“They broke his thumbs?”
“That’s what she said.”
“Ouch. Talk about painful.”
My father and I were having lunch out, a rare experience for him these days. But he was feeling better, so he suggested it.
“What the hell,” he had said, “why not?”
He had chosen The Freedom Country Club and its casual, members-only dining room overlooking the first hole of the Arnold Palmer-designed golf course.
He was heartened by the number of fellow members who stopped by our table to offer him their best wishes, many of them enjoying the chance to needle him, as well.
He was a popular figure in Freedom, known for paying heed to the less fortunate as well as those in the chips. He had once dreamed of the governorship and when he found that calling elusive, he started dreaming of it for me. Even when I was inching toward becoming an LAPD homicide detective.
Despite my resistance, he believed that by dint of his personality, he could persuade me to seek the office. He’d phone me regularly with campaign ideas. Slogans, even.
For a while I let him believe I was taking it seriously by way of ameliorating him. When I finally admitted I had no wish to run, it angered him.
For several months he churlishly referred to me as Governor Steel. As in, “How would the Governor like his eggs this morning?” Or, “When is the Governor planning on visiting his family?”
When he realized he had succeeded only in deepening the chasm between us, he reluctantly relented. I wondered if he would ever come to accept me for who I am.
The answer to which is why I’m currently in Freedom. Hopeful but wary.
“Something’s rotten in Denmark,” I said when things had quieted down.”This Petrov thing has spiraled into a much bigger deal.”
“Meaning?”
“That’s just it. I don’t know what it means.”
“What are you thinking?”
“I’d like to have another chat with Vlad Smernik.”
“He being?”
“One of the Petrov goons who threatened me.”
“What good would that do?”
“He offered to provide information.”
“Boris Petrov information?”
“Yes. He said there was more there than meets the eye.”
“Which means?”
“I’m thinking it means there’s something questionable taking place on his property that Petrov doesn’t want anyone to know about. Otherwise, why would he maintain such a sizable security staff? What’s so important that he needs that many guards? It’s not like he’s on the outs with the Kremlin and he’s afraid Putin’s going to poison him. He’s a loyalist. So what’s he hiding? Why is he so intent upon sealing off public access? What’s going on there?”
“And you think this Smernik character is prepared to tell you about it?”
“Can’t hurt to find out.”
“Where is he?”
“Likely in an ICE holding pen.”
“In Los Angeles?”
“Yes.”
“And you think he’s a horse trader?”
“Possibly.”
“What have you got to trade?”
“His freedom.”
“How would you arrange that?”
“I wouldn’t. You would.”
“Me?”
“You’re the Sheriff.”
“Hold on a second here, Governor. Don’t be thinking I can help you arrange for this Russki to skate.”
“If the information he delivers is useful enough, you can and will.”
“You give me way too much credit.”
“Don’t go all self-deprecating on me, Burton. If this guy provides a leg up on a possible prosecution of Boris Petrov, there’s no one better at negotiating a Get Out of Jail Free card than you.”
“That’s what you say.”
“That’s what everyone says.”