Runner-up 1

Falco’s head burst above water and he pulled himself out of the pool with considerable effort. He glanced at his expansive slate patio, the lush palms and rose garden, the outdoor kitchen on the lower terrace and, of course, the Pacific sparkling all the way to Catalina. God, I am not ready to lose all this, he thought.

The physical release he’d hoped for after 25 laps hadn’t happened. He was still wired, still cursing his own stupidity, suffering real pain from a night of bad judgment he would have to pay for -- one way or the other.

“Pathetic jackass,” he said out loud, grabbing up his towel. He slid on a pair of $500 shades -- a gift from a constituent on Rodeo Drive -- then stretched his 200 pounds out on a sturdy lounge to sun for a bit.

The minute he closed his eyes, there she was again. Carmen. He couldn’t picture her face, but that unforgettable lithe, muscled body slithering and shimmying up and down, up and down that pole at the Clown Room excited him and sickened him all over again.

He’d just meant to slip in there last night, a regular guy, a few shots, unwinding on a Friday night. Right.

How’d they end up in a room off Sunset? His head throbbed at the memory of their conversation:

“Colombia! How’d you guess?” she had purred.

“Really? How long you been here in the States?”

“Long enough, caro. You got business down there or a house or wife or what?”

“No wife. Just business. A sideline, really.”

“You go there often? I am saving to return some day to see mi madre.”

“No, I’m more a behind-the-scenes guy. Sometimes I can influence friends who can change bad laws.”

“Like?”

“Well, some laws -- both here in the U.S. and internationally -- protect animals, birds, to be exact.”

“But that’s kinda sweet,” she said, curling up against him.

“Oh, sure. Absolutely. But sometimes those laws give the birds rights that inhibit progress -- like building dwellings or highways that people need and want.”

He couldn’t remember much more, only that Carmen seemed impressed. He would’ve promised her anything, and maybe he had. Oh hell. Why hadn’t he just gone home at last call instead of partying with her like some desperate no-life?

And then he was sure an SUV with two beefy guys in it had followed him home from the motel around 7 this morning. Dammit!

Falco’s agitation got the best of him. He jumped up and paced the perimeter of the azure pool. He’d phoned Bonner’s home four times, hoping to work out some damage control. He’d probably made things worse talking to that wife of his. She’d asked a lot of questions, and he hoped she might urge Bonner to call him back. When he did, he was blazing mad and interested only in Cabo.

The Dobermans started barking and snarling at the side gate like they were ready to kill. Falco recoiled in fear, grabbing the towel tighter around him, quickly moving toward the house.

Then he felt a sudden flush of relief as he recognized the voice shouting his name.