Mystic Detective (26)

Paul had come to hate plane flights. As a kid they were so exciting almost as much as steam engines. The idea of getting somewhere new so quickly and so elegantly had thrilled him. But gradually over the years, all the waiting around, the invasive security checks, the poor quality of the English airplane and airport food, the cramped economy class seating, the boredom he experienced on long flights, all of this soon eclipsed the fear/excitement of take off and pleasure of looking out over the city and countryside and the surprise of passing through clouds and their sublime shapes and architecture.

Paul was so tired that once he crawled into bed he all but passed out, deep into a dreamless sleep. So much had happened that evening so much that had not really made sense to him. True he was jet lagged and drinking on an empty stomach (after refusing to eat most of the airplane food on offer) was probably not a good thing. And being in the company of a mature and attractive Californian was probably not a good thing. And drinking wine spiked with E-happiness was very much not a good thing. And as the dreamless sleep took on a nightmare quality that was not a good thing. And then waling up naked and hand-cuffed to the bed frame well you get the idea. And neither was the incriminating photos spread on the within eye shot on the carpet by his bed.

There was a knock on the door
- Yes?
- Mister-
- Yes!
- Time for your release
- Oh
Paul faced the humiliation of being released from the handcuffs in silence and was relieved when his visitor had left. He cursed himself for being taken in by the Californian ‘beauty’ who had obviously spiked his drink with E-happiness. The effects of the drug were unmistakable. The almost trance like state it had induced in him, the deep sleep that followed and the dryness in his throat. Why had he fallen for this, one of the oldest tricks in the book? What vulnerability in him did it point to? He was not sexually frustrated or in need of kind and loving company but in truth he was flattered by the interest apparently shown in him by Melissa – if that was her true name, his Californian nemesis.

But a more serious question occurred to him: what exactly had he told her last night? Was his cover blown? Was he is danger? Or was this business with the E-happiness, the handcuffs and the photos standard OM practice. Well he would no doubt soon find out.

As Paul dressed and took a slow shower, gradually his memory of his encounter with Melissa returned. After checking in at the OM hotel he had felt stifled by all the earnest spirituality around him and he had gone for a walk in the local town. It was nearly sundown but still rather warm with a nice cool breeze coming of the sea, half a mile away. Feeling hungry but also thirsty Paul went into the first half decent looking bar he could find. It was called Barcode and was fitted out in unpainted Californian wood. A beer seemed a good thing and he settled into a wooden alcove with a sigh of pleasure, relief and satisfaction.

When Melissa approached his table and asked him if she could join him, he found her a bit forward, but decided it might well be typical Californian behaviour and what the heck ‘When in California…’. He nodded and she took the seat opposite him. Melissa looked like she was in her late 30s but who could tell wit Americans? Certainly not Paul on his second beer. She was slim, blond and casually dressed revealing a bit more cleavage than was usual by English standards but rather typical for a certain kind of Californian. She smiled at Paul
- So traveller, what bring you here?
- Traveller? Am I that obvious?
- Well you sure aint no local
- True
- And that T shirt (Pet Shops Boys Yes T-shirt – white with a tick formed from 13 coloured squares) is so English
- Yes?
- Yeah sure, Pet shop Boys are so last Century, they’re almost hip
- Almost?
- Almost but not quite
- OK I am used tot his abuse
- Well if you must wear….
- I must, I must
Melissa took a long sip from her cocktail glass.
- Anyway traveller what brings you here?
- Oh, you know… the spirituality
- Oh yeah?
- Yeah
- You don’t quite look like your average Limey seeker
Paul laughed.
- Well you never know
- So what is it yoga, Buddhism, OM, Shiatsu, Course in Miracles…
- OM
- OK
Paul was feeling curiously light headed, if a little suspicious and also was enjoying the female company Melissa was providing. She gave him a deep look with just a hint of mischief in her eyes and later Paul remembered thinking ‘Oh my God’. One drink of the local wine led to another 3 and a clam chowder to die for featured somewhere and then what seemed like an endless and entertaining and laughing and kissing taxi ride back to the Om hotel. The pleasures of this journey were briefly interrupted by a powerful need to vomit on Paul’s behalf.

And then collapsing into bed in a stupor and there followed a tantalising and teasing entre to a sexual encounter that Paul found decidedly stimulating but which ended up with him being handcuffed to his bed and a strong and disturbing sense that Melissa had milked his mind for every last bit of information he possessed about OM.

There was another knock at the door – it was clearly time for Paul to make his escape.
- Just a minute, he called out and quickly bolted and chained his hotel room door. He crossed the room to the balcony and flung open the windows and scrambled across into the adjacent balcony and knocked on the closed window frame.
- - Yes?
- Hi, I’m on the run from a jealous husband. Please let me through!
- Whaaat?
- Yeah, he’ll kill me, he’s got a gun, said Paul improvising madly.
- OK, Ok said the man with a laugh.

Paul opened his neighbour’s door and looked out. Fortunately his room was around the corner and the fire escape steps were nearby. Paul had had the foresight to grab his passport, wallet and jacket. He had checked out the layout of the OM hotel and his own room when he first arrived and was soon six floors down bursting through the fire doors into the cool breeze from the Californian Sea. He quickly joined the crowds of mid morning holiday sightseers, breathing a sigh of relief. Half a mile later a nondescript café with surprisingly good cappuccino provided a place to regroup.