The American Legion Hall was on the corner of a busy intersection in El Sereno, looking even dingier than the rest of the dingy neighborhood. The street corner was crowded with people. Some were there for the debate, some were drawn by the bus stops flanking each corner, and some were just hanging out on the broad sidewalks that were unbroken by trees or scraps of greenery. The preponderance of waiting people gave a sense of too much time and not enough to do. That alone was enough to make the place look impoverished.
The old marquee announced the debate with mismatched plastic letters that appeared to have been culled from different sets.
CANDIDATES DEBATE TO-NITE!!
Gil Alvarez & Thomas Gaytan DeLacey
Vans from local radio and television stations lined the street in front of the hall. Thick black electrical cords snaked across the sidewalk and created a perilous mess in the hall’s old lobby. A steady stream of people filed past the wooden double doors, pausing at tables set up inside to pick up bumper stickers, buttons, letter openers, key chains, and other campaign paraphernalia being handed out by volunteers from both sides.
Iris missed the first half hour of the debate. She’d waited in the lobby of her office building for the police to arrive before she dared return to the Triumph. After the two uniformed officers had discussed where the wheel lock had come from and why it had been put on and whether it needed to be on, she finally got them to call the people who could take it off. While they were discussing the lock, she snatched and read the new note she found on the windshield. It was short and sweet. “Don’t do anything stupid.”
It was the last straw. Since her presence at the debate seemed to be as anxiously sought after as Princess Di’s at a charity function, she decided to give her public what they wanted.
“Don’t have the guts to finish what I’ve started, huh, Thomas?”
After the Triumph was free, Iris just barely squeaked into the bank before it closed to retrieve the will. She couldn’t think of a safe place to put it. She didn’t want to put it in her car or purse since they could be easily taken from her, so she shoved it inside her panty hose, where it chafed uncomfortably against her belly. It was still far from the most uncomfortable thing she’d even worn, though. Any little number from her X-rated lingerie drawer would win hands down.
She drove to El Sereno as fast as she could through the relentless traffic. A vanity license plate on a car in front of her taunted: GIVE UP.
She entered the hall and walked down the aisle between rows of metal folding chairs. There didn’t seem to be a single empty seat.
On the stage were two beat-up wood podiums angled toward each other. Thomas Gaytan DeLacey stood behind one and Gil Alvarez was behind the other.
Between the podiums were a steel table and chair where the moderator sat. Iris recognized a thin older woman with carefully coiffed blond hair and wearing a brown tweed suit as Mrs. Webster, her high school history teacher. A large glass fishbowl full of small slips of white paper was on the table.
Gil Alvarez was speaking. “I am against breaking up the L.A. Unified School District for the very reason that Mr. Gaytan DeLacey supports it.” He stood with his hands resting on the podium, his expression convivial and relaxed, his demeanor confident. “Neighborhoods would gain more control over determining the direction of their local schools. However”—he paused dramatically—“this means the wealthier neighborhoods with a larger tax base will gain at the expense of poorer neighborhoods like those of the Fourteenth. For that reason, as your councilman, I have always opposed the breakup and will continue to do so.”
There was scattered applause.
Mrs. Webster warned, “Audience, please hold your applause until the end.” She turned to Thomas. “Mr. Gaytan DeLacey, your rebuttal.”
Iris finally found an aisle seat three rows from the front near the side closest to Thomas. She sat behind a woman whom she recognized as a reporter from a local TV news program. The reporter was jotting notes on a small pad.
Both Alvarez and Thomas had spotted Iris. Alvarez continued smiling, but she felt his gaze coolly follow her. Thomas almost gleefully raised his eyebrows at her, apparently assuming that he’d won her over. His reaction caused the reporter sitting in front of her to turn around to see who was eliciting this response.
Once seated, Iris assessed the scene. Bill DeLacey and Junior were in the center of the front row. She was seated too far to the right to see backstage on that side but had a clear view of backstage left. There she saw Jeff Rosen glancing at a clipboard, checking his watch, and pacing nervously. She figured that Sylvia Padilla couldn’t be far away.
