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to me is this story.
It was a
drive, plain and simple.
An
old friend from my past, Henry Smythe, had
come to the Foundation on a personal visit…and when he went to go visit
some
old friends from the OSS that lived in California, he had left the
Pennington
Ascot Regency, beautifully restored.
He
would be back in a little under a week, and
already a couple of days had passed.
Before I went to sleep on the second day, I had made the
decision that I
would go on a morning drive with the Pennington. Michael
had used a more crude term for it: joyriding.
A
simple drive, that was all. What could
possibly go wrong?
I
got dressed that morning, wearing a blazer
that I only wore on special occasions, and, well…this counted as one of
them. After all, it wasn’t everyday
that one went driving a car as classic as the Pennington, even Bonnie
and
Michael agreed to that.
So,
that was how I found myself on the morning
ride on a nearly deserted road, driving down the highway in Commander
Smythe’s
car, simply enjoying myself, with the wind whipping in my face. Life could rarely ever get better than this.
That
was rudely interrupted by a very harsh
jolt, coming from behind.
I
looked in the rearview mirror and saw that the
car behind me had accelerated enough to hit the rear bumper of the
Pennington.
I
quickly pulled onto the side of the road, and
so did the other vehicle. As soon as I
got out, I hurried to the back of the Pennington, hoping that there
wasn’t
much, if any damage.
After
all, this wasn’t even my own car!
I
peered at the bumper and immediately felt
rather angry…for there was damage on the bumper…it had been
dented in at
least seven places.
Oh
Lord…he is going to be furious.
There was a
gasp behind me and the other driver,
a woman, said, “Ohhh…Uh-oh.”
Uh-oh?
She wrecks the car and says uh-oh?
I turned on
her and asked, “Is that all you can
say, madam?” in as controlled a voice as I could, considering the
circumstances.
In
other circumstances, she might be considered
pretty, with blonde hair and a blue outfit…and wearing dark sunglasses.
“Oh,
you’re goin’ ta be mad. Oh, don’ be mad,”
she said, turning in a
circle, landing on the hood of her own car, “It’s such a beautiful day.”
Bonnie
would have called her an airhead. Michael
would have used a more primitive
term: ditzy. Both
would be right on the target.
“Nevertheless,
the car you so carelessly struck
just happens to be one of the few remaining Pennington Ascot Regencies
in the
world, “ I told her and then emphasized darkly, “and it is not
mine!”
She groaned
and said, “Oh, Bobby Jo’s just gonna
kill me.”
“I
need identification. I also need your
insurance,” I continued,
then thought of something, “You are insured, aren’t you?”
She
got up, gasping as if she remembered
something and managed to latch herself onto my tie as she said, “Bobby
Jo
is. This is his car.”
I
managed to get myself loose when she asked,
“My purse, it’s in the front seat.
Would you, oh please…? I don’
feel so good.” She then made a very
distinct hiccup.
Another
drunk driver, I thought as
I sighed, People really have no sense
sometimes…especially when it comes to driving!
I can only hope I get this fixed before Henry returns! I went towards her car and started looking
in the front seat, where she said the purse would be.
As
I looked some more, I was about to ask if she
was sure as to the location when I heard first an engine…then the sound
of a
car driving away. I glanced up and
found the source of the noise.
The
woman was in the driver’s seat of the
Pennington…and driving off with it!
As
I hurried after her, she honked twice, waved
and drove off quickly…quicker than I knew I could keep up with.
There
was only one thing I could think, much
less say.
“Oh,
my God!”
After
then, the logical side of the brain kicked
in and I set about the task of getting back to the Foundation
headquarters. I checked the car that
the woman had left and decided to try to start it up.
After all, if it didn’t work, I would have to find another way
of
getting back, possibly…ugh…hitchhiking.
Thank
the Lord, the car started right up.
When I
finally got back to the Foundation, April
was about to greet me normally…until she saw my appearance and
expression.
“What
the hell happened to you?” she asked
bluntly.
“It’s
a long story, April,” I replied, “And it
can wait.” I then turned and looked
about the room, seeing a couple of security guards.
“Have the car outside examined for anything.
