Third Time Is a Charm Read online

“Stupid boy, I’m going to be a newspaper reporter with my camera. That way I can get pictures for my article.”

  What’s with this stupid boy thing? Sounds like a story of some sort.

  “Good thinking, you can be a miniature Walter Winchell.

  “Richard Edward Jackson, apologize to your sister right now!”

  Oops I had really stepped into it. I knew Mum and Dad hated Walter Winchell and Drew Pearson. I just named the first gossip person I could think of. They both thought Winchell was a bucket of slime, and Pearson a Communist.

  “Mary, I am sorry, I didn’t mean that.”

  “That’s okay Ricky.”

  Ouch, Mary knew how I hated the use of Ricky, when I was a kid it was okay, but now I am more dignified. Now was not the time to correct her. I knew enough when I was in a hole to stop digging.

  Mrs. Hernandez just looked at me and mouthed Niño estúpido. Some days you can’t win.

  Dad saved me by changing the subject. He wanted to meet with me and an architect he had found for the garage workshop expansion. This caught Mum’s interest, so she invited herself to that meeting on Wednesday. She was concerned about the men messing up the Jackson House image, her words, not mine.

  To keep the subject changed I brought up the fact I would be stopping by the flight school later today to get registered to start. Also I would go by the studio tomorrow to find out the latest on the failed movie, and try to sort out my schooling. Plus I was trying to get more golf in as I would like to qualify for the US Open next year.

  I had been playing around with the golf idea for a while. I needed a physical challenge.

  Mum and I headed down to the Huntington Beach area. Our first stop was at the dry cleaners. I dropped off a pair of slacks. In exchange I was given a large sealed envelope to deliver to Mum. That was the easiest hand over yet. She slid it into her large open top purse.

  We enjoyed the drive with the top down on the T-Bird. On the radio we listened to the terror of Highway 101, the man who lived at the Carlton Hotel and played chess and a real favorite of mine, lift six foot, seven foot, eight foot, bunch.

  At one intersection with a ramp onto 101 a little Nash Rambler pulled up to us. The driver asked Mum if she knew how to shift gears on the Nash. She told him no. Apparently he couldn’t get it out of second gear. She told him to ask the driver of the Caddy in the next lane over.

  About that time the light changed and the Caddy took off. The Nash followed him onto the 101, but I doubted he would ever catch him.

  At the beach we were met by a Realtor, I didn’t catch her name. I was introduced as my son Rick. She had two properties to show us. One was really nice. It was a home. The other looked like a bunch of college boys camped there.

  Mum asked, “What do you think Rick?”

  “The first one looked in a lot better condition. I would go with that one.”

  “It’s closer to the water; the other is next to the highway.”

  “Being right on the water is what I had in mind.”

  The agent broke in, “How about the price range, would you pay more to be on the water?”

  “Sure, when I was thinking of a beach house, I was thinking of being able to go right out and surf, swim and spend time on the beach.”

  The agent looked nervous as she told Mum, “The nearer to the water is a lot more expensive, it could run up to five-hundred thousand dollars.”

  “Don’t look at me; Rick will be the one paying.”

  I thought the poor woman was going to cry as she saw any sale going out the window.

  “Half a mill for the right place works for me.”

  Heck that was only a third of a year’s income for me. I liked this being rich.

  Eyes darting back and forth you could tell the poor Realtor didn’t know if this was a bad joke or what. I took pity on her.

  “My full name is Richard Jackson and I’m an actor, I really can afford this.”

  We went back to the one on the water and went through it closely. My time spent in Bellefontaine working on rentals with Dad came in handy.

  “You can see where they added this section on. Since there is an electrical plate missing I can see it is not to code. We will want a home inspection with a licensed engineer. This will affect my offer.”

  “I can arrange that if you want?”

  “Mum. Do you think we could get the same firm as did Jackson House?”

  “I’m certain we can. Do you want me to call them for you?”

  “If you would be so kind, I would appreciate it.”

  Wow we sounded like someone was writing a script for us!

  “Coastal Engineering will be contacting you to arrange a time for an inspection.”

  “So you are interested in this property?”

  “Yes, I am, however while we are waiting there are several others I’m interested in further south on the beach.”

  Actually there were no such units, but we did buy and sell in Bellefontaine, I just didn’t want her to get too comfortable with a sale, let her work for it.

  The drive home had us on a two lane highway with some blind curves. They weren’t real bad, but the yellow lines really meant something in this case. There was a guy on a motorcycle in front of us. It was a heavy old bike, like a Harley or Indian.

  An idiot came up behind us speeding way over the limit. He attempted to pass us on the yellow in front of one of those curves. A moving van was coming towards us. As soon as he cleared my car which I started to brake heavy he pulled over in front of me.

  I don’t know if he saw the cycle or not but the end result it pulled over into the side of the cycle driving it off the road. The cycle hit a pole and the rider went flying.

  I was torn for a moment between chasing the car or to stop and help the rider. Mum made the decision.

  “Pull over Rick.”

  It was in a voice I didn’t hear very often. Dad called it her command voice. I pulled over.

