by Reason of Sanity (32 page)

Myra calls. She tells me that one of her spies at the District Attorney’s office tells her that Seymour is planning on making an announcement after work today. He’s called a news conference. She wants to know if I have any idea what’s going on, because she also has found out that I met with Seymour that morning before we went to Federal Court to bust Handelmann.

I tell her that Seymour threatened to destroy me if I helped her campaign and that he wanted me to spy on her for him. At first, she’s a little put out that I didn’t tell her about it sooner, but when she remembers all the things I did to help her election campaign, she realizes that I have no intentions of doing anything that would hurt her.

My suggestion is that we meet at Pollo Meshuga for an early dinner and to watch Seymour’s announcement on one of their six hanging television sets. If there’s no Hispanic team playing soccer somewhere in the world, they’ll probably let us tune one set in to the news.

She took my suggestion, and I’m now sitting at our favorite table waiting for her to come in. After our salsa and guacamole appetizer is brought to the table, we see our friendly reporter on the steps of the Criminal Courts Building, prepping the audience for Acting District Attorney Seymour’s announce-ment.

When he saunters down the steps to where the cameras are, I notice that his lunch date is nowhere to be seen. As usual, Seymour looks wonderful… he’s definitely dressed too good to be a district attorney. He starts out with the usual crap about how glad he is to see the press and about how his office finally got a conviction on the Drago murder. Our friendly reporter interrupts him with a question. “Excuse me Mister Seymour, but wasn’t that conviction obtained by your opponent, Myra Scot?”

Seymour brushes off the question, but you can tell that it got to him. “Any conviction that’s obtained by any person working for me is a victory for the People.” Smooth. He turns Myra into one of his flunkies, just doing her job. We’re still waiting for the other shoe to drop. You can’t just call a press conference. You’ve got to have something to say or you lose credibility and the next time you try it, no press will show up. He doesn’t disappoint them.

“The reason I’ve brought you here is because I’ve had a long discussion with my family, and the consensus is that I shouldn’t be in this race for District Attorney.” Audible gasps are heard in the crowd. Myra squeezes my arm.

I don’t answer her question with anything but a ‘who me?’ look. Seymour goes on.
“This was a difficult decision to make, because I love the job of District Attorney and am sure that I would win the election, but I feel that I can do much more for the People if I’m in a higher office. Therefore, effective immediately, I am withdrawing my name from the list of candidates for the office of District Attorney of Los Angeles County and notifying the Board of Elections that I intend to be entering the race for Governor of the State of California.”
One of the other reporters shouts out a question to him. “Mister Seymour, does this mean that you’ll be telling your people to support Myra Scot?”
“Well to tell you the truth, if I was just a private citizen, I’d be glad to answer that question, but now that I’m a declared candidate for Governor, I don’t think it’s my place to comment on a local county election.”
That was a nice way of avoiding the question. There’s no way he’d publicly support Myra, but it doesn’t make any difference now. She’s got a lock on this election and I feel that I fulfilled the promise I made to get her elected.
Hearing this, Myra tells me something that makes me very happy.
“Petey, I don’t know how, but I do know that you’ve had plenty to do with me getting in position to win this election, so I’ve got a special gift for you.”
I wish she’d stop calling me that but I know that if I asked her to, that would provide her with just one more button she could press to annoy me. “I’m all ears.” Myra’s got tons of money she inherited from her grandfather. Maybe she’s finally going to spend a little on me.
“When you get to Maui, I want you to make sure that you don’t waste the whole night getting drunk at the club on Margaritas. I want you to get to your hotel room at exactly eleven that evening, because there’s going to be a surprise on your bed waiting for you. I’m not going to tell you what it is, because I don’t want to ruin the surprise, but I can tell you that it will be warm, wet, and breathing hard.
That’s it. My life is now complete. I’ve finished my last few years’ work and gotten Myra’s respect back. In another day or so, I’ll be in Myra on Maui.

It feels like the time until my plane leaves tomorrow is taking about five years to pass by. I’m so preoccupied with my second honeymoon with Myra that I can’t even concentrate on a Sherlock Holmes or Nero Wolfe story. Instead, I spend the day on the other thing I lust for, the fifty-foot Grand Banks. Purcell Yachts has arranged with the owner for permission to board the boat and I’m now sitting in the main salon, dreaming of how great it’s going to be living here. I’ve already got some new furniture in mind. The thing I really like about it is that it has separate levels. My master stateroom isn’t just through a door leading to the rear of the boat, like on the Californian we’re now on. The Grand Banks has a teak spiral staircase leading below to the walk-in engine rooms, guest staterooms and aft master stateroom, complete with walk-around king-sized bed, and plenty of bookcases for my mini legal library. I think I’ll also spring for one of those big flat-panel plasma television screens.

The kid will appreciate the much larger forward stateroom area, usually reserved for the crew. It has its own private head with shower. The Saint Bernard will appreciate the engine rooms, where he can go to be alone.