Thomas sipped from a glass of ice water hidden in the podium, then smiled engagingly for a photographer at the foot of the stage. “I’m afraid my opponent has again oversimplified a complex issue. The possible dissolution of L.A. Unified merits more than Mr. Alvarez’s typical knee-jerk response about haves and have-nots.”
After shaking his head, as if to himself, Alvarez settled back on his heels and regarded DeLacey with haughty amusement.
Thomas balled his fist. “Decentralization of our public schools means that all children in all neighborhoods benefit.” He punched the air. “If the Fourteenth is at a financial disadvantage, it’s your councilmember’s job to get the necessary funds. Instead of wringing our hands and moaning about the unfairness of life, why don’t we ask ourselves what we can do to effect change in our schools? We citizens of the Fourteenth may be disadvantaged but we are not powerless.” Thomas pounded the podium, causing a shock of his dark hair to fall onto his forehead.
There was resounding applause.
Thomas scraped his hair back. He was out of breath. He glanced in Iris’s direction.
She gave him a thumbs-up.
He beamed at her.
“Ladies and gentlemen!” Mrs. Webster pounded the steel table with a gavel. “Please.” In spite of her protestations, she seemed delighted by Thomas’s speech. “Save your applause until the end so we can have more time for the candidates.”
Alvarez raised his hands above the podium and applauded Thomas as well, thereby drawing the crowd’s attention to himself. He nodded appreciatively. His mugging elicited scattered laughter.
“I would like to…” Thomas tried to shout over the noise. “I would like to close my comments…”
The audience settled down.
“I would like to close my comments by pointing out a man who has taught me a lot about prevailing in the face of adversity.” Thomas held his palm to indicate the front row. “My dear father has spent his entire life overcoming adversity. Now in the twilight of his years, he has been forced to endure assaults upon his character by my opponent. But I know that in spite of his various health problems, he will prevail. And that’s the same can-do attitude I’ll bring to City Hall if I’m elected.”
There was more applause. Some members of the audience leaped to their feet.
The reporter in front of Iris shot from her chair. “Mr. Alvarez, please comment on your accusations about the Gabriel Gaytan murder.”
Jeff Rosen ducked from backstage and urgently talked into Alvarez’s ear. They seemed to reach agreement about something. Rosen slapped Alvarez on the back, then disappeared backstage.
Alvarez regarded Thomas and nodded knowingly. “I would like to address that issue.”
There were shouts of, “Let’s hear it!” and “Who killed Gaytan?”
Sylvia Padilla slipped from backstage right and urgently talked into Thomas’s ear. Both of them nodded eagerly before she disappeared backstage.
Mrs. Webster banged the gavel. “Order! Order, please.” She fluttered her hands and then waved a sheath of papers. “That is not a discussion topic for this debate.”
Thomas spoke. “Well, Mrs. Webster, maybe it should be. The public has a right to know.”
There was applause and shouts of agreement from the audience.
Thomas again caught Iris’s eye. She guardedly smiled at him.
“Gentlemen,” Mrs. Webster pleaded. She dug her hand into the fishbowl. “The next question goes to Mr. Gaytan DeLacey.” Her voice betrayed her nerves. “As you know, these questions have been compiled by the Friday Morning Club, our local ladies’ group, which meets to discuss issues of the day.” She pulled out a slip of paper, her hand trembling.
Alvarez ignored her. “There’s someone here tonight who has solid proof that Bill DeLacey killed Gabriel Gaytan to get his hands on Las Mariposas.”
More people leaped from their seats. Some in the back stood on their chairs in order to see. Reporters called out, demanding to know the identity of the mystery person and the nature of the proof. Camera lights scanned the crowd. The audience was growing increasingly restless. Iris’s face burned and her heart began to pound. Alvarez hadn’t yet singled her out but she knew her moment in the spotlight was coming. She knew she should just stand up and speak out. Just stand up and proclaim, “I’m Iris Thorne and I have something to say,” and have the truth about Humberto’s beating and Gabriel’s will out in the open. That was why she had come, after all. But the edgy energy of the crowd alarmed her. There were too many things that she should have talked about too long ago and she suspected that revealing her prolonged silence wouldn’t play well in this audience. She’d had her reasons for keeping her mouth shut about the events in 1971, but it would be hard to explain her position while she was being confronted by a mob. She’d talk, but not here. It had been a mistake to come. She should have heeded her first instinct. Paula had always said she was a sissy. Fine. She could live with that.
