Scorpion's Sting
by
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In the county attorney’s office, Mario convinced the law enforcers to go after local politicians ready to sell their votes and anything else they had. What he had learned while working undercover was that certain individuals could be bought in this town. The scam was along the lines of a Vegas entrepreneur who was connected to the right people. These people were ready to bring casino gaming to Arizona if the legislature would only legalize it. Mario Tuscano, not ever his real name, was the front man for the operation. He would operate from an expensive office and word would be circulated he was ready to deal. Being of the same ethical fiber as the politicians the sting was designed to trap, the county attorney and representatives of the Phoenix Police Department went for the idea. Word about legalized gaming for Arizona was put on the streets and scattered like desert sand before a hot summer’s wind. Lobbyists, doing their best imitations of scavengers, circled Tuscano and swooped in to gather contributions and spread influence. Clutched in their talons were the politicos, the sheep of the entire process, who wanted to be wolves and run with the pack. Their ambitions forced them to compromise their principles and their outstretched hands became Tuscano’s meal ticket. Influence peddling at its worst came to the state’s capital. Everyone from political consultants to ex-judges, from former sheriff posse members to a few lesser members of the judicial bench, could see profits to be made from casino gambling. An unfortunate, down-on-his-luck college and professional baseball star was suckered into the scheme, and wound up procuring pornographic videos portraying children from the "oily gangster" from Vegas. Pandora’s box had truly been opened. All of this was captured on hidden video equipment in Tuscano’s sham office. Next door, eavesdropping like naughty children, were the leaders of our justice system who high-fived each other as they trapped one rabbit after another in their snares. Written transcripts can’t depict the whole story. Taped voices quivered with excitement as Tuscano offered, and the elected officials accepted, bogus concessions at the soon to be built casinos. Concessions would pay off big in the future once gambling had been legalized in Arizona. But, for now, the payoffs were cash for future votes and favors, strictly in violation of all laws governing campaign contributions, not to mention standards of ethics. All bribes were quickly accepted. Everyone was going to get rich. What Mario Tuscano was handing out was only the tip of the iceberg. What the public officials failed to realize was the life span of an iceberg in the Valley of the Sun. A few honest politicians turned down the offered cash, but enough of them fell into the trap to make Operation Scorpion, the "Sting in the Desert" as the media later billed it, pay the desired dividends. It seemed to those running the operation they could go on endlessly. The line forming for handouts would put those in need at the missions around the valley to shame. Maybe it would have, who knows, but a couple of investigative reporters were doing their best to be the next Woodward and Bernstein, which made the higher-ups running the sting jumpy. The county attorney’s office blew the whistle before the papers could hit the street. They had enough big fish in their net to assure themselves of headlines and public pats on the back. No sooner had the citizenry been rocked by the news then the indictments began to mount. A few of the more noble swallowed their pride, admitted their guilt and took their medicine. They had been statesmen that had erred. The more natural politicians tried to regroup, and huddled with lawyers looking for ways to beat the overwhelming evidence. Some cried entrapment, and to many it seemed they might be right, but the damning videos of public figures gleefully fingering the illegal funds and promising as one politician put it, "to be good little whores," didn’t bode well. How far the sting operation would have gone and who it would have netted was pure speculation, but it made a lot of those not indicted duck and cover. Many of Arizona’s government officials were tainted in the transcripts released by the press.
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About the Author
New author Edward Alexander McKenzie immigrated to Phoenix, Arizona at the ripe old age of three. Moving in 1954 from Toronto, Ontario, Canada, his forty-seven years of residency qualifies him as a true native desert rat. His long history in Arizona qualifies him to speak on its social issues and political intrigues. Edward’s formal schooling was flavored by Arizona from grade one all the way through his graduate studies. He received his bachelor’s degree from Northern Arizona University in 1973 majoring in the Social Sciences and minoring in Journalism. Later he obtained his Masters Degree in Education and American History from Arizona State University. After graduating with his bachelors, Edward bounced around from job to job until he decided to tackle the classroom once again, this time as a teacher. Two years at Desert Shadows Middle School and eighteen years at Shadow Mountain High School, both in the Paradise Valley School District, marked a fulfilling career as an educator. It was at Desert Shadows, however, that Edward met and married Valorie Bodman. Valorie and Edward have two children. Cameron, now nineteen, attends Northern Arizona University. Courtney, age fifteen, is a sophomore at Horizon High School. Wife Valorie is a physical education teacher at Horizon and also the varsity volleyball coach. Edward took up writing in high school where he submitted the occasional article to the school newspaper. At NAU, he wrote for the university’s campus magazine as a staff writer. As a teacher, he used his writing to enhance and supplement the materials he used in his classroom. At home, writing became a hobby. As a way to make supplemental income, Edward began to work with a political consultant as a writer and designer of political literature. In his words, "I create the political junk mail you receive in your mailbox around election time." His ten years of experience in the political arena influenced his choice of topics for his first mystery novel. It wasn’t until the effects of a heart attack forced him to take medical leave that Edward began to write for publication. As a member of the University of Arizona’s heart transplant program, Edward had two and a half years wait, which he used to research and write his first novel, Scorpion’s Sting. In November of 1999 he received a new heart, a new chance at life, and a renewed desire to become a published author.