Running into the Daylight

By Don Bissett

Ordered to protect a Hollywood starlet 24/7 at her mansion, Nathan Parker gladly abandons the snow-bound Midwest to bask in Los Angeles. Sunshine, warm air, ocean breezes, and luxury living. Sure, his boss expects him to also conduct insurance fraud investigations remotely in his spare time. And he’s never been a bodyguard before. Still, it sounds like an easy gig.

Until it isn’t.

Even though the mansion is fortified with a high fence, motion-sensitive lights, security cameras, and armed guards, an intruder finds a way in. He steals valuables. He’s violent. He does it repeatedly. And each time, he manages to escape. Yet the starlet Ashley Wild insists on staying in her home and being seen in public by her fans, in spite of the threat she faces.

Nathan’s boss orders him to catch this stalker and end the threat. Yet he is surrounded by people he cannot trust: the armed guards, Ashley’s conservator, her unruly friends, and even the starlet herself. And quickly, some of them become outright enemies.

While Nathan attempts to keep a low profile, being a bodyguard for Ashley Wild puts him in the spotlight. That draws people from his past: the dangerous ones, and the really dangerous deadly ones. They converge on Los Angeles, and embroil him in colliding schemes of treachery and deceit and greed.

In the end, Nathan, the starlet, and her entourage have no choice but to run and fight a guerilla war on the streets of LA to save their own lives.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Don Bissett
• Release date: Jan 23, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215142462

Don Bissett

About the author: Don Bissett is originally from New England, growing up in Massachusetts and Connecticut. He attended the University of Connecticut and Michigan State University, obtaining degrees in chemistry. During his career as a scientist in industry, he published extensively in technical journals and textbooks. That experience nurtured a passion for writing. In addition to writing novels, he uses his science experience in consulting with industry. His hobbies include travel, hiking, and fossil collecting. The author currently resides in Michigan.Death Comes in the Morning is the author’s first novel. His second and third novels in the Nathan Hale Parker series (Dying at a Premium; Scheduled to Die) have since been published. And now his fourth, fifth, and sixth books (which form a trilogy with the same main character) are completed and available: Running Nameless, Running with Intent, and Running to Cover. Each of the three books in the Running trilogy has its own independent plot, along with a compelling story line that progresses across the entire trilogy.Contact the author: [e-mail]

Book preview

Chapter 1

I swipe away the thick blanket of snow that buries my car. The flakes tunnel up the sleeves of my jacket and snake into my shoes. Their icy touch makes me shiver uncontrollably.

This winter had been mild, with little precipitation and with daytime temperatures above freezing. Until last night. Then an Arctic storm swept across from Wisconsin, dumping freezing rain and a foot of lake-effect snow on West Michigan. Now the big flakes falling from the sky have hardened to pellets. They pound down, thwacking against the hood and windshield. Then they bounce away like frenzied ping pong balls in a lottery number machine.

In spite of being exhausted from this long trip north, I should have ignored the tug of sleep last night and forced myself to drive through the storm back to home in Cincinnati. Because this morning’s forecast claims the weather system will morph into a blizzard that will last for several more days. So now I need to dig out and leave quickly to get ahead of the worst of it. I realize it will be a futile attempt. In spite of that, the only thing on my mind is escaping this damned snow-demic to find refuge somewhere warmer.

And maybe I can escape whoever is following me. Last night, I found a magnetic GPS device attached to the underside of my car. I find these things periodically. Who’s tracking me? I have some candidates in mind, but haven’t yet seen any suspicious characters in my wake.

A gust of wind blasts my face with frozen snow pellets. Turning downwind, I stab at the thick stubborn ice on my windshield with a plastic scraper. It snaps in two and tears the rubber off a wiper. Marvelous.

As the wind-blown snow piles up against my car, I spot an opportunity. A crew-cab pickup truck is plowing the hotel’s parking lot. If my timing is right, I can follow it out of the lot to get to the plowed and sanded main street.

I clear a section of windshield large enough to see through, then climb inside my car and fire up the engine. I imagine the feel of comforting heat blasting onto my frozen feet and fingers. Soon, real soon.

