Neil Knight Private Dick

I Have My Own Money

Maria Fiorello Campana, wife of Carlos Santino Campana, Mayor Pro Tem on the Santa Ana City Council. Well positioned for ascension should something happen to the current mayor, Miguel Turedo.

The sudden realization must have shown on his face.

"You're familiar with my husband then?" she says, not so much of a question as a statement.

Neil nods, his mind considering the scale and scope of the challenge her situation presents.

The name Campana is a metonymic, meaning the name itself contains a reference to its own origin. One of the definitions of the word campana refers to the type of large church bell used in medieval church steeples or towers.

The surname itself is rooted in the Campania region of southwestern Italy, more specifically Nola, where each year, on July 26, a great festival is held in honor of St Paulinus, one of the early bishops of the city, who invented the church bell.

Much like his name, Carlos Santino Campana was a large, bell shaped figure, whose deep baritone was known to mesmerize crowds, and even part them on occasion to let him pass.

He had begun his rise to power at an early age, working for the Santa Ana Lopers' gang on Minnie Street, where most residents were either too poor to move out of the area or too scared to do anything more than lock themselves inside their stuccoed apartments.

In the 1980s Minnie Street was a place where two cultures – Hispanic and Cambodian – lived side by side, shared the same sidewalks, schools and corner grocery stores, but rarely anything else. An oil and water existence.

This is where young Carlos learned how to exist, even thrive, on the streets. Unlike other 13-year-old boys in Santa Ana in 1986, he knew he wanted more out of life, and Minnie Street provided the environment to hone his skills.

As a youth he never actually broke the law, never graced his body with the tattoos of a gang, making peace, instead, by selling his skills in sensing the ebb and flow of the city to any gang that would pay him to help keep their street thugs safe while they peddled cocaine and heroin to the trolling suburbanites who were their clientele. Eventually, through gang membership attrition, he found himself working exclusively for the Lopers.

Carlos saved his money, studied hard at school, even wrote reports for other students for a fee, a young entrepreneur. When the time came, he left the streets, and pursued a degree from the Western State College of Law, returning to Santa Ana as a practicing attorney after passing the California Bar in 1998.

A celebrated success story among the residents, he immediately went to work at the offices of the Orange County District Attorney where he rose rapidly to the position of Chief Assistant DA. It was from here that he launched his campaign for the City Council, winning a seat in 2012 and eventually becoming next in line for the mayoralty.

"So yes, I'm somewhat familiar with your husband." Neil replied.

He realized he was still standing in the middle of the room, the sweat from the empty glass in his hand glazing his fingertips as the droplets sought refuge in the matted carpet under his feet.

Without a second thought he moved toward the half empty bottle of Pappy Van Winkle sitting on the linoleum covered shelf, just above the metal sink where he had rested the bucket of ice. He twisted the cap, poured a few fingers and dropped in two cubes, just because. Replacing the screw top he turned back toward Mrs. Campana.

"I don't work for free." he stated, matter-of-factly.

"I have my own money." she said, "An account my husband doesn't know about."

"$45.00 an hour plus expenses. I'll need two grand upfront just to get started. Call it a good faith investment. You'll need to make a deposit every week into this account." He handed her a card with his banking details.

She handed it back.

"No need" she responded and offered him a roll of hundred dollar bills wrapped around a debit card linked to the Bank of the West. The pin is the last four of your social." A slight smile lifted the corners of her mouth.

He quickly leafed through the wad of money. "This is..."

"Five thousand" she completed his sentence. "I'll expect a full accounting when you're through. I think this should prove my level of faith."

She stood up, her skirt falling back to just above her knees, and retrieved her jacket from the bed. Mrs. Carlos Santino Campana reached into the front left pocket and tossed him something. He snatched it in midflight.

"It's a..."

"Burner phone." Neil said, returning the completion. "I'm familiar with them".

"Don't call or text me from any other device. My number's preprogrammed into it under the name 'Client'".

It seems he might have underestimated her level of distress right from the first knock on his hotel room door.

She threw on her jacket as she crossed the room. Opening the door her hair shifted as the hot dry air rushed past her, filling the room with the acrid smell of low burning brush.

She tilted her head, and with a suggestion of sadness in her voice said, "The hills are on fire."

In a startling contrast she turned to him once again.

"Start tonight."

And the door closed behind her.

The melting ice in his glass shifted. One cube clinking against the side of hotel room tumbler.

The dogs stretched.

"Christ" said Neil.