Fingerprints, personal belongings…the works,
as Michael would say.”
“All
right…but what happened to the Pennington?”
she asked.
I
didn’t answer the question until I was back in
my office and was punching in the sequence to call Michael on the
com-phone.
The
monitor in front of me came to life and
within moments, I saw Michael, driving in Kitt.
“Hello,
Devon!
Thought you were out joyriding in the Pennington,” he greeted.
Here
came the admission I hated the most right
then.
“The
Pennington’s been stolen, Michael.”
I
saw April’s jaw drop and heard Michael ask,
shocked, “What?”
“I’ll explain
the details later. The point is,” I
explained, “Commander
Smythe will be returning first thing Monday morning.
Today’s Friday, in case you’ve forgotten. If
the Commander returns and I don’t have
the Pennington here waiting for him—“
“Say
no more, Devon, we’ll meet you at the
semi,” he replied
and signed off.
“Just
how did you get that car stolen?” April
asked.
The
things I do to enjoy a drive in a classic
car…
“I’ll tell
you on the way to meet Michael.”
And tell
her I did. As I explained, she tried not
to laugh, although at times she
managed to look seriously concerned about this whole hullabaloo. Perhaps if I were not as proper as I am and
if it were to happen to someone else, I might have seen the humor in it. As it was, it made the situation more
troubling and embarrassing. We also set
about looking for incidents similar to this and any common threads.
When
Michael finally arrived, I retold the story
to him. He was trying not to laugh at
times, but for the most part, he was rather concerned.
“Devon,
you’re sure this was planned?” he asked
me.
“Yes,
it was a professional job. I wish I had
been rude and told her to fetch
her own purse.”
“A
gentleman to the very end,” April cooed with
a smile. It certainly didn’t make me
feel any better.
Michael
cut in and asked, “Okay, what’ve you
got?”
She
punched in some graphics as she said,
“There’s been a rash of custom and classic car thefts.
The ‘bump-and-run’ seems to be the latest
technique.”
To
that, he said, looking directly at me, “If
that’s all we’ve got to go on…somebody’s in a lot of trouble.”
“Must
you be so negative?” I snapped, “And
that’s not all we have to go on.
April?”
“We
think we’ve come up with a common
denominator. In every town where
there’s been a theft, there’s also been a custom car show not far away.”
Michael
nodded, “Makes a lot of sense. The show
attracts the cars. Cars attract potential
buyers.”
I
took out a flyer I had found inside the
thief’s car and handed it to Michael as I told him, “Which is why
you’re going
to Barton Springs. If they’re going to
sell the Pennington, this would be the place to do it.”
As
the phone rang, April went to answer it and
Michael nodded as he put the flyer into a pocket.
A
moment later, she said as she returned, face
grim, “Devon…? It’s for you…Commander
Smythe.”
Oh
Lord, no…what else could possibly go wrong? I thought as
I waved at Michael while turning to the
phone.
I
could hear him closing Kitt’s door and taking
off.
“Is
something wrong, Devon?”
“Oh.
No…just a hard morning. How are
you doing?”
“Not
as good as expected. Found out some from
the old OSS unit that
live around here have either moved or died.
Mostly moved, though.”
“I’m terribly
sorry to hear that.”
“Yes,
quite.
I’m making a change of plans.
I’ll be back at the Foundation a couple of days early, day after
tomorrow.”
I blanched at
this and managed to say in a
mostly steady tone, “Day after tomorrow…?
Henry, that’s rather sudden.”
“Not
more so than before. Devon…is something
really wrong? How is the old girl?”
“Ah, the
Pennington. Doing well.”
The ‘old
girl’ had better be all right, considering what has happened.
“You’re sure…?
You remember what happened when you got caught in some falsehood? The only time you ever lied to me?”
The last
thing I needed was for Henry to be
bringing back memories of that time. To
say the least, when he had found out that I had lied, over a trivial
matter, I
had not fared too well afterwards.
“All
too well,” I honestly replied, “I haven’t
told a lie since…when it wasn’t in the line of duty, that is.”
“Good,”
he
replied and hung up.
That night, I was about to go to bed when I
received a signal on the com-phone.
“Devon,
come in,” the familiar
voice of Kitt called.