My phone chimes. I know who it is. My boss, Barry Haliday. He’s the one who sent me north to investigate insurance fraud. And Barry wants his update.

A guy sued Frye Brothers Heating and Cooling, a company that we insure. He claimed that his recently installed furnace was faulty. He wanted a quarter million for repairs, physical and mental distress, plus damages. The heating company, of course, disagreed. I was sent to sort it out.

I accept the call.

Without even the courtesy of a ‘hello,’ Barry jumps right into his agenda. Did you wrap up that case?

Ignoring his question, I say, Hey, Barry. How’s the weather in Cincinnati? It’s my lame attempt to inject some personal connection between us. After all, I am not a robot, though he probably is.

Barry ignores my question and persists. Did you wrap up that case?

So I just failed, yet again, at making any human connection. Resigned to the robotic approach of my boss, I simply answer, Yup.

Then where’s the report?

I didn’t finish until late last night. You’ll have a report….

Just tell me.

Sure, Barry. The guy’s furnace works just fine. His problem is that a big chunk of his basement wall collapsed. No furnace can keep up with that much cold air coming into the house.

Why am I just hearing about this for the first time?

It seems Frye Brothers failed to mention that little detail in their report to us. Their report did state cold air is seeping into the basement. I guess the details seemed too obvious to them. Anyway, after I pushed the guy, he admitted to hoping to get the money from us to fix the wall.

So we need to bring the police into this.

Barry’s been itching to have someone arrested and sued. But I try to discourage that. It’s messy and expensive to prosecute. And it’s bad for our public image.

No, Barry. As soon as I threatened legal action, he withdrew the claim. He even started to cry. It’s over.

After only a brief pause, Barry says, I have another case for you. Do you know who Ashley Wild is?

Sure. She’s the celebrity in our TV commercials.

Exactly. Since we started running those ads, we’ve had a spike in sales of our insurance products. All ages, all products, but especially with younger drivers.

What does that have to do with fraud?

Nothing. But she is a valuable asset. Someone is threatening her. Happened twice last week. That’s not good for us. So the Board of Directors has told me to send one of our people to protect her. I choose you.

You must be joking! What about Merrick?

Merrick Throckmorton is the newest addition to the company’s small team of insurance fraud investigators. He’s intelligent and reasonably capable. And unlike me, he doesn’t go rogue. So he has become Barry’s golden boy. And I suspect that Barry heaps praise on him simply because he’s not me.

I repeat my question. Barry. What about Merrick?

He’s busy on a very important case in Florida.

I want to ask, So what I do isn’t important? Therefore, protecting Ashley Wild isn’t important either?

But I suspect Barry’s real reason for picking me is that Merrick is a bit of a pansy. My boss’ next words confirm that.

I need someone tough on this assignment. That’s you. Just don’t screw up by going rogue.

The only other choice is Reggie Fullborn. But Barry won’t send him. Reggie is a screw up and would be too busy hitting on the starlet to focus on protecting her.

Doesn’t Ashley already have a bodyguard?

She does. In fact, she has three. But the Board wants us involved personally. Of course, if you are going to be difficult about this, I can always assign you to a case in Fargo, North Dakota. It’s a balmy five below there today.

Rather than immediately giving in to his threat, I leave a few seconds of dead air between us.

So you want me to babysit her.

Call it whatever you like. I just expect you to protect our asset.

I sigh heavily. For how long?

Until the threat ends. I’ve already made arrangements with Ms. Wild’s personal assistant, Hazel Prickle.

Prickle?

Ignoring my question, he plows ahead. I expect you to update me daily. I expect you to behave. Her house, her rules. And I expect you to do some magic. Catch the guy and end this quickly. Because there are other fraud cases waiting. Check your email. I sent the details of a case.

Babysitting an egotistical adult brat is not what I signed up for. Inside my head, I hear myself scream, I quit!

At that moment, the plow rumbles past, spraying a wall of compacted snow and ice onto the hood and windshield of my car. I try to clear the window with the wipers. But they’re wedged tight against the glass.

Barry, if I recall correctly, she lives in….

