BAMBOO, 10:25 A.M.

Zengo brought his car to a stop in Bamboo’s empty parking lot. Pandini’s popular club didn’t open for lunch for another hour. He walked across the pavement, pushed open the club’s doors, and was greeted with a handshake by Pandini’s bodyguard, Bobby. It was quite the contrast to Zengo’s first visit to Bamboo. Bobby had almost thrown him out before he’d even been in here a minute. Things were a lot different than they were back on his first case. He was a lot different. He removed his sunglasses.

“Thank you for coming, Detective, we’ve been expecting you,” Bobby said. He motioned over to the bar, where the bartender was changing out the root beer kegs and testing the taps. “Carpy, please show Detective Zengo some hospitality with one of our award-winning root beer floats.”

“No need,” said Zengo. “You’ll have plenty of paying customers to serve soon.”

“Nonsense,” chuckled the koala, who barely reached the bar top. “You’re part of the family now. Families take care of one another.” He plopped a scoop of vanilla into a freshly poured root beer and slid it down the bar, where Bobby caught it and handed it to the detective.

Zengo didn’t like being called “family” by these characters, but man, that bubbling vanilla smelled delicious. Plus, it would be rude to turn down such a generous gesture.

“Thank you,” said Zengo as he took a big foamy sip. Bobby raised an eyebrow and handed him a napkin. “Oh, right,” said Zengo, a little embarrassed as he wiped his bill.

“Come on. Mr. Pandini is waiting for you.”

Bobby led Zengo to a panel in the wall that opened, revealing a dark stairway that wound its way upward. Zengo had never noticed this door before. He followed Bobby up to Pandini’s second-floor office.

It was an impressive space. Frank Pandini Jr. spared no expense. One entire wall was a huge one-way window—it looked just like a wall from down in the club, but from up here someone could watch everything happening on the floor. There were video screens and computers all around the room, lots of comfy couches, and even his own root beer bar. He could probably run his entire empire from this room—and in style, too.

The candidate sat behind a huge mahogany desk. He was deep in discussion with Irving Myers, who sat on one of the sleek chairs across from him. “Ah, Detective Zengo,” he said, glancing up. “I’ll be with you in just a moment.”

Pandini’s walls were adorned with photos of the mogul with Kalamazoo City’s most famous and upstanding citizens. Each black-and-white photo was crisply matted and framed. It looked like an art gallery. This was a collection of all the most powerful people in town. There was even a photo of Pandini with his opponent in the mayoral race, Patrick McGovern, presumably taken during less competitive times.

“Your poll numbers have transformed overnight,” said Myers, indicating a row of numbers on a chart he was showing Pandini. “In an instant poll taken by Channel Five Action News following the incident, your favorables shot up to eighty-eight percent. This is exactly the shot in the arm the campaign needed!”

Pandini exhaled heavily and lifted his arm that sat in a sling.

“Apologies, Mr. Pandini,” Myers backtracked. “Poor choice of words.”

“I won’t have us playing the victim in the press,” Pandini said. “If we’re going to win, we’re going to do it on the back of the campaign platform that you and I crafted—making this city the best it can be. I want you out there talking to reporters, turning their attention back to the issues that matter. I’ll be out of this sling in a couple of days, and I don’t want to be taking any more questions about the attack.”

“Mr. Pandini, if I may.” Myers adjusted his glasses. “This isn’t my first rodeo. Opportunities like this don’t come around very often, and—”

“You heard me, Irving. Three days to quash this story, and I don’t want to hear another word about it. Hopefully by then the assailant will have been apprehended, and we can forget this entire thing ever happened. Speaking of which—it’s lovely to see you, Detective Zengo.” Pandini flashed his signature smile. “Mr. Myers, if you don’t mind, I’d like to speak to my new head of security.”

“Of course.” Myers gathered up his papers. “Remember, we’ve got the rally tonight at Kalamazoo City University.” He made his way to the stairs. Bobby followed him out, leaving Zengo and Pandini alone together.

Pandini gestured to the other seat in front of the desk, and Zengo sat down, careful not to spill his root beer float. The last thing he needed to do his first day on the job was ruin one of Pandini’s expensive chairs.

“Detective Zengo, I can’t thank you enough for coming here, and for your willingness to help with my security detail.”

