Stars Fell on Alabama

by M. Alan Marr

  Their new situation has been great for both Chaz and Dev and proved, if nothing else, they can easily live together. Chaz has fully adapted to his new financial position. He still works, though he tends to give away the trips he doesn’t like, and keep the ones he does. After years of hard work, Chaz is finally able to enjoy a very attractive schedule heavy on the days off. Instead of far reaching multi-day trips, Chaz now opts to fly low productivity trips and often volunteers for last minute pop up flights.

  Travels in the BBJ started dropping off about a month ago in favor of spending time locally. Dev has now met most of Chaz’s Midtown friends and is enjoying this newfound civilian life that has eluded him all this time back home. Dev still conducts research and watching the news and writing in his ‘journal,’ though he devotes less time to that while Chaz is home. It’s pretty clear that Earth is a terrible mess and more research won’t change that fact.

  Dev is still very much the night owl, way more so than Chaz, so he generally works on his dispatch reports after Chaz has gone to sleep. On more than one occasion, Chaz has gotten up in the middle of the night and catches Dev out on the terrace staring up at the stars.

  But despite the happiness of home-sweet-home, Dev has become very jaded to the state of US politics and the world in general. Every day is an exercise in futility watching CSPAN and the news channels. Corruption, dereliction of duty, and the unparalleled disrespect shown to the President of the United States by the opposing members of Congress is shameful.

  Dev has finally learned enough to do what he has been dreading: write his command evaluation. This report will have lasting repercussions for the residents of Earth for generations to come. Dev watches incredulously as a US Senator reads a children’s book about green ham on the Senate floor; not for educational purposes, but to purposely impede the flow of State business. “Unbelievable,” Dev says to himself. He turns the TV off and throws the remote on the couch. His patience for politics finally boils over. Dev marches into his study and begins writing. “You did this to yourselves.”

  An hour later, Dev stares at the finished report. There is no satisfaction. Unable to think of any alternatives, he presses the enter key. Dev pours a stiff drink and walks out onto the terrace and looks up at the stars. He’s never felt so far away as he does right now. Dev exhales and shakes his head, knowing he may have just signed Earth’s death warrant.

  The next morning, Chaz got an urgent plea from Triad Crew Scheduling, asking him—begging him—to fill in for a last minute sick call. The bookings are full and the airline is scrambling to find a replacement pilot before having to cancel the flight. Chaz agrees, and packs his crew bags. He will deadhead from Atlanta to JFK, then fly to Zurich, spend the night, and deadhead back to Atlanta. Dev is feeling a bit down after writing his report, and the very last thing he wants right now is to be alone, but what can he do?

  Sixteen hours later, Chaz is walking down the sidewalk in Zurich when his iPhone rings. His old self would have disabled the phone due to the high cost of overseas calls and data, but that’s no longer an issue, owing to his new financial position. He sees it is Dev calling and happily answers. “Hey, hello! You’re up late.”

  “I couldn’t sleep. How was your flight?”

  “It was fine. I’m just out taking a walk now.” Chaz hears Dev’s breathing sounds like he’s on the move. “What are you doing?”

  “I have some banking I have to take care of.”

  A speeding little European car toots its horn as it zips by. A half second later, Chaz hears the same car horn in the phone and gets suspicious. “Where are you?”

  “Right behind you,” Dev replies in his normal voice. Chaz turns around and sees Dev standing there with a big grin on his face.

  “What the hell are you doing in Zurich!” Chaz laughs.

  “Just like I said.”

  “You are a crazy man. But what a nice surprise!”

  “Crazy, you say?” Dev smiles widely. “Perhaps, but I really do have some banking to do. And since you’re just deadheading back, I thought you might like some company.”

  “I would love some company.” Chaz smiles.

  “I’m very glad to hear it,” Dev says. “Franz is making something special for dinner.”

  “Oh my God, you took the BBJ.”

  Dev makes light of that. “Your flights were full.”

  “You’re too much.”

  “No, I’m not. I’m just the right amount.”

  “You are just right. When did you get here?”

  “About an hour before you did.”

  “That’s awesome. Where are you staying?”

