“No apology needed.” The office was starting to get busy. Secretaries, aides, other department employees were showing up for work. Each looked our way, casting sorrowful glances, eyes filled with genuine pity.
“Pastor Lenny said he would ask the funeral home to inquire about when Jim's . . . body might be released. I . . . I can't imagine him on that cold autopsy tableâ”
“You don't need to, Fritzy. It doesn't do any good.” I tried to watch an autopsy once. I pushed my mayoral weight around to get in. A friend of mine had died suspiciously and I wanted to know why. I was trying to be helpful. I didn't last long. The image of my friend on the autopsy table lasted much longer. “There are happier memories. They will surface in time.”
“I know,” she whispered. “I suppose I should be going. I don't like to drive on the freeway anymore, so I take the surface streets. It's slower, but I get there. Besides, I need the time to pull myself together.”
“Do you want me to go with you?”
“No, then I'd feel guilty about taking you from your work. I'll be fine.”
“Okay, but I'm going to walk you to your car, and I don't want any argument. Come on, we'll go out the back way.” As we moved down the rear corridor that led to the employee parking lot, I saw Tess enter. Her face was drawn into that stern constipated look I had come to expect. She saw Fritzy, looked puzzled, then for the briefest of moments I saw a crack in the concrete facade. I saw the look of shared sorrow.
Fritzy opened the door to her red Volvo sedan. During the short walk from the office to her car she had gathered the pieces of crumbling composure. “I appreciate you very much,” she said. I felt a little embarrassed.
“Thank you. You'll get through this. The only advice I can give is take one day at a time, and if that's too much then take life one hour, even one minute, at a time. Give yourself time to heal.”
“I know you understand what this is like. Before, I just felt sorry for you, now I understand.” She sat in the car.
“May I ask a dumb question?” I said before she closed the door.
“Of course. You may ask me anything.” She looked up at me, and I almost changed my mind.
“This is going to sound strange, but did Jim listen to someone on the radio named Robby Hood?”
“Oh, him,” she said with a look of disgust. “Jim used to listen to him almost every night. If he worked late, he had that man on the radio. When we went to bed, he would fall asleep listening to all that nonsense about flying saucers and Bigfoot and conspiracies, and whatever you can think of. He even called in a couple of times. I complained, but Jim said he couldn't sleep without some noise in the background.” She faded off. “I shouldn't have complained.”
“Sure you should. You're his wife. It's your job. Check the fine print in the marriage license. Nagging is a privilege.”
She smiled without humor, said good-bye, and closed the door.
I
spent the morning trying to find my desk. I can measure the success of any day by the amount of paper and files that I move across its surface. I had finished massaging my schedule, something that qualified as a complete workout in some books, then digested a report from the planning commission on a requested variance for a new restaurant on the north end of town. It was a chain restaurant, family style, lots of seating, and another good source of tax income and job opportunities. The problem rested with a citizen's group that opposed any franchise restaurants setting up shop in our borders. I hated to admit it, but many of our citizens were snobs, preferring that Santa Rita not become a haven for Denny's, Bob's Big Boy, Applebee's, and all the other family restaurants that spring up in California like toadstools. Truth be told, I tended to agree with such dissidents. On the other side, however, are the businesses, chamber of commerce, and others who see such additions as ways of strengthening the local economy.
It is one of those “stuck between a rock and a hard place” issues. If the city simply said no, the restaurant chain could bring legal pressure to bear, which was costly for the city. It would also compel us to fight back just for the principle of the thing. Not long ago our board of supervisors caved under the pressure of the People for Civil Liberties to remove a concrete cross that had stood on county property for sixty years. The board's logic was pitiful: “We'll lose money if the county gets embroiled in a lawsuit.” They caved like an egg under an anvil. Leading the retreat was none other than my opponent for congress, Robert Till. I had attended the meeting and spoke on record that such a response was beneath elected officials. It didn't matter; they chose the path of least pain. They took the cross down. Erected in its place was my resolve not to let someone as weak in the knees as Till win the congressional district.
Now the shoe was on my spectator-pumpâclad foot. Bennie's was a large chain with, according to the report, 1,600 restaurants in forty-eight states, 1,200 owned by franchisees. A charismatic CEO who had made a name for himself by turning around the failing company in less than five years led them. He knew what he was doing. The Wall Street Journal had done a profile on him about four months ago calling him “The Juggernaut of Restaurant Row.”
I called for Floyd and handed him the report. “I want you to do some detective work. Find out as much as you can about Rutger Howard. He's the CEO of the Bennie's restaurant chain. Pull together a report.”
“What should I look for?”
“Anything of interest.”
“Are we getting a Bennie's in town? They're great. They make nachos to die for.”
“I don't know. Is Celeste here yet?”
“Um, no, not yet, but I think traffic is bad andâ”
I raised a hand and gave the young man a smile. “No need to defend her, Floyd. I only called her an hour ago. I was just wondering. Let me know when she arrives.”
He said he would. I picked up the phone and called our city attorney, Fred Markham. “I assume you're calling about the planning commission report,” he said. Fred is a favorite of mine. A UCLA Law School graduate, he represented the city in all its legal matters. He had a keen, hungry mind and he read widely. Santa Rita was lucky to have him. I know other cities have approached him offering more money, but so far he has stayed put.
“That I am. I think we need to do a little research on the company and the man behind it. I have Floyd doing the basic Internet work. Could you do the legal searches? See what kind of lawsuits his firm has brought against cities and counties, that sort of thing.”
“I've already started. When should we meet?”
I heard keystrokes over the phone. Fred was a computer guy. Everything he did sooner or later involved a computer. I love computers, but I still love the feel of pen and paper. I have a computer on a credenza in my office and on my desk at home. I even carry a handheld computer, but I leave it off more than on. “It's a busy day. How about tomorrow?”