Sylvia Padilla was now standing next to Thomas. Jeff Rosen appeared at Alvarez’s side.
“You want to talk about my grandfather’s murder and Humberto’s arrest?” Thomas asked Alvarez. “You’d better be sure you want the truth heard.”
Alvarez sneered, “You wouldn’t know the truth if it bit you on the ass.”
Thomas walked closer to Alvarez and jabbed his finger toward him. “Iris has a few things to say that’ll make you change your tune.”
Alvarez swatted Thomas’s hand away. Thomas pushed Alvarez’s shoulder. Before Alvarez could fully draw back his fist, Rosen grabbed him from behind and Padilla jumped between Alvarez and Thomas, holding her arms out to separate them.
Mrs. Webster tried to read her question over the pandemonium, apparently thinking that if she ignored it, it would go away. In a hesitant voice, she began: “Due to budgetary problems, the city has cut back on many basic…”
The crowd had caught the reference to Iris and it flew through the hall like wildfire. People were glancing around, trying to find Iris. Others were encouraging Thomas and Alvarez to have it out. Still others were demanding to hear the truth about Humberto and Gabriel.
Iris slid down in her chair and looked for an escape route. There were enough people and confusion that she thought she could slip out one of the side exits through which people were already beating a retreat in a steady stream.
She stood and started to drift to the side of the hall closest to her, thinking she’d just be pulled along with the flow, when someone grabbed her wrist. She turned to see Ron Cole.
His eye was bright red. She must have burst a blood vessel when she poked him with the cellular phone antenna. He leaned close and said, “You’re not going anywhere, cupcake. You’re too dangerous to be left on your own.” He twisted her arm and pinned it behind her back.
Reporters, photographers, and TV cameramen had crept close to the stage. An inadequate number of frightened security guards tried to keep them and the audience members back. The noise and energy escalated.
“Somebody call the police!” Mrs. Webster cried. She then fled backstage.
Thomas and Alvarez were shouting at each other around Padilla and Rosen, who seemed to be losing their battle to keep them apart.
Bill DeLacey got up from his seat and stood still as the crowed swirled around him. He angrily shouted at the people who jostled him, apparently trying to restore order. Junior remained seated, clasping his arms tightly across his chest.
The stage was bathed in white-hot light from the TV cameras. Thomas and Alvarez had retreated behind their podiums, where they were each arguing with their managers who appeared to be trying to get them to leave. Padilla threw up her hands and stormed backstage and was soon followed by Rosen. Thomas and Alvarez leaned against their podiums and stared at each other. Neither wanted to be the first to go, not while the TV cameras rolled.
Scattered people had made it past the security guards and onto the stage, where most of them disappeared into the wings, looking for a back exit. Others were enjoying the spotlight, mugging for the TV cameras and saying hello to Mom at home. Others in the audience had started chanting, “Two murders! No justice!”
One of the security guards signaled to his buddy. They left their posts, hopped onto the stage, and retreated into the back. Alvarez yelled at them but they either didn’t hear or didn’t care. The remaining guard put one more call in to the police, then scooted backstage as well.
Cole was still holding Iris’s arm pinned behind her back as they were pulled along with the crowd pressing close around them. Her purse strap was still on her shoulder but the handbag was suspended somewhere behind her. Her feet had been trampled time and again. She felt Cole’s hot breath on her neck. She tried to spit out the hair of a woman in front of her. Finding it hard to breathe in the crush of people, she turned her face up and gasped sweat-filled air.
