3 of a Kind

by Rohan Gavin

  ‘The trail will be cold,’ replied Darkus. ‘How are we supposed to navigate a foreign city?’

  ‘Every investigation is like a foreign city, Doc. We simply read the clues and make our deductions, just as we do on home soil … Trust me.’

  The bulbous engines on either side of the fuselage reached a deafening whine as the massive aircraft accelerated to full tilt, pinning the trio in their seats.

  Knightley slipped the chain of the Saint Christopher medal around his neck, then gripped the seat with both hands as the g-forces took effect.

  The ground fell away, the motorways and buildings were reduced to toddler toys, and the plane passed through the cloud layer and into the flat blue sky, approaching cruising altitude.

  Darkus turned to his father, whose eyes were clamped shut, his nostrils flared and his nose whistling with every inhale and exhale.

  ‘Dad?’ Darkus whispered. ‘Dad …?’

  His father appeared to be unconscious.

  Tilly turned her attention away from the window. ‘Is he …? Has he …?”

  ‘I thought this might happen,’ Darkus sighed, reaching over to check his father’s pulse, which confirmed that his dad was experiencing one of his ‘episodes’: a narcoleptic trance, brought on by stress. ‘Mum said he never was a good flyer.’

  In what had become a regular occurrence, Darkus found himself without a supervising adult. He felt the familiar sick feeling in his stomach and hoped his father’s lapse would be shorter than previous ones. He explained the unusual condition to the flight crew who set aside his father’s meals in case he woke from his trance at some point during the twelve-hour flight. Tilly busied herself with coding on her smartphone while Darkus set his wristwatch to show Los Angeles local time, which was eight hours behind British Summer Time. Then he tried to set his body clock by settling down for some sleep. Whether his dad was a working partner or not, Darkus would require all his mental powers for this case.

  As the plane followed its course, the sky appeared to bend, following the curvature of the Earth. Darkus drifted in and out of consciousness, first finding Tilly on her smartphone, then halfway through a Hollywood action movie, then curled up under a blanket, dead to the world. Knightley Senior continued to breathe heavily, oblivious to changing continents and time zones, wrapped in a duvet by a flight attendant, unconscious but still sitting bolt upright.

  Darkus stretched his legs a few times, knowing from his research that it was the best defence against deep vein thrombosis, or blood clots: a common problem among long-haul flyers. He also flexed his father’s legs for him, as he’d seen the nurses do so many times during Knightley’s four-year coma state. For comfort, the flight attendant had replaced his dad’s brogues with a pair of red slippers.

  What Darkus didn’t notice was a teenage boy sitting a few rows behind him, dressed casually in sunglasses, headphones and a baseball cap pulled low to obscure his face – but watching Darkus and Tilly’s every move and tapping notes into his smartphone.

  Darkus was woken by the flight staff raising the shades on the windows. He leaned up and looked out at a blazing orange sunset, glaring down over a range of dusty hills, dotted with palm trees, white houses and mansions. Below the hills was a layer of soupy-looking smog, similar to what he imagined lurking in the streets of London in Victorian times. Only this smog didn’t creep around gaslights and hansom cabs; it crept around a cluster of glass-clad skyscrapers that reflected the hard desert light, surrounded by a seemingly endless sprawl of low-lying homes stretching in all directions. The streets were arranged in a near perfect grid, overlaid with a tangled web of ten-lane-wide freeways, full to capacity with gleaming cars, trucks and lorries. Darkus recognised the landmarks: the funnel-shaped Capitol Records building with the needle pointing upwards; the familiar letters of the Hollywood sign propped on a hillside.

  But the overwhelming thought on Darkus’s mind was: how on earth would they find Bogna in a city of this magnitude?

  The captain’s voice arrived over the PA system: ‘We’re beginning our descent into LA. The local time is just after 7.05 p.m. It’s currently a balmy twenty-seven degrees, that’s eighty-one Fahrenheit, with a combination of gentle winds and a coastal marine layer to the west …’

  Knightley Senior stirred, his arms jolting to life. ‘The Co – the Cohhhhhm – the Combination!’ His eyes popped open, taking in his surroundings. ‘Doc?’ he blurted. ‘Where am I? And why am I wearing these ungodly slippers?’

