.
All books are available on Amazon on Kindle and in paperback, at Barnes & Noble and other fine bookstores, and available at on-line shopping platforms. Watch for Audio Books to come out on each Novel.
HOW TO CONNECT WITH
Davis MacDonald
Email: [email protected]
Website: http://davismacdonald-author.com/
Twitter: https://twitter.com/Davis_MacDonald
Facebook: Davis MacDonald, Author
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Davis MacDonald
Amazon Author’s Page: Davis Macdonald-Author
NEWPORT BAY
Look for NEWPORT BAY from Davis MacDonald, to be published in late 2016.
What follows are the first two Chapters from the Novel: NEWPORT BAY:
Newport Bay
A Mystery novel
set in Newport Beach and
the Orange County South Coast
CHAPTER 1
The Judge walked out onto the sand with a strong stride, trying to keep up with the golden retriever. She’d bounded ahead and disappeared into the mist when he unhooked her leash. It was October in Balboa, seven in the morning. An early rain storm was trying to start. Fog lay heavy on the beach, obscuring all but a few feet ahead. Dogs weren’t supposed to be off their leash but the law was overlooked in the early mornings and at sundown out on Peninsula Point.
Annie the Dog was no doubt making life exciting for seagulls and sand pipers clustered at the tide’s edge trying to snag an early breakfast. He could hear the faint squawking now over the thunder of the rollers and crack of the surf sliding up the beach like some serpent uncaged. The sand was soft under his feet, small particles clinging to his shoe tops. He could smell the moisture and the salt, mixed with the scent of drying seaweed. But no water in sight, the surf still lost somewhere ahead in the mist.
He turned to look back toward the small street and line of ocean-front houses to either side from where he’d come. But they’d disappeared now too. There was only the faint outline of sand dunes with scrubby ice plant and other succulents along their ridges. Was it a premonition? The sudden chill he felt for no accountable reason? Or only a drop in temperature in the soft breeze that stirred the mist into frothy shapes? Later he’d wonder. But that would be much later.
He turned again to look back, the lizard part of his brain sensing a change. That’s when he saw them. Two black, bulky shapes slowly taking shape out of the mist. Two men. Heavy overcoats unbuttoned and open. Hands free, not in their pockets. White shirts and ties. They definitely didn’t belong. They walked as if on a mission.
Their coats flapped open as they approached, exposing black leather straps at one shoulder each, the kind used to secure a gun holster. The Judge stopped and stood there watching them come, standing very still, his hands out in front of him to be easily seen.
“Are you the Judge?” shouted the older man, measured by a touch of grey in his hair and the beginnings of a small tummy the younger man lacked.
“Who wants to know?” the Judge shouted back.
“Just answer the question, buddy. We’re kind of in a hurry here.”
“They call me the Judge,” replied the Judge, lowering his voice now they were almost upon him.
They reached into their coats together like Bobbsey-twins. The Judge considered his chances for a dash into the mist in the direction of the dog.
But the hands came out again holding leather card cases. They flipped them open as the senior said, “Agent Jackson and Agent Thomas, FBI.”
“I know there’s a law against having a dog with no leash on the beach,” said the Judge. “But I didn’t think it was a Federal offense.”
An attempt to relieve the tension he felt. Tension in him. Tension in them.
“We need to talk. And we don’t have much time. Your country needs a quick favor. And we need it now.”
They came up on either side of him. Putting their credentials away. Huddling close. Nervous.
“Let me see your badges again,” said the Judge. Their nervousness infecting him.
They dutifully dug them out and handed them over, one at a time, waiting impatiently while he took a careful look at each. Jackson handed him a card.
“Okay, gentleman. I guess you’re who you say you are. And you obviously know who I am. What do you want?
“I guess you played golf yesterday afternoon at Big Canyon with Bob Mackey, the U.S. Attorney,” said Jackson, handing the Judge his card.
“I did,” said the Judge.
“I understand you’re not a very good golfer.”
“That’s why he likes to play with me,” said the Judge.
“He told us you’d say that.” Jackson gave the Judge a tight smile. “And you’re right. He likes to play with me too.”
“So why track me down on the beach, gentlemen?”
“We’re in a bit of a bind, Judge. We’re looking for some help.”
The Judge looked at them closely. It all felt too… pat.
“Mr. Jackson and Mr. Thompson, right?”
“Yes, Judge.”
