“Man of Steel” Isn’t the Only Thing Taking Off! – The Golden Parachute Continues!

Here are Week 22 @Twitstery tweets of “The Golden Parachute” the amazing new sequel to Executive Severance

He’s short and wide and the only thing aviator about him are his army surplus flight goggles and his air of condescension. “You’re a pilot?”

“No, I’m Superman. Do you like my new secret identity? Here’s my card.” I take the card wondering how long it would take to charter a boat.

The card reads “David’s Air Taxi Service and Storm Door Co.” On back is a photo of his plane, a winged yellow taxi:

Studying the image of his blue and yellow twin prop with an apparent nose baggage compartment, I see right through his obvious obfuscation.

“If you really are Superman, why the airplane?” “With a plane like that, you’d better know how to fly.” “Can it make it where we’re going?”

“I fly from here to Grenada all the time. We just have to glide a little farther.” “You fly to Spain?” “That’s Granada. I meant Grenada.”

“You say Grenada, I say Granada. Let’s call the whole thing off.” “OK but it’s your funeral. You’ll never get a flight out of this airline.”

“I’m stuck in here? Why is that?” “Fiat pilots are afraid to fly to your island.” “They just flew their only plane out of here.” “Exactly.”

“Why are Fiat pilots afraid to fly there?” “The airfield sucks for a big plane. It’s just a windy plateau surrounded by mountain peaks.”

“I fear nothing.” “Wait ’til you fly with me. If you don’t believe in a higher power now, you will.” “How high?” “Oh, about 100 feet high.”

“How about I fly you down to Grenada instead? I’m sure you can find something almost as good there.” “Do they have a major medical school?”

“How the hell would I know? They do have a much better airport. I’m sure they have something.” “I’m looking for a medical school student.”

“Aren’t we all? Maybe a Grenada medical school is good enough for you.” “Not likely. Any similarity between schools is purely coincidental.”

“We got a deal?” I consider my options. Remain suitless in Puerto Rico and return home emptyhanded, or I can fly the air taxi. “How much?”

“Strictly on the meter. You coming back?”I thought about it. This shouldn’t take long and it’s on the doppelGränger’s dime.”Of course.”

“Wait time will also be on the meter. Any bags?” “I have no baggage.” “How nice for you, but we’ll need something for ballast in the nose.”

“Hmm. Before I decide, I’d like to see your plane.” “Follow me.” We leave the terminal and walk in the Puerto Rican heat past the airfield.

David’s plane rests in a special spot at the end of the parking lot. It looks a lot worse for wear in person. “Can I see that photo again?”

He holds up the shot of his plane. “The light here is bad.” “Yes, there is light.” “It flies better than it looks.”

“You can get this thing off the ground?” “When the wind is right. You don’t have a suitcase so I need to put a bag of sand in the nose.”

“What happens if you don’t ballast the front?” “The nose rides up and I have trouble seeing.” A boat charter is looking better and better.

(The Twitter Mystery continues daily at @Twitstery)

Fear of Not Flying – The Golden Parachute Continues!

Here are Week 21 @Twitstery tweets of “The Golden Parachute” the amazing new sequel to Executive Severance

Grabbing a toothbrush app I head for the airport. Protocols require I yield virtual weapons prior to boarding. I’m forced to check my phone.

I already feel naked without my phone virtual gun app, so I don’t mind the TSA x-ray and strip search. However, I do miss my toothbrush app.

Luis Muñoz Marín International Airport, Puerto Rico. Construction everywhere. My FIAT connecting flight is at the other end of the terminal.

The flight leaves in 45 minutes. Sprinting, I can make it from one end of LMMI to the other in 3.5 minutes, but construction slows me down.

I didn’t have any luggage. I figured they’d just lose it anyway. Even so, I reach the FIAT Air counter five minutes after my flight left.

A large crowd is still in line for this last connection. Maybe the flight is delayed! I run up to the counter. “Can I still get on?” I ask.

The FIAT attendant looks at me. “There is no flight.” she says. “No. Here’s my ticket. I want to get on that flight.” “There is no flight.”