  ‘It’s OK, Dad, we’re about to land in Los Angeles,’ said Darkus. ‘I’m really glad you’re back,’ he confessed.

  Knightley smiled, looking around, bleary-eyed. ‘These seats really are comfortable. I slept like a log.’

  *

  The plane performed a textbook landing and ten minutes later the trio exited on to a jet bridge leading to the Bradley terminal of Los Angeles International Airport. Darkus felt the wave of California heat through the gangway as they passed into a glass corridor, following the signs to Immigration and Customs, then descended an escalator under an American flag and a smiling photo of the President of the United States.

  ‘He still owes me one,’ Knightley muttered. But, even after consulting ‘the Knowledge’ that was stored in his head, Darkus had no idea which case he was referring to.

  They joined a queue that snaked around several rows of barrier posts, then approached a glass cubicle containing a stern-looking immigration officer. The three of them presented their passports and the travel papers supplied by Uncle Bill.

  ‘What’s the purpose of your visit?’ asked the officer.

  ‘To find an old friend,’ replied Knightley.

  The officer looked them over for a few moments, then abruptly stamped their passports in quick succession and waved them through.

  Having beaten them through the queues, the teenage boy in the baseball cap, headphones and sunglasses observed their movements from the baggage carousel, unnoticed.

  The Knightleys and Tilly loaded their carry-on luggage on to a trolley and wheeled it through customs without delay, entering the main concourse. The teenager in the baseball cap walked briskly ahead, whispered something to a representative at a car rental desk, then vanished through the automatic doors into the gathering dusk.

  Knightley Senior took the lead, scanning the rental kiosks until he saw a slightly sweaty man in a white shirt, sporting a goatee beard and holding a misspelt sign that read: Knightly.

  The trio approached the man cautiously.

  ‘The Knightleys?’ asked the man enthusiastically. ‘I’m Todd. I’ll be your greeter.’

  ‘Greeter?’ asked Darkus.

  ‘It’s an American thing,’ Knightley explained privately. ‘He will escort us to our vehicle, engage us in light chit-chat and then wait until we give him a tip.’

  Darkus turned to Tilly. ‘Dad means a gratuity on top of the agreed cost of service.’

  ‘I know what he means,’ she snapped, then turned to the greeter. ‘Who sent you?’ she demanded.

  ‘A company called …’ The greeter checked his paperwork. ‘SO42?’

  ‘Bill thought of everything. Lead on, Todd,’ said Knightley and gave him the trolley to push. ‘It’s very important to “tip” everyone you meet,’ the detective carried on to his colleagues. ‘That’s why I have a stash of one-dollar bills in my “fanny pack”.’

  ‘Your what?’ Darkus and Tilly said in unison.

  ‘It’s an American thing,’ Knightley repeated and took a bunch of bills out of the nylon bumbag belted round his waist.

  The greeter led them out on to the kerb, past an array of travellers, SUVs, yellow taxis and a handful of paparazzi pursuing a celebrity; then across a busy access road to a car park where a large shiny Dodge saloon waited for them. Darkus wasn’t a car fanatic, but even he experienced a shiver of pleasure at the sight of the gleaming machine.

  ‘This is your vehicle,’ said Todd grandly. ‘It must be your lucky day because they’ve given you
a complimentary upgrade. A mid-sized sedan for the price of a compact.’

  ‘What he means is …’ began Darkus.

  ‘I get it,’ replied Tilly.

  ‘With collision insurance included and less than a hundred miles on the clock,’ Todd announced proudly. ‘The satnav is built in, just press this button here … And you’re ready to roll.’

  Todd loitered by the driver’s-side door until Knightley handed over a sheaf of one-dollar bills.

  ‘Thank you, sir, and welcome to Los Angeles.’ The greeter handed over the keyfob, pocketed the money and returned to the terminal.

  ‘So where are we going?’ asked Tilly.

  ‘Has Bill organised a hotel?’ asked Darkus.

  Knightley took some paperwork from his bumbag. ‘The Mar Vista Motor Inn,’ he read out. ‘It doesn’t sound encouraging.’

  ‘I’d better have my own room,’ Tilly demanded. ‘With a hot tub.’

  ‘Don’t get your hopes up,’ advised Knightley, examining the dashboard.

