I was surprised when I met Mrs. Dunbar. She wasn’t much taller than me and was Japanese. When she spoke, she spoke softly but in perfect English. Mr. Dunbar was almost the opposite in every way. He was tall and looked like a Viking warrior with blond hair and blue eyes. When he talked, his deep voice sounded like rolling thunder and caused goosebumps on my arms. After introductions, I found out that Mrs. Dunbar had met Mr. Dunbar while she was interred at a camp in California during the war. Mr. Dunbar had been an MP assigned as a guard at the camp, and they had met and become attracted to each other. Despite the different cultures, they had one thing in common: their Catholic religion. They had hit it off, and once the war was over, they got married.
Neither of their families was happy with the union, so they picked up and moved back East, ending up in Elmira, where Mr. Dunbar worked as a guard at the Elmira Penitentiary. By the time dinner, an eclectic mix of Japanese and American cuisine, was over, I was up to speed on their life histories, but I was wondering how Steph fit into this family.
Steph must have seen the question on my face and answered my unasked question, “Yes, I was adopted at birth. Mom and Dad tried and tried but couldn’t have children, so they worked with a Catholic adoption agency to adopt a child.” After a pause, she looked back and forth between her parents and said, “I couldn’t have better parents, and I thank God every day for putting us together.”
Seeing that, I was glad Steph was so comfortable with her status and our friendship that she could share that with me. I knew then that our friendship was true, and I couldn’t wait to take Steph home to meet my parents …
… As I finished my breakfast, the phone rang. When I answered it, I said, “Hello?”
“Ray, I got another check yesterday,” Jo said.
“Oh? How much?”
“The usual $100,000. This time, the postmark was from Georgetown on Grand Cayman.”
“No idea who’s sending them?”
“No, and it’s driving me crazy.”
“I’m sure you’ll figure it out eventually.”
“I doubt it. Well, I’ll get it deposited. See you tonight?”
“We’ll see. I’ll call you later.” I ended the call, smiling at the thought that Jo was still obsessed over finding out who was sending me the checks I received after the conclusion of each case. I had an idea but had no way to determine the truth. All I knew for sure was that shortly after I arrived in LA, I received a letter with the first check, leading me to my first case. After that, whenever I finished a case, I’d get another check, always wondering why or how anyone even knew about my cases. In any event, the money allowed me to do my business in my own way, freeing me from having to work for a living. I quickly washed the dishes and headed to my office.
When I entered, I saw the blinking light on the answering machine, indicating I had at least one message. I hit the Message button and listened to the messages. The first four messages were people responding to my personal ad for bartering a 1966 Sting Ray, taking my ad at face value. I just deleted them since I had no intention of trading anything for my car. The fifth message was different.
“Hello? I was told by Max Weinberg that I could get help if I called the number given in an ad for a ’66 Sting Ray. Oh, I hope this is it. Please call me at 370-1212. I’m Erin Bowman, and I really need your help.”
I saved that message and went through the rest of the recorded messages, which all inquired about the Sting Ray, none of which I saved. I replayed Erin’s message to make sure I got the name and number right before deleting it. I looked up the number in the phone book and found it was in the West Hollywood area. After a moment’s thought, I knew where I wanted to meet her.
I called the number, and Erin must have been waiting by the phone because it was picked up on the first ring. “Hello?” a voice said cautiously.
“You called about the Sting Ray?”
“Oh, God, yes, thanks for returning my call,” the voice said, suddenly sounding more normal.
“Do you know the Formosa Café?”
“Yes?”
“Meet me there in the lounge at 2 P.M.”
“Okay. Don’t you want to know what my problem is?”
“We’ll discuss that when we meet.”
“How will I know you?”
“Ask the bartender to direct you.”
“Okay.”
I hung up the phone and prepared for the trip up to West Hollywood. I wondered if Erin was one of Max’s clients since he had told her about me. I had done a job for Max several years ago, and he had repaid his favor last year, so he was one of my many clients on the ‘Retired’ list. If he had pointed Erin to me, it must have been something serious, and he thought I could take care of it. Word of mouth was a great way to get more business, and I encouraged it whenever possible.
Knowing how bad the traffic would be, I headed out early, expecting to be on the road for some time. I got on the 405 heading north and made good time despite the bumper-to-bumper traffic. I got off at the Santa Monica Boulevard exit and headed east, following Historic Route 66 until I got to West Hollywood. I drove past the Formosa Café and pulled into the West Hollywood Gateway Mall parking garage. I found a spot where I felt my Sting Ray would be safe and locked it up before walking over to the restaurant.
The lunch rush had ended, so booths were available in the lounge. I went up to the bar and ordered a Dos Equis when the bartender asked me what I wanted. As she went to get my beer, I admired how her ass moved in her tight slacks. When she returned with my beer, I told her I was expecting a guest and that she should direct them to me if they asked about a Sting Ray. I pointed to the booth I would be in and gave her a nice tip. She smiled and assured me she would do as I asked.
I sat down in the booth with my back to the wall to keep an eye on anyone approaching the bar. I didn’t have to wait long before I saw a harried-looking woman in her late twenties enter the lounge. She was a good-looking woman who looked somewhat familiar, so I spent a moment trying to figure out why I thought I knew her. She went up to the bar and spoke to the bartender, who immediately pointed me out.
I intently watched as she approached me, enjoying how she moved, her hips hypnotically swaying as she walked. Her blonde hair framed her oval face, and when her hazel eyes captured mine, I felt some heat flare up below. When she arrived at my booth, she asked, “Are you Ray?”
“Yes. Please, sit down, Erin,” I replied. I held out my hand, and she took it in hers after she sat down. I continued, “Pardon me for asking, but you look familiar.”
Her hand felt so nice in mine that I nearly missed her answer as she said, “You’ve probably seen me on TV. I’ve played a small role in a couple of recent made-for-TV movies and have been on a few TV shows. My latest appearance was on ‘Night Court’ this past season.”
Before it got awkward, I reluctantly let go of her hand and said, “I love watching ‘Night Court.’ That’s probably where I saw you.”
“Max told me that you could help me. I really hope you can.”