[Steven Lyle Jordan]

5: On the road again

My shattered dramatic moment outside of the Starbucks was soon forgotten once I was on the highway north to L.A. Fortunately, the trip would only be about two hours and change, thanks to the lateness of the day, leaving me time to grab a cheap motel for the night, and then try to figure out my next move. I was assuming, of course, that I'd be able to figure out how to find Mel Cooley in L.A. without his itinerary... but I hadn't gone through all of his e-mails yet, so I hoped I'd find some clues in there.

Then I had to figure out exactly how I was going to con the information I needed out of him. Not being a con man, I naturally searched my memory of the closest approximations I had of the doings of con men... which would be television. Visions of screwy PIs, city slickers and sitcom annoyances began dancing through my head... but unfortunately, I had been born too late to enjoy what my brother Pete liked to refer to as the "heyday" of con artist shows... Baretta, The Rockford Files, Simon and Simon, Switch, etc, etc... I'd never even sat through an entire showing of The Sting. So I was working from a serious disadvantage there.

Fortunately, I had one thing on my side: Anger. Anger and an overriding need to know... okay, two things. Anger. An overriding need to know. And determination... yes, three things, anger, an overriding need to know, and determination, well, determination should probably come before an overriding need to know... let me start again: I had anger, determination, and an overriding need to know; and I expected that to be helpful in allowing me to bull my way to the truth. Also, he wasn't expecting me, so I had surprise on my side—damn! Four things: Anger; determination; an overriding, wait, next should be surprise; then an overriding need to know... oh, bloody 'ell.

Yeah, yeah, I know. But it sure helped to pass the time on a two-hour drive.

A few quick calls as I approached the city directed me to a motel in mid-town that had passably-reasonable prices and passable internet access. It was pretty close to eleven when I got there, which was perfect for me: I could get settled in, get a bit of sleep, then work out my day's strategy... wait, I should probably do that the other way around, just in case... anyway, I was covered. So I checked in, moved in, and set up my gear on the dining-tray-sized work table that every motel gives you... and on the floor next to it. Soon I was online and exploring again.

Right off, I found the e-mail that detailed Cooley's travel plans, and I saw that he was staying at a pretty swank downtown hotel. He had the place for two more days, so I had some time to prepare. What I couldn't find were details on the business Cooley had in L.A., so I didn't know if it was related to Merc, to something else, or to some personal "business." That could complicate things, if he happened to be travelling with someone from BM who might know me, though that seemed unlikely. The other thing that complicated was when I would actually catch him at the hotel, and if I couldn't work that out, I'd have to prepare to hang out like a gumshoe and wait for him to appear in the lobby. Boredom quotient aside, that would suck.

Presently, I figured out a plan to find him and get to him, in a fairly innocuous but mildly devious manner. As it required little in the way of preparation, other than looking up the nearest post office, I decided to go on to bed, confident that I'd be able to pull off my plan tomorrow.

I'd set an alarm on my watch, but as it happened, I was keyed up enough to wake up on my own beforehand, just before seven. I used to wake up at 6am daily, to go to work, but these days, getting up this early was like waking up in the wrong country, it seemed so abnormal. All the same, I got dressed, gathered up my gear, and headed out for my hopeful appointment with destiny.

First stop: The post office. There just happened to be a drugstore a few doors down from the post office, which was perfect for my needs: I promptly went in and bought a half-dozen assorted magazines. Then I took these to the post office, where I purchased a box large enough to hold the magazines, and some wrapping supplies. I wrapped the package while at the post office, so I imagine there were some funny looks as I walked back out of the post office carrying my package. It wasn't meant for them. This was designated for hand-delivery only.

From there, I drove over to Cooley's hotel, and found a place to park within view of the front entrances. Grabbing my cellphone, I called the hotel lobby. As I waited for someone to pick up, I began thinking of Burgess Meredith's Mick voice from Rocky, and prepared for a sore throat.

"Good morning, this is the Westin Bonaventure Hotel, may we help you?"

"Yeah, Bona-venchire? Dis is Frankie at Arrow Courier. We gotta package fer a Mel Cooley, an' we was givin' dis address to drop it off. Is Cooley stayin' there now?"

"Hold on, sir, let me check," the voice said. I rolled my eyes at the very idea that this was working, but sometimes— "Yes, sir, we have a Mel Cooley staying here."

"Hokay, great! I'm gonna have a guy right over dere. We wuz told to do a hand delivery, straight to da guy. What's his room number?"

"Mister Cooley is staying in room 517."

"Great. T'anks loads, kid!"

"I'm thirty-one..."

"Yea, whut-evva." I hung up, and considered how long I could afford to wait to make my entrance convincing. Glancing around, I happened to spy a nearby building in my rearview which happened to be sporting a Starbucks on the ground floor. Well, I did need to fix my sore throat, I considered wryly. So I popped out of the car, headed over to the Starbucks, and ordered my grande double-shot skim milk espresso with room. (I hadn't brought my personal cup, as I didn't want to be too conspicuous.) I hung out in the Starbucks for about fifteen minutes, which I figured was less obvious than sitting in Gail's car on the street. Then, fully caffeinated and rarin' for action, I returned to the car, retrieved my package, and headed into the hotel.

I walked leisurely past the counter, only half-expecting to be challenged... none of these guys looked that interested. But one of them challenged me anyway. "Can I help you, sir?"

I smiled politely. "I'm from Arrow Courier, doing a delivery to Mr. Cooley in 517. 'Kay?"

The guy at the counter smiled back. "Yeah, I just talked to your boss." He nodded his okay, and I started off, when the guy added, "Anyone ever tell your boss he sounds just like the old trainer guy in Rocky?"

"Not to his face," I replied casually, and continued on.

Riding the elevator up to five, I got out and found Cooley's room. I checked the small tape recorder I had in my pocket, and made sure it was on and running. Then, tucking the now-pointless box under my arm, I knocked on the door. I heard a muffled voice on the other side, and said, "Hey, it's Frank."

I heard a muffled "Who?" and presently the door opened. An older guy looked back at me through the crack in the door. "Who?"

"You Mel Cooley?" I asked, now trying to channel my best informal private eye impersonation... Pete always said, when in doubt, always go with Jim Rockford.

"Yeah," Cooley replied.

"Good," I said, pushing my way inside. "I was about to be mad. First the guy at the front desk sends me to the wrong room, and the lady there chews me out, and I had to go all the way back downstairs to get the right room." I closed his door behind me. I was looking forward to the next part: I had come across the name of one of BM's direct competitors in Baltimore, and one that had been mentioned at least once in the e-mails in connection to Merc... specifically, to make sure they never, ever heard about it. I wanted to see what Cooley would do when I tossed their name at him.

"Cooley, I'm from Lohimar." Then I dropped my box on the floor... to get his attention.

"We need to talk," I continued. "About Merc."

Have you ever seen the color drain out of someone's face... I mean really, right in front of you? Trust me, it's a sight to see.