* * * *
…Sorry, Wrong Number
Suzi B. Mystery #1
By Gene Grossman,
Author of the popular 15-book
Peter Sharp Legal Mysteries
©MMXII Gene Grossman - All rights reserved
Smashwords Edition 1.2 – February, 2012
ISBN: 978-1-4660-7442-2
* * * *
Chapter I
No matter how great a vacation is, I still find myself eagerly looking forward to getting back to sleeping in my own bed in the master stateroom of the luxurious 50-foot Grand Banks trawler/yacht that I’m fortunate enough to be living on with my 13-year-old legal ward Suzi, who thinks she’s the real brains behind our modest law practice.
On second thought, in several instances she actually did come up with some stuff that helped me win a decent sized case here and there, but I’m the adult, so I get all the credit. Besides, after the unfortunate deaths of her step-father (my ex law partner) in a plane crash, and her mother, in an automobile accident, she definitely doesn’t need the money. In fact, she’s the richest person I know… but it’s getting tough to handle her, because she’s already planning to attend Harvard law, get her license, and then hire me to work for her.
I don’t know why she wants to spend all the effort to accomplish that, because that’s almost like things already are now.
I just heard the flaps being lowered, so I guess we’re getting pretty close to landing at LAX, where my car service will have a driver waiting for me with a sign that says “Sharp.” That’s the standard way that livery drivers let arriving passengers know which Lincoln Town car they’re supposed to ride in.
I’ve been away for the past couple of weeks, so I think I’ll use one of the first-class amenities this airline offers to watch the local news and see if anything interesting is going on in Los Angeles.
The TV screen shows a familiar aerial shot of Marina del Rey, where my boat is parked. That’s a pretty common sight on local news, and they often show an aerial shot like this at the beginning of a news broadcast… but as I put my airline-provided cheap earphones on, I see that the picture is zooming in on one particular dock… and to my surprise, I see that it’s my dock – and my bitter ex-wife, now Los Angeles’ top prosecutor, is preparing to make a statement.
The studio announcer brings her on: “and now, live, direct from Marina del Rey California, our District Attorney, Mizz Myra Scot Sharp, will address the press.”
There are a couple of things I’ve learned about some people I know during the past fifteen years or so and the first one is to never get between my friend Stuart and a buffet counter. The second one is to never get between my ex-wife and a TV camera, because making either mistake will cause you to suffer some serious stampede injuries. Ah, there she is now… looking as good as ever. Boy, did I ever screw up that marriage.
“We are now at the Bar Harbor Anchorage in Marina del Rey, where the local Coast Guard is cooperating with the Department of Homeland Security in seizing a large yacht, the occupants of which are persons of interest for participating in violation of several matters concerning national security… some of which might even be linked to what is believed to be a terrorist group that has been committing hate crimes of vandalism against local churches and synagogues.
“As a full disclosure, I’d like the public to know that this vessel belongs to my ex-husband, attorney Peter Sharp, and his female 13-year-old legal ward, who is now being taken into custody and will be brought to my office. Notwithstanding the fact that I am very well acquainted with both attorney Sharp and the minor being taken into custody, this will not deter me in any way from prosecuting any alleged crimes to the fullest extent of my ability, in the interest of serving my duty to the public.
“Attorney Sharp has reportedly been out of state on vacation for the past several weeks and is not necessarily a suspect, but we will be bringing him in for questioning as soon as he is located.”
Maybe it would have been a better idea if I answered that ad and applied for the job of manager at the Pioneer Inn, the place in Lahaina where I usually stay when visiting the island. It’s across the street from the famous Banyan tree, one of the largest-rooted trees in the world, and under which is a great place to just sit and read… away from the kid, and especially away from my bitter ex-wife, who is always trying to lock me up for one thing or other
* * * *
When a young lady gets married for the first time, in her mind, it is the beginning of something great for her life… little does she know that it’s going to be downhill from that day on, especially when she finally figures out that the guy she ‘settled’ for cannot be molded into what she envisioned as the perfect man she always wanted.
