anticipation. Maximize the coverage. Now it’s damage control. Trying to look a little stupid as opposed to total idiots.”
“Are we cursed or what?” said Harper. “Every time we turn around, it seems like there’s a bucket of paint falling on our heads. What gives?”
“Yeah,” said Blount. “Tomorrow we start reviewing what’s happened the last two weeks. See if we can figure out why things have gone wrong. Bad luck? Or, something else? For today, let’s figure out something you can say that won’t sound ridiculous.
“I’ve got an idea,” said Harper. “Chapman just voted for the Medicare cuts. It just guts the program. Thirty percent reduction over five years. It will impoverish millions of elderly people. It’s terrible. Let’s go after him on that.”
“Are you sure?” said Blount. “It’s not a state program. Is it even a state issue?”
“Is the fact that I’m gay a state issue?” said Harper. “Or, the fact that we’re partners? You know he’s getting the guns out for that one. If this is going to be about who we are as individuals – personal morality, so be it. That’s a fight I’ll take.”
Blount was silent for a moment.
“Sir,” he finally said. “I think I love you.”
Harper laughed.
“You’d better,” he said. “Hey. Let’s take tonight off. Thai food. Chablis. Masterpiece Theater.”
“Ahh,” said Blount, as he started typing on his Thinkpad the opening lines of the speech Harper would give in 80 minutes. He was already thinking about it as an opening salvo. “Now I know I love you. Sounds perfect.”
Chapter 16
THE ADDRESS THAT Bobbie Connors had given Enzo Lee led him to one of the nicer suburbs of San Jose built in the 60s boom years on land that had once been fruit orchards. A mature cherry tree soaked up the late-afternoon sun in front of the ranch-style house which had a light green exterior and a heavy, dark wooden front door with black hardware.
Nancy Wilkins opened the door barefoot and wearing a loose white shift. Her black hair was in a bun. She was short and somewhere in the middle stages of pregnancy.
“Hello,” said Enzo Lee.
“Hello,” said Wilkins. She had a puzzled look on her face and Lee paused for a moment, trying to figure out why she was looking at him oddly.
“Nagsasalita ba kayo ng Tagalog?” she said.
“Sorry?” said Lee.
“Are you Filipino?” asked Wilkins.
“Oh. No. I’m not,” said Lee. “Chinese. Half Chinese anyway.”
“Oh. I’m sorry,” said Wilkins. “You look Filipino.”
Lee just shrugged apologetically. He was accustomed to the mistake.
It took the national DNA database researchers a while to get to the hair recovered at the USF hospital garage, but they finally found a match. It was Nancy Wilkins’ husband, Oscar, a middle-aged computer programmer. Oscar Wilkins’ police file stemmed from his arrest three years earlier for helping a Las Vegas gambling operation set up an online sports betting website. The organizers had hidden safely behind the offshore location of the business. But Oscar Wilkins’ work in California ran afoul of the state’s gambling prohibitions and had earned him two years of probation as well as a spot in the national DNA database.
Connors had visited the Wilkins home the previous day but learned nothing from Nancy Wilkins except that her husband was out of the country on an extended trip. Lee had decided to try himself. The early-morning killing of Scott Truman still baffled him and the spreading of Truman’s ashes near Angel Island was still fresh in his memory. He kept thinking of Captain Nick’s quote, about the living
“Are we cursed or what?” said Harper. “Every time we turn around, it seems like there’s a bucket of paint falling on our heads. What gives?”
“Yeah,” said Blount. “Tomorrow we start reviewing what’s happened the last two weeks. See if we can figure out why things have gone wrong. Bad luck? Or, something else? For today, let’s figure out something you can say that won’t sound ridiculous.
“I’ve got an idea,” said Harper. “Chapman just voted for the Medicare cuts. It just guts the program. Thirty percent reduction over five years. It will impoverish millions of elderly people. It’s terrible. Let’s go after him on that.”
“Are you sure?” said Blount. “It’s not a state program. Is it even a state issue?”
“Is the fact that I’m gay a state issue?” said Harper. “Or, the fact that we’re partners? You know he’s getting the guns out for that one. If this is going to be about who we are as individuals – personal morality, so be it. That’s a fight I’ll take.”
Blount was silent for a moment.
“Sir,” he finally said. “I think I love you.”
Harper laughed.
“You’d better,” he said. “Hey. Let’s take tonight off. Thai food. Chablis. Masterpiece Theater.”
“Ahh,” said Blount, as he started typing on his Thinkpad the opening lines of the speech Harper would give in 80 minutes. He was already thinking about it as an opening salvo. “Now I know I love you. Sounds perfect.”
Chapter 16
THE ADDRESS THAT Bobbie Connors had given Enzo Lee led him to one of the nicer suburbs of San Jose built in the 60s boom years on land that had once been fruit orchards. A mature cherry tree soaked up the late-afternoon sun in front of the ranch-style house which had a light green exterior and a heavy, dark wooden front door with black hardware.
Nancy Wilkins opened the door barefoot and wearing a loose white shift. Her black hair was in a bun. She was short and somewhere in the middle stages of pregnancy.
“Hello,” said Enzo Lee.
“Hello,” said Wilkins. She had a puzzled look on her face and Lee paused for a moment, trying to figure out why she was looking at him oddly.
“Nagsasalita ba kayo ng Tagalog?” she said.
“Sorry?” said Lee.
“Are you Filipino?” asked Wilkins.
“Oh. No. I’m not,” said Lee. “Chinese. Half Chinese anyway.”
“Oh. I’m sorry,” said Wilkins. “You look Filipino.”
Lee just shrugged apologetically. He was accustomed to the mistake.
It took the national DNA database researchers a while to get to the hair recovered at the USF hospital garage, but they finally found a match. It was Nancy Wilkins’ husband, Oscar, a middle-aged computer programmer. Oscar Wilkins’ police file stemmed from his arrest three years earlier for helping a Las Vegas gambling operation set up an online sports betting website. The organizers had hidden safely behind the offshore location of the business. But Oscar Wilkins’ work in California ran afoul of the state’s gambling prohibitions and had earned him two years of probation as well as a spot in the national DNA database.
Connors had visited the Wilkins home the previous day but learned nothing from Nancy Wilkins except that her husband was out of the country on an extended trip. Lee had decided to try himself. The early-morning killing of Scott Truman still baffled him and the spreading of Truman’s ashes near Angel Island was still fresh in his memory. He kept thinking of Captain Nick’s quote, about the living
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