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entrance.
    “Bortnicker’s really into the Beatles right
now,” said T.J. “I’ll listen to just about anything except
hip-hop.”
    “The Beatles, eh?” said Chappy, turning right
on South Road toward Somerset. “I have most of their CDs at home.
Got interested in them after I drove John Lennon around.”
    “What ?” blurted Bortnicker, nearly
springing out of the back seat.
    “Oh, yes indeed. Mr. Lennon came here a
couple times in 1980, before his untimely death. Sailed over the
first time, actually. Had his young son with him. I was assigned to
him quite by chance that first time, and we more or less hit it
off. When he came back for a more secretive, solitary weekend, he
actually requested me. Alas, a few weeks after that second trip he
was killed.”
    “That’s incredible!” gushed Bortnicker. “What
did you talk about? Was he a nice guy?”
    “Well, he was quite pleasant to me .
But old John was always quick with a quip or a remark. We discussed
music, mostly, with the both of us being musicians and all.”
    “You’re a musician?” said T.J.
    “Well, it’s my second career, though it’s my
first love. Helped me put my son through school. He’s entering his
junior year at Georgetown University in the States, majoring in
finance. Hopes to come back here and find a position with the Bank
of Bermuda.”
    “Wow, so you’re a rocker, Chappy?” asked
Bortnicker.
    “No, no,” he chuckled. “I’m actually a member
of a well-known group over here. We call ourselves the
Beachcombers, and our specialties are Caribbean and Reggae. I play
a fairly good steel drum, I’m told.”
    “And here we have the famous Nigel Chapford,
driver by day and musical artist by night,” said Bortnicker,
channeling his inner Beatle.
    “That’s quite good,” laughed Chappy. “You
actually sounded a bit like him.”
    “Chappy,” said T.J., “don’t encourage him,
unless you want to hear it all the time.”
    “I’ll take your advice, T.J.” Chappy replied.
“Keep practicing, Mr. B, you’ll get it eventually.” He smiled,
flashing a thumbs-up in the rearview mirror.
    Undeterred, Bortnicker nodded with
satisfaction. “Can we come see you perform sometime?”
    “Well, if your schedule allows, our band has
a standing gig at the Elbow Beach Resort on Thursday nights. They
stage a rather extravagant seafood buffet on their patio, and we
provide the ambience.”
    “We’re there!” exclaimed Bortnicker. “I’m
sure Mike’ll give us a couple nights off. Wait’ll I tell LouAnne
that you knew John Lennon!”
    “That would be the final member of your party
whom we’re fetching from the airport tomorrow afternoon?”
    “Yeah,” said T.J. “She’s my cousin. You’ll
like her.”
    “I’m sure I will,” Chappy answered
graciously.
    “Which reminds me,” said T.J., “we’re taking
part in the 5k Teen Run a week from tomorrow, and I’m trying to
figure out the best place for us to run in the morning so we can
prepare.”
    Chappy pursed his lips and tapped on the
steering wheel, thinking hard. “Well, if you want the scenic route,
you need do nothing more than take a right out of your hotel onto
South Road. If you run with the traffic, meaning on the left, of
course, you will at times be able to look down on the shoreline and
the ocean. Wonderful vistas and all that. However, in the mornings
you’ll be sharing the road with what constitutes our rush hour
traffic. Throw in some crazy tourists on scooters, and you have a
potentially dangerous situation. I recommend instead the Bermuda
Railway Trail—”
    “You have your own railroad ?” said
Bortnicker eagerly.
    T.J. frowned. “You’ve got to excuse
Bortnicker, Chappy,” he said. “He’s like a model train fanatic.
Anytime he hears ‘railroad’ he goes wild. But still, I would think
Bermuda’s too small to have trains.”
    “Well, it is,” said Chappy, “but that didn’t
stop the government from giving it a try in the 1920s. Caused a lot
of