And, if and when everything hits the fan and they separate, it’s quite common for her to always detest her ex-husband, because he’s the guy who stole her ‘happily ever after,’ which is bad enough if she’s just a normal bitter ex-wife –but when she’s the county’s tough, top prosecutor, with all of the assets of the entire Los Angeles Sheriff’s Department, Los Angeles Police Department and Los Angeles District Attorney’s Bureau of Investigation at her disposal, her poor ex-husband must spend the rest of his life looking over his shoulder and sleeping with one eye open.
I don’t have to watch any more news today. I’ve seen enough to know that I’d better make myself scarce for a while until the dust settles and I have a chance to talk to that precocious genius brat of mine, who has now caused me to have no yacht to sleep on.
As instructed, I followed instructions and turned my cell phone off about five hours ago, when this plane took off from the airport on Maui. We’re now about to touch down, so in a few minutes I’ll be able to turn it on again to see if there are any messages from the kid letting me know what the heck is going on.
Okay, we just touched down and are now taxiing to the terminal, so I’m going to be sneaky and see if I have any text messages. The phone’s screen shows two messages: a text from the kid, and a voicemail from my dangerous ex-wife.
I’ll take a look at the kid’s text first.
“Peter: some things have come up that might require me to be off the boat for an evening or so… Myra will surely fill you in on the details. In the meantime, I’d strongly suggest that you not come to the boat upon your return, because for some one reason or another, it might not be there.
“If you will go to Mister B’s girlfriend’s house and pick him up, he will escort you to another boat that we will be staying on for a while. The Asian Boys have already brought your stuff over there… and please buy Mister B. dinner.
P.S. Turn you phone off.”
Hmm. Very interesting. Mister B is her huge beast Bernie, the Saint Bernard that follows my little Chinese legal ward around. His girlfriend is a female mastiff owned by a lady who lives in the apartments not far from our former yacht… and I hope the boat she’s picked out for us to live on has standing headroom – not only for her 4-foot presence, but for my six-feet three. She may be a computer genius, but when it comes to speaking in code, she’s still just a kid. The Asian Boys she refers to are a team of four busboys who work at the Chinese restaurant around the corner where her mother used to be the manager. They clean tables in the evening, but act as her servants during the day.
The voicemail from my ex is a little more interesting, but also quite transparent.
“Hello Petey… you know who it is. Listen, I’d really like to get together with you when you get back from Maui, so please call me when you land. I’ll probably be in a meeting when you call, so be a dear and hold on for a couple of minutes while one of my deputies comes to get me.”
First of all, she knows I don’t like being called ‘Petey,’ and only does it when she really wants to press one of my buttons… but she also knows that I never pass up a chance to get together with her. But this time she telegraphed her punch when telling me that I might have wait on hold for a couple of minutes, because that’s when her staff of spies will be tracking, utilizing the required 18 seconds of my cellphone signal to find out where I am – and I’m also sure that if I’d be foolish enough to meet her somewhere, I’d be a guest of the county for a while.
My phone is now being turned off.
* * * *
I hate schlepping luggage around, so I travel very light, and if there’s anything big that I might need, I ship it via UPS so it’s waiting for me when I get to wherever I’m going – and the stuff gets sent back home the same way.
Not having to worry about picking up checked baggage is a real time-saver, so all I have to do is go down the escalator and look for my driver… the one holding up that sign with my name on it.
Ah… there he is, and as expected, there are a couple of guys trying so hard to look like they’re not plain-clothes cops, that it’s actually funny to see them do their act. I know that if I actually approach the driver I’ll immediately be arrested, so I turn around and look for a guy my height… and I see one. He’s a tall African American, so I call him aside, hand him a couple of hundred-dollar-bills, and make him an offer. “Excuse me, but I’d appreciate very much if you’d accept this money and my offer of a free limo ride to wherever you want go from the airport.”
He looks at me like I’m crazy… and that’s probably not too far from the truth.
“Listen, I don’t know if you’ve ever been married or not, but my wife is a total… B… – well you know what I mean. Anyway, she’s after me for her complaint of the week, and I’m sure she’s paid off my limo driver to let her know where I am, so please take this money and use my car service. The driver will be holding up a sign that says “Sharp,” and all you have to do is walk over to him, tell him that Peter wants him to take you to wherever you direct, and then to come in and pick up Peter, who took an earlier flight and will be waiting for him inside.”