“That's right, you have the big hoopla, fund-raiser thingy tonight?”
“Thingy? They taught you to say âthingy' at UCLA?”
“The word communicates, that's all that matters. How about ten? I assume you'll be sleeping in after tonight's grand party.”
I love politics; I hate fund-raising. I always feel like a beggar. Fred was speaking about a fund-raising barbecue on the pier tonight. I had successfully kept any thought of it at arm's distance, but now it was upon me. At least I had other people to plan and run it. I just had to show up, press the flesh, pose for pictures, and make a short speech. I was hoping for an early night, but I've been known to hope for snow in July. “I'll be at my desk by eight. Let's make it ten thirty.” Just because I was going to be at my desk didn't mean I was going to be awake.
The meeting was set. No sooner had I set the receiver down than my phone buzzed, and Floyd's voice drifted upward from the speaker. “Councilman Wu is on the line.”
L
arry Wu and Titus Overstreet were waiting for me when I entered the conference room. The room was designed to hold the five members of the council, the city staff, and an administrative aide for each. When everyone was present, the room was confining, but with just three of us present, it seemed spacious, almost overkill. Larry had called and asked if I had a few minutes for him this morning. When I assured him that I would make time, he asked to meet in the conference room. That was unusual. Normally we met in one of our offices.
When I pushed through the doors I saw Larry sitting in his usual spot to the right of the table's head. Titus sat opposite him. Both men remained seated when I entered, but I had worked with them enough to know that had anyone else been present, they would have stood.
Larry looked good. Today he wore a gray blazer, black pants, and collarless black shirt. The usual smile that decorated his face was missing.
Only the mayor's seat was full time. Council members were part-time city servants. The city was not large enough to pay full-time salaries to all its elected officials. I was certain that was going to change over the next ten years. Larry and Titus were seldom in on Wednesdays. The only other person on the council who worked full-time was Tess. She didn't work for money, she had more than enough. She worked for, well, for whatever motivated her. On most days, I assumed it was for attention.
Yes, Larry looked good, but Titus didn't. His black face seemed a shade lighter and was drawn and slack as if his muscles were on strike. As usual, he wore a suit and tie. I took a seat at the head of the table, which put Titus on my left and Larry on my right.
I studied both men for a second. That's all the time it took. “All right, guys, what's wrong?”
“I have bad news and worse news,” Titus said. “Which do you want first?”
“Does it matter?” I asked.
Titus shook his head and looked at the table. “I've been going through my annual physical. After a certain age, they want men to undergo additional, routine tests. I'm over that age.” I didn't like how this was beginning. “Yesterday I had a colonoscopy. You know, the steel eel, they used to call it.”
“I know what you're talking about.”
“They found something.” He paused. “I have a growth that looks like colon cancer. They rushed the biopsy. I have it.”
“No. Titus . . .” I ran out of words.
“It's not bad,” he said. “At least they don't think it is. It's a small growth, and it's in a good spotâif there is such a thing. I won't have to wear the bag.”
I blinked and glanced at Larry. I wanted to make sure I was getting it right. Larry didn't look back. His attention was on Titus. I returned my attention to Councilman Overstreet. “You're talking surgery, right? Surgery for colon cancer?”
“That's right. The doctors are very confident that they caught it in the early stages. Surgery should do the trick.”
“When?”
“In two days. I'll use the time to tidy up some business, then check in early Friday morning. Surgery is scheduled for eight o'clock.”
“What can I do to help?” I asked.
“Thank you, but there's nothing for you to do. You need to know that I'll be out for some time. I'm a pretty quick healer, but I won't be keeping office hours for several weeks, maybe a couple of months. It will take longer than that for me to get back to 100 percent. That's assuming chemo isn't needed.”
“Oh, Titus, I'm so, so sorry. How's Cindy holding up?”
“She's doing well. I'm sure she's stuffing down some emotion for my sake, but she's a strong woman. She'll be running my accounting firm while I'm enjoying the life of luxury in the hospital.”
“Some luxury,” I said. “Is it going to be done at PHH?” Pacific Horizon Hospital is our local, private hospital. Those in the know consider it one of the best in Southern California.
“Yes. I'll be there for a week or so, then I go home to recoup.” He nodded across the table. “I've asked Larry to join us for a couple of reasons. First, he's a friend, and I needed the moral support. Second has to do with the other news. Since I'm going to be out of commission for a while, there will be an even number of members on the council. I won't be here to offset some of the silliness of Tess and Jon.”
“Don't worry about that, Titus. Larry and I can handle them.”
He paused and licked his lips. “I think we should meet in private session and make Tess deputy mayor. Actually, we don't have much of a choice. I may be out for several months.”
Larry spoke up. “The problem is this: the deputy mayor is chosen each year from sitting council members and no one can serve two consecutive terms. I served last year so I'm ineligible. If Titus is out, then that only leaves Jon and Tess. Tess is annoying but not nearly as self-serving as Jon.”
The flu-feeling came back. “There's nothing in the bylaws to keep Titus out. Let's say he doesn't return for three, even four months, which still leaves eight months of service.”
“I understand your reluctance, Mayor,” Titus said. “Tess has opposed you on just about everything, but we have to be realistic. Besides, I have a hidden agenda.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Really?”
He smiled and raised his own eyebrow. “I believe you're going to win the seat for congress. I want to run for mayor after that.”
I looked at Larry. Larry had run against me in the last election and came in third. He had been a gentleman all the way. I assumed he would take another crack at it.
“Not this time, Maddy. I had my shot, and I didn't fare all that well. My business is becoming more demanding. I can still do the city work but I can't do that, run my business, and take another shot at mayor. I plan to help Titus any way I can.”
“And . . . ?” I prompted.