  She was out of the car in a flash. Running over to the rider who proved to be unconscious she checked him out quickly. A part of an old fence post had gone deep into his leg.

  Mum rolled him over and using her scarf put pressure on his leg. She was pushing all of her weight on it

  “Rick his femoral artery had been punctured. I can reduce the bleeding put we need to get him to the hospital right now or he will bleed out.”

  I had read about this, Mum had lived it during the war.

  The moving van driver and his helper had joined us by this time. The driver had brought a moving pad with him so we were able to place him on that and move him to my T-Bird. Thank goodness the top was down.

  All this time Mum kept the pressure on his leg. The rider was starting to regain consciousness while we moved him, but he didn’t fight us.

  As we were putting him into my car a motorcycle cop pulled up. A quick conversation and I was to follow him. It wasn’t my buddy Ponch. His name tag said Jon.

  We hit ninety on the way. Within five minutes we were pulling up to the emergency room. It would have taken fifteen or more minutes for an ambulance to arrive after we found a phone, so this guy was lucky.

  When we hit the door the place went into full take over mode. Someone, I think an intern took over for Mum. Others wheeled him off to surgery.

  The policeman, Jon Baker, took our statement.

  When this was done an administrative person from the hospital approached us.

  “The gentleman does not have any I.D. on him, do you know him.”

  We explained our position in the events.

  “Oh we have to provide him the immediate treatment, but I don’t know about afterwards.”

  Mum spoke up, still in command voice, “I will sign and guarantee payment.”

  “You realize he is a Hells Angel?”

  “No matter, he is a person in trouble and I can help.”

  That explained the Deaths head patch on his jacket.

  Mum signed a bunch of papers and we headed out. T
he T-Bird was a mess with blood everywhere. The state patrolman was still there and he gave us a note including his station phone number. Apparently people got suspicious if you brought in a blood covered car to be cleaned!

  We sat on some old beach blankets from the trunk and went on home. We were done for the day. I called the flight school right away and let them know I would be in tomorrow afternoon.

  Once home, after changing clothes, Mum and I got buckets of cold water and started cleaning. I would have used warm water but Mum explained that would cause stains to set in. My, what an interesting life she has led.

  After that I went riding on George, I then sat down for some of the seemingly eternal homework.

  At dinner Mum and I regaled everyone with our day’s adventure. The boys thought blood everywhere was neat. Mary wished she was there with a camera. Dad just shook his head and hoped a motorcycle gang wouldn’t show up on our doorstep.

  I wasn’t up late, I don’t know why but the day had really tired me out.

  Chapter 9

  Tuesday started out normally. That lasted until we were having breakfast. The front gate guards called. Apparently there were two Los Angeles plainclothes detectives asking for Mum and me.

  Dad took over immediately. He gave some instruction to the guards at the front gate and after a ten minute wait had the police escorted to the reception.

  One of the guards nodded at Dad and they left.

  The cops identified themselves by flourishing their leather badge wallets. They went by so fast they could have been the school safety patrol for all I knew.

  My parents must have felt the same way because they requested politely to see them again.

  The smaller of the two not very large detectives asked in a snarky manner.

  “Are you Rick and Olive Jackson?”

  Mum nodded at me and replied, “Yes, we are.”

  “You need to come downtown with us.”

  “You need to provide proper identification and an explanation of why you are here.”

  They turned to face Dad, from his tone of voice this was not going to end well for someone.

  The little one turned to his partner and told him, “Cuff them.”

  His partner just stood there with wide eyes. The little one turned to see what had disturbed his partner.

  At that point we all heard a distinct metallic sound. A pump shot gun being racked.

  Mum held it pointing at the floor but she could move it before they could react. From the way she held it you could tell she knew what she was doing.

  “Now as I asked, may I please see your identification once more,” Dad said quietly.

  This time they carefully pulled out their wallets for Dad. He noted their badge numbers and names.

  “Now gentlemen what’s this all about?”

  “We have been ordered to bring Olive and Rick downtown for questioning.”

  Patiently Dad asked, “Questioning about what?”

  “I don’t know we were just ordered to bring them in.”

  “May I see your warrant?”

  “There isn’t one, the Captain just told us to bring them in.”

  “Well gentlemen we are at an impasse, you have no legal authority in the county, you do not have a warrant, and you don’t really know why you are here. Now why would my wife and son go with you?”

  The two cops weren’t stupid they knew they were in over their heads.

  “Can I call my office to see what is going on? We were expecting to pick up two motorcycle gang members for questioning.”

  I couldn’t keep my mouth shut, “Yeah, this is our gang’s clubhouse.”

  The larger of the two cops winced, “We started to wonder when we pulled up.”

  “But you still proceeded stupidly. Yes you can make a call. But before that would you please set your weapons on the side table.”

  Mum still had the shotgun out so looking at each other they gingerly set their pistols down.

  Since I didn’t remember their names I begin to think of them as Mutt and Jeff.

  Jeff dialed the phone and asked for some Captain. We heard his end of the conversation. Basically he described their entrance to a swanky castle high in the hills and no way was it a motorcycle gang hangout. It had a professional guard service at the entrance and that we seemed like posh people.