This guy must have been divorced, because he smiles and says, “When we get to my apartment building and you’re not there, what do I tell them?”
“Don’t worry pal, the car service has my credit card number, the ride’s paid for with a nice tip for the driver. All you have to do is look at your phone. There’ll be a text from me that lets you know that I’ve made other plans and can’t meet with you tonight. And if anyone asks what we were supposed to meet about, just tell them that I’m you’re lawyer – and I am one, - and that I’ll answer their questions about our meeting when I speak to them tomorrow. When you get into the limo, call me at this number, so I can see your number and send you that text. I won’t answer your call, so leave me a voicemail with your number.”
It works. He takes the money and goes down the escalator towards the driver. I’m still upstairs, but I can see what’s going on down there. He’s walking up to the driver and telling him about my request to take him to where I will supposedly be waiting. The two non-cops are about ten feet behind the driver, looking very surprised, because they didn’t know that their lead prosecutor had once been married to a tall black guy.
The driver leads my new ‘client’ out to where the livery vehicles park, with the two non-cops following closely behind.
After they’re all out of sight, I go outside and grab a cab. First stop will be the nearest Radio Shack or large drugstore where I can go inside and purchase a couple of ‘burners…’ throwaway pre-paid cell phones, and then load each one with about 20 minutes of calling time. These are the same type of phones that drug dealers use.
Using one of the untraceable ‘burners,’ I call my own cellphone’s voicemail, retrieve my new ‘client’s’ number, and send him the text to show to Myra’s two henchmen.
My next burner call is to the apartment of Bernie’s female friend. When the dog’s owner answers the phone and hears that it’s me, she lets me know that it’s no use coming to pick up Bernie. The FBI took him away about an hour ago – and then she hangs up.
* * * * * * * * * * *
Chapter II
I don’t consider it an insult that she hung up on me so abruptly, because I’m sure it’s because the kid told her to give me the message and get off the phone as quickly as possible so that Myra’s security team wouldn’t have time to track where the cellphone call was coming from.
Now realizing that as a result of that call to Bernie’s girlfriend’s house, they now have the number of my first burner phone, it was a good thing I bought a couple of them. I leave the first burner on the back seat of the cab, pull out another C-note, and make the driver an offer he can’t refuse.
“Listen pal, here’s an extra hundred for you… but I need a favor.”
“Oh yeah, I get it. You’re new in town and wanna meet a lady right? What are you a cop?”
“Ha!.. Far from it, my friend. No, the favor I want isn’t a lady. What I really need is a cheap motel where I can check in and pay in advance for a night or two in cash, without using a credit card.”
“Hey mister, you on the run?”
“No, I’m not running. Do you think I just flew into this town to start running? If that was the case I would’ve flown to some other town. I’m just trying to avoid my ex-wife…”
Like most of the men in this world, he also must be a divorced man, because he ‘got it’ right away.
“Oh yeah, sorry about that… I just thought… well, anyway, my ex brother-in-law manages a pretty decent motel in Culver City, and I’m sure he’ll be able to help you out.”
That was easier than I thought, so now we’re a few minutes away from pulling into a motel on Washington Boulevard near Centinela, a walking distance from my favorite Mexican Restaurant, Mi Ranchito. I give the burner phone to my driver as an extra tip, and then check in to the no-tell motel.
* * * *
This isn’t bad. It’s not exactly the Ritz, but the room is clean, with a 42” flat screen on the wall, so I might as well relax, hit the shower, turn on the news, and see what crimes I’m now wanted for.
My regular phone, still turned off, has no text or message from the kid, but there is another voicemail from Myra: “Peter, I know you’re back in town, and your new client, my black ex-husband, has clammed up and won’t talk to me until he hears from you. We let him go, because I know you were just using him, but he’s obviously your type of person; a tall, closed-mouth jerk who is not at all interested in cooperating with law enforcement.”
She still has her sarcastic sense of humor, but I’m glad to know that my new client is a stand-up guy.
What the heck is this? My burner phone is ringing! My curiosity is killing me; I have to answer it, just to see who could possibly be calling this number.
“Hello?”
“Peter, you know I’ve been trying to get hold of you. Why haven’t you called me?”
This is unbelievable. How could she possibly have gotten this number?
