“Thank’s for the effort,” Clive sighed.

  Eversleigh bristled with outrage. “Captain, Ms. O’Brien. There is a citizen present. Must I remind you that you are both city employees?”

  “Can it, Daniel.” Becky absently opened her bag again and debated which cookie looked most appetizing. She chose a white chocolate chip and macadamia nut delicacy and bit into it daintily.

  “Clive’s county and I answer to the city manager,” she said around a mouthful of cookie. “Chris is a friend of mine from way back. Besides…” Unable to restrain herself to another dainty bite, she shoved the remainder of the cookie into her mouth, spraying crumbs everywhere to Clive’s chagrin. “Besides,” she repeated, with her mouth full and eyes sparkling mischievously, “Chris doesn’t vote.”

  “Doesn’t vote!” The mayor was astounded, his anger momentarily forgotten in the wake of his discovery of a potential convert to the Daniel Eversleigh campaign. “My dear young man…” He was positively effusive. “The ability to vote is the epitome of America. Do you know what the wise founders of this great country suffered to guarantee you that right?”

  “As a matter of fact…” Chris began, figuring it would be worth the effort of causing the mayor to forget his comment just to have the satisfaction of deflating the pompous windbag for a few moments.

  But Daniel was launching into one of his speeches and cut him off.

  “Why, there are countries where people are fighting and dying horrible deaths to win the right to vote. Voting means freedom! And freedom is what we are all about! The great John Adams once said…”

  Now it was Chris’ turn to interrupt, having had quite enough.

  “John Adams was a fat pig. Large enough — pardon me Becky — to sink the tea in Boston Harbor just by boarding the ship. And his cousin, before you go on any longer, sir, was a drunken lout. I found it ironically appropriate when I discovered a bottled beer had been named for him.”

  Daniel’s mouth dropped open in astonishment while Becky tried to hide a grin. “But…but…” the mayor stammered and, finally deciding he hadn’t heard what he thought he’d heard, launched into the speech again. “That great sage, Benjamin Franklin…”

  “That whoremaster,” Chris corrected.

  “Ah…the…uh…” Eversleigh was blushing furiously.

  “And a bit of a pederast, come to think of it,” Chris added after a moment. “Even two hundred years ago, twelve and thirteen year old girls were considered a tad too young to be bedded — at least not without marriage first.” He stood and looked the mayor directly in the eye. “And, if, God help you, you’re thinking of invoking the name of that mobster Washington…”

  “What the hell are you talking about!” Eversleigh finally exploded, severely rattled by having heroes he quoted frequently in his speeches slandered with such confidence.

  “He’s an expert in colonial history, Daniel. Forget it, you’re out-classed,” Becky said, starting on her third or fourth cookie, this time an ordinary, garden variety chocolate chip.

  “I will forget nothing!” Eversleigh was purpled with. At a loss for words, he recalled his original purpose and, grasping it, rounded on Clive, pounding the desk again just in time to send another cascade of stale coffee out onto the desk, soaking Clive’s handkerchief as he was trying to wipe up the original spill. Becky had rarely seen the mayor this flustered before, and never this angry outside of his interactions with Burman.

  “I warn you Captain. Either you recapture this pervert terrorizing our neighborhoods, or else! I want that assassin caught! Do you hear me? Caught!”

  “If you’ll just calm down, Daniel…”

  “I…Am…Calm!” Eversleigh screamed each word in a measured cadence. “I want that son of a bitch’s testicles, Captain! For public display!”

  “As you were pointing out, Daniel,” Clive said, “We do have a Bill of Rights…”

  “Goddammit, Clive!” Daniel was so angry that it was a toss up as to whether he would drop from an aneurysm or simply rupture his spleen. “We’re talking about a criminal here! The hell with the constitution!”

  “Daniel, there’s still a voter present,” Becky couldn’t resist pointing out.

  Eversleigh gave her a withering look and visibly restrained himself. “It will be well worth the cost of one vote if I can light a fire under our reluctant captain and save our city from further persecution by ruffians unknown. Those idiots…I mean, those citizens out front seemed to have the right idea when they burned you in effigy.” He turned to Chris, “Young man? I hope you will remember my dedication to the city to the neglect of my own political opportunity when you go to the polls in April.”