  In his conversation there was no mention of shotguns. Just that we were reluctant to come downtown without a warrant. Lastly he asked what they should do, since it was out of their jurisdiction.

  He ended up with, “Sir, that isn’t going to happen. That is an illegal order. You will have to send someone else.”

  Apparently he was hung up on.

  “Well there is my career down the drain.”

  “Maybe not,” came from a new voice.

  Our favorite Sheriff’s Deputy George Burrill had just walked in. Now I knew what Dad had arranged before he let the cops in.

  “Now what’s going on here?”

  Mum whose shotgun had disappeared gave George a smile.

  “Let’s all have a seat and may I offer anyone coffee or tea?”

  The Detectives retrieved their weapons.

  Deputy Burrill noticed this and chided them with, “Not a good idea parting with your weapons boys.”

  Mutt replied, “You had to have been here,” while he glared at Mum.

  Mrs. Hernandez had apparently been listening in on all this. She immediately had a trolley wheeled in with coffee, tea, sugar, cream and some pastries. She approached each of us and fulfilled the requested refreshments.

  She didn’t ask me, just poured black coffee and handed me a plate with four pastries. She must think I’m a pig. They were good.

  As Mutt and Jeff explained their side of the story, Mum and I gave ours. It became clear what was going on.

  A known motorcycle gangster was injured. We had picked him up and seen to his treatment. The Los Angeles organized crime unit wanted to know if we were connected.

  Looking around the two cops obviously had reached the conclusion that we weren’t. However their Captain wasn’t convinced and had us ordered in no matter what the law said.

  Once he understood this, Deputy Burrill borrowed our phone. Looking up a number in his little black phone book he made a call.

  He personally knew the Captain in question.

  “Hey David, I have two of your Detectives here operating out of their jurisdiction, without a warrant. Were you planning on calling me?”

  He listened for a while.

  “Do you realize you ordered your men to make an illegal arrest of Lady and Sir Richard Jackson? May I mention that Lady Jackson’s husband is a personal friend of the Mayor?”

  “Yeah you have stepped in it. Here you can tell the Jacksons how sorry you are.”

  Dad took the phone from the Deputy and listened to a long winded, what I guess was an apology. After a few minutes I ducked out to my room and grabbed my honorary LA police badge.

  On returning I handed it to Mutt who since I learned was John, who after looking at it handed it to Jeff, Peter.

  Dad had just hung up, so I was asked how I got this. I related the story of the bank robbers and my bow.

  They both got excited as they remembered the incident.

  “Wait, you are also an actor aren’t you and you saved the Queen of England, and landed that jet plane.”

  I nodded my head modestly, well as modestly as one could after that mouthful.

  The two Detectives looked like they would pee their pants they were laughing so hard.

  “This story will become a legend at the station!”

  Peter added, “I don’t think we need to remember the shotgun.”

  Deputy Burrill had a puzzled look but kept his mouth shut. I think he now understood why the Detectives had parted with their weapons.

  Both Detectives apologized for their rough behavior but Mum and Dad shrugged it off. There then proceeded a serious conversation where Mum and I explained our invo
lvement, to the point of showing them Jon Baker’s note.

  Chapter 10

  By the time all this drama was done the morning was shot so I studied for a while. Well actually I typed up a paper that interested me. It would have been extra credit at Bellefontaine High; here it was for my own pleasure. When you are essentially a class of one you are the Valedictorian, also last in your class. Hmm, I wonder, Class Valedictorian, Salutatorian, and President, would be neat on a college application.

  I could be Captain of the Archery and Golf teams and the Fencing club. Or I could just not get myself in trouble by needless bragging. Fun thought though.

  After lunch I finally made it to the flight school. It was a different experience than learning from Mr. McGarry. He taught by doing. They wanted me to do the bookwork first, then simulators, and then finally flying time.

  They were working with multiple students at a time so I understood why they did it that way. His was more fun.

  There were eight of us wanting to be multi-engine pilots. The instructor went over our paperwork while we were doing our reading assignment.

  At one point the instructor asked, “Jackson, the McGarry of the Flying Tigers your first instructor”

  “Yes Sir.”

  “Well don’t strafe the flight line.”

  I guess they all knew Bill. He had given me approach pointers for that very same operation. I thought it was in fun. Now I wonder.

  At the end of our time we were asked if we had any questions. There were a couple of eager beaver types who kept us there for another fifteen minutes.

  The instructor caught me as I was leaving.

  “Got a minute?”

  “Certainly.”

  “Bill McGarry is one of if not the best pilot in the world and an excellent instructor. I assume you had one on one with him.”

  I nodded yes.

  “You will find most of this boring then, but stick with it, you will get what you need out of this course.”

  “I do have one question.”

  “Shoot.”

  “Why are we reading in class, shouldn’t you be teaching, with us doing our reading outside?”

  “You are correct, but unfortunately most of those in class wouldn’t do their homework and would waste our time catching up, so I let everyone read in the first class. On Friday we will quickly go over this material once more, you will be surprised at the questions. Then I will have everyone read the next chapter.”