“Okay, I give up. How did you get this number? I don’t even know what it is.”
“Suzi gave it to me.”
“Unbelievable. Not only is she a brat, she’s also a rat. She sold me out to the District Attorney. Is she there with you now?”
I guessed right. Myra puts the kid on the phone.
“I need a ride to the boat. I’m at Myra’s house.”
That was it. No explanation about the phone number, no explanation about where the boat is, where we’re now living, why the boat was taken. Nothing: just a demand to pick her up. I can’t wait until she starts her law firm and hires me, because then at least I’ll be able to file a complaint with the Labor Board for unsatisfactory working conditions and a hostile workplace.
I tell the motel manager to call his ex-brother-in-law and tell him to come back and pick me up so I can get my car at the marina. Now that the kid has been released, it looks like Myra and the Feds have come to their senses and won’t be grabbing me up at the marina parking lot.
* * * *
I was partly right. Myra’s guys don’t want to grab me up, but there are a couple of non-cops waiting for me at my car. “Good evening Mister Sharp how are you this evening?”
“Didn’t the District Attorney tell you that I’m one of the good guys again?”
They open up their leather folders and flip-flop I.D.s at me and tell me to relax – that they’re not here to arrest me.
“You guys are FBI? If you’re not going to bring me in, then what are you doing here waiting for me?”
They hesitate a minute, as if embarrassed to tell me why they’re here… and then one of them blurts out “well, we knew you were going to your ex-wife’s house in Brentwood, and we were wondering if you would please pull off the freeway at Wilshire and drop us off at the Federal Building. We’re short-staffed this week and there’s no-one at the office who can come for us. Before our orders were changed we were supposed to wait for you and bring you in with your car.”
I guess I can forget about privacy for the rest of my life, because obviously, everyone in this town seems to know my every move… and it all leads back to that kid.
* * * *
The Feds have been dropped off and I’m now pulling into Myra’s Brentwood Glen driveway. Her front door is open and I can see the welcoming party: they’re both about the same size – Suzi and the beast Bernie, her faithful Saint Bernard.
After almost tripping over the dog, who constantly refuses to move out of my way whenever I try to walk around him, I’m greeted by Myra. She starts out by letting me know that for security reasons, she can’t discuss much about what happened, why the kid was taken into custody, why the boat was seized, why the Feds took the dog… hey – wait a minute; if the Feds took the dog, what’s it doing here?
“Peter, all I can tell you is that your boat will be released to you after all the paperwork is done… but that might take a couple of months, plus a hearing, at which I’ll be glad to testify that the boat issue has been resolved.”
“Well my dear, I’m glad you finally came to your senses and realized that I don’t belong on any most wanted list.”
“Please don’t blame this offer of assistance on my senses, you oaf: it’s all because of that kid of yours: she’s absolutely impossible to deal with. And the dog is no better.
“I thought I’d be nice, so instead of letting Child Services take her for the night, I decided to let her stay here until you surfaced. And as for the dog, the FBI called and said that it was lying in the main office doorway and wouldn’t move. Several agents tried to move it, to no avail; they had to climb over it to get to their desks.”
“And as District Attorney you cared about them getting to their desks?”
“Not exactly: they called and pleaded with me to bring the kid and pick up the dog, because she’s obviously the only person on earth that the beast will listen to, so, I drove her to their Westwood offices.
“We went up to their floor, and sure enough, there it was: the dog took up the entire doorway to their office complex. Suzi said a few words and the dog got up, walked over to where the Assistant Director was seated, lifted up his leg, and peed on the corner of his desk.
“The next thing I knew, the kid and the dog were both on their way out to the elevator, with me following right behind them, to avoid staying to hear the swearing of the head guy and the laughing of his staff.” We must have left there a few minutes before you dropped off those two Agents.
* * * * * * * * * * *
Chapter III
Our ride home – or to wherever we were going, followed the usual pattern. The kid hopped in the back seat and plugged her tablet computer into the rear seat’s lighter plug.
The dog sat in the front passenger seat of my yellow Hummer, with his head sticking up out of the open sunroof.
Whenever we ride like this in my car, Suzi puts a pair of Doggles on the dog. Those are special goggles for dogs to wear when riding in cars with their heads out of windows. They prevent eye injuries from small flying road debris.