She twisted her arm and felt Cole’s grip slipping. Just when she thought she could break free, he plunged forward, stepping on the people who separated them, grabbed her with both arms, and clutched her against his barrel chest.
“You want to leave?” he whispered into her ear, his lips unnecessarily touching her. “We’re gonna leave.” He plowed through the crowd, pushing and shoving with her in front of him, moving slowly toward the exit. Iris thought she would burst from the pressure of the bodies around her.
She screamed and dug her fingernails into his hand. She turned her head, the only thing she could easily move, and tried to bite him. None of it mattered. Her gyrations were lost in the pandemonium. But something about her struggle drew Thomas’s attention to her.
He’d been scanning the crowd for her, as had Alvarez. When she screamed, he spotted her, almost buried by Cole. “Let her go!” he yelled into a microphone. “You’d better not hurt her.”
The cameras soon found Iris and Cole. Someone extended a microphone on a pole in front of them.
“He’s trying to kill me,” Iris yelled. She wasn’t certain whether that was Cole’s intention, but this wasn’t the time for subtlety.
“I’m just escorting her to safety,” Cole droned. “This is the candidate’s girlfriend.” He changed direction and started shoving Iris toward the stage. People turned their heads to gawk at her.
Cole lifted Iris onto the stage where she ungracefully clambered to find her footing. Thomas grabbed her and pulled her into his arms.
“I’m so glad you’re safe,” he murmured.
Cole stood on the auditorium floor at the foot of the stage and pointed two fingers at his eyes, then at her, letting her know he was watching her.
Iris leaned against Thomas and tried to regain her balance, still feeling as if she were among the crowd. Television lights blinded her and she blinked to try and see. She shielded her eyes with her hands and looked at the crowd. People were in constant motion, like a wheat field in a breeze. Half the crowd was pushing to get out and the rest were clustered in groups, standing on folding chairs and in the aisles, stomping and yelling, “Two murders! No justice!”
Bill DeLacey stood at the bottom of the stage and shouted up to Alvarez, “You should check your facts before making accusations.”
Junior had gotten up from his chair to stand next to his father, his face oddly void of emotion.
The reporter who’d been sitting in front of Iris was now on the stage. She shoved a microphone into Iris’s face and started blabbing at her, not appearing to be fazed by the mob scene.
Iris didn’t realize the reporter was talking to her and distractedly said, “What?” into the microphone.
The reporter scowled, elbowed closer to Iris, and spoke more loudly. “I asked, are you the one who has information about Gabriel Gaytan’s murder?”
The camera crew’s lights went dead. The reporter tapped her microphone which was also dead. “What’s going on?”
Cole dropped the power cords that he had pulled apart.
“Hey!” the reporter snapped. “Leave that alone.”
“Let’s get out,” the cameraman said.
“Like hell,” the reporter answered. “I’m not going to miss this.”
“Hasn’t anyone called the police?” Iris asked.
“This is East L.A.,” the reporter replied. “The cops think they have more important things to do.”
“I’m out of here,” the cameraman said. “I have a wife and kids at home to think about.”
Someone in the crowd threw a chair. Somewhere else, glass was broken. Someone had found the controls for the stage lights. The stage went all blue, then red, then multicolored lights started spinning.
“Two murders! No justice!”
“Okay.” The reporter relented. Let’s go.”
Thomas said, “Iris, do it now. Tell them about Humberto.”
The people in the audience turned their attention to Iris. Some of them started yelling, “Speak!”
Iris wanted to shrink, but there was no escape. With the colored lights still spinning, she drew herself up and said loudly to the crowd, “When I was fourteen, I saw Gil Alvarez and Ron Cole beat Humberto de la Garza when they arrested him at Las Mariposas.”
“Bullshit!” Alvarez spat.
Cole shouted from the auditorium floor, “She’s lying. What do you expect from someone who’s sleeping with Thomas Gaytan DeLacey?”
Thomas watched the response of the crowd with triumph.
“Pig cops!” someone yelled.
“This ain’t over yet, Thomas,” Alvarez warned. “It’s just started.”
DeLacey was standing next to Cole. “Wasn’t too smart to have left a witness, was it?”