“Yes,
Kitt?”
“I’ve
been taking pictures of any woman that
passed by at an evening reception, on Michael’s orders.
With any luck, you might be able to identify
the car thief as being one of them.”
“I might at
that. I’m setting up the
transmission…now,” I replied. A moment
later, the transmission from Kitt
to my computer began…and from the look at the amount of pictures, I
would not
be asleep any time soon.
I
sighed and got started examining the
photographs.
A
few hours later, I had finished examining the
last photo and sighed in frustration.
“None,”
I muttered, “None of these women is the
person I’m looking for…”
The
car thief was nowhere to be seen…
It
looked like the blonde woman had been wearing
a wig, a very expensive wig made out of Elura…
Henry
Smythe was going to be back day after
tomorrow…
And the Pennington was stolen.
“Oh
Lord,” I moaned quietly, “Just what else can
go wrong…? Michael, you had better find
that car soon.”
The
next morning, I contacted Michael on the
com-phone.
“Well,
I’ve studied all the photos Kitt’s
transmitted,” I said to him.
“You
come up with anything?” he asked.
“Nothing,
I’m afraid,” I replied, “I’m beginning
to wonder if I’d recognize her if I bumped into each other in the
supermarket.”
The
dear boy looked surprised and his tone
showed it as he said, “Devon…you don’t go to supermarkets.”
“Yes, quite
right, but you take my point, don’t
you?” I asked as I closed the suitcase that was in front of me, then
sat down
behind my desk.
Along
with that bit, there had been some
news: The car of a car show contestant,
a girl named Carrie Haver, had been stolen that morning.
I had heard of Edward Haver, Eddie as most
called him. He had been a professional
car competitor before he had died. It
was surprising that the very same car of his had now belonged to his
daughter. I had to admit, it was
admirable of her to not sell it.
I
then told Michael about the single strand of
hair that had been found in the car that was left behind, and about it
being
made out of Elura
“What
about the background on our people?”
“Nothing.
With the exception of one Suzanne Weston. She
has an arrest record.”
He
looked a bit surprised as he said, “An
arrest record…? Don’t tell me…”
“Quite right,
Michael. Two counts of grand theft auto…no
convictions.”
“Interesting lady.
I wonder if she has an affinity for wigs. Good
work, Devon,” he said and was about to sign off.
As much as I hated to mention it to him, I
had to, and fast.
“Not good
enough, I’m afraid. Commander Smythe’s had
a change of
plans. He’s expected here
tomorrow.” It stung me to say the next
part, but it was true… “Now, Michael. I
am a mature man. I handle human
frailties fairly well, even my own.” I
didn’t like other people knowing that I had such frailties…an old habit
from
the war. “But I have no intention of
facing the Commander car-less.”
“I hear ya,” he
replied grimly and signed off.
For the rest of that day, I had kept in contact
with Michael and Kitt. At first, it
seemed like they had a lead, but it actually turned out to be a dead
end,
involving Suzanne Weston. I had not
said it to Michael, but I rather fancied the lady myself…except for the
arrest
record.
That night, I
was going through a folder that
contained a case that I would assign to Michael once this mess with the
Pennington was over…and a short time later, I was reading a comforting
book
when I decided to make a call to him.
April had left in the semi a short time ago.
“Yo, Devon,” he
called out as normal as the vid screen came into focus…and showed
Michael
holding a set of four-barrel exhaust pipes.
“Michael.
Have you made any progress?” I asked, hoping that he had found
it by
now.
“Well, that
depends on what you define
progress.”
“I define it
as recovering the Pennington,” I
replied, annoyed that I had to be so blunt.
“In that
case…no. But I’ve decided to take a new
approach, changed tactics.”
That
explained the exhaust pipes.
“Well, while
you’re changing tactics, I’m
running out of time,” I reminded, “Commander Smythe is due back
here in
less than 24 hours.”
Michael
replied, “Maybe you can stall him.”
He certainly
doesn’t know Henry Smythe, and it
showed by that statement.
“My dear boy,
one doesn’t stall the Commander,
one tries to survive him.”
I then
studied the book further until I heard
footsteps stop behind me…and click in military fashion.
