A Dangerous Assignment
By Walter
Burns
I knew it was a dangerous
assignment when I took it. But someone has to keep these politicians
honest.
I rolled up to the “Treasure”
(Schatzi) building in Ocean Park, chained my bike outside and gave my hat and
overcoat to the hat check girl. She didn’t notice that I was still
packin’ my digital
camera.
Upstairs, I entered Der
Guv’s plush office. I was greeted by a vaguely familiar bombshell seated
at the front desk.
“Hi
gorgeous,” I said. “I’ve brought you a free copy of the
Beachhead.”
“Ooo,”
she cooed. “I just love the Beachhead. Can I buy a
subscription?”
“Sure, I
guess so,” I mumbled as I tried to lean over her desk and read the
documents upside down.
When she bent over to
get three tens and a five for the sub, I remembered where I had seen her before.
She was none other than Bubbles McGoogle, winner of the 2005 Ms. Venice Nude
Beach contest. What was she doing working so closely with Der Guv? Did Maria
know?
Just then I heard the pounding of
two sets of hob-nailed boots coming down the hall. They stopped only ten feet
away but they couldn’t see me. I was behind a bamboo plant on Bubbles desk
that had grown to the ceiling while we were talking. But I could see them. It
was Der Guv and Kurt Hiller, the head of the Orphans and Widows Benevolent
Society.
Hiller was saying,
“Vell, Herr Guv, today Kaliphornia, tomorrow ze world. Ist just like the
olden days, no?” A broad smile crossed Hiller’s face, “Ack, I
almost forgot, here is Der Rent,” he said as he opened his briefcase. It
was packed full of $1,000 bills!
I
jumped out from behind the bamboo plant that had already broken through to the
next floor, aimed my camera and shot. “Wot der hell?” exclaimed Der
Guv. The camera’s flash momentarily blinded them and gave me a chance to
escape. I ran down the stairs, retrieved my hat and overcoat and jumped on my
bike. I was headed for Venice where I could get lost in the narrow streets and
alleys.
Headed down Ocean Front Walk
past Navy, I glanced behind me and saw Herr Guv, himself, astride a Bugatti
50-speed mountain bike. I stepped on it, dodging old ladies with shopping carts
and nearly collided with Harry Perry. Stand-up comics scurried for safety. But
it was no good. I could see Herr Guv was gaining on me. His mouth was open and
his pointed steel teeth were poised to take a bite out of this reporter.
Then I saw my only hope of escape. A
group of beachside vendors were up ahead. I yelled our secret greeting,
“Free Speech Forever.” They all turned and looked. I yelled again,
“Stop that maniac, he’s trying to kill me.” No reaction.
“And he supports the Lottery,” I screamed. All at once, they grabbed
tables, hand-made artifacts with little crosses, and shade umbrellas. They piled
them across the Walk right in the path of the oncoming Guv. I turned just in
time to see the priceless Bugatti crash into the barracade and come to a full
stop. The Guv was not so lucky. He could break a lot of laws, but not
Newton’s Third Law of Motion. He was airborn a few feet above the Walk.
Soon he was skidding on the asphalt headed straight for my bike. Wham! Bang!
Crash! At the last minute, he collided with a hawker of free tickets to
Terminator 6.
I didn’t hang
around to see how the LAPD would unravel the accident scene. Instead, I
doubled-timed it to the Beachhead photo lab to see if my shot had turned out, or
if I’d risked my neck for nothing. Carol was working the phones when I
walked in. “I still don’t see why you go out in the middle of summer
in an overcoat and fedora,” she said by way of greeting. “Well you
know, the Beachhead has a reputation to uphold,” I retorted.
“Listen, have I got a
story,” I said. “We’re going to blow this whole phony racket
wide open. It seems that Der Guv’s not for The People after all.
He’s trying to screw the nurses, fire fighters, state workers and all the
other workin’ stiffs. Not only that but he’s taking big rent
payments from his political buddies to get around campaign reporting
requirements. And, it’s happening right up on Main Street. The
Beachhead’s going to blow this one wide
open.
“Slade,” Carol yawns,
“Look at today’s L.A. Times. You’ve been scooped
again.”
“Oh,” says I,
“Well, at least I sold a subscription. Just think if we did that every
day...”
Posted: Mon - August 1, 2005 at 09:33 AM