  Becky rolled her eyes.

  “I saw that,” the mayor snapped.

  “Who the fuck let him in?” All eyes turned to stare as Pamela Burman entered the office, dragging a bedraggled, barefoot Louis behind her. “Jesus Christ,” she went on. “First that moron Delaney out front and now this!” She favored the mayor with a glance she usually reserved for particularly distasteful experiences — such as the time she’d found half of a spider in her dinner salad. Rolling her eyes heavenward, she added, “Both of them in one afternoon. Like I deserve this? I must’ve been Attila the Hun in a past life.”

  “Ah ha!” Eversleigh cried, pointing his finger at her. “I knew you were behind this outrage. I could smell it!”

  “Oh, put some ice on your ovaries, Daniel,” Burman said. She thrust Louis toward Becky who rose from her seat.

  “He’s been burned,” Burman said.

  “Burned?” Becky’s eyebrows rose in question. Burman shot her a warning glance, with a small nod of her head toward the mayor.

  “Come with me and I’ll have a look.” The two of them vanished into Clive’s private bathroom. Chris noted with amusement that Becky made certain to leave the door ajar slightly so as not to miss a single word.

  “What are you doing here?” Daniel demanded.

  “It was closer than my place,” Burman said. “Besides,” she said, looking at the mayor as if she’d just bitten into an apple and found a huge worm, “you can’t miss the crap that’s going on out in the parking lot. The fucking smoke’s gonna screw up West Hollywood’s air quality control statistics for the month.”

  “Will you kindly watch your language?” Daniel asked through gritted teeth.

  “Fuck no,” Burman replied amiably. “Besides, I run this city, Daniel. Sometimes that means I gotta talk to Clive about things. Not that you’d know anything about that.”

  “You work for me,” Daniel hissed, furious.

  “No,” Burman corrected with satisfaction, “I work for the city council.”

  “Ah ha!” Daniel repeated with satisfaction. “I’m glad we agree on that at least.”

  He reached into an inside pocket of his jacket and withdrew a folded piece of paper, tossing it onto Clive’s desk.

  “I’d hoped I wouldn’t have to go over your head, Captain. But in the face of this…this insulting behavior, I see I have no choice.”

  “What’s the little weasel up to?” Burman wondered aloud. “I don’t like that smug smile on his face.”

  Clive looked up from reading the paper the mayor had dropped on his desk, shocked.

  “A pet patrol,” he said dully.

  “A what?”

  “He’s gotten a council directive to form a Citizen’s Pet Patrol,” Clive told them with disbelief.

  “Lemme see that!” Burman snatched it from his hand and read it quickly.

  “What exactly is a Pet Patrol?” Chris inquired.

  “Groups of citizens,” Daniel told him. “Attentive observers positioned on street corners every night with flashlights. Guarding our city’s streets. Preserving their sanctity. A fine example of community based policing.”

  “Yeah, and probably a goddamned fife and drum core if you get your way.” Burman’s voice was dangerously even.

  “Whatever for?” Chris was trying to make some sense of the mayor’s explanation, to no avail.

  “To frighten away the pet murderer,” Daniel declaimed proudly.

  Clive shrugged, helplessly. “You have to experience Daniel for awhile before you understand how his mind works.”

  “Mind? What mind?” Burman snapped. She tossed the paper into the garbage can next to the desk.

  “Ignore it,” she instructed him and started toward the bathroom to check on Becky and her ward.

  “Pamela?” Clive said, hesitantly, retrieving the paper.

  “What?”

  “I can’t ignore it.”

  “For once, the captain speaks true,” Daniel said as he folded his arms across his chest in smug satisfaction. The mayor and the city manager glared at each other in mutual hatred.

  Clive glanced at the document once again and spread his arms helplessly. “All four of ’em signed it. There’s nothing I can do. No jurisdiction.”

  “Clive…” Burman began dangerously.

  “What am I supposed to do, Pam? Arrest half the city? Lock up the city council? As Daniel pointed out, there’s such a thing as the first amendment, remember?”