“You mean the flight has left?” “No. There is no flight.” I look at the crowd behind me. “You mean all these people are here for nothing?”

“They are from the last flight, also cancelled. They’re waiting to see when we decide to fly.” “You don’t have regularly scheduled flights?”

“Our pilots don’t want to fly today.” “Huh?” “You heard me.” “I need to be in the southern Caribbean ASAP.” “You’d better get started then.”

“OK. When’s the next flight?” “Can’t say.” “Is this how you run your airline?” “We’re Fiat Air. We Decide When You Fly and When You Don’t.”

Due to the construction, the Fiat Airlines counter is outside the terminal and not air conditioned. I begin to feel the Puerto Rico heat.

I hold up the badge on my cell phone. “I’m a detective. A life is at stake. I’m commandeering your plane.” “I told you. There is no plane.”

“You said there is no flight. You didn’t say there is no plane.” “There is no plane thus there is no flight. The pilots took it with them.”

“I assume they flew the plane out of here.” “I really couldn’t say.” “So there was a flight, but it’s already flown.” “I really don’t know.”

“Any other airlines fly to the island?” “Mid school year?” “No, I’ll wait until fall.” “Not likely.” “Thanks for nothing.” “Glad to help.”

I’m stuck in a PR flightmare. Nearby, scores of stoic travelers cope with edgy progeny or gaze outside where shimmering palms are at hand.

I’m here for the duration and I don’t like to wait. A hard truth crashes over me like a wave against the shore. I didn’t bring a swimsuit.

My cellphone has a swimsuit app, but I didn’t bring a harness thong or a waterproof case. Any swimming I do will be completely unsuited.

As I stand lost in thought a round little man wearing aviator goggles approaches. “Where ya headed?” he asks. I tell him my destination.

“I can fly you there.” he says. I look him over. Imagine a fighter pilot as portrayed in a movie like “Top Gun.” Then imagine the opposite.

(The Twitter Mystery continues daily at @Twitstery)

I Do Not Have A Gentle Heart – The Golden Parachute Continues!

Here are Week 20 @Twitstery tweets of “The Golden Parachute” the amazing new sequel to Executive Severance

No reply from inside the Zipcar. I haven’t many items of clothing left to remove. Then the driver’s window glides down. “Hey! You Arkaby?”

I tense every muscle. “I’m DETECTIVE Arkaby. Sup?” An envelope flies out of the car and hits me in the forehead. “Consider yourself served.”

A Zipcar process server? I’m not ready for that. The Zipcar drives off and I’m left holding the envelope. I wonder who could be suing me.

It might be what I thought was the Rough in the Diamond gang who “stole” the pedestal for the Hopewell Diamond but left the diamond behind.

It turned out they were pedestal repairmen, not thieves and would remount the diamond upon its return. I guess I shouldn’t have used my gun.

Bullet holes are not considered of curatorial value. And I discovered too late the Wall in the Hole “perp” got stuck exiting his own house.

The “missing juvenile” I recovered was actually a full-grown little person doing his “Furrie” thing. That was good for two EEOC lawsuits.

The French government filed a formal protest over my arrest of one of their WW I pilots after accusing him of alien flower child abduction.

Next time I’ll look with my eyes rather than my heart. Or It might be recently early paroled Waldo, whose whereabouts are currently unknown.

Which juvenile lit delinquent, tween, rodent, monster or freak is behind this harasssing lawsuit? I sit down at my desk to open the summons.

Blah blah blah, you are hereby…blah blah… balance of payment…30 days…$40,000 outstanding balance. This is a complaint from my hospital stay!

While investigating Granger’s murder, I auto-multitasked. I was on cell phone, recorder and laptop. I held a paper pad and pen in my mouth.

I went a driving distraction too far and entered a mental multitasking fugue. My mind left my body and I attempted parallel universe parking

That’s where you try to parallel park in two universes at the same time. I awoke in Willum Granger’s cloning lab, “Body Parts R Us”.

This is wrong. Though I dodged BP R U’s attempts to clone my face and still sustained a $40,000 hospital bill, I’ve paid off $10K already.

It’s time to strike back. There’s an error in BP R U’s collection agency summons. I’ve determined my doppelGränger isn’t undead or a clone.

