him. But this has to be a good sign. I went from being suspended, divorced, evicted and burned out, to living on my dream yacht. And now when George walks by he’ll see me in a different light. The deal apparently also includes the Asian Boys as a maintenance crew and I’m told that they’ll clean the boat at least twice every week. The rest of the time that crew will no doubt be working on the other boats on our dock, including George’s, Laverne’s, Melvin’s and the retired ophthal-mologist, ‘Snatch Adams.’ They’re also night busboys at that Chinese restaurant around the corner.
--------------
I haven’t seen Melvin for the past week or so, but the faxed and e-mailed assignments keep coming in from his office. But where is this ‘office?’ It isn’t at the mailbox place around the corner, because that was only a box in the wall. It can’t be on his houseboat, because all that’s there is a small laptop computer, a fax machine and the dynamic trio. This is starting to get interesting. There was never a need for me to visit his office, so I think it would be a little out of line for me to question him about it because if I did, he would be justified in answering “what’s the difference, your checks keep getting delivered on time, don’t they?” And that would be a good answer, because the checks do arrive on time, usually within one day of my leaving an invoice in his boat’s mailbox.
Somehow I have a feeling in the back of my mind that the little girl knows all the secrets, but would it be proper to talk to her? Does she even speak English? All questions that I’d love to have the answers to.
Over the next week or so I arrange my schedule so that I can be around the Marina at the same times of the day that the little girl and her ‘gang’ do their traveling in the electric car. I see that a pattern is being followed. Every day like clockwork, they go to the mailbox place to pick up the incoming mail. At least twice a week, they drive up to the outside ATM at the Wells Fargo Bank around the corner, where she uses the walk-up ATM that’s lower than the others, probably installed for use by people in wheelchairs, but the perfect height for her to reach from the e-car, and a good thing too, because making deposits would have been too tough a trick to teach the Saint Bernard. Another stop is the rear alley kitchen entrance to the Chinese restaurant. They always go there before lunch time and I never have the time to sit and wait until they come out again, but they’re always back on the houseboat before it gets dark.
So far I have their schedule down pat, with only one morning a week missing from my calendar of their regular stops, but that missing piece gets filled in the following week when I make a visit to the Courthouse. On my way back to the parking lot I see their e-car illegally parked by a back entrance to the building, and there’s no parking ticket on it, even though it’s less than twenty feet away from the Police station’s entrance and uniformed cops constantly pass by it. There’s no mistaking it for another e-car just like it, because the odds are astronomical against finding a similar vehicle that contains a Saint Bernard sitting behind the wheel, and a cat sleeping on the back seat.
Their once-a-week visit to the court house bothered me for a while until I poke my head into the Courtroom of the Municipal Court where almost all of Melvin’s cases are handled. The Court isn’t in session at this moment because the judge is probably in chambers negotiating and trying to settle cases with opposing counsel. Behind the railing is the person who runs the courtroom – the clerk, an extremely attractive Asian woman who looks vaguely familiar, and she should. I’ve seen her eating dinner at the Chinese restaurant many evenings.
It’s a funny thing about remembering people. You can see the same face several times a week in one particular place, but when you see it somewhere else
--------------
I haven’t seen Melvin for the past week or so, but the faxed and e-mailed assignments keep coming in from his office. But where is this ‘office?’ It isn’t at the mailbox place around the corner, because that was only a box in the wall. It can’t be on his houseboat, because all that’s there is a small laptop computer, a fax machine and the dynamic trio. This is starting to get interesting. There was never a need for me to visit his office, so I think it would be a little out of line for me to question him about it because if I did, he would be justified in answering “what’s the difference, your checks keep getting delivered on time, don’t they?” And that would be a good answer, because the checks do arrive on time, usually within one day of my leaving an invoice in his boat’s mailbox.
Somehow I have a feeling in the back of my mind that the little girl knows all the secrets, but would it be proper to talk to her? Does she even speak English? All questions that I’d love to have the answers to.
Over the next week or so I arrange my schedule so that I can be around the Marina at the same times of the day that the little girl and her ‘gang’ do their traveling in the electric car. I see that a pattern is being followed. Every day like clockwork, they go to the mailbox place to pick up the incoming mail. At least twice a week, they drive up to the outside ATM at the Wells Fargo Bank around the corner, where she uses the walk-up ATM that’s lower than the others, probably installed for use by people in wheelchairs, but the perfect height for her to reach from the e-car, and a good thing too, because making deposits would have been too tough a trick to teach the Saint Bernard. Another stop is the rear alley kitchen entrance to the Chinese restaurant. They always go there before lunch time and I never have the time to sit and wait until they come out again, but they’re always back on the houseboat before it gets dark.
So far I have their schedule down pat, with only one morning a week missing from my calendar of their regular stops, but that missing piece gets filled in the following week when I make a visit to the Courthouse. On my way back to the parking lot I see their e-car illegally parked by a back entrance to the building, and there’s no parking ticket on it, even though it’s less than twenty feet away from the Police station’s entrance and uniformed cops constantly pass by it. There’s no mistaking it for another e-car just like it, because the odds are astronomical against finding a similar vehicle that contains a Saint Bernard sitting behind the wheel, and a cat sleeping on the back seat.
Their once-a-week visit to the court house bothered me for a while until I poke my head into the Courtroom of the Municipal Court where almost all of Melvin’s cases are handled. The Court isn’t in session at this moment because the judge is probably in chambers negotiating and trying to settle cases with opposing counsel. Behind the railing is the person who runs the courtroom – the clerk, an extremely attractive Asian woman who looks vaguely familiar, and she should. I’ve seen her eating dinner at the Chinese restaurant many evenings.
It’s a funny thing about remembering people. You can see the same face several times a week in one particular place, but when you see it somewhere else
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