Yes, LA.

A scene of palm trees, sunshine, a sandy beach, and warm breezes scrolls across my brain.

I’ll be on the next flight out.

Chapter 2

A powerful blast of arctic air rocks the car and buries the windshield in swirling snow.

Where is he going in this mess?

I don’t know. This is the wrong direction for Ohio. He’s headed for I-94 and I-80. Maybe Chicago, or Milwaukee, or any of a thousand other places west of here.

Well, it must be important because this weather really sucks. He looks at the speedometer. But the guy is driving like an old lady. We’re not even doing 30. It’ll take hours just to get into Illinois.

Another blast of wind hits the car and engulfs it in a white cloud that obscures everything in front of them.

Where did he go?

I don’t know. Can’t see a damned thing. He looks down at the cell phone in his hand. The GPS says he’s still in front of us.

Well, I can’t see to drive. I better pull over. We’ll catch up with him later.

No! Keep going! If we stop, we might get stuck in the snow.

Fine. But if we hit someone….

Yeah, yeah. Just keep driving.

With the windshield wipers frantically whipping across the glass, both of them lean forward, straining to see red taillights.

There! In the right lane! Get over and follow him.

He gently steers to the right and follows the two red dots. The vehicle’s right turn signal flashes as it rolls onto the exit ramp.

Yup, the GPS indicates that’s him. Take the exit.

At the stop sign at the bottom of the ramp, they slowly creep up close behind the glowing taillights.

Staring through the blowing snow, he mutters, Shit. Where’s his car? That’s a pickup. And it’s got Indiana plates.

The other man says, Great. After exhaling a long disgusted breath, he asks, Which one of us gets to call and tell him we lost the guy?

Chapter 3

The slow slog from Michigan to Chicago took longer than planned. That’s partly because I had to wait for the right moment to ditch the magnetic GPS device.

So, during the drive, I waited for a whiteout to obscure my car. Then I tossed the thing out the window at an old pickup in the lane next to me. Miraculously, it landed in the open bed of the truck. Then I pressed harder on the accelerator. If someone was tailing me, that should have ended the pursuit.

At O’Hare Airport, I dump my car in a parking garage, and walk through the cold air to the terminal. Inside, I find that my flight surprisingly hasn’t been cancelled, in spite of the weather. And there’s still time to get through security and board the plane.

It’s a noon flight. Two and a half hours from now, I expect to be in LA soaking up the warm air. That should thaw the chill that reaches deep into my bones.

After boarding, I relax into my window seat. Immediately, I pull up the messages that Barry Haliday sent. They have documents attached. I open a few.

For Ashley Wild, the documents contain mountains of information, far more than I could ever want or need. But I download all of it to read during the flight. Out of this mass of stuff, maybe I’ll find something useful.

After takeoff, I begin reading.

Ashley was born in Connecticut, but didn’t stay there long. At a young age, she displayed talent as an actress, dancer, musician, singer, and songwriter. As a teen, she moved in with relatives near Nashville, Tennessee to get closer to the music business. From there, she quickly blossomed into a superstar.

Yet she’s also had more than her share of problems adjusting to stardom. Disputes with her family over money, bad choices in relationships, alcohol and drug abuse, mounting debt, and arrests for theft and DUI.

Fortunately, a lenient judge swept away the charges and sent her to mandatory rehab. That apparently set her straight on the alcohol and drugs. Media reports indicate she’s been clean and sober for the past year.

But she also faced bankruptcy, in spite of making millions. Since she was estranged from her family, a conservator was assigned by a court to manage her finances. The conservator’s name is Hazel Prickle. Unless there’s two Hazel Prickles in this world, this woman, according to Barry, is also Ashley Wild’s personal assistant. That sounds like a conflict of interest to me. But then I don’t know anything about conservatorship. So maybe it’s accepted practice.

Regardless, this arrangement apparently fixed Ashley’s financial crisis. And her career continued on an upward trajectory.

But like so many other celebrities, she was constantly accosted by crazed fans, peeping Toms, and paparazzi following her everywhere. So when she moved to LA, her house became her fortress: a high fence, security cameras, motion-activated lights, and a personal security team.

