“CITY HALL UNABLE TO CONTROL

GANGLAND WAR”!

            The headlines spared nothing.

            Someone at the scene had allowed, or had not noticed, the press taking photos of the El Chupacabra gang member lying on his back, a hatchet parting his forehead.

            The mayor was also on the war path.  Elections were a month off, and he was 10 points down in the polls.  If the public believed what they read – and saw – in the newspapers he'd be looking for a new job, and place to live.  Why the DA's office had been so unsuccessful in prosecuting the increasing violence among several inner-city gangs was anyone’s guess.  As for the Mayor he had run out of time and guesses.

            The “Chupas” were the worst of the gangs.  But in the eyes of the press and increasingly the public they had suffered the least attention and punishment.  Mayor Raymond wanted blood, and he didn't care whose blood it was.  Either DA Ed Tomasalo would draw it from the Chupa's and the other gangs, or Mayor Raymond would draw it from the DA.  The mayor had called a meeting for ten-o’clock.  The DA, along with Police Chief Hank Waldan, had been told to have complete reports of yesterday’s incident, as the DA's office had referred to it.  The mayor thought slaughter was more like it.

            The press had gone wild with the story.

“THREE DEAD:

A Nun,

Two gang members!

One injured police officer.

One other gang member seriously wounded.

Several traumatized undocumented immigrant workers”.

            The article was filled with so many bloody details; the Mayor was surprised to find it hadn't been written by one of the gang members.

            The meeting started with the Mayor spewing accusations at everyone sitting around the table.  The Chief and two of his officers endured a five-minute recitation of every goof-up they had suffered over the past few months.  While none of these incidents was serious, combined they gave the impression of something like a Key-Stone Cops operation.

            The major accusations were reserved for the district attorney.  The DA sat uncomfortably in his chair while the Mayor listed one court case after another which his office had lost due to a series of blunders and possible inside leaks.  District Attorney Tomasalo was not feeling well this morning; in fact he had not been feeling well for several months.  As the Mayor continued, Tomasalo felt the signs again: pounding in his ear, an uneasy feeling in his stomach and a rising pain in his chest.

            His Assistant District Attorney saw the signs also.  She also had been pleading with him to slow down on the stress, at the same time taking as much of the work load from him as possible.  Ms. Abella Delgado had been with the L.A. DA's office for just under a year now.  She had impressed Tomasalo from the beginning, displaying a strong self-initiative and talent in all her assignments.  Almost daily, over several months she had tried to persuade Tomasalo to turn over the Chupa gang folder to her.  Both knew it was the main cause of his condition, and that he needed a break or better yet a vacation.  He had been doing his best, but it was proving not to be enough.  No matter what approach he had tried, the Chupa's lawyers always seemed to be one step ahead of him.  At one point Tomasalo had suspected a mole somewhere inside the DA's office.  At his urging Abella had covertly investigated everyone in the office top to bottom, even the cleaning staff.  No person or thing had turned up suspicious.

            “Tomasalo I'm tired of hearing your lame excuses,” the Mayor was saying.  But Tomasalo could not hear him; he only heard the pounding of his heart rising up from his chest and into his ears.  He thought if his heart beat any faster it would explode.

            And then it did!

            Tomasalo turned to Abella, opened his mouth to say something, and then was unsure what he wanted to say.  For a moment they both just looked at each other, and then he closed his eyes, before slumping over.  He was dead in her lap.

            One of the police officers started performing CPR immediately, continuing until the emergency medical personnel arrived.  They continued with the procedure until they were certain there was no reasonable doubt the DA could be brought back to life.  All but a handful of the people attending the meeting had been escorted into an adjourning room, where they were served coffee, while they stood in small groups, speaking in hushed voices.  Abella had refused to be removed from her boss’s side.  She was still in shock and disbelief, refusing to acknowledge the obvious fact that DA Tomasalo was dead.

            Abella and one stenographer were the only two females present in the room.  They were also the only two crying or showing any signs of physical emotions towards the parting of Tomasalo.  Abella scrutinized the remaining men in the room trying to find some signs of remorse or compassion.  She observed Mayor Raymond, standing in the far corner.  Arms looped over his chest, a pout – worn like a mask – blocking anything else which might be interpreted as emotion.  The Chief was near the head of the table, twelve, maybe fifteen feet away.  He was speaking in a somber tone to someone on his cell phone.  At first Abella thought his voice showed something akin to respect until she noticed the slight up turned lips.  Was he actually smiling, or was she just imagining it?

            A thought popped into Abella 's mind.  If it were Chief Waldan there dead on the floor, could she keep the corners of her mouth straight or would they also raise just a fraction in a smug sign of self-satisfaction?  After all ,Waldan had been against her since her first day in the DA's office.  She had been introduced to him during her first week when Tomasalo had taken her around to meet the Mayor, the Chief, along with the coroner and a few other city big-wigs she would come into contact with, as his assistant.  Everyone had been cordial, offering their personal tips on everything from restaurants to local attractions and the not to be missed hot night spots.

            The Chief had extended something a little spicier than the rest of them, asking, – when they were alone – if Abella was married or had a live in partner.  Unaware of the Chief's history and passion for younger women, she had innocently answered with a simple “no”.  The Chief had learned long ago that making a bold move at the beginning either paid off immediately, or saved a lot of time on wasted small talk leading nowhere.

            The jerk had actually said to her, “If you’re ever lonely and need someone to cuddle up to, you know where to find me”.

            She'd been so shocked by his crude and unsolicited innuendo, she countered without thinking of the long-term consequences.  “You bet I know where to find you, and I'll bring a law suit charging you with sexual harassment along with me, if you ever speak to me like that again”!

            They had stood there locked eye to eye.  His were gray, hard, cold as steel.  Abella's were deep dark brown and spitting fire.  Fire and steel, that's how the relationship had remained from then on.  The Chief used every opportunity to question her qualifications, judgment, and job performance.  While she had tried – and in most instances been able – to avoid any contact with him.