When he was done, and the document had been properly witnessed, Ames set two plastic document wallets on the desk. "The policies came this morning; everything is in order."
"Put them in the safe," he said to his secretary, handing her the wallets. "Everything else, too." They complied, and he shooed them out of his office. He picked up the little recorder, found his notes and began to dictate. He went rapidly, knowing his secretary could follow his rapid speech. An hour and a half later, he stood up, straightened his desk, and left his office. He laid the cassette on his secretary's desk.
Fred stuck his head through the door of his office. "You're really going to do this, huh? After all these years as a bachelor?"
"Looks that way," Jackson said, grinning. "You know, at the closing, nobody said a word about me being in a white suit with a carnation in my lapel?"
"I explained to them," his secretary said.
"Oh. All right, I'm out of here. See you all at the courthouse, and after that, in three weeks."
Everybody waved goodbye.
Jackson drove to the travel agent's office in the shopping center near his office. He had to wait a minute for a parking place outside their door, and as he waited, he noticed a van drive by. "Environmental Services," he muttered aloud to himself, chuckling. "Janitors, I'll bet. The further inflation of the English language. One day, it will explode."
A woman left a parking space and he pulled in. Inside, the receptionist smiled. "You look sensational," she said.
"I know," he replied, giving her a smile.
She handed him a fat envelope. "There you are: tickets, itinerary, reservation confirmations, the works. And a little gift from us: a guide to the best restaurants."
"You're an angel," he said.
"Have a wonderful honeymoon!"
He left the agency and went back to his car. He spent five minutes going through everything in the envelope, making sure that the tickets, reservations and itinerary were perfectly accurate. Satisfied, he started the car and headed up the boulevard. He crossed the south bridge over the Intracoastal Waterway, also known as the Indian River, and in another five minutes reached the bank.
He parked the car and got out. An armored car was unloading at the front door, and the guards gave him a look. He laughed. What bank robber would be wearing a white linen suit?
Only two tellers were open, and there was a line of half a dozen people at each. He got into line behind a blond man of his own height-well over six feet-wearing Bermuda shorts, Top-Siders and a yellow Polo shirt.
The man glanced over his shoulder and grinned. "You look as though you're dressed for a wedding," he said, smiling.
"Guilty," Jackson said, raising his hands.
"Your own?"
"Guilty again. You a local or a foreigner?"
The man laughed. "A foreigner, I guess. I'm down here to buy an airplane from Piper, in Vero Beach."
"Which airplane?"
"The Malibu Mirage."
"Not the turboprop, the Meridian?"
"I'll have to make some more money before I get one of those."
"I fly myself, but I rent. Couple more years, I might spring for something nice. Where you from?"
" New York."
"What do you do up there?"
"I practice law."
"I do the same down here, when I'm not getting married. Have you done your flight training yet?"