In spite of all that, a man breached the perimeter at night. That set off an alarm in the house and activated the motion-sensitive outdoor lighting. He quickly ran to the fence and escaped without any further incident. He was not identified or caught.

Three days later, a man not only got inside the fence, he also got inside the house. It was late at night. He got onto the property and into the house without appearing on the security cameras, without tripping an alarm, and without triggering the security lights. Unless the guy snuck in through a tunnel, how did he manage to do all that?

On that second intrusion, Ashley Wild did see the guy inside the house. Some time after midnight, she reported hearing a noise in the hallway. When she stepped out of her bedroom into the corridor, the guy ran away. She went back into her room, locked the door, and called her own security guys. They called 9-1-1. But the intruder had already climbed the fence and escaped. So by the time police arrived, he was long gone.

Ms. Wild reported that pieces of memorabilia were missing. The items have not been found in pawn shops or on-line sales sites. And no one is boasting about stealing them. So the intruder has not been caught, or even identified. The only description of him is that he wore jeans, a dark hoodie, a face mask, and gloves. He left no other clues behind.

Both of those incidents happened last week. Since then, police patrols through the neighborhood have increased. The security system at the house has been upgraded, Ashley’s bedroom suite is being converted into a panic room, and a 3-man security team lives on site 24/7.

With all that, what do Barry and the Board expect me to offer? Yet I won’t argue the point. I’m leaving the Midwest winter for the warmth of the West Coast.

The duration of my stay? Undefined. At this point, I have absolutely no objection to that.

I turn to Ashley Wild’s social media presence. Her older posts are filled with pictures of her concerts, of her at the center of masses of fans, her vacations to exotic locations, discrete and not so discrete nude selfies, her expensive jewelry, and her closet filled with shoes and hats and outfits and purses.

Recently her posts have been about the intrusion into her home, the increased security, and the construction of a panic room in the house. Huge numbers of her fans respond with sympathy and support. Many people seem unable to resist the allure of getting involved in the lives of celebrities.

Satisfied that I’ve learned enough about Ashley Wild for now, I turn to the other documents that Barry sent. He does have a talent for spotting fraud. And then passes them along to me to investigate.

In our phone conversation, he said a case. Yet there are actually two of them in his email message. He expects me to investigate them during my spare time while I babysit in LA 24/7. Spare time? I suspect there won’t be much, if any. But that’s Barry. Always expecting more.

In the first case, a man in LA filed a claim for extensive damage to his car and to the car of the other driver. I read the file. The guy has minimal coverage. Yes, he caused the collision. Still, he has filed a claim for the repairs. Barry has already rejected it outright. Twice.

But the guy has appealed those decisions. So someone above Barry must have demanded that I investigate and offer a second opinion. The claim is not huge, only a few thousand dollars. Yet Barry has taken a firm stance: he will reject the claim no matter how many times the guy appeals.

I suspect that Barry expects me to side with him. But from my reading of the case, I have to disagree with Barry. The guy has a strong argument for making the claim, in spite of the fact that he caused the accident. So it’s clear that Barry and I will lock horns on this one. That will lead to an unpleasant telephone argument with Barry. Ugh.

I turn to the second case. It deals with a stolen car, a police report, and a huge insurance claim. After reading the file, I have to agree with Barry that this smells very rotten. It smells like insurance fraud. However, I immediately realize the impossibility of doing this. I’m on my way to the West Coast. This fraud is in Columbus, Ohio. That’s a distance of over 2000 miles!

The only way I can manage that is to rely on my colleague Reggie Fullborn. He also works out of the Cincinnati office. But even with his help, this will be impossible. Because Reggie is…. professionally challenged.

I have no idea who hired him, or when. He was already in the Cincinnati office when I was transferred from Montana several years ago.

Reggie is a nice guy, but lazy when it comes to work that requires thought, or planning, or sound judgment. And especially when it involves confrontation. In fraud investigation, confrontation is crucial, to convince fraudsters to drop their claim, or face prosecution. Yet Reggie avoids that by simply approving payment of claims, no matter how flawed they are.

