(Vancouver Courier, July 6, 2011)
Over the Canada Day weekend, Courier operatives entered city hall and planted a hidden camera in the mayor’s office. The following conversation between Mayor Gregor Robertson and Mike Magee, Robertson’s chief of staff, took place Monday morning, July 4.
Sitting behind a large oak desk, Robertson types on his laptop. He’s wearing a tan suit, purple tie and blue cycling helmet. Magee, bald and goateed, enters the office and slams the door.
“It’s brutal out there, Mr. Mayor. It’s been three weeks and we’re still catching hell over the riot. It just won’t end.”
“Mike, how many times do I have to tell you. Call me Gregor or G-man. So how bad is it?”
“Terrible. We’re getting hammered in the press. Even the Globe’s turned on us. If it continues like this, we might have to start our own blog.”
“I like it. Modern thinking. Keep going, Mike.”
Magee walks toward a window and stares at the Vancouver skyline.
“We’ve got to stop the bleeding. I know you don’t like the idea, but we must consider gassing the police chief.”
“Now Mike, Jim’s a good man. So he won’t return my phone calls or be my Facebook friend. He’s very busy. He’s the chief of police, for frick sake!”
“Listen, G-man. We dropped the ball, big time. Those live sites we’re a huge mistake. Who invites 100,000 people downtown with no plan? And we saw it coming. I was downtown after Game 5. I haven’t seen that many drunks since the last provincial NDP convention. People are pissed and we need a scapegoat.”
“What about the anarchists?”
“Nobody believes that. The anarchists don’t have the brains or the ability to pull off something this big. Besides, many of them voted for you.”
“Hmm. Maybe we should tell the public that we are genuinely sorry for the riot and promise it will never happen again. We could hold a press conference outside The Bay. I’ll wear my Luongo jersey.”
“Um, I’m not sure...”
Robertson’s cellphone lights up on his desk. The ring tone: MC Hammer’s “U Can’t Touch This.” Robertson picks up the cellphone.
“It’s Penny. Should I answer it?”
“Send it to voice mail.”
Robertson peers into his phone, furrowing his brow as the ring tone grows louder.
Magee flops back into a bright yellow beanbag chair.
“She’s part of the problem. As city manager, she should have been all over this thing. Between her and Chief Chu, we’re paying more than $600,000 in salary. For what? We’d be better off with Mike Gillis.”
“Geez Mike, settle down. Here, have a juice box.”
Magee rises from the beanbag, approaches Robertson’s desk.
“They screwed us, G-man. But we’re not dead yet. The election’s four months away. Chu is the key. If we can hang the riot on Chu, we’ll get out from under. Sure, we’ll lose a few cop votes. But we’ve still got Mount Pleasant, the West End, Kerrisdale.
“Ah, geo-politics. I love it. In Vancouver, it’s all about neighbourhoods. Let’s take a look at the ol’ electoral map.”
Robertson opens his desk drawer and pulls out a small map.
“So let’s see. Kerrisdale, Kerrisdale...”
“Mr. Mayor, that’s a White Spot placemat.”
“Hmm, you’re right, Mike. Now it all makes sense.”
“G-man, please. You need to focus. In my opinion, you should fire Chief Chu. Or at least blame him publically. But first, we need to know how many police were deployed downtown for Game 7. You must get Chu to tell you that number. We can’t wait until August when the provincial inquiry goes public. We gotta get out in front of this thing. Up until now, we’ve been playing catch-up. Chu’s making you look weak and stupid.”
“OK, Mike, I’ll go see the chief at the police station. Maybe I’ll bike down there this afternoon. Is it raining outside?”
“How are you going to do it? What are you going to say?”
“Don’t worry, Mike. I can be very persuasive.”
Robertson stands up and walks towards the door, revealing his neon green spandex bike shorts.
“G-man, don’t forget your pants.”
“Good thinking, Mike. Better safe than sorry.”
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