With the Doggles on and his ears flopping in the wind, he has attracted the nickname of the Brown Baron, like a German World War I air ace, and in the daytime when we ride down a city street, there are probably more pictures taken of him than of Justin Bieber and Lady Gaga combined.
I can’t take it anymore, so I reach around and unplug her computer, giving out my first demand. “Okay kid, first of all I want to know how you managed to find out the number of my throw-away phone.”
As usual her first response is the typical eye-roll, letting me know that she’s now being forced to speak to someone who is obviously not her mental equal. And then it starts. “Oh please, Peter, do you really think it was hard? Don’t be silly. First of all, when you called and spoke to Kelly, the owner of Bernie’s girlfriend, she noticed your phone number on her caller I.D.
“Using Myra’s computer, I found out exactly what store sold you that throwaway cellphone, and had their manager send us a file containing the security camera footage from when that phone was sold, along with a copy of the store receipt and phone numbers of any other phones you purchased at that time.
“I knew you would ditch the first phone, so I gave Myra the number of that second phone you bought… and she called you.”
“Suzi, did you even have the slightest bit of hesitation before selling me out to Myra?”
“I’m sorry Peter, but I had no choice. If you wouldn’t come and get me, Myra would have to drive me home.
“So? What’s wrong with that?”
“Are you kidding me? You were married to her. Don’t you know what a terrible driver she is? Being Chinese, I hate to say it, but when it comes to driving, she’s worse than the average Asian woman.”
“Okay, I’ll give you that one. How about the boat? And where exactly are we living now… because there’s no way I’m sharing a cardboard box with you and the beast.”
“Don’t be silly. We’re going to be living on a beautiful Chris Craft yacht that was featured in the Robb Report. It’s over 60 feet long overall, and parked in a beautiful main channel slip in the marina, across from Fisherman’s Village.”
“Wait a minute. I think I’ve seen that boat recently when I took the marina water taxi across to one of the restaurants. Is it the one over at Tahiti Marina with the extended swim step?”
“Yes, I believe it is.”
“Suzi, that’s a multi-million-dollar yacht that I’ve heard is owned by some guy who’s on Forbes’ list as one of the richest guys in the world. Can we afford to rent that thing?”
Silence: no response coming from the back seat. I look in the rear-view mirror and see her doll-face struggling to get an answer out.
“No problem: the owner owes me a favor, and because he’s usually flying around the world to his many business meetings, we can stay as long as we want.”
I’m trying to figure out how she could possibly be owed a favor by some billionaire, but I know better than to ask, because no answer will be forthcoming. My luggage won’t be delivered back from Maui for another couple of days, so I’m now curious as to where our ‘stuff’ is. When I ask her, she tells me not to worry: she repeated what her text message said and adds “I had the boys move all of our stuff three days ago.”
“Three days ago? Suzi that was two days before the Feds seized our boat. You planned ahead and had our stuff moved? Did you know that our boat was going to be taken by the Feds?”
The answer was short, but not sweet: “Yes… that was part of the plan. We’re almost there now, so take Admiralty to Tahiti Way, make a left and go down to the end. Here’s a card that will get you through the gate and then down into the garage. I’ll tell you which reserved parking space to use.”
When we park, Bernie is out of the car first. He obviously knows where the boat is.
After walking out to the main channel slips we followed Bernie to a huge, gorgeous yacht and go up the boarding ladder into what I can only describe as one of the most beautiful yachts I’ve ever had the pleasure of stepping aboard.
I remember also seeing this boat in a recent issue of Showboat, one of those big slick magazines that feature yachts of the rich and famous. I paid particular attention to this one in the magazine because it was the only one pictured that was located here in our Marina. The rest were all in anchorages like Monaco or the Riviera; places you only see in travel magazines and on television shows about wealthy people.
Suzi and the beast move into the foreward stateroom, the same area she resided in on our boat. I take over the master stateroom in the aft end of the boat…
and am surprised to see that the master bath (called a ‘head’ by everyone but me) looked like it came out of some five-star hotel, complete with thick glass shower doors, plus a beautiful big sculptured glass bowl that I finally figured out was actually the sink.