Barry has attempted to fire him. I’ve interfered by guiding Reggie through fraud investigations and saving his job. I do that because we’ve saved each other’s lives. So I owe him.

To counteract my ongoing efforts to salvage Reggie, Barry has assigned the man to menial tasks, such as shredding outdated documents and doing retention limit audits on files. Lately it’s been scanning old paper documents into electronic format. I have no clue if the documents are important. Barry just wants it done. I suspect Reggie’s next assignment will be stuffing envelopes with advertising fliers, or picking up litter in the parking lot.

Barry is convinced that if he dumps enough of these trivial tasks onto Reggie, the man will quit out of sheer boredom. Taking that route eliminates the need to invest countless hours into gathering and documenting sufficient dirt on Reggie to get HR’s approval to formally fire him.

But Reggie is still hanging around, doing the trivial tasks without complaint. Because Barry hasn’t taken the time to understand the guy’s motivations. Reggie has actually become comfortable with these menial tasks, tasks that require no thought, no planning, no overtime, and absolutely no confrontation. His life is now uncomplicated. He’s found his comfort zone. He loves it.

In this new investigation in Columbus, I will take Reggie way out of his comfort zone. I will force him to take on this case, even if it means having to walk him through every single step of the process. And there is a carrot, or two, I can dangle to lure him in.

DING!

The plane’s intercom indicates we’re on final approach into LAX. I stow my laptop and raise the seat table.

As the flight glides down to the runway, I raise the window shade. Bright sunlight pours through the small oval window onto my shoulder. The warmth penetrates to the bone and erases the memory of the cold and snow of the Midwest. I sigh contentedly.

So you’re glad to escape winter?

The question comes from the woman in the aisle seat. I guess she’s in her twenties. Even though she’s wearing a face mask, I sense an inviting and perky smile underneath.

Exactly, I offer, smiling under my own mask.

Business or pleasure?

Business. But I hope to get a lot of sun and do some sightseeing. So pleasure too. Are you also escaping winter?

Returning home. I was visiting a friend. I tried to convince him to move here, but no luck.

Well, maybe next time.

Maybe. Then she’s out of her seat and pushed along in the flow of people exiting the aircraft.

After escaping the plane, I join the mass of bodies streaming to baggage claim. Jostled from all sides, I’m like a fish in a school, simply following the leader.

In baggage claim, I follow the horde to a carrousel. And then stand and wait for my bag to be disgorged onto the conveyor belt.

Over the murmurs of hundreds of people talking, I hear a scream.

My purse!

I turn to see a woman pointing in my direction. Between us is a guy in a black hoodie racing away from her. He’s clutching a pink purse in one hand. He’s using his other to clear a path through the dense crowd.

A real amateur. Snatching a purse in a crowded room? With an airport police officer standing at the exit door? Moron is the word that comes to mind.

He’s still yards away from me. Yet I casually step into his path. He swerves to his right to avoid me, but is hemmed in by the dozens of passengers waiting for their bags. The guy keeps pushing forward anyway.

He again veers to his right to avoid me. An instant before he brushes past me, I stick out my left arm. It clotheslines him in the chest. He drops to the floor like a sack of laundry.

An old woman steps forward with a small canister in her hand and blasts him in the face with pepper spray.

AHHH! he screams and claws at his eyes with his knuckles.

Take that, punk! the old woman says. Then she chuckles and fades back into the mass of people.

I imagine the pain and burning the thief must be experiencing. Yet I feel no sympathy for the guy. There are not always consequences for crimes. But in this case, there are.

The victim then appears, bends over to rip her purse off the thief’s arm, and thwacks him in the head with it. Then an airport cop arrives.

Police! Out of the way!

He worms his way through the people surrounding the perp on the floor.

At that moment, my bag appears on the conveyor belt. I grab it and walk away.

Sure, I could stay and tell the officer what happened. But there are plenty of other witnesses. And my boss doesn’t like me drawing attention to myself. It gets messy for him and the company. So, my personal objective on this trip is to behave by trying real hard to be discrete and keep a low profile. That means avoiding the authorities and cameras and the media.

