I said, “You need to be a tad bit more eloquent than that.”
Marcus filmed and Emma walked to Gaylord and shook his hand on camera, “We’re talking with Mr. Gaylord Parker, owner of Gaylord’s Magic Auto Repair.” She turned those baby blues on him and continued, “Mr. Parker, may I call you Gay?”
I coughed. He said, “I…I don’t usually…that, that’s….”
Emma oozed adulation as she kept her hand on his arm and talked to the camera, “Gay is one of the unsung heroes in stopping today’s terrorist attack on Los Angeles.” She pointed at the GTO, “His prize car, called a Lamb by aficionados-“
Gaylord said, “Goat. It…it’s called a Goat, for GTO, sorta.”
“Goat, yes. This extraordinary vintage vehicle was the means by which entry was gained to the terrorist headquarters,” Emma touched the scratches, “But as you can see, at a price.”
She put her arm around Gaylord’s shoulder, “I want to thank you, Gay, you and your precious Goat, for the sacrifices you’ve made on behalf of all Angelinos.” She kissed him on the cheek and said to the camera, “Remember this man, Los Angeles. I’m Emma Storm, special correspondent, at Gaylord’s Magic Auto Repair, signing off and keeping it real in Los Angeles.”
**
It was full dark when we arrived at the office. Hondo and I had turned off our cell phones because of the constant ringing. As we got to the door, I unlocked it and said, “The phone’s ringing here, too.”
“The price of celebrity,” Hondo said. We walked in and I sat behind my desk. Hondo slumped in his chair and Jett sighed as she sat on the corner of his desk. The message lights on the phones blinked.
Jett said, “I don’t know about you two, but I’m whipped.”
Hondo leaned forward in his chair and nodded. His head bandage showed red spots, and so did the back of his shirt. I said, “Were you let out of the hospital?”
“Oh sure,” he said.
Jett said, “You were not.”
Hondo said, “I let myself out, same thing.”
I said, “Since you’re leaking like a rusty bucket, maybe you should check back in.”
He put his hand on Jett’s and said, “I have a private physician to tend to me.”
Jett said, “Paramedic.”
“Paramedic, right.”
I said, “You’re a trained Paramedic?”
Jett said, “Dad’s idea. He thought it might come in handy.”
Hondo said, “I hear that.”
Jett stood up and said to Hondo, “Let’s get you to your place so I can do those dressings right.”
They left, but not before Jett gave me a big hug. Hondo never hugs, the sissy.
I sat there slumped so low in my chair that my head rested on the back. I rubbed my eyes and thought about all that had happened….
**
Over the next week, we were hot news. Reporters and news teams called or came by unannounced on a daily basis. On CNN, I watched the director of Homeland Security pointing out the foiled attack as an I-told-you-so, then citing it as the reason Homeland Security was asking Congress for another fifty bazillion gazillion dollars.
We did sneak away from the press a couple of times. Once was to claim Magilla’s body and have it cremated. The second was when we took his ashes, in three large urns, to Point Dume and scattered them from the cliff. We watched the cloud move on the breeze and settle onto the ocean. At that very moment, two grey whales breached the surface at the same spot and blew spray through their blowholes. Somehow, it seemed fitting.
After about a week or so, we dropped off the news radar. Within a month, we were back to normal, looking for acting jobs, auditioning and not getting the parts, doing a little work in our Private Investigator business, and when the days were nice-which is a lot in Southern California-skipping out and going to the beach to swim or play volleyball or go fishing.
The Michael Bay movie we didn’t get was rolling along in production like an express train, ahead of schedule. It was getting lots of press, but few behind the scenes specials, and just occasional photos of locations and sets.