  “Same hotel as you.” Dev smiles coyly. “I was in the lobby behind the newspaper when you and your crew checked in. I heard you tell your captain you were going to change clothes and go for a walk.”

  “Sneaky.”

  “A little, but hopefully a welcome surprise.”

  “Of course it is!” Chaz laughs. “I’m so glad you’re here. Have you been to Zurich before?”

  “Nope.”

  “There’s a surprise.” Chaz laughs. “Did you already go to the bank, or do you still need to?”

  “Still need to,” Dev says, and they begin walking. “Hey, listen, I spoke with the lawyers. They think you should put fifty million into a Swiss account.”

  “We haven’t talked about that. Is that what you think I should do?”

  “I do. Just in case all those doomsday preppers are correct.” Dev laughs.

  Chaz laughs at that as well. “Oh, well, if the doomsday preppers think it’s a good idea, then I’m on board. Lead on, McDuff.”

  “Excellent. My appointment is in thirty minutes. Might as well head over now.”

  “What do I need for this banking thing?”

  “I didn’t think you would mind, so I had the lawyers set everything up on their end. They’re waiting for your authorization, but at my urging, they took care of all the preliminaries. Beyond that, it’s just a matter of setting up your numbered account at the bank and transferring the funds.” Dev removes a thick packet out of his breast pocket and hands it to Chaz. “Here.”

  “What’s this?”

  “Hundred thousand in cash.”

  “What!” Chaz gasps.

  “You need it to open the account.”

  “Oh my God.” Chaz quickly looks around and stuffs the envelope inside his jacket. “Where did you get this?”

  “I had it lying around the house.”

  Chaz whisper-yells. “You had a hundred thousand dollars lying around the house!”

  “It was in the safe.”

  “Where’s the safe?”

  “Behind the bookcase in the library.”

  “Of course it is. Dev, I can’t take this money from you.”

  “Oh, please, you can pay me back later if you want.”

  BANQUE CENTRALE DU ZURICH

  BUREAU DU DIRECTEUR

  The lavish office looks like something out of Versailles. And despite the cumulative net worth of the two men sitting before the banker and his ornate desk, there is a palpable air of superiority and an attitude of being sorely inconvenienced, and it is not coming from Dev or Chaz. The banker also clearly doesn’t approve of Chaz’s attire (jeans and a polo shirt) and keeps glancing at him, as if his wardrobe would suddenly morph into something more businesslike.

  The unpleasant bank director examines Dev’s bundle of original wax-sealed documents as well as his passport and legal paperwork substantiating his ties to the original accounts established at the Swiss bank generations ago. The banker reads Dev’s lineage aloud.

  “Monsieur Dev Camelopardalis Caelestis, son of Monsieur Tanic Camelopardalis Caelestis, grandson of Monsieur Argus Camelopardalis Caelestis.” He says Dev with just enough condescension to secure himself as an arrogant Swiss banker. He looks back and forth between Dev and his passport picture and supporting documents from Atlanta. “A fascinating history of family names, Monsieur.”

&nbs
p; “Indeed,” Dev says plainly.

  “You seek to remove Monsieur Ingo Gallant from your family accounts and install Monsieur Chaz Ronaldi as signataire, on fifty percent of ze account, oui?” He pronounced Chaz’s name as Shass Rrrrronaldi.

  “Oui,” Dev replies.

  “Qua?” Chaz says in French, clearly surprised. “Attendez, s’il vous plait, un moment.” He turns to Dev and speaks to him with concern. “What are you doing?”

  “If anything happens to me, I want you to be able to access to my accounts.”

  “But . . .”

  The banker drums his fingers on his desk and looks at the ceiling. “Messieurs, I am very busy.”

  Chaz shoots a cold glare to the man. “Je vous ai dit un moment!”

  The banker is taken aback that this American just yelled at him. And, in French.

  Dev ignores the banker and speaks calmly. “Chaz, this is simply a security measure. You are hardly in need of the money.” This earns a more careful eyeing up and down of Chaz from the banker. Perhaps he misjudged this American. Yeah, perhaps.

  “I know, but . . .”

  “Think of it this way,” Dev says pleasantly, “if anything happens to me, you can use my accounts to fund any number of charities, with the proviso that you never close the account. You’ll have unfettered access to fifty percent of the total balance, adjusted quarterly for interest.”