  “You threatened to lock me up once, I recall,” Burman said darkly.

  “That’s different,” Clive told her. “You’re a friend. No problem locking you up.”

  “What stopped you? Do the city good, if you ask me.” Eversleigh couldn’t resist putting in his two cents worth.

  “No one asked you,” Pamela snapped. “Don’t you have emergency powers?” Burman asked Clive through clenched teeth.

  “You want to declare a state of emergency?” Clive retorted. “Let the cat, pardon me, let the wolf out of the bag?”

  Burman, for once, had no reply.

  Unfortunately, the mayor did.

  “Well, Ms. Burman, seeing as how the captain is fully aware of who holds the real authority in this town…” he began.

  “You little shit!” Burman hissed.

  “Captain,” Daniel spread his arms in feigned helpless innocence, “is it really necessary that I stand here to take this abuse?”

  “Not at all, Daniel,” Burman said sweetly. “But you’ll take this abuse!”

  To everyone’s surprise and before anyone could stop her, Pamela Burman leaned across Clive’s desk, grabbed up the Styrofoam cup containing the remainder of Clive’s cold coffee and flung it, cup and all, straight into the mayor’s face.

  The room fell deathly silent.

  “And this,” Burman added, and while the mayor stood there, spluttering with shock, cold coffee dripping from the end of his chin, she reached across to Clive’s coffee cart and picked up a small cardboard container of non-dairy creamer.

  It, too, went sailing across the room to splatter across the front of Daniel’s suit. And, while everyone remained frozen with astonishment, Burman picked up the container of sugar and added it to the mélange for good measure.

  “Sweet and Low, Daniel?” she asked, sweetly.

  At her words, the scene unfroze and all hell broke loose.

  “You…you…Amazon!” the mayor shrieked.

  Daniel seized Clive’s battered Rolodex from the desk and hurled it at the city manager’s head. The room briefly resembled a snowstorm as the cards bearing the telephone numbers of West Hollywood’s finest citizens filled the air before fluttering gently to the carpeted floor.

  “Assault, Captain!” Daniel screamed. “I want this harridan booked for assault!”

  “Calm down a minute, Daniel.” Clive infused his voice with as much calmness and reassurance as was possible under the circumstances.

  He was interrupted by Burman’s howl of rage as a framed certificate went flying past him, narrowly missing the mayor’s head and smashing against the wall next to the bathroom door.

  Clive closed his eyes, the picture of long-suffering patience. “I hope that wasn’t my commendation from the West Hollywood Business Alliance.”

  Becky poked her head out of the bathroom door and took a quick look at the ruined wall hanging.

  “Nope,” she said, “it’s the one from the Chamber of Commerce.”

  She ducked back inside, shutting the door firmly, fearful that she might be injured should the onslaught continue.

  “I’ll kill her,” Daniel said with quiet venom and his head darted to and fro as he looked wildly about for something to throw.

  “You’ll have to get to me first!” Burman said smugly and she leaned over Clive’s desk and picked up a pair of scissors that were lying to one side.

  “Uh, Pamela…” Clive began, alarmed. The last thing he needed was an irate Pamela Burman, a hysterical Daniel Eversleigh and a sharp object in the same room.

  Pamela stalked over to the mayor, who froze at the sight of the shears. Before he could flinch away, Burman reached out and seized the paisley tie that the mayor was wearing.

  “Ms. Burman…” Daniel began, the uncertainty of his voice providing a nice complement to the terror in his eyes as he eyed the sharp points of the scissors.

  “Murder one, Pam,” Clive warned tensely. “The DA’ll go for murder one.”

  “Oh yeah?” Burman replied and, without another word, she inserted the edge of the scissors underneath the mayor’s tie and clipped it off a scant two inches south of his throat.

  Daniel’s eyes bulged as Burman handed him the remnants of the once stylish neckwear.

  “My wife gave me that tie,” he said dully.

  “As much taste in husbands as she has in clothing, I see. Tell me, did she give ya the suit too?” With lightening speed, Burman used the scissors to alter Daniel’s lapels to less than half their former width. “Or did you somehow manage to pick it out yourself?”