I decide to spend some time in the main cabin area, watching the local news on the big flat-screen installed there, just to see if any other government agencies are looking to take something away from me.
The sound of heavy, floppy footsteps break the silence, meaning that the dog is coming to my area, no doubt followed by the kid. Maybe this could be a good chance to get some answers from her. I decide to use my most subtle interrogation technique. “Say this boat isn’t too bad. Nice job getting a chance to stay on it. You think we’ll be here long?” Just as I thought, it doesn’t work.
“Peter, if you’ve got something to ask me, why don’t you just come out with it, instead of using that smarmy beat-around-the-bush language, like you’re taking the deposition of a dull normal adverse witness.
“Just so you won’t bother me with too many questions over the next month or so, here’s a brief run-down of what’s going on. First, I’m sure you’ve heard about those crimes against churches and synagogues all over the city… the ones with Arabic slogans sprayed onto walls near the crimes. Well, I have a hunch that no real Arab would do things like that. From what the professional profilers have said, real militants like that would be looking for fatal results and not just vandalism. My theory is that it’s the work of someone pretending to be an Arab, to incite hatred of Muslims… and that’s the type of person who probably wouldn’t want to kill Americans, but who is sick enough to do vandalism just to incite hatred.
“Ever since we started working together, I’ve been solving the crimes that your clients are always charged with pulling off, but in the end, you always get the credit for winning the cases… so I decided I’d like to solve something all by myself; and because they’re offering a small reward for the capture of this guy, I thought I’d take the case on, solve it on my own, let Myra arrest the guy, and get a little publicity for my own detective services.”
Hmm. Very entrepreneurial. “That’s nice. There’s nothing I’d like better than for you to be a huge success, but don’t you think that having the boat that I live on seized by the government, and have my reputation as an attorney smeared in the local newspapers can be considered a little help on my part? And what about the hearings and costs on my part to get our boat recovered and my public dignity back?”
“Oh don’t worry about that. When the government learns that they’ve wrongfully taken someone’s property, we can arrange for some retribution, so not only will you get our precious boat back, but they’ll probably cut you a check for your inconvenience.”
“Yeah, they’ll write a check, and you’ll probably be right there to grab it for our company account before it gets within three feet of my hands.”
“Absolutely not, Peter. Whatever you recover from the Government will be all yours. Guaranteed. And I’ll even do everything in my power to see that they give you at least ten thousand for your troubles.”
Okay, this is starting to sound a little better. A bad guy will be arrested, the kid will get some good publicity, Myra will make a high-profile arrest, I get to live on a multi-million-dollar yacht, and when I get my boat back, I’ll pick up ten grand.
“All right kid, I’ll go along with the plan, but remember, you’re going to have to do this whole thing on your own. How much of a reward do you think we’ll get?”
“Nice try, counselor. But that ain’t a ‘we…’ it’s a ‘me.’ You’re going to keep all of the money the feds pay for your troubles, and I’m going to keep the whole reward for my troubles. Besides, I think your law practice will pick up some new clients as a result of this caper, so we’ll both benefit in the long run.
“Oh, by the way Peter, I’ve got some packages coming in to our mailbox place tomorrow afternoon, so I’d appreciate very much your picking them up for me… and I’ll have the Asian boys bring over some good meals for us to share for dinner, to celebrate our new living arrangements. I’ll be inviting Myra, and I’m sure Stuart will be happy to come too.”
* * * *
That was an interesting conversation last night… one of the few that I can ever remember having with her. She seems to talk to everyone but me. This is one crafty kid. She’s been trying to get me back together with Myra for some time now, and Myra knows about it too. I don’t think there’s any chance of it really working, but we both let her keep trying because it usually involves us getting served a delicious meal and also allows friends of our to join us for an evening of enjoyable conversation.
Now that it’s daylight I can see what a beautiful view there is from this yacht’s aft main bridge deck. We’re parked right on the marina’s main channel, and right across from us is colorful Fisherman’s Village, the local tourist spot decorated to look like a New England waterfront town, complete with shops, restaurants, harbor-cruise businesses and small boat rentals – and it’s lit up very nicely at night, making dinner on our enclosed bridge deck very enjoyable.
