text: G.J.Prager 'The Lesson Plan' 
   
   
     
   THE LESSON PLAN’ 
  G.J.Prager 
   
  Chapter 1 
   
    It was seven p.m. when I finally turned off the freeway at Lincoln Boulevard. The blonde I’d been tailing for almost an hour was still in my sights. I’d been up since five in the morning and was bone-tired from working two jobs: teaching school by day and playing private detective at night. But babysitting teenagers was only temporary, I reasoned. It would pay my rent till I learned how to snoop full time. I wanted the outdoors and the feel of the chase, not some stultifying classroom teaching prepositions to thirty brats at my throat. I was determined to make this P.I. gig work sooner than later. 
    The off-ramp was bumper to bumper - a line of circus elephants waiting for their cue. I kept my foot glued to the brake, the road had a grade in it and I didn’t want to roll into the guy behind me, especially if he was having a bad day. I checked the dash for the time; it read ten after seven in good old-fashioned analog. 
    My mind wandered as it usually did in traffic. I kept thinking about all the money gathered around me, corporate hacks in luxury sedans on their way home to Brentwood. It didn’t seem fair sitting lock-jawed in my cramped jalopy while they got massaged in their do-it-all powered leather seats. I thought about that oil change I’d been meaning to get to. And that Mexican beside me in his battered pickup; he was too close for comfort with his rickety old ladder hanging over the side.  
    I peered up at a sunless sky, solid gray with no cracks in the lining. That June gloom wasn’t leaving town yet. News bulletins were streaming out of my door speakers--something about terrorists on the border and severe weather up north. It got me thinking the world was coming to an end. I was feeling a lot like that lately, like the sky was falling. All the talk about the new millennium was making me nervous, so I kept looking up, just to make sure. 
    I switched off the news and put on a jazz station. I was singing along to pass the time when a cop finally appeared and began directing traffic. He was all business, waving his hands and pointing in different directions, and in no time cars were moving again. I stepped on the clutch, put down some gas, and rolled up a few feet, only to stop again behind the late model BMW I’d been tailing. The blonde up front didn’t look much older than twenty-four. I wondered where she got her dough, something I wonder about a lot around here. These kids with their Beemers, me and my ancient Honda - there’s gotta be a better way. 
    The Beemer was moving staccato-like, it heaved and jerked like some lesser car would and I attributed that to its owner. Nevertheless, I couldn’t help but admire the demeanor of all that steel in front of me. I fixated on it for a few moments until it jerked out into the intersection and made a left turn. I was finally at the head of the line, and all my frustration went out the window–it went up to sock heaven or something. I made a left turn and proceeded to follow the blonde. 
    She didn’t know I was tailing her, and wasn’t much of a driver, either. Her left turn signal was still blinking but she wasn’t turning, and she kept feinting right but wasn’t switching lanes. For a moment I thought she might be on to my doings, but something told me she was just another air-head taking up space around here–not a far-fetched notion in this burg. A few more blocks of overwrought driving told me I was right. A turn on Bay and a left on Seventh, and she slid right into an underground garage and out of sight. I had my tail’s destination and my afternoon’s work was almost finished. All I had to do now was find out which unit she was heading for and proceed home for dinner and a little rest and relaxation watching the tube. A poor man’s night on the town indeed. 
    I watched her exit the garage and climb a short stairway that led to a second floor balcony. She looked great: tall and thin with hair that was straight and golden and fell softly over her shoulders. I wondered where they cut the mold for girls like that. They’re all over this town, just waiting to be scooped up by Hollywood or wherever else beauty is bought and sold around here.  
    My attention was suddenly diverted by a classic rock song; it put me in a sentimental mood but caused me to miss seeing her walk through the door. I had no choice but to start doing some old-fashioned gumshoeing. I was giddy about getting started and doing a Sam Spade on someone had me all pumped up. But I had to be careful, I didn’t want her catching on. I just needed to beg a few pardons till I found her. 
    They were pretty-looking condos, three units in all. Through the large bay windows, you could see the polished oak staircases descend from an upstairs bedroom to a ground floor den. They were officially known around here as town homes; they looked more like overpriced apartments to me.   
    I knocked on the first door, just to try out my new chops. 
    “Yes?” The voice went up instead of down, not atypical for this neck of the woods. He wasn’t opening the door, either, so I spoke up loud and clear: 
    “Sorry to disturb you. I live across the street and I’m looking for my cat. A gray cat. Have you seen one roaming around the neighborhood lately?” I figured he’d warm up to cats. 
    He opened the door and greeted me with a big smile. “I’m sorry about your cat. I don’t think I’ve seen a gray one around lately.” He was short and muscular with perfectly straight teeth. His hair was thick in front with a buzz cut on the side and a diamond stud was embedded in his ear. He wore a yellow and green Hawaiian shirt that hung loosely over a pair of tight fitting shorts. He looked happy to see me. 
    I spoke quickly. “I’m just checking. I’m sure I’ll find him somewhere.” 
    “Why don’t you put up a poster with his picture,” he offered, showing off his teeth. “That usually helps.”        I was trying to steal a look around him, but the guy took up a lot of space in the doorway.   
    “Good idea. I’ll get to work on that right away….How about the lady of the house? Maybe she’s seen my cat?” I had to make sure. 
    “No, I live alone. But if I see your cat wandering around whom should I call?”  
    I had to think fast. “Well if you do find him just…you know, hang on to him and I’ll get back to you. And thanks anyway.” 
    He’d caught on to my nervous meanderings and politely let me off the hook, still smiling as he closed the door. 
    I moved on to the next apartment; one down and two to go. I rang the doorbell instead of knocking–-I figured it’s more polite that way. A couple of excitable hounds started barking. 
    “Who’s there?” A sharp, husky voice responded. 
    “U.S. Census Bureau. Do you live alone or is this a multiple family unit.”  
    “Get lost.” 
    “Sure.” I couldn’t argue with that.  
    One unit remained, but I figured it was the blonde’s so I didn‘t bother knocking. I was quite proud of myself and was all set to head home, but as I turned to leave I noticed her door was slightly ajar, which seemed odd. I stuck my head inside for the hell of it. Like I said, they were pretty-looking condos. 
    There were no lights on, but something caught my eye a short way down the foyer. A set of shapely legs stuck out from an opened doorway; they seemed rigid and lifeless in the darkness. I slipped in quietly and tiptoed across the polished oak floor. When I reached the doorway I could see the blonde lying on the floor. I suddenly felt a sharp sting at the back of my head - it was the last thing I remembered. 
    When I came to, the place was pitch black and eerily quiet. I fumbled around till I found a doorknob; I held on to it and clawed my way up along a wall, groggy and unsteady. The back of my head was pounding furiously. I turned on a light switch by the side of the door and scanned the floor. The floor was stained with blood and so were the walls, but the blonde was gone. I got the hell out as fast as I could. 
   
   
   Publication Date: March 30th 2011 https://www.bookrix.com/-g.j.prager