seymoure

You Can’t Get Started Till You Get There

“Los Angeles is 72 Suburbs in search of a city.”

-Dorothy Parker

The landing was nothing extraordinary to speak of, so I won’t.

But after exiting the plane, I saw the first bad omen of the trip. The first thing I saw was a huge billboard with two Hillbillies (ostensibly Paw and Ma) sitting on a ramshackle shack’s porch drinking “Perfect Spring” bottled water. If I were the kind of person who routinely carries a bazooka, I would have been unable to refrain from creating an-ex billboard at LAX.

Chester dropped my bags out by the cab and said, “When should I expect to come back?”

“I’ll have to call you,” I explained. “It’ll depend on how the investigation goes.”

“Well,” he said as he started to turn, “If you need a pilot, let me know.”

It hit me that, as so often, I was overlooking a resource. “Chester, you think you could join me for a couple of days?”

“I didn’t pack for overnight…”

“We’ll buy you whatever you’ll need; I need someone I can trust to look into an airplane crash. And I trust you.”

He thought about it for a second, smiled and said, “I’ll have to see to lodging the bird, but, yeah, I think I’d like to play detective.”

I pulled one of my platinum cards from my wallet and handed it to him, “I’m staying at the Magic Castle Hotel, here in L.A. Take care of the plane, then take a cab. I’ll have a room in your name. Be sure to stop and buy some new clothes and overnight stuff, toothbrush and such, and then call me when you check in.”

We shook hands and I noticed he was a bit thunderstruck. I hoped I wasn’t one of those distant employers, but I also knew I could be pretty much of a hermit when I wasn’t working. But, Chester Thane had been with me since I bought my first plane for the agency, and he had always been aboveboard. That matters a lot. The guy you feel has never taken you for extra money, just ‘cause you were rich and wouldn’t know it, that’s the guy you want to treat as well as you can.

“Remember, just take a cab to the Magic Castle and ask for your suite, okay?”

“Suite?’ came his timid answer.

“Sure, why not,” I smiled. “You are not just a flyer now, you’re a Consultant.”

The man, who was about my age, unconsciously expanded his chest and came near giggling. “Thanks, Mr. Savage.”

“Matt!”

“Maybe after I get used to everything else, but I think you’re still going to be Mr. Savage for a while.”

I smiled, “Okay.” I jumped back in with, “Oh, and while we’re here, unless I say otherwise, I’m Dan Grant.”

“Right,” he said with a smirk. He was on the inside and he was beginning to like the feel of it.

With that, we parted company, and I told the driver my destination.

I noticed that lots may have changed in Los Angeles, but the city was so spread out and jumbled that it would be hard to pin down any single change. In K.C. I knew when they changed a street sign or switched a billboard, but I knew folks who came from smaller towns who felt about my home town much the same as I was reacting to L.A.

That’s why, when people give you directions in their home town, you have to be careful. They could overlook things because they have ceased to think of them as worth mentioning. The most dangerous words anyone can give you when giving directions is, “You can’t miss it!” This means you are automatically doomed.

I suddenly got a funny thought. I had picked up cash before leaving town so as not to use a lot of plastic and bring attention to myself. Being a multi-millionaire can get in the way of connecting with people. Those who would be happy to tell you something would now want to hold out for a payday.

But, though my small outlays would be covered, Chester would be using a credit card with my company name on it. Not only was he going to have an open ended expense account, he was going to be treated like a Rich Person. I hoped he would be alright with that. For a few hours it was a party, but after a while it became a drag.

I hoped I hadn’t played a trick on him without knowing it. I sent him a text, but wasn’t sure if he got it.

My thought was, since I hadn’t warned him, this might be a sort of surprise party. I hoped he didn’t mind. I admit, I hate having tricks played on me and, even more than that, I hate surprise parties.

So far, the only thing I had picked out of all the papers I had gone over was the name Terry Mahoney. It had come up randomly 8 times in newspapers and other pieces of evidence. He was somebody that had been a witness at the plane crash and had been questioned at the elevator accident and one of the suicides. What he had to do with anything else was impossible to say. But I was going to have to check him out.

Also, tonight in the room, I was going to watch that CD.

The day was starting to crowd in on itself.

I was feeling like a detective again.

Back to the Beginning

Continue on to Chapter 7