My history proves that I really suck at behaving.

Chapter 4

I grab my reserved rental car, a sedan. I don my sunglasses to cut the glare of the bright California sun, and roll down the windows to enjoy the warmth of Los Angeles.

But before I can pull out of the parking spot, my phone chimes.

I don’t recognize the number. The caller ID simply reads AW.

I’ve dated several women with those initials. There’s nothing nefarious about it. It’s simply one of those coincidences of life that happens. And now I’m about to babysit a Hollywood brat with those same initials.

Most of the AW women in my life are in hiding. It’s my fault. So which one of those AWs is calling me?

I answer to find out.

Nathan, what are you doing in California?

The sound of her voice brings mixed emotions. The pleasant ones? She’s intelligent, fit, and driven. She’s tall and slender, with sparkling green eyes, and springy coils of red hair that brush her shoulders. Her face is adorned with a spritz of tiny freckles as though they were flicked there with damp fingertips. And she can be charming and warm and tender. A smile creases my face at the thought of the last time I experienced those qualities.

The unpleasant emotions? She’s a Fed who is focused on one thing: her career. She can be vicious and cruel. She’s detached and elusive and deceptive. I think of her as a Venus flytrap, a beautiful sight enticing a hapless insect. Like me.

Hi, April. You have a new number.

Yes, I do.

Since she offers no further explanation, I change topics. The last time I saw you, you were taking my brother to jail.

Old news, Nathan. Why are you in LA?

Being a Fed, April can track me through my phone and credit card. And since the case in Michigan, she can track me through the chip she implanted in my arm. She implanted it because I had just run amok. She wanted to be able to find me the next time. That was when the FBI hijacked me to work a case with them. The case that put my brother in jail.

My boss sent me here.

Working a case?

Yes. I’m on security duty, to protect a celebrity.

Ahhh, yes. Must be Ashley Wild. She’s been in a lot of commercials for your company lately.

As usual, April is amazingly well informed. It’s as though she stalks me. Maybe I need my own security detail.

Yes. Ashley Wild.

I really like that commercial in the parking lot.

In my head, I picture the ad. It’s actually hilarious to watch. Without looking, Ashley is backing out of a parking space. On the steering wheel, she’s tapping a long manicured nail to the beat of the music blasting from the radio. Her other hand has a cell phone plastered to an ear.

Did you hear what Mandy said about Zoe? What a witch!

She hits the car on the left. And the one on the right. She backs into a third, and into a shopping cart corral. A cart shoots across the lot and smashes through the front window of a store.

As the car lurches to a stop, she calmly inspects her finger. Awww. I chipped a nail.

A voice-over then says, Got insurance? She doesn’t. Call Nation’s Best today.

April says, I read that two intruders got through Ashley’s security at her home. So you’re in LA to babysit your company’s asset. Poor Nathan.

April. Other than teasing me, is there some reason you called?

Actually there is. Ever since our adventure in Michigan, there’s been discussion about bringing you into the FBI.

You want to hire me?

Not exactly. Let’s call it a consultant position.

For a moment, I let that sink in. As I recall, April, my involvement in Michigan started as a consultant. I ended up being a mercenary. I could have died. What’s the going rate for that?

Hmm. It’s open for discussion.

Why are you calling now? It’s been months since Michigan.

Because we’ve been debating this for months. And in the end, in spite of your tendency to run amok, the top brass finally decided it’s an idea worth pursuing. Because results really do matter. And you came through for us in Michigan.

Plus the timing is good right now since you’re on the West Coast. So am I, at least for the next couple of weeks. We could meet to discuss the details.

I’ve often thought about a change of career. Insurance fraud investigations can be exciting, if the cases are challenging. But often, it’s a continuous stream of mundane claims from brainless twits trying to scam the system. And my boss Barry Haliday is an ungrateful demanding SOB who expects me to be at his beck and call 24/7. Which means that my personal life doesn’t exist, though admittedly a lot of the blame for that falls on me. After all, I’m probably one of those workaholic type A personalities.