Cole retorted, “You got away with murder so don’t preach to me.”
Junior stood near his father. “He didn’t murder anyone.”
“Oh no?” Cole said.
The people on the floor shouted, “Police brutality! Who’s going to pay?”
“It is not bullshit,” Iris snarled at Alvarez. “I saw you.”
“You say you saw this when you were fourteen and you’re only talking about it now, after you started screwing my opponent?” Alvarez said. “Or are you pretending this is a repressed memory or something? No one’s going to buy that.”
“Pig!” a man yelled at Cole. “You beat my brother when he was a kid.”
Cole shot back, “You’re on drugs.”
Someone else shouted, “Everyone in the hood knew about you, Cole.”
“You think you can kill now and pay later?” A man climbed on top of a table that he’d pulled into the center of the auditorium and gesticulated toward the stage. “And later never comes? Well, now is later!”
The crowd took up the theme. “Now is later! Now is later!” The chanting escalated. The people who were trying to leave became more desperate. More chairs were thrown. A fist fight started. Still the crowd chanted, “Now is later!”
There was a gunshot.
Fear turned into panic. People were shoved. Some fell to the floor. Those near the exits were pinned to the walls. It seemed as if the police were never going to arrive. Screams and cries echoed in the old hall.
“Let’s take it to the streets!” the mob’s impromptu organizer shouted from his tabletop pulpit. “Now is later!”
There was a second gunshot.
Iris crouched on the stage floor with Thomas next to her. The wooden floor trembled with the footsteps of people running backstage to get out. The colored lights swirled.
Cole drew his gun.
Those near the stage scampered away from the shooter, clearing a circle. In the middle of the clearing stood Paula, her handgun pointed to the ceiling. She fired it a third time.
“Paula!” Thomas gasped.
“I said I wanted quiet!” Paula shouted.
The noise in the hall dimmed for a brief moment.
Bill DeLacey fearlessly approached his daughter. “Paula, what the hell are you doing?”
Junior trailed behind him, looking pale and damp.
The chanting resumed. “Now is later!”
Cole took a step toward Paula.
Paula turned her gun on him. “Get back. Throw the gun down.”
Cole hesitated.
“I’ll shoot you,” Paula warned. “I don’t give a damn.”
He tossed his gun on the floor and raised his hands.
Paula stepped over to the gun and picked it up without lowering hers. She put it in her jacket pocket.
Alvarez said, “I refuse to stand here and—”
“You’ll stand there!” Paula thundered.
Junior swatted his big hand against the perspiration that was trailing down his face.
Thomas nervously got to his feet.
Iris also stood and blinked at Paula in disbelief.
“Shoot the cops!” someone shouted. “The cops who killed Humberto!”
Alvarez clamped his mouth closed and took a step back.
Cole glared defiantly at the crowd.
“Justice for Humberto! Justice for Gabriel!”
“Now is later!”
The stage lights switched to steady red.
Cole shouted to Alvarez, “We’d better get out of here before we get lynched.” He hoisted himself onto the stage.
“Go ahead and get out,” Paula said. “It’s not you I want.” She aimed her gun at Thomas.
Cole ducked as a Vote for Alvarez key chain, thrown by someone in the audience, sailed past his head.
“Not before I get my hands on that will,” Alvarez said.
Bill DeLacey, standing beside Paula, shook his head, his shoulders bouncing as he silently laughed. “Paula, I always said that if you had just a little more brains, you’d be really dangerous.”
“Don’t underestimate me, Dad,” Paula said. “Not when I have a gun on your precious little boy.”
People continued to flood the exits. As the auditorium emptied, the action moved to the street. More people had taken up the chant, “Now is later!” People were breaking car windows. Through the auditorium’s open doors, Iris saw police in riot gear, the scene outside taking precedence over the one inside the hall. Something was burning. Iris glimpsed a police car that had been turned over and set aflame.
“What do you want?” Thomas asked Paula as he stared at the gun barrel. He then ducked and held his hands up to avoid being hit by campaign buttons thrown by someone in the dwindling crowd.