“Please, Mr. Pandini,” Zengo found himself saying, “call me Rick.” If he was going to get close enough to Pandini to find out what was going on, the best way was to keep things friendly.

Pandini smiled. “All right, then. Rick, I’ll be straight with you. My security guys are good, but I fear even they aren’t prepared for what I think might be out there.” Pandini lifted his left arm again. “Despite what I just said to Mr. Myers, I fear this attacker wasn’t working alone. I believe there is someone behind this, and that he or she will try again. I need someone who can not only protect me, but also help put an end to these attacks once and for all.”

Zengo nodded. “I understand. But . . . why me?”

Pandini leaned in. “You love this city, Detective. I’ve known that from the moment I first met you, right down there next to the bar. And when you didn’t hesitate to chase a criminal through the crowded dance floor below us, I knew you’d stop at nothing to make sure this city is safe. Now, I love this city as well, and I too have worked tirelessly to turn it into one of the most enviable and respected cities in the whole country. But you and I both know—we can do better. This city can be better. Better schools for our children. Better care for our elderly. Better resources for those in need. Safer streets at all hours of the day, in all parts of the city. That’s why I am running for mayor—to make a difference. Not just for the rich, who—let’s face it—are the ones who have most benefited from my many businesses. But for everyone, rich and poor alike.”

Pandini stared hard at Zengo, and Zengo tried to return his stare with equal intensity. It was not easy. Once again, Zengo was moved by what Pandini was saying. But was he being honest? Or was it just a very well-rehearsed campaign speech?

“I know what you see when you look at me,” said Pandini. “And I can’t say that I blame you.”

Zengo didn’t know what to say. “I’m not exactly sure what you mean. . . .”

“When you look at me, you think about your grandfather,” Pandini continued. “My father brought much pain and grief to you and your family. Just as he did to this city.”

Pandini paused and his eyes lost focus, looking off past Zengo, who was frozen to the spot. Pandini’s father had committed many crimes as Kalamazoo City’s most notorious crime boss, including killing Zengo’s grandfather. The detective began to sweat, and gripped the leather arms of the chair tighter.

“My father brought shame to this city,” Pandini said finally. “It’s been my life’s mission to reverse the damage that he did. And it’s been an uphill battle. But nothing could prepare me for this campaign. In business, it doesn’t matter what anyone thinks of you—all they care about is whether your restaurant is the best, or your gym, or your nightclub, or your ballpark. But running for mayor . . . this is different. What people think of you matters just as much as what you do. And no matter what I do, it’s almost impossible to change what people think of me, of my name. None of them know the real me, they know only my image, my family, my past. It hasn’t been easy, convincing them who I really am. That I’m ready for this. That I can lead this city. Can you understand that, Detective?”

Zengo certainly knew what it was like to be judged by someone in your family who came before you. He thought about his grandfather, and the hopes his parents had for the police lieutenant Zengo might become. And he thought about O’Malley, who kept calling him “rookie,” even after everything Zengo had done, all the cases he’d solved, all the criminals who would still be on the street if it wasn’t for him.

Zengo had never trusted Pandini. He’d never get over what Pandini’s father had done. And he still wasn’t sure that the selfless little speech Pandini had just given about making Kalamazoo a better place for every citizen, rich or poor, was genuine. But right now, Zengo couldn’t help but feel like Pandini might be the only one who really knew how he felt.

Finally, Zengo said, “I can understand that, Mr. Pandini.”

“If we’re going to work together,” said Pandini, smiling, “I must insist you call me Frank.”

Despite everything, Zengo smiled too.

The office door swung open and Bobby entered with a plateful of fresh, steaming fish. He lumbered across the room and placed the tray before Zengo.

“Caught by Kalamazoo City’s own fishermen,” Pandini said proudly. “The best KC bass money can buy.”

Pandini might care about the less fortunate, thought Zengo, but he sure doesn’t eat like them. Was all that talk about the poor just baloney? Zengo supposed it didn’t matter. He was at Pandini’s side to protect him, not to fall for his campaign promises. And certainly not to indulge in all this extravagance.

Still . . . Zengo loved fresh bass. The smell of the fish just below his bill made his mouth water. This assignment doesn’t have to be all work, Zengo thought. He picked up his fork and dug in.