I’ve got a whole bunch of errands I’m running. Things always seem to pile up when I’m away on vacation, and the running around I have to do to try and catch up is so fatiguing that by the time I finish getting back up to date, I need another vacation.
Okay – finished at the dry cleaners, the health store, my bank, my broker, and now it’s time to stop by our private mailbox place to pick up whatever packages the kid ordered. We use the UPS store on Washington Boulevard. It’s right around the corner from the marina and because most of the stuff we order gets delivered by UPS, we know for sure that all of their drivers know exactly where this place is.
After checking our small box for letter mail, I let the guys behind the counter know that I’m here to pick up Suzi’s packages. They disappear in the back room for a couple of minutes and return with their arms full of boxes… at least eight or nine of them.
“Are you guys sure these things are all for her?”
They let me know that they’re sure and then they walk out to my yellow Hummer and carefully load each one of the boxes marked ‘handle with care’ into my back seat. I don’t know what the kid ordered, but from the return addresses on these packages, it looks like she’s stocking up on some expensive electronics, but I don’t recognize any of the company names in the ‘sender’ address portion of each label.
I call the boat to let the kid know that I’ve finished with my business errands and to make sure that the Asian boys are there to help carry all of her boxes from the parking area out to where the boat slip is, way out on the row of big boats berthed on the main channel.
* * * *
The kid really knows how to entertain. She had the Asian Boys bring plenty of food, but this time it wasn’t from the Chinese restaurant where they bus tables and where her mother used to be the manager: tonight it’s an Italian feast, and she had the Boys pick up the food from Dan Tana’s on Santa Monica Boulevard - just east of the border with Beverly Hills, bring it to the boat, and set the table. They’ll also clean everything up later.
Myra is here, as is my friend Stuart, and Vinny, one of his employees. Seated between Vinny and Myra is a young boy that looks to be about 12 or 13 years old. I assume he’s there with either Vinny or Myra. No sense in asking now because I’m sure that Suzi will fill me in later after everyone leaves.
The dinner was completely up to my two expectations: one, it was delicious and the conversation was enjoyable, and two, Stuart told us about a new business he’s planning on starting up.
A while back, one of his brainstorms was to take an inexpensive hand-held GPS unit and have it re-programmed so that it only sought out the location of one place in the world: Mecca – in Saudi Arabia. At five specific times every day, every Muslim in the world is supposed to kneel down and pray – and they are supposed to be facing Mecca.
Stuart named it the Mecca-Finder and it’s now being sold by mosques and gift shops all over the world. It also contains a radio-controlled clock that alerts the device’s user to the proper prayer times, and its graphic display indicates the straight-line direction to Mecca.
Stuart is definitely the most entrepreneurial guy on the planet. His other enterprises are varied, but aside from the Mecca-Finder, his most popular one is the He’s Taking it With Him vehicle, which is a former Brinks armored truck that he has his employee Vinny drive. It is constantly being hired by disgruntled heirs who resent the small inheritance they were given, so they hire this van to ride in the funeral precession, letting all onlookers know that the dead rich guy didn’t leave enough to satisfy his heirs.
When he first told Suzi about his idea to help people find Mecca, Suzi’s polite comment was, “The heck with Mecca… make a device that will help Peter find his car every time he loses it in that large parking lot whenever we go shopping at Costco!”
Stuart finally went ahead with his own idea anyway, but also never forgot her advice, and the end result is a throw-away cell phone that when activated will toot a car’s horn and make the headlights and interior lights blink on and off. Several other options include a wiring kit that will send a smoke signal up from a small hole in the car’s roof. Stuart appropriated that idea from Allied Trains, a famous model train store on Sepulveda Boulevard in Culver City, when he saw one of the trains in their huge display toot and give off smoke.
With the help of a couple of technicians, Stuart will charge a hefty fee and install wiring to make your car do anything you want it to, once you call the throw-away hard-wired installed cellphone that runs the in-car system… and best of all, he doesn’t charge anything for the unit itself… he charges a fifty-cent fee every time the device us used, and has it set up so that his computers automatically put the monthly usage charge onto the customers’ phone bills.
After discussing Stuart’s new business gimmick, we all agree that he’s the Ron Popeil of the non-cooking world, and our conversation covers local events, and whatever else someone brings up.