In spite of April being a Venus flytrap, I am still drawn to her. And I wonder if we might find a way to be a couple. The odds of that happening are more than remote. They’re akin to impossible, like the Lions winning the Super Bowl. But the odds have to be better if we are both Feds, working on cases together.

So, Nathan. What do you say?

I’m committed 24/7 to this….babysitting. Let’s talk when it’s over.

How long will that take?

Undefined.

Well, I might get impatient and call you. This job opportunity will expire. Then the top brass will look at alternatives. So think about it. And while you’re at it, catch Ashley’s intruder. But be advised that some of these guys are violent, especially the stalkers. Do you remember the guy Richard Ramirez? In the 1980s, he was called the Night Stalker. Broke into houses and killed a lot of people.

Yeah, I remember reading about him.

Well, watch your back.

With that, she’s gone.

I sit in the rental car and think about April’s call. Can I convince myself to quit the insurance business and become an FBI consultant? Is that even a career?

And what if the Venus flytrap turns against me? I have been known to go rogue. That doesn’t sit well with government agencies. It didn’t sit well with her in Michigan, even though it did help solve the case. Is it even possible for me to behave myself every single day while under the magnifying glass of the Feds?

I shake my head to erase those thoughts. I can’t make those decisions on the spur of the moment. Barry sent me here to do a job. My focus has to be on that.

His expectations also include the insurance fraud investigation in Ohio. I can’t do that myself long distance. So I need Reggie’s help. I call him.

Hey, man! How’s LA?

It’s warm, Reggie.

I am so jealous, man. Have you met Ashley Wild yet?

I just landed at LAX. So not yet.

Hey, man. When you do, can you get me an autograph?

I didn’t know you’re a fan.

I am, man! I even got to watch for a few minutes while they were shooting one of her commercials. You know the one in the parking lot?

I sure do. That’s a good one. But why were you there?

Barry had me do some of the catering. Didn’t get to meet her, but she is one hot little chick. Anyway, special food requests by Ashley. Have to keep the talent happy, right?

Definitely. I pause for a beat. Hey, Reggie, I could use your help on something. Barry asked me to do an investigation while I’m out here. But it’s in Ohio. So I need you to step in. You’ll get all the credit.

Giving him credit will have little impact on the man. He needs the job, but he doesn’t want to do the work. And his reply confirms that.

I don’t know, man. I have all these documents to scan. Barry said….

Barry told me I could recruit you for the case.

Aw, man. I don’t know.

Reggie, the case is in Columbus.

I don’t know, man.

Since he is being resistant, I decide to dangle a carrot immediately. You could go to that restaurant in the German Village. Sausage, kraut, apple strudel, chocolate pie, cream puffs.

Reggie thinks with his stomach. His destinations always involve the local cuisine. Yet he’s as thin as a twig because his body bounces with nervous energy, like a tuning fork that’s been struck. Calories drop away from him like water off a duck’s back.

Since he doesn’t immediately jump at the opportunity, I dangle the other carrot. Reggie, all of that German food would go on your expense report. You could even order some to take home with you. I’ll approve the expenses.

There. I’ve finished dangling the carrots.

You know what, man? I’m sure these documents can wait. What’s the case?

I’ll forward the file to you in a minute. I’ll call you later today so we can talk about strategy. What do you say?

Hey, man! I’m all in!

Great. Thanks, Reggie.

Hey, man. They have great suchi on the Coast. Have some for me.

Will do.

Chapter 5

I let GPS guide me north from the airport. I have no clue if it’s the fastest route. I hope not. Then I can enjoy the sun and warm air before going on duty.

The route takes me on Century Boulevard, Sepulveda Boulevard, and onto the 405. I exit onto La Brea Avenue. The directions put me on Melrose Avenue and Cahuenga Boulevard, which takes me into Hollywood.

During the drive I leave the car windows open to let the warm air in. I see hordes of tourists on the Hollywood Walk of Fame, where celebrities have stars embedded in the sidewalk to honor them. Maybe I’ll have time to be a tourist on this street too. And maybe time to see at least some of the other famous sites in LA, such as Venice Beach.

I turn onto Sunset Boulevard and admire