If Snell’s reward money comes in a s promised, the deal should close while I’m in Hawaii and Suzi can supervise the move, with the Asian boys doing most of the work.

T itle to boats pass quite quickly, not like houses requiring up to ninety days of escrow. Boat ownership changes are just like automobile sales. Purcell will arrange for picking up the old Californian and bringing the Grand Banks over to our regular slip for us.

he day has finally arrived. It’s early morning and I’m waiting for the car service to pick me up and take me to LAX for my flight to OGG, which is the official designation for Kahului Airport on Maui.

The car comes early, but there’s no need for the driver to call me. I’m already up by the gate waiting for him. Stuart will be by later this morning to start his tutoring program, so I’m not worried about the kid. I sit back, drink from my bottle of expensive water and enjoy the nine-mile ride to the airport.

My luggage fits neatly into one carry-on bag. All you need in Maui is shorts, tee shirts and underwear, so it’s really easy to travel there. I’ve been paying all my bills with a credit card that gives air miles, so I’ve accumulated enough of them to upgrade to first class. And why not? This is the way that a Grand Banks 50 owner should travel.

Once we’re at thirty thousand feet, I notice that my carry-on bag has a swelling in it. I remove the two puffed-up separately packaged Hostess Cupcakes. The difference in air pressure between on the ground and up here has caused the packages to inflate like balloons. I brought them along because I wasn’t sure that they’d have room on the plane to upgrade me. Now that I’m in first class, I feel a little silly having brought a snack along. Some of the other first class passengers give me one of those ‘my goodness, they’ll let anyone fly first class nowadays’ looks.

The food and service are both pretty good up here and you have a lot more legroom, but it’s still a multi-ton metal plane up in the air. When I’m on the Grand Banks, I feel comfortable knowing that wood naturally floats. Metal doesn’t naturally fly.

Fortunately, it’s a beautiful flight and I get the usual lei around my neck when we land. A rented Chrysler PT Cruiser is waiting for me at the airport. I could have arranged for a Hummer, but there are too many small parking lots to negotiate in Lahaina and the PT will do just fine for me to take Myra around to the restaurants and other places of interest.

After a pleasant forty-minute drive from the airport, I reach the Pioneer Inn. Once at the registration desk, I make sure to let the guy know that if an attractive woman wants to get into my room while I’m not there, he should absolutely allow it. He hesitates and tells me that it’s against the rules to let anyone but the registered person into a room. Ten seconds and ten dollars later, he agrees that it’s okay. I tell him that her name is Myra and that she’s my wife. He couldn’t care less. He says that he’ll be working late tonight, so when I return at eleven this evening, he’ll give me a ‘thumbs up’ sign if she arrived and he let her into the room. That was a nice touch the way she tried to make me believe she wouldn’t be coming for another day or so.

Now that everything’s taken care of at the hotel, it’s time to trot across the street to the Lahaina Yacht Club. I’ve been carrying my plastic membership card in my pocket for the last week getting ready for this mom nt. I flash it at the door and sign in, handing my credit card to the bartender and tell him to start running a tab for me – but to collect for tomorrow night’s dinner from my guest. That’s part of our deal from the Blitzstien trial.

I now have the rest of the day to relax, thro w away a couple of hundred dollars getting monogrammed Lahaina Yacht Club items from the gift shop and schmooze with other yacht club members as we all sit there, watch the sunset and get wasted on the club’s balcony that overhangs the Pacific Ocean.

Several of the members ask me if I’ve got a n appointment somewhere because I’m looking at my watch so often. It finally dawns on me that I forgot to reset the time. Hawaii is two hours behind Los Angeles, so it’s now an extra two more hours until I get to be alone with Myra.

The food is great, the drinks are great, and the company is great, so the time passes by quickly. Boaters from all over the world belong to the club, so there’s always someone like me visiting the Island, and plenty of interesting cruising stories about other countries.

The sunset is beautiful, and after din ner I decide to voluntarily cut myself off from any more booze. I want to be able to remember this evening. I’m glad it’s after ten in the evening because I’ve looked at my watch so many times, I think I’ve developed carpal tunnel syndrome.

It’s now ten minutes to eleven and I can’t wait any longer. I’m walking back to the Pioneer Inn and if the guy at the desk doesn’t give me a ‘thumbs up’ sign, I’m going back to the club and drinking myself to death.

I slowly walk into the lobby. The guy behind the registration desk sees me, winks, and gives me the long-awaited thumbs up. Great! I walk a little quicker now, and almost break off the key as I open the room’s door. It’s dark in the room, but the moonlight brings in just enough light for me to make out a form on the bed. Just what I’ve been waiting for
– something warm, wet, and breathing hard.

I don’t waste any time, quickly dropping my shorts and almost ripping my shirt as I pull it up over my head. I jump into the bed and grab what’s waiting for me - the Saint Bernard.