Audits are Murder

Chapter Eight We turned left at the end of Poplar, returned to Bristol and hung a right. I glanced over at LaVonne, and she was crying. "It's just so damn unfair," she quietly sobbed. "You knew the girl well," I asked? "Well in a way. Corina grew up on our street, and I've seen her for years. Now it seem so strange that she is gone. Her mother and I would talk shop from time to time. She works for Lamont College in Anaheim, and when she found out I worked for the University, it was as if we were immediate friends. It's going to be tough to see her on Friday." "What's going on Friday?" I asked. "The family is having sort of a memorial gathering at the house, and Adeline asked if I would come. I feel so awful going to those kind of things alone." "Do you want company?" "You offering?" "Yeah. There's something about this whole thing that intrigues me. A girl dies, no one knows why yet. the coroner will figure it out eventually, but since there was no violence, it won't be a priority. Plus, it means a lot to you. Gosh," I said, giving her my best boyscout grin, "I'm here to serve." "Seriously Dan, that would really be great. You sure you don't mind?" "What are pals for?" LaVonne got really quiet after that, and I couldn't think of much else to say, so I patted her hand with mine. I could have tried to say something, but nothing seemed sufficient. Death came knocking in LaVonne's neighborhood, and found a pretty young girl at home. Then I saw the sign. No, I wasn't listening to a radio station playing Ace of Base. On the corner of 17th and Bristol, by the old Monkey Ward shopping center, sat a red-faced man whom I had seen before. He wore a pink polo shirt, some old safari pants, and an Australian Bush hat. In front of him, he was holding a sign, about three feet tall and five feet wide; white with big black letters. The sign read; “Bad Boy Security You're not as safe as you think.” LaVonne stirred from her melancholy at the sight of him. "Great. Now just what the hell is that supposed to mean?" "Haven't you ever seen him?" I asked. That guy's all over the place. I've seen him for years. In fact, for a while, he was on campus. Where were you?" "Nope, he's new to me. What's that sign all about? Is he a nut case? "Maybe," I said. "But probably more like just a little left of eccentric. He finds a street corner, and he's got a whole series of signs he goes through. I've seen him early morning and as late as 10:00 p.m." "10:00? That's pretty late. So where have you seen him?" "Oh, for a while, he was on a corner by my house," I said, glad to have something else to chat about than the fate of Corina Zavala. It's a religious thing, I think... at least, that's what I get from the signs." "That one didn't seem very religious to me," she said. "What did it say? ‘Bad Boy Security?’ What's that?" "Well, near as I can tell, most of his signs are somewhere between "conspiracy theory" and "conservative religious-political" themes, if I'm reading them right. That one, I've seen before. I'm guessing he's making some sort of commentary about the sad state of our social systems, and putting our trust in government." I glanced over at LaVonne. She had that look on her face you see on a stunned deer, just as your headlights catch them. Any minute, I thought she was going to jump from the car, from my crazy preaching. I tried to explain. "If you watch him carefully, the signs start to make sense." "I think you're the one getting a little left of eccentric," LaVonne returned. So how many signs does he have? Do you remember any others?" "Well, the local throwaway paper that comes out on Thursday's in my neighborhood did an article on him," I told her. "Apparently, he's got a place to stay, but doesn't turn down offers for sleep-over digs. He stays on a corner for forty days, and I remember his final sign has the word "Goodbye." I've seen him in Newport, Irvine, and Tustin, but for some reason I just never expected to see him this far west. He rides a bike in, sign under his arm, from God knows where." "Kinda like seeing an old friend, Dan?" "Yeah. All my friends hang out on street corners." Or at least guys I knew. After Viet Nam, a lot of my fellow military men and women had a hard time assimilating the senselessness of that stupid mess, and from time to time, you see one or two meandering in alley's and public places. I've even heard them referred to as Nam-vets, which smacks of a total lack of compassion to me. Those guys were boys thrust into a nightmare; boys like me. Most of us survived, although the terror still remains deep in our brains. Whether the sign man ever served in Nam or not, I sure understood his distrust of political promises. I guess that's why I could relate to his sign, and LaVonne couldn't. And maybe that made me a little left of eccentric too, but I'd rather be that kind of crazy than crazy as the political idiots who orchestrated that fiasco. Melancholy seemed to be the theme of the evening, so I figured we needed something a little upbeat. I passed Sunflower and turned right into the parking lot at South Coast Plaza. I found a spot not too far from my goal, and LaVonne and I found our way into The 19th Hole.