  ‘Shotgun,’ called Tilly.

  The Knightleys spun round. ‘Where?’

  ‘I’m riding shotgun …’ she explained, shaking her head as she hopped into the car. ‘That means I’m taking the front passenger seat, you doofus,’ she lectured Knightley. ‘See, you learn something new every day. And the ignition is here.’ She pointed to a ‘Start’ button.

  Darkus took the back seat, which was the size of a small bed.

  Knightley pressed the button, causing the engine and lights to flick on. ‘Now, we’re all a little jet-lagged and as our designated driver I need to keep my wits about me.’ He tried to enter the address into the satnav before Tilly nudged him aside and entered it for him.

  The satnav began speaking in an automated American voice. ‘Please pro-ceed to the highlighted route …’

  Knightley put the car into ‘Drive’ and slowly pulled away from the kerb. He stopped at a parking barrier, fed a machine with more one-dollar bills, then joined a brightly lit highway leading away from the airport.

  ‘Please pro-ceed on to … World Way,’ said the satnav.

  ‘So far so good.’ Knightley indicated and changed lanes, finding himself surrounded on all sides by large American cars.

  ‘Please turn left on to … Air-port Bou-le-vard,’ said the satnav.

  ‘The street names are very helpful,’ commented Darkus.

  The Dodge negotiated the turn and Darkus stared out of the window at the orange sky and the neon façades of the airport hotels. Up ahead were giant billboards for upcoming blockbusters, and arteries of traffic extending outwards in a sea of headlights and tail lights. He thought to himself that Los Angeles really was just how it appeared in the movies.

  Tilly loosened her seat belt, switched on the radio, put her feet on the dashboard and powered down her window to enjoy the warm breeze. Knightley rolled his down too, draping one hand over the steering wheel and the other over the side of the door. West Coast hip hop pumped out of the stereo and the two of them nodded their heads in time.

  Then, without warning, both windows rose upwards, breaking the moment. Knightley and Tilly whipped their elbows in as the windows slid shut and the radio clicked off.

  ‘What did you press?’ Knightley accused her.

  ‘Nothing!’ she snapped.

  Darkus started pressing the rear window switches. ‘Dad, have you activated the child locks?’

  ‘I don’t think I have,’ Knightley responded.

  A warning tone pinged, accompanied by a cluster of red lights on the dashboard.

  ‘Something’s wrong with the car,’ moaned Tilly.

  Suddenly, the vehicle changed down a gear and lurched foward, speeding up.

  ‘Speed limit’s thirty-five,’ noted Darkus.

  ‘I’m aware of that, Doc.’ Knightley looked down to see the accelerator pedal lowering all by itself. ‘I think I might have selected cruise control …’

  The display on the satnav inexplicably changed to a different, more complex route. All three occupants did a double take.

  ‘That’s not the right way,’ Tilly pointed out.

  Knightley tapped the indicator and turned the steering wheel to pull over – but it wouldn’t budge.

  ‘I can’t … move … the wheel,’ he complained, then stepped on the brake, but it sunk to the floor with no effect.

  Darkus felt his catastrophiser thrum to life, its revs climbing in line with the car engine, whose speedometer needle was gaining steadily. ‘Tilly, fasten your seat belt,’ he instructed.

  The satnav chimed in with its robotic American accent. ‘Please sit back and en-joy the ride …’

  Knightley wrestled with the steering wheel, then the wheel began turning by itself. ‘What the –?’

  Darkus and Tilly began examining the car to find out what was controlling it.

  The satnav continued its stilted announcement: ‘The Com-bin-ation would like to extend a warm welcome to all three of you. But un-less you find a way to stop this ve-hicle, this is going to be a v-ery short trip.’

  ‘Look at the map,’ Darkus called out, pointing through the front seats to the display. ‘It’s heading for the ocean.’

  The satnav continued its speech. ‘Your move, Knight-leys.’

  Tilly stabbed the ignition button, but it was useless. ‘Something must be overriding the engine management system.’

  ‘Great. So what do we do about it?’ barked Knightley.

  The Dodge accelerated around a corner, throwing its occupants and their luggage from one side of the cabin to the other.

  ‘Have a safe jour-ney …’ the satnav concluded.