Something is rotten in the state of Regi Granger’s medical school. “A Dream of Spring”, Book 7 of Game of Thrones, won’t be out ’til 2019.

I have thirty days to respond to this summons. I’ll fly to the Caribbean, rescue Regi and then pay off my debt with the doppelGränger’s fee.

This means George R. R. Martin will have to finish Game of Thrones on his own, but my path is clear. I book the next flight to Puerto Rico.

Regi’s school resides on a tiny Caribbean island, as far south as you can fly before hitting South America, accessible only via Puerto Rico.

According to my travel app, the only regularly scheduled airline, Fiat Air, flies twice a week from Puerto Rico to my ultimate destination.

(The Twitter Mystery continues daily at @Twitstery)

Where is my Caldecott? – The Golden Parachute Continues!

Here are Week 19 @Twitstery tweets of “The Golden Parachute” the amazing new sequel to Executive Severance

OK. it isn’t quite a French Connection Tail-adega night. My actual experience is a bit tamer, more tortoise and hare than ire of the tiger.

I drive a wind-powered hybrid maxing at 55 MPH. I leave the expressway several times but on each return the Zipcar moves in right behind me.

Who is that guy? No matter how I zig and zag through traffic the Zipcar stays with me. I use every trick I know to shake him with no effect.

It doesn’t help that I must pull over to the shoulder to tweet each update. The Zipcar zips past me but is behind me when I resume driving.

I finally give up and go all the way into town, the Zipcar in tow. I pull up in front of my office and the Zipcar parks across the street.

Who is that guy? Not one to shrink from confrontation, apparently. His persistence is disquieting. Without effort he tracked me to my lair.

Is he a stooge for the medical school I just left? Or could he be someone I sent up the river at some point in the past, out for revenge?

There were those losers in the “Rough in the Diamond” gang who stole the pedestal holding the Hopewell Diamond, but left the diamond behind.

Then there was the infamous “Wall in the Hole” break-in where I found the rotund perp in an awkward position after consuming too much honey.

I don’t know why I ate so much honey but I sure was alert to trapped trangressors! I also recovered a missing juvenile doing his wild thing.

I investigated and brought to justice the French pilot responsible for a minor regicide, trusting my heart, not my eyes to see the truth.

I was the only cop on the force to scope out where the elusive Waldo was hiding, forcing him to exchange his street stripes for prison bars.

Over my combative career I’ve busted a hodgepodge of offenders, including garrulous auto-toads, wordy web spinners and melodramatic dragons.

I’ve collared furtive teens, rascally rabbits, grasping grinches, mischievous mice and flying freaks. Any of them may be out for vengeance.

Any of them could be my Zipcar shadow, although some of them are too young to have a driver’s license and many of them don’t have hands.

I walk over and tap on the tinted windshield. No response. I say “Whatever juvenile fiction you operate under, come out with your hands up.”

No response. There’s a place you go in your mind at times like these. You don’t know who’s behind the glass. You don’t know what to expect.

Anticipating possibilities, I turn sideways to shrink my target area. I shift to my heels and bend my knees to lower my center of gravity.

Without taking my eyes off the Zipcar, I remove my jacket which I wrap around my left arm and my necktie which I wind around my right fist.

I’m ready, certain I’ll withstand a gun blast, a knife stab, a fistfight, jujitsu or anything else, up to and including a vehicular assault.

(The Twitter Mystery continues daily at @Twitstery)

The French Disconnection – The Golden Parachute Continues!

Here are Week 18 @Twitstery tweets of “The Golden Parachute” the amazing new sequel to Executive Severance

But what possible link could there be between a poorly run medical school, Chinese manipulation of rare earth metals and corn shortages?

Or the school, Icelandic volcano eruptions, Hurricane Sandy and the 03 eastern power outage? I’d better ignore their warnings and go myself.

I pay for gas, two Taquitos and a Big Gulp. Gas for now, gas for the road, gas for later. By the time I return to the pump, my car is gone.

Stranded at 7-Eleven in the middle of nowhere, I stare at the empty space by the pump. Looks like I’m going to need more than two Taquitos.