Iris, Alvarez, and Cole ducked as well while the buttons showered over them.
“Answers,” Paula said.
“Give us some answers!” someone shouted.
Paula continued to hold the gun on Thomas. “Which one of you A-holes killed my mother because she knew too much? Go ahead. Don’t be shy.”
Bill DeLacey slowly raised his gnarled hand and pointed his index finger. “Paula, stop looking for skeletons in the closet.”
“Then explain this, Mr. DeLacey.” Iris turned her back, reached inside the waistband of her skirt, pulled the will from her panty hose, and waved it.
Alvarez exclaimed, “The will!” He lunged and grabbed it.
Iris held on.
Thomas tried to pry Alvarez’s hand from the document. He reared his fist back and slugged Alvarez, sending him to the floor.
The people who had been taunting Alvarez and Cole let out a whoop when they saw Alvarez down. “Get him!” They started to rush the stage.
“Gil, let’s go.” Cole helped Alvarez to his feet and pulled him toward the back door, leaving Iris and Thomas on the stage. Junior, Bill DeLacey, and Paula were on the auditorium floor just below.
Paula waved the gun at the crowd. “Stay back.” She released a shot into the air.
Iris was clutching the will in both hands when Thomas grabbed it and yanked it from her. “Thomas!”
Some of the crowd called Paula’s bluff and pushed past her onto the stage to follow Cole and Alvarez.
People jostled Bill DeLacey and Junior, who were still below the stage. Junior tried to shield his father with his body. He climbed onto the stage and held his hand out for his father to join him. “Dad, let’s go out the back.”
Iris tried to grab the will.
“It’s DeLacey property, Iris.” Thomas blocked her with his elbow.
“You stinking son of a bitch.” Paula turned the gun on him again. “You’re done.”
Thomas grabbed Iris and pulled her in front of him. “Go ahead and shoot now, Paula.”
Iris struggled in his grasp.
Paula waved the gun, trying to take aim at Thomas without hitting Iris.
“Paula,” Iris yelped.
In the commotion, no one had noticed a man quietly making his way to the front of the auditorium.
“Dad?” Iris whispered.
Paula kept her gun pointed on Thomas, but turned to look at Les Thorne.
“Thomas, let her go,” Les said.
Thomas released Iris.
Iris glared at him. “You creep.” She snatched the will from him.
“Paula, give me the gun,” Les said.
She handed it to him. “It was empty anyway.”
“Empty,” Thomas said. “I knew that.”
Junior took a few steps backward as if to put space between himself and Les. “What does he want, Dad?”
“You’ve got no business here, Les,” Bill DeLacey said.
Their voices sounded loud in the hall that was almost empty save a few people who had come in to take refuge from the riot outside and others who were trying to recover from the earlier stampede.
“I’m here to help my daughter and to do what I should have done years ago,” Les said. “It’s time people knew the truth about who murdered Gabriel Gaytan.”
“You know who did it?” Paula asked.
Before Les could answer, a gunshot rang out from the stage. Les crumpled to his knees.
Iris jumped from the stage to the auditorium floor. “Dad!” Her father bled from his abdomen. “Somebody call an ambulance,” she pleaded, clutching her father’s hand.
DeLacey suddenly grabbed hold of Paula as he frantically scanned the stage. “Find Junior.” He clutched his chest and grew pale and breathless. The old man didn’t seem able to stand on his own.
Paula put her arm around him to hold him up. “Thomas! Something’s wrong.”
Thomas climbed down from the stage. “Dad, sit down.” He tried to edge his father to a folding chair but Bill DeLacey wouldn’t move.
“Find Junior,” he rasped.
Paula lowered her father to the floor. “I think he’s having a heart attack.”
“Find Junior,” DeLacey repeated, panting. “Please. He thinks everyone knows he killed Gabriel. I’m afraid of what he might do.”
Outside, the chanting subsided and was replaced by the sound of broken glass as the protest that was born of a search for justice quickly disintegrated into mindless looting.