1964

Sometimes it just clicks. Recovering this airplane for my client is now a must. That was my motivation for sneaking into the Los Angeles Airport. Once inside, I was able to slip past airport security finding my client’s plane, a 1963 Dassault Falcon 20 sitting pretty on the tarmac. This plane is sleek. Let’s see how she flies.

After takeoff, I discovered I was not alone, meeting Allison, a 33 year-old teacher who lives in California but plays in Vegas. She seems to recall flying to Vegas but remembers little about the flight home. Assuming her friends left her to sleep it off, she was shocked to be back in the air without them.

“Repo Joe, really? Are you serious right now?” she said in a tone a little too sarcastic for my taste.

“Look, we are about to land at LAX. I will get you back home safely. No harm no foul,” I replied, not really understanding the attitude but anxious to get this plane back to my client. All I did was introduce myself as Joe Morgan and apologize for not knowing she was on the plane when I recovered it.

Allison herself just recently broke up with her boyfriend, but romance was not on the agenda because once we landed, we were detained by airport police. We were frustrated that they were questioning us in a triple homicide outside of their jurisdiction, but we were technically flying a plane that belonged to one of the victims. With a good reputation as a private eye in Long Beach and proper documents for the repossession, we were still put under intense scrutiny. However, after extreme interrogation due to coincidental circumstances, we were released and on a mission to find the truth.

Investigation is what I live for. Well, that and spending most mornings on my longboard enjoying the California swells. Although I didn’t know this woman, I felt compelled to help her and we rented a car driving to Sharon’s (one of our victims), hoping for some answers.

We let ourselves in with a key kept under the mat. Once inside we decided to split up. I made my way into the master bedroom, finding a bank statement in the nightstand drawer that proved my client deposited money into her friend Sharon’s checking account – the connection between two of our victims. Wow, I’m blown away. It was Douglas McFlye, president of Mango Financial. He is my own client, and I would not be here if it weren’t for Doug. We had to get to Mango Financial.

Once inside the lobby we were confronted by executives blocking off the corridor claiming Doug was at his lake house. After some huffing and puffing with nobody blowing anything down, we decided driving to Doug’s lake house was our only option.

Douglas McFlye is the oldest looking 55 year-old I’ve ever met. His struggles were real. Growing up poor, he was able to overcome poverty one idea at a time using the money he made from selling Martin Guitars to flip breweries. From there he invested in the movie industry making a small fortune and purchasing his first bank by the early age of 35. He has since created a financial empire.

I could not shake an eerie feeling as our car accelerated up the winding driveway. It only intensified as we approached the door. After ringing a bell that sounded like it was right out of a horror movie set, I was just about to run away when the massive door swung open and in the doorway looking frail in his robe stood Douglas. He still seemed genuinely surprised to see me. “Joe, what are you doing here?” he asked, then turning his attention to Alison. He looked her up and down making everyone else uncomfortable. “Who is this lovely lady? Oh, how rude of me,” he said, sticking out his hand. He finished introducing himself inviting us inside. Wow, if we thought we had a story to tell it was nothing compared to what Doug just told us.

We part ways with Doug and drive to the loading docks. We decided we would approach the warehouse from the rear entrance hoping to catch our killers by surprise. However, as we approached the back door, we came under gunfire. I should have known Doug set us up. We heard the shots, rapid fire coming from multiple directions. My baja hoodie just got sizzled by a bullet as we were able to run back to our vehicle, using the other vehicles on the block as cover. There was glass flying and bullets ripping into the cars as we ran behind them, barely escaping with only scratches.

Hanging up the phone Doug had known they were on their way to ambush us. But, his hired goons had failed, and he would have to resort to plan B. He picked the phone back up and made the call.

After the one-sided ambush, we headed back to the lake house to confront Doug’s betrayal only this time it was Alison’s ex-boyfriend Mack who sneaked up behind us with a gun. I turned, placing both of my hands in the air.

“Hey buddy, chill out. Put the gun down. We just want to talk to Doug,” I said.

Before he could respond, the door opened and Doug invited us all into his living room. Mack was originally Allison’s boyfriend, but I could feel their chemistry had dwindled as he no longer felt her love, and he saw no excitement or smiles when they were meeting up. The sparkle in her eyes was gone. She dumped him like 9th grade math, but not before he met Douglas at a dinner party where he captivated him with his powerful influence. Paying him to murder her friends was easy as he was already blaming them for her leaving him. Doug was able to use him like a pawn. It’s just too bad he wasn’t able to frame Joe in the process.

Mack had kidnapped them right off of the plane. Sparing his sleeping beauty, then murdering her three friends and dumping their bodies close to the airport. Sparing Alison which meant, who knows, maybe someday a reconciliation might be in their future. That could have been his last thought before Doug pulled out a revolver shooting him in the back of his head, killing him instantly. Then, he decided to tie us to the stair post securing impressive knots on the rope. Confident we were doomed, he began to pour gasoline throughout the lake house but somehow forgetting to splash us. Before walking out the front door, he dropped a lit zippo lighter into the trail of gasoline igniting a fire. As the flames grew closer, an overwhelming sense of survival kicked in, and I was able to break myself free. Then I began working on Alison’s knots freeing her just in time, running through the house as the flames came bearing down upon us. We made it out of the lake house just in the nick of time.

It was actually pretty spectacular standing next to Alison watching the flames devour the house and, in that moment, I felt the need to place my arm across her shoulders and when I did a sense of calm washed over me. We stood there together in awe as the house collapsed in flames. Afterwards, I drove her to her home and decided I would definitely be interested in seeing her again. The End.

"Copyright Kevin Charlton 2020"