The car thief could be miles away by now. I regret that I filled up my tank. I take a bite from one of my Taquitos.I regret doing that.

Is a carjacking part of an attempt to intimidate and delay? Could the medical school principals I just left have arranged this so quickly?

Auto alone, a gentle breeze caresses my face. Wait. A breeze. I realize what happened. I had left my wind-powered hybrid’s sails unfurled.

With a favoring breeze, my car could be miles away by now. I regret I left my sails up. I take a draw from my Big Gulp. I regret doing that.

Brain freeze! As I straighten up again I spot my car behind 7-11, slammed up against the store’s dumpster. It had been there the whole time.

I check the dumpster for clues and my car for scratches. Negative, both. I leave my remaining food and drink in the trash and head for town.

Driving the lonesome highway I reflect on the case so far. Regi Granger is missing classes at a medical school led by an ADHD Chancellor.

Perhaps more troubling, the tongue-tied director of admissions has a faulty memory and the junior accountant CEO can’t account for anything.

I’m halfway back to the city when I realize I’m being followed. It’s hard to miss the small gray Honda with the Zipcar logo on each door.

I swerve onto an off-ramp and the Honda sails on past.  Mission accomplished. 45 minutes later I find the on-ramp back to the highway.

Before I’ve gone far the Zipcar is behind me again. It appears there’s only one way to lose my pursuer: A high-speed chase through traffic.

I step on my accelerator, weave in and out of traffic blasting my car horn. I’m sideswiped by a yellow Ford Fairlane but I don’t slow down.

I hit a truck turning left and swerve into oncoming traffic. My car spins around narrowly missing a bus. I hit the brake and speed up again.

Oh my God! Where in hell did that woman with the baby carriage come from? I yank my car hard right and plow into a pile of box garbage.

Missing mother and child, I keep going. I screech to a stop and bolt up the stairs. The train surges through the station without stopping.

Cursing, I go on. Horn blaring, pounding on my steering wheel, I challenge traffic and pedestrians alike. So far no one has been killed.

I stop at the next station and stagger to the entrance. Nicoli is descending the steps. I yell “Hold it!” He turns to escape and I fire.

(The Twitter Mystery continues daily at @Twitstery)

With a Nod to Walt Kelly’s “Pogo” – The Golden Parachute Continues!

Here are Week 17 @Twitstery tweets of “The Golden Parachute” the amazing new sequel to Executive Severance

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” “You weren’t good enough for a partnership at one of the Big Four firms, so you wound up here.”

Jon grabs my shoulders “You got me all wrong Copper. I could’ve been a partner, see? I could’ve been somebody!” I brush him off “Really?”

“Look around you. VP at a not-yet-profitable for-profit medical school and here you are roughing up a nosy shyster in a milk and sugar bar.”

“Is this the exciting, rewarding career in accounting you dreamed about? Could you sink any lower?” Jon glances at the recumbent Chancellor.

“You are all GAAP technique without substance, turned into the joke of the man who is made into a robot.” “I don’t know that one.” I smile.

“What did the mechanical man say when they stuck a key in his ass?” “What?” “‘I never thought I’d wind up like this!’” Lenny starts to cry.

“I get that.” Lenny says sobbing. Jon steps back. “You got it wrong. I came onboard to make the tough decisions and set this school right.”

“Looks to me like you took the easy way out.” “Firing people is hard!” “Not as hard as saving livelihoods and managing a business for real.”

Mary says “Whatever. I’m hungry. I ‘d like to have a little lamb.” She tries lifting the Chancellor who topples backwards into Jon’s arms.

They carry the him out. I’m left to pay the milk bill. On the bar my own glass remains untouched. I pour in sugar and take a sip. Not bad!

Now I’m sleepy. What a duplicitous case! I’ve gone from double-dealing with a dead man to second-guessing two medical school pencil pushers.

And with a pair of yoyos like Mary and the Chancellor running things, I worry about Regi’s health. I must get on-island pronto.

The Chancellor warned me off, but danger is mother’s milk to me. I take the ticket off my windshield and toss it in my glove compartment.