“If I call Bob Mackey right now, he’ll know who you two are?”
“Yes.”
The Judge got out his cell and dialed. He spoke briefly to his golfing buddy, nodding as he spoke, then hung up.
“Okay, Mr. Jackson, I’m listening.”
We’ve got a religious group that’s been generating dissent traffic. Here in Orange County. We’re concerned. We’ve been watching and waiting. See if they’re going to attempt an overt act.”
“Okay,” said the Judge, focused now.
“We have a trusted source inside that is highly thought of by the group. All the way to the top. He’s extraordinarily important to our national surveillance effort.”
“It’s good you can count on people like that.” Said the Judge. Non-committal, cautious.
“We can’t afford to compromise his position under any circumstances, Judge. He’s one of a very few primary sources we actually can trust for help.”
“I’m glad to hear the FBI is doing its job, gentlemen”
“The handler in our agency has a meeting scheduled with… Mr. X, let’s call him, this morning. In an hour. Some important information is to be passed. It’s imperative we obtain that information.
“Okay.” Said the Judge.
“It’s also important we keep Mr. X calm...’relaxed’. Feeling secure. If he gets upset he might inadvertently blow his cover.”
“So why are you telling me these state secrets?”
“We need your help this morning.”
“Me? Why me?”
“Our handler has gone AWOL. He can’t be found. We’re worried. Mr. X is going to be very upset if his handler doesn’t show.
“Any idea what’s going on with the handler?” “We’re not sure. But even more troubling, we’re beginning to suspect a leak inside our office.”
“That could be a mess.” Said the Judge.
“More than a mess, Judge. It’d be a national disaster. The Director has ordered that no one with connections to the FBI or the CIA is to go near Mr. X. No exceptions.”
“I’m beginning to be nervous about the direction this conversation is going, Jackson,” said the Judge.
Jackson pressed on, ignoring the Judge.
“We need someone unconnected with anyone in our agency or the CIA, or any Federal agency for that matter, to show up on Balboa Island in an hour, drive onto the ferry over to the Peninsula, and strike up a conversation with Mr. X as the ferry crosses the Bay.
“Just a conversation?” asked the Judge, tense.
“We need that person, ‘you’, to discreetly collect a jump drive from Mr. X. Then drive it up the Peninsula and over to Fashion Island where we’ve arranged a drop.”
“You want me to replace your handler and collect your information?”
“Yes.”
“There’s several things wrong with your idea, Mr. Jackson. First, I’m not the handler for Mr. X, so he’s still going to be upset. Second, he’ll not have a clue who I am and won’t trust me. Third, I’m not trained as a spy or a courier and I’m a miserable actor. Fourth, I’m running a networking meeting in an hour at the Balboa Bay Club so my schedule doesn’t permit me to pinch hit for you. And finally it has the ring of dangerous work, perhaps even fatally dangerous.”
“Look Judge, we’ve come to you because the U.S. Attorney says we can trust you. Says you can keep a cool head. And because you’ve never had an af
filiation with the FBI or the CIA, or any other Federal agency.”
“None of that makes me the right guy for your favor. There must be plenty of people you can tap.”
“We’ve only just found out about this glitch with the handler. We’ve got an hour is all, Judge. We need you.”
“How important is this information?”
“Very.”
“What’s the risk to me?”
“Nominal.”
“I don’t know, Mr. Jackson. It’s not my type of gig. I’m just a hard working lawyer. I’d be all thumbs trying to look discrete.”
“You’re our only chance Judge. If you don’t help, people could die, right here, in Orange County.”
“How would he know who I am?”
“There’s an emergency password to use.”
“How would I know who to approach on the ferry?”
“There won’t be anyone else on it coming that direction in an hour, back from Balboa Island to the Peninsula. And we have a picture of Mr. X for you.”
“I don’t know, Jackson.”
“All we’re asking you to do is drive onto damn ferry, get out of your car to look at the view on the crossing, and say good morning to a fellow passenger. That’s it.”
The Judge had reservations. Their story about how simple it would be sounded good. But the Judge sensed danger.
As he pondered their request a long blond shape lounged out of the mist, driving sandy paws into Jackson’s stomach, almost knocking him over. All teeth, long moist tongue and smiling black gums. Annie the Dog had returned.
She lurched over to the Judge’s other new friend, nudging Thompson’s hand, demanding affection, wagging her tail furiously.
Silicon Beach Page 32
