[Steven Lyle Jordan]

3: Cross-Country

San Diego was hot.

That was the first thought that came to me when I stepped off the plane. Actually, it was the first new thought I’d had as I stepped off the plane… up until now, I had been having the same first thought for most of the day, even before I got on the plane:

“How did I let my brother talk me into flying out here?”

I’d told him what happened, and I heard him whistle like he does when something sounds implausible. Then he’d said, “You better get some space. Take a sabbatical. Get out of town.”

“Man, I just can’t leave town.”

“Bro, you live in Baltimore. Of course you can leave town. I know… come out here for a visit! San Diego’s great this time of year! I’ll fix you up with a few local honeys, and your problems will just melt away!”

“Can’t afford to fly out there.”

“Sure you can. Southwest is cheap. I even got some frequent flyer miles I’ll let you have.”

“Where did you get frequent flyer miles from?”

“From Gail. It was part of the settlement.”

“Well, why didn’t you ever use them?”

“Bro… who’d want to leave San Diego?”

The next thing I knew, I was flying to San Diego. Then transferring. Then flying. Then transferring. And finally flying in and landing in this little airport near the coast. I had to ask to make sure I was actually done hopping planes… then I collected my bag and gear, and headed for the pickup areas.
It didn’t take but a minute after I walked out of the terminal, before a Honda Fit pulled up in front of me. The passenger side window came down, and my brother stuck his head out, from the driver’s side, without undoing his seatbelt. Okay, I’m exaggerating a bit, but where I come from, a Saturn Vue is considered a sub-compact.

“Hey, Mike! You made it!”

“I made it,” I agreed, and opened the passenger door, slipped my bags behind the passenger seat, and slid in after them. Pete looked healthy. He had always been handsome, and kept in good shape; now, other than just a trace of grey in his hair, he still looked fit and tan. Sort of like a real-world Bruce Campbell (in his Brisco County days). Interestingly enough, on a good day I could pass for a real-world Billy Campbell (in his Rocketeer days), which made us some pretty hot Schitzeiss when we were out on the prowl.

“Good to see you, bro,” Pete said when I closed the door. “How you holdin’ up?”

“Oh, I’m fine,” I said. “Outside of the fact that I’ve been blacklisted in my own home town for no good reason.”

Pete shook his head. “Capitalism sucks, all right. But now you’re here,” he said, putting the car in gear, “and you can unwind a bit, get your head together, and start anew!”

“You’ve been out here too long,” I said. “You’re starting to sound like a California hippy.” I eyed the inside of the car. “Starting to look like one, too.” Though I had to admit, it did look like San Diego was agreeing with my brother.

“Well,” Pete said, “it sounds like you could use a bit of a change too, after what happened. Speaking of which, I guess you didn’t figure out any more about the blacklist thing?”

“Sure didn’t,” I admitted. “It’s like I accidentally stepped on the toes of a mobster, or Dick Cheney, or something.”

“Watch that,” Pete said jokingly. “We don’t use that kind of language in these parts.”

“Anyway,” I continued, “it’s like a conspiracy. I didn’t do anything wrong, and everybody who is in the business knows that! Why this ton of bricks was dropped on my head, I don’t know.”

“Probably someone covering up their own mistakes by blaming you,” Pete said. And I could well believe that. “But if they’re that good at railroading you,” he continued, “it might not make any difference. You’re someone’s fall guy. Best to just get clear of the fallout, and go play in someone else’s yard for awhile.”

“Oh, you’re a big help,” I muttered.

“I am helping you!” Pete protested. “I’m keeping you from beating your head against a wall for no good reason! You’re better off getting a clean break, and starting somewhere else. Like here!”

“San Diego?” I said dubiously, not knowing a thing about the place… since my brother had moved here, I’d never been. “I don’t know…”

“Trust me, you’ll love it here,” Pete said. “It’s great weather all year ‘round. I’ll show you the beaches, they rock. And hot and cold runnin’ babes, everywhere! Man, you can’t go wrong in a place like this!”

“You didn’t do so hot,” I pointed out.

Pete looked at me like I was crazy. “Dude, I got divorced. Not shot. And believe me, there are no better places for a single guy to be than here!”