Mary warned me off, but don’t I don’t think we share compatible signs. I remove the car boot from my left rear tire and toss it in my trunk.

The accountants warned me off but their threats don’t add up. I take my car off cinder blocks, replace the tires and get in. I’m out of gas.

Fortunately, my car is a wind power hybrid, so I hoist sails and, thanks to an off-shore breeze, I make it to the gas station on the corner.

As the 7-Eleven attendant hands me my receipt he warns me to stay away from the island but not about the taquitos. I begin to see a pattern.

I have a hunch no one wants me showing up in person, prying into dark secrets they are hiding on that campus or in that convenience store.

Granted there are logistical problems running an off-shore medical institution. I suspect the Chancellor’s school has stepped across a line.

I’m just looking for Regi Granger. Don’t they realize that this overreaction to my inquiries just fuels my curiousity and my determination?

Granger’s doppelgänger said Regi masqueraded as a Caribbean medical student to investigate the shortages and outages happening stateside.

(The Twitter Mystery continues daily at @Twitstery)

No Medieval Scenes of Gratuitous Torture, or Dragons! – The Golden Parachute Continues!

Here are Week 16 @Twitstery tweets of “The Golden Parachute” the amazing new sequel to Executive Severance

Here are Week 16 @Twitstery tweets of “The Golden Parachute” the amazing new sequel to Executive Severance

“What is your problem Arkaby? Except for the hurricanes and an occasional military coup there’s nothing irregular going on at my school.”

Mary leans in. “He’s telling the truth. We’re no different than any other for-profit educational institution, if you leave out the profit.”

“There aren’t many medical schools in the Bermuda Triangle.” “Our school isn’t technically in the Triangle. Let’s just say we’re nearby.”

“Have you seen anyone Grangeresque or not?” The Chancellor puts his head back down on the counter. “Didn’t see him.” He begins to snore.

Mary asks “Where did you see this dead Granger person?” “He or his doppelGränger came to my office and offered me $50,000 to find Regi.”

“DoppelGränger? You doppel-deal and then have the pair to criticize us?” “There’s no duplicity on my parts. I will find Regi as I promised.”

“And then I’ll save the world, with or without your help.” “Without, I think.” I look at the sleeping Chancellor. “May not be a big loss.”

“How does he manage to run a medical school?” “Mostly by laissez-faire. We deans do whatever we want and only go to him to settle conflcts.”

Two burly characters enter the room and come over to the bar. “Is this the guy?” one of them asks Mary. “Yes. He’s looking for trouble.”

“No, I’m looking for a girl. Who are you?” “Accountants, here to clean up the books.” “Uh huh. You look like a pair of number crunchers.”

“Do you guys have names or just tax ID numbers?” “They don’t matter. Your name is mud.” “I do work dirt cheap. I have one question for you.”

“What is the person graduating last in an accounting class called?” “What?” “A no-account.” Midsnore the Chancellor says “I don’t get it.”

The first accountant turns to his partner. “Hey Lenny, this guy’s funny.” “I don’t get it either” “No, really. He’s got a sense of humor.”

“Let’s take him outside and teach him how to deliver a punch line.” “You two wouldn’t know a good punch line if it hit you in the face.”

He comes up to my face. “I wouldn’t bet my LIFO on it.” I smile. “Tell me. Is ‘humorous accountant’ an oxymoron or are you a regular kind?”

Lenny says “Jon, I don’t get that one either.” Jon must be the other accountant. He says “Doesn’t matter. It wasn’t that funny this time.”

What’s wrong with these people? First the Dean of Admissions gives me the silent treatment, then the Chief Executive ODs on dolce de leche.

Now these accounting bozos want to school me in comedic pugilism. I better find out if they seek a soft trial balance or a hard final close.

I say to Jon ” You were bullied when you were a kid, right? That’s why you became an accountant, so you could be the bully and fire people.”

“I get it . With no real abilities and little intelligence, Generally Accepted Accounting Principles let you be someone, make a difference.”

I gesture toward the sleeping Chancellor. “You don’t realize people like him hire you to do their dirty work while they reap the benefits.”

(The Twitter Mystery continues daily at @Twitstery)