A second later, I heard the one voice that
could, and did, make my heart sink.
“Lieutenant
Miles, attention!”
Oh my God, oh
my God, oh my God…, I kept
thinking, and I squeezed eyes shut and I’m
quite sure I was cringing…and a double cringe at that.
Henry Smythe had just arrived. Faintly,
I heard the com-phone sign off.
“You still
have the habit of surprising me,” I
managed to say in a mostly steady voice.
“And you’ve
gotten a bit soft on me,” he
retorted, then laughed and slapped me on the shoulder.
“Busy as always, I see.”
“But of
course.
Being the Executive Director of this organization is not a
trivial
task.”
“Ahh, too
true.”
The next day,
in between phone calls, I chatted
with Henry about old times, as well as how I had been doing ever since
the end
of the war…and when I had left the OSS.
When I looked out the window, it was already night.
All this time he had not even brought up his
car, not even once.
“Now, old
boy, where is she?” he suddenly asked.
“She…?”
“The
Pennington, of course! What else could I
mean?”
There was
only one thing to do. I would have to,
indeed, stall the
Commander. If it worked, it would buy
Michael, and I, time. If it backfired,
I didn’t want to know just how disastrous the repercussions would be.
And to do
that, I had to do the one thing I had
done in the past…lie to my old Commander and friend.
The things I
do to keep an old Commander from
knowing what happened…
“Well,
I…she’s not here at the moment. She’s…at a
classic car show.”
I could tell
already that he was apoplectic as
he asked very quietly, “You did what with the Pennington?!”
When there
was serious trouble, Henry didn’t
yell…for that was a man that didn’t bother with abusing his vocal cords
when
trouble was afoot. No, when he went
quiet…that was when you were to start worrying.
I gulped
slightly and replied carefully, “I,
ah…I had her entered in a car show.”
“You put the
Pennington Ascot Regency on
display…? Before commoners?”
Right then, I
didn’t know which would be
worse…the truth or the story I had just told.
You and your
suggestions, Michael…
“Well, Henry,
I, uh…I felt that such beauty
should be shared with the rest of the world.
Such majesty should brighten the colorless lives of the poor,
the
deprived…”
Right then, I
hesitated, as I was running out of
pitches. If Henry caught me in the lie
now…
“Yes, well…I
suppose I could see your point.”
He actually
believed it!
“You can?
Oh, that’s wonderful! Such good
news for the masses…” In truth I
was very relieved. That didn’t last
long at all.
“Take me
to the car show at once.”
Oh,
no.
“Take you?
Henry, it’s in Barton Springs.
It’s a fair drive and already very late. What
say we relax for the evening and drive up tomorrow for the
judging? A fresh start first thing in
the morning.”
He
peered at me, right into the eyes, then
asked, “There’s nothing wrong, is there?”
I took a
mental breath as I replied, “Wrong?
Certainly not. What on earth
could possibly be wrong…?”
What
on earth, indeed.
The next
morning, Henry and I left for Barton
Springs in my Mercedes…with him riding shotgun, so to speak.
“Ah,
there’s nothing quite like getting an early
start to awaken the senses. The crisp,
clear scent of the dawn,” he said and chuckled before asking, “Makes
you yearn
for the war years, eh Devon? Leading a
bristled gaggle of men into battle. The
clash of steel against steel, by george!”
As
he laughed again, I faintly replied, “Steel
against steel. Yes, quite.”
I was already very nervous about this entire
situation and was praying that Michael would get the car back soon. As it was, I was already neck-deep into it,
as he would put it. “Still, we have
plenty of time for breakfast…a leisurely breakfast.”
He
replied, “Well, I’ve waited this long to
drive the old girl, I suppose I could wait a little longer.”
“Good,”
I replied very faintly.
“You
don’t suppose they could find any kippers,
do you?”
“I
doubt it,” I replied honestly, “After all,
this is not Britain.”
Although I
proved to be correct on not being
able to find kippers, we did manage to find a restaurant with a menu
that would
be more to Henry’s liking, as well as my own.
