Excerpt



When he was 10 Scott’s uncle said he’d descended from a space Alien couple and inherited some of their Alien powers.

Scott thought he joked, as he had faster hands than his uncle.

An earthquake created a mild Tsunami a month ago in the Virgin Islands that caused little damage. The devastating damage to the world’s economy was kept secret. Scott has no idea it will involve him.

In California Scott Knight and his friend Brad are resting after a fast two-mile jog on the Beverly Hills trail. They sit on a bench close to the jogging path and some joggers wave a hand or nod. An especially attractive girl, wearing shorts and a sleeveless blouse, comes into their view and she jogs past them looking ahead without giving them a glance. Scott doesn’t know she had given them a glance before they saw her and she chose to ignore them. Brad knows differently.

Scott said to Brad, “She is the most attractive girl I’ve see in years and she deliberately didn’t glance at us. She’s probably married.”

Brad laughed. “She’s a sexy beauty, but not married. I’m sure she saw us before we saw her. If you hadn’t been with me, she’d have stopped to talk.”

“Are you that attractive, or do I look repulsive?”

“Neither. If I had been alone she’d have paused to say hello. I’m her cousin. You want to meet her? We can catch up and follow her until she finishes her run.”

“Thanks, no. If I met her I’d want to date her and that would be awkward. She’d recognize my sexual attraction; women have that sense. She might return my interest and I couldn’t handle it.”

“What is it with you? Our conversations have always been sports and everything but women. Listen, Scott, I mean this. I don’t care if you’re a homosexual. You know I’m not.”

Scott smiled. “Nor am I. Attractive women turn me on probably more than you, but at the present time I have romance on hold.” He thought he was in love with several girls he would have married, except for his uncle’s warning. Uncle John Ziegler said it would be a disaster if he married before he was thirty-one. It was a superstition his uncle had time and again warned he must follow or his bride might suddenly die.

Brad good naturally raged, “Present time? Time is wasting away. All the desirable girls will be married. You’re in your prime. Tall, good looking, super build, congenial, intelligent. Remember your physical charm will age. How old are you?”

“Thirty for three more months. I appreciate your concern for my love life, but I’ll thaw out pretty soon. Let’s shower and have breakfast. Got a busy day ahead.”

“You work on Saturdays?”

“And some Sundays.”

Brad frowned. “You’ve never say exactly what you do.”

“I’m a self-employed private investigator compiling detailed information on influential people to sell.”

“If they’re crooks do you blackmail them?”

“No. I sell the media the good things people do. Are you aware many celebrities privately contribute millions to charities without media knowledge? The crooks I find doing illegal activities I warn to stop. If they persist I anonymously give the police the evidence. I wouldn’t allow a rich crook to learn I’m the whistle blower.”

Brad asked, “You make a living doing that?”

“So far it has given me a good income.”

“It must. You drive a Lexus and live in a beachfront choice pad in Santa Monica. Okay, let’s eat.”

Scott Knight drove the coast to the Del Mar racetrack near Sand Diego. The track opened today, July 18th. He entered the clubhouse in time for the second race and stood where he could see the race and the people in the box seats below. It was a six-furlong race and the owner of the second betting favorite was in a front box. Scott expected to watch the race indifferently. He had not wagered on the outcome; his interest was checking the betting winners that would cash their winning tickets. The people in the box seats usually made their wagers at the hundred-dollar ticket window.

An attractive young woman walked past him to go down the steps to the box seats at the finish line. She has fluffy brown hair tinged with some red that makes it look shiny. With all his careful planning he was seldom surprised, as he was at this moment. The girl was Brad’s cousin; he had learned her name was Dayle Bacall. The announcer yelled “Their off!”

It was a photo finish and when the results were posted the owner of the horse was Dayle’s father; she was sitting in the box rejoicing with him and two older men. Scott knew a considerable amount about the people that held reserved boxes at the racetrack. It had not occurred to him that Hubert Bacall was Dayle’s father. Scott watched them celebrate the win and hoped one of the three men would come up to cash winning tickets.

Scott Knight stood amused. Dayle had not seen his face as she passed him before the race. He heard her father was giving a fundraiser for crippled children at his fabulous estate in Beverly Hills. Anyone who could donate was welcome though they had to be invited. Dayle’s cousin, Brad McHaden, could get him invited, as he knew he could donate a decent sum. By going he’d meet Dayle by an introduction and that could be necessary to gain her acquaintance. The chemistry of attraction for the opposite sex was mysterious. He had dated several very attractive young women. He liked them, admired them desired them, but that intangible spark called love had never saturated him. Scott decided not to puzzle why he was so taken with a girl he hadn’t met. Maybe his uncle was right, he was different?