  “But why?”

  Dev takes a breath. “I don’t have anyone else. Unless, of course, you want this charming fellow to preside over it,” he says, motioning to the snotty banker, in retribution for the guy making fun of his name and being short with Chaz.

  “Where do I sign?”

  The unpleasant banker produces documents for Chaz to sign and records his fingerprints on a small scanner pad.

  “Good,” Dev says. “Now, to new business. Monsieur Ronaldi wishes to open an account.” Dev looks coldly at the banker. “And I’m sure you would not mind handling this, personally.”

  Chaz knows Dev’s business tone and simply fixes his stare at the banker as well.

  “Biensur,” the banker begrudgingly says. “And what is Monsieur’s net worth in euros?”

  Chaz gives him a slight look of disgust and enunciates clearly when he replies. “Two hundred twenty-seven million US dollars. You do the math.”

  The banker sits up a little straighter and becomes more amiable, but only just. “Oui, Monsieur Ronaldi. Of course, Monsieur understands we require one hundred thousand American dollars to open ze account.”

  Chaz takes the envelope of cash from his pocket and holds it out to the banker. When he doesn’t immediately take it, Chaz opens his hand and drops the envelope on the desk. Chaz adjusts his position to lean slightly forward. “Let me be perfectly clear with you. We are also very busy,” he says. “Do what you need to quickly so we can be on our way. I will transfer fifty million dollars tonight, at my earliest convenience.”

  “Oui, Monsieur. I will attend to ze transfer personally.”

  Chaz adds for good measure, “It will be late.”

  The banker bristles, knowing he’s gone too far insulting the client. “Oui, Monsieur.”

  Setting up the numbered account does not take long. Chaz and Dev depart the bank; Chaz is now carrying his own bundle of documents bearing the ornate red wax seal. Walking across the plaza in front of the bank building toward the car Dev firmly suggested the bank should provide, they laugh at the sheer arrogance shown to them. Despite laughing, Chaz is fired up and angry about the whole encounter.

  “What a dick!” Chaz says and then mimics the banker, “Monsieur Dev.”

  “He was really unpleasant.”

  “Unbelievable!” Chaz yells. “You have three generations of money in that bank, and he treated you like he’s never heard of you.”

  “I understand taking him down a peg, but why did you tell him the transfer would be late?”

  Chaz snickers. “Because that dick wants my fifty-mil in that building generating revenue. So much so, he will wait up until 11:59 pm tonight just to get an extra sixty seconds of interest before the start of business tomorrow.”

  He’s right, of course.

  “Well, congratulations, Monsieur Rrrronaldi, you just outplayed a snotty Swiss banker and put him right in his place.”

  Chaz tosses his head toward the building. “Don’t give me attitude, Monsieur Le Snot. You may have a nice office, but it’s money like ours that pays for it.”

  “You’re right.”

  “Damn right.” They enter the waiting Mercedes. Chaz is in rare form and issues forth a command to the chauffeur holding the door open. “Allons-y, l’aéroport.”

  “Oui, Monsieur,” the driver says and then closes the door.

  During the drive, Chaz has a thought. “Hey, who is Ingo Gallant?”

  “Guy used to work for us.”

  “Oh.” Chaz realizes his luggage is still at the hotel. “Ah, mierd, attendre. Mes baggages sont à l’hotel De Ville.”

  The driver turns the car around. On the way to the crew hotel, Chaz calls Triad Crew Scheduling to be officially released from his scheduled deadhead flight. Since the Triad flight is overbooked, they are happy to release him, meaning Chaz’s reserved seat in the cabin can now be occupied by an actual paying passenger.

  Chaz’s irritation with the banker is still evident by the way he stuffs and jams his clothes inside his crew bag. He mimics the banker as he packs, becoming more irritated with each word. Dev watches quietly. He figures it’s best to let Chaz vent his frustrations unfettered. A few minutes later, Chaz and Dev emerge from the hotel and are back in the car speeding toward the airport. Chaz’s disgust melts away upon seeing the familiar BBJ, certain their usual crew will be on hand.

  “Ah, nirvana.”

  “Perfect idea, no?”

  Chaz smiles. “Perfect idea.”