While eating and having some coffee, he asked me what kind of
cars would
be at the classic car show in Barton Springs, which I was able to
answer
honestly, since I had some idea of what would be on display. After all, I had been to one or two shows in
the same city that Michael had a case.
“And
this is where the Pennington is being
displayed?” he asked.
“Well,
yes,” I answered.
“Hmph.
At least it isn’t as bad as I thought at first.”
I
nodded quietly. Although that was the only
time that the Pennington was
mentioned, I was becoming increasingly nervous and tried my best to
keep that
fact hidden. After all, if Henry were
to notice, he would become suspicious…and inquisitive.
When
I looked at the clock, it said that it was
10:00.
“Well,
time to get underway,” I managed to say
cheerfully, and he agreed.
Once we
arrived at the car show, I looked about,
wanting to know just how many cars were there.
The more present, the better the chances of stalling longer.
I
had to admit, there was a fair selection, and
all of them better than I had thought.
“My
goodness,” I could hear Henry remark, “Some
of these are quite the beauties.”
I
had to honestly agree.
“I’d
love to see how the old girl compares to
them.”
“Well,”
I put in quickly, “Let’s go see, shall
we…? I believe I see one of them now…a
customized Packard.”
As
we went through the entire show of cars the
second time, checking out even the smallest detail, a new car arrived…a
black
Trans-Am, decked out in red and yellow flames, including with the
exhaust plate
I had seen earlier.
Kitt?
Good Lord, I know he wasn’t too happy to be changed around. I remember how he was when Michael put
silver stars all over him.
“Devon,
Michael said to tell you it won’t be
long now. The thief, or rather, thieves
have been discovered: Buck and Nora
Rayburn,” he said
quietly enough that I could hear and
Henry couldn’t.
That
surprised me. I had heard about those two
and their Longhorn, which seemed to
me as nothing more than a glorified stretch limousine with a hot tub in
the
back. I had even seen the picture of
Nora Rayburn and had not recognized her.
“Good,”
I managed to say and walked over to
Henry, who was looking around in an irritated manner.
“Devon,
I’ve seen this car twice, now. Where is my
Pennington?”
I
gulped as I said, “Have I shown you the
customized Packard?”
“Yes,”
he snapped, becoming angry, “I insist you
take me to the Pennington immediately!”
As
much as I hated to say it, I had run out of
tactics…and out of time.
The
Pennington was nowhere in sight.
I
took a mental breath and was about to tell him
the truth when I heard a very familiar horn.
Michael
was pulling up…with the Pennington!
“And
so I shall,” I replied with a smile and led
my old friend to the vehicle.
Not
a moment too soon, Michael.
“Hello,” I
said, feeling every bit as happy as I
sounded.
“Just
wanted to polish her up a little,” he
said, gesturing to the car.
“She
is a sight, I must say. You’re quite
right, Devon. Her beauty should be enjoyed
by the masses,”
Commander Smythe said.
As I walked around to the back, I heard some rather
relieving news:
Carrie Haver’s car had
won the car show.
At the same time, I
looked down and saw one little problem.
The
scratches and dents were still on the
bumper.
As
Michael walked away, I said, ‘Good work,
Michael,” with a smile that was now forced.
“Thanks,
Devon,” he answered and clapped me on
the shoulder, then froze, looked at me strangely, then asked, “Are you
all
right?”
“I’ll
be all right as long as I never move from
this spot,” I replied grimly and moved a leg to show him the bumper.
His
eyes widened a little as he said, “Oh. I
see.
Well, I’m sure you’ll think of something, and I’ll see you at
the semi.”
Before
I could even think of stopping him, he
walked off…rather quickly.
That
Michael…!
The things I do…
After the crowd had looked, with curiosity at
the Pennington, we were about to head back to the Foundation. I was still trying to “think of something”
when I heard someone come up from behind me.
“Devon?”
I could hear Henry ask, tone slightly
quiet but mostly conversational.
“Yes?”
That
was when his voice became fully quiet as he
asked, “Would you happen to know how seven dents in a row got onto the
old
girl’s rear bumper…?”
I
looked right at him…and saw that he was at an
angle that I had not thought about…an angle that was unobstructed.
Oh,
Lord, I
thought, Now what am I going to do…?
THE END
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