  Burman tossed the scissors back onto the desk with a satisfied grin.

  “I saw Humphrey Bogart do that once,” she confided, “Or maybe it was Carey Grant.” She shot the mayor an evil sneer. “I always wondered if it was even possible without slitting the throat at the same time. I figured, since it’s only him, if it went wrong, no great loss.”

  “Arrrgh!” The mayor’s cry was wordless as he seized Clive’s umbrella from where it was standing in a corner.

  Looking even more uncannily like Errol Flynn as he thrust at the city manager with the umbrella, his onslaught was unsuccessful as Burman, acting with surprising reflexes for a woman of her advanced age, quickly grabbed up the coffee tray and used it as a shield to deflect the blow.

  The mayor continued, undaunted, grunting as he whacked away at the city manager, who parried every blow with the tray.

  “To me!” Burman cried, having seen the same Errol Flynn movie as the mayor, and thoroughly enjoying herself.

  Clive, without thinking, tossed her his police baton, which she caught deftly. Now armed, she used every opportunity to jab at Daniel Eversleigh the second he relaxed his guard.

  The battle raged on, the fencers weaving back and forth across the captain’s office, each alternately gaining and losing ground as they strove mightily to score a hit.

  “So this is how city government works,” Chris could be heard commenting mildly. He’d ducked underneath the conference table on the far side of Clive’s office and was watching the antics of West Hollywood’s two most powerful officials with a mixture of fascination and mild revulsion.

  Clive stood helplessly, the contents of his office slowly destroyed as the mayor and the city manager kept up their attempts to impale each other.

  “Jesus,” he breathed quietly, “it’s like The Three Musketeers in here.”

  Burman seemed to be winning. Although the umbrella provided Eversleigh with a longer weapon, he wasn’t nearly as adroit with it. The loudest sound in the room, aside from the panting of the duelists and the occasional shatter of one of Clive’s more fragile personal possessions toppling from a shelf, was the prominent “Oooof!” which exploded from the mayor each time Burman managed to plant the end of the nightstick in the pit of his stomach. When she grabbed Clive’s Sheriff’s Academy track trophy and hoisted it above her head ready to bash in the mayor’s skull with it, the captain was seized by a burst of brilliant inspiration.

  He ducked a badly aimed thrust of the umbrella and grabbed the telephone receiver.

  “Get me Ed Larsen at The Gay Gazette,” he announced loudly.

  Instantly, Burman and Eversleigh froze in their tracks.

  “Ed?” Clive said a few seconds later with forced joviality. “Clive Anderson here.”

  “Please, Captain,” the mayor whimpered.

  His comment was accompanied by a hiss from Burman. “Don’t you dare, you son of a bitch.”

  “Yeah, I thought you’d be onto that,” Clive said into the telephone. His companionable tone was in stark contrast with the stern look he gave Eversleigh and Burman.

  “Actually, I have something else for you. You’re gonna love this. Oh, hang on a second.”

  The captain covered the telephone with his free hand. “Well?” he asked Burman.

  “Him first,” she said pugnaciously, pointing the silver trophy at Daniel.

  “Of course, Captain,” Daniel replied, all sweetness and light, as he carefully placed the umbrella atop Clive’s desk.

  “After all,” he added, “we are civilized servants of the public, capable of putting aside personal dislikes and vendettas in favor of the greater good of…”

  Clive cut him off. “Pamela?”

  “Oh, all right,” she said as she replaced the trophy on its accustomed shelf. “I’ll massacre the little rodent later,” she added under her breath and she allowed the coffee tray to fall to the floor.

  “Good.” Clive turned back to the telephone. “Sorry, Ed. Claire wanted something. Where was I? Oh, yeah. Has anyone told you about the pigeons…? The pigeons…I’ve got flaming pigeons all over my parking lot…I don’t know. You’re the journalist. Get your ass over here and tell me what happened. Great. Remember, you owe me one for the heads up.”

  He hung up and surveyed the wreckage of his office sadly. Both Burman and Eversleigh opened their mouths to speak. Clive cut them off.

 

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