  ‘Try the handbrake!’ shouted Darkus.

  ‘I can’t find it,’ replied his dad. ‘And, for your information, it’s called a parking brake in this country.’

  ‘There –’ Tilly pointed to a small pedal at Knightley’s feet.

  Knightley stepped on it, but nothing happened. Then he pressed every button on the keyfob, but the car continued to gain speed. Knightley tossed the keyfob over his shoulder in frustration.

  Darkus watched their progress on the map display. ‘It says arrival time: three minutes.’ He glanced out at the scenery and got a sinking feeling, seeing an expanse of marshes and bluffs, and off in the distance … the Pacific Ocean. Darkus desperately ran his fingers over his chin, trying to deduce a solution, searching for any new hair to twiddle with, then it hit him: ‘The shaver … I need the shaver.’

  ‘He’s right,’ yelled Tilly jubilantly. ‘Thank the lord for Miss Khan. If we can send an electromagnetic pulse, we’ll fry the circuitry, shut down the whole vehicle. Where is it?’

  ‘In the boot,’ said Darkus guiltily. ‘Well, in this country it’s known as the trunk.’

  ‘Well, that’s just fan-tastic!’ screamed Tilly – sounding just for a moment like her father, Clive. She jabbed a finger at the satnav. ‘Why don’t we just ask the nice man to stop the car while you hop out and get it?’

  The Dodge careered off a highway exit ramp and down a restricted access road, leaving a cloud of dust in its wake.

  ‘Wait – there is another option,’ suggested Darkus, rummaging in the back seat.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Tilly shrieked impatiently.

  Darkus located a lever and yanked it down, causing one of the back seats to fold forwards, revealing a space leading to the boot. The car took another hard turn, hurling him against the door, then he managed to grip on to a seat belt and crawl through the gap in the seats.

  ‘What are you playing at back there?’ bellowed Knightley.

  ‘I just need to get to my bag …’ Darkus extended his hand through the gap. His fingers located his luggage and groped for the zip, easing it down to allow entry into the bag.

  ‘Sixty seconds!’ Tilly shouted, staring at the satnav display, which showed the cursor rapidly approaching a large blue shape. They were heading straight for the water.

  ‘I can see a disused pier of some kind!
’ said Knightley, seeing the marshland make way for the ocean fast approaching ahead of them.

  Darkus desperately pulled out clothes, toiletries, then felt the plastic grip of the shaver. The car swerved, sending it rolling out of his hands across the floor of the boot. He groped again, finally locating it and shuffling back through the gap as quickly as he could.

  ‘We’re out of time!’ cried Tilly.

  The Dodge barrelled through a parking barrier, sending it exploding off its hinges, and sped towards a narrow wooden jetty, extending over the water.

  Darkus held up the shaver. ‘I’ve got it!’ He switched it on. It made a routine buzzing noise. He slid out the beard trimmer. Still nothing.

  ‘You really haven’t used one of those before, have you!’ Tilly scolded him.

  ‘You have arrived at your dest-ination …’ said the satnav.

  ‘Brace!’ shouted Knightley, seeing them running out of road, with the dark blue ocean now visible on all sides.

  Darkus pushed the switch in the opposite direction and suddenly the buzzing stopped, the entire dashboard went dark, the headlights flicked off. But the car kept rolling forward under its own momentum.

  Darkus’s mind went into overdrive. ‘The electrics are gone and so is the electronic braking system. However, the hydraulics are still working.’ He examined a diagram in his head from Physics class. ‘Dad, pump the brake pedal to increase the brake fluid pressure in the master cylinder!’

  ‘I’m pumping!’ hollered Knightley.

  The hydraulics engaged and the car suddenly braked, the tyres rapidly decelerating on the splintered wooden boards of the disused pier. Knightley gripped the wheel, his knuckles turning white, and stamped repeatedly on the pedal as the car slid to a halt, only inches from the edge.

  ‘Now engage the parking brake,’ instructed Darkus calmly.

  Knightley engaged the smaller pedal at his feet and let out a sigh of relief. ‘Well, that was a … close shave?’ He waited for a reaction, only to find his two passengers had already exited the vehicle. He frowned and aped an American accent: ‘You’re welcome.’