  Captain Steve happens to be walking from the operations building toward the BBJ when he sees the black Mercedes with darkened windows pulling up. Steve hurries over to open the passenger door and is very surprised when Chaz gets out.

  “Chaz! I mean, Mr. Ronaldi!”

  “Chaz is fine, Steve. How are you?”

  “Good, sir. It’s great to see you!” He happily shakes Chaz’s hand. Steve sees the chauffeur off-loading Chaz’s crew bags and his uniform on a hanger, along with Chaz’s uniform hat. “Did you fly here yourself?”

  “I did.”

  “Well, then, let’s get you home in style!”

  Chaz smiles and looks at Dev. “I’m all for it.” Drama behind him, Chaz hurries up the airstairs into the jet and calls out, “Franz, martini me.”

  Franz and Annette shout at the same time, “Mr. Chaz!”

  “Surprise.”

  Dev follows. “I created a monster.”

  “Not at all,” Chaz laughs, moving aft to the lounge. He sits down in his usual seat for takeoff. Cocktails served, the engines start to power up. Chaz glances to the forward galley, where Franz and Annette are bursting with happiness. That’s when he realizes it . . .

  “You didn’t tell them you were coming here to pick me up.”

  “I only said I was going to Zurich on business, and that I would be bringing back a very important guest,” Dev replies. “I thought it would be a surprise for them as well.”

  Chaz smiles. “You really care for them, don’t you?”

  Dev smiles and nods. “Very much so.”

  The flight is exquisite. More than any other they have done. Franz and Annette deliver a standing rib roast of beef and a fabulous truffled au jus, tiny roasted potatoes, and green beans with bacon. Tonight, the dining room sets a very elegant table with crystal, china, linen, and a multitude of silverware on a gleaming white tablecloth with a vase of red roses. A three-tiered dish of Swiss chocolates sits on the table, its wonderful aroma filling the room.

  Of all the various meal services Franz and Annette have put on for them, this is the most conventionally elegant. Franz even w
ears a tuxedo tonight. Annette wears a formal female version of a tuxedo with black skirt and rectangular waist apron. Classical music plays softly in the background. This is an extraordinary meal. The crew has outdone themselves yet again. Dessert is another classic, chocolate torte made from Swiss cocoa, no doubt purchased locally by Franz and Annette in Zurich.

  “If I didn’t know better, I’d think Franz is trying to keep us coming back,” Dev says while eating his tort.

  Chaz swallows his last bit of dessert. “I’ve got news for you, it’s working.”

  Later, over after-dinner cordials, Chaz looks at his watch. “Okay, it’s almost 10:00 pm in Zurich. I guess that dick has waited long enough.” Chaz logs on to the airborne Wi-Fi and sends an e-mail to the attorney standing by in Atlanta, which simply says, all is well. That is the code phrase to trigger the wire transfer of funds to Chaz’s numbered account in Zurich.

  The snotty Swiss banker is sitting in his dark office well after hours. His computer screen finally flashes and indicates the wire transfer has arrived. He inputs his own personal confirmation code, and the transfer is now complete. His bank is now the custodian to an additional 50,000,000 US dollars and zero cents. He utters one word: “Américaines” and then turns off his computer. Darkness.

  The BBJ lands in ATL just after 7:00 pm local time. Dev and Chaz are back at the Gillespie by 8:30 for a sedate evening at home. Bags are unpacked and put away. Chaz’s schedule is clear now for the next seven days. Chaz is exhausted and goes into the bedroom and crashes, fully clothed, on top of the bed. He had ‘iron manned’ the trip to Zurich, meaning, he flew all night, but, then, instead of taking a nap at the hotel, he stayed on local Zurich time. Then, of course, Dev showed up, and they took care of the banking. The adrenaline that started pumping through Chaz’s system after the banker incident fueled him better than any power nap. Finally, the awesomeness of the flight home on the BBJ couldn’t be wasted by sleeping. Instead, they only dozed for about an hour in the lounge prior to landing.

  The lights of the penthouse are set low, and very soft background music plays in all the rooms, except for the master bedroom. The bedroom speakers play the sounds of rain and a gentle babbling brook, creating a perfect environment for slumber.