Johnny Spicer Mini-Caper (Part One of Six)
This is the place they call "Hollywood." It's where I work, eat, and sleep. Sometimes I even get to play a little, but usually only when I solve a case for a grateful client who pays his bill promptly. See, I'm a private eye—the guy folks call when they run out of easy solutions to the messes they've gotten themselves into.
Being April First, I was hoping the sizeable check a client just handed me was not an April Fools' Day prank. I'm sure my creditors were fervently hoping the same thing. Conveniently, the check was drawn on the First National Bank Hollywood branch, which just happens to be in the same building as my office.
Even more conveniently, the bank manager is a pal. Once upon a time he found himself in the unenviable position of needing the sort of help in which I specialize. I solved the problem for him and did so discreetly, which means he still has his job. For that reason he is slightly more lenient with me in financial matters than he might otherwise be.
In this instance, however, there was no need for leniency. The check was good as gold. An hour later I was at my desk licking the back of a postage stamp intended for the last of six envelopes I was sure would make the landlord and five other creditors happy, if not downright gleeful.
Being thus solvent again, I climbed behind the wheel of my two-year-old Chrysler Royal Business Coupe and stared through the windshield. I was planning to take the afternoon off to celebrate having two nickels to rub together again, but now, with a full tank of gasoline and the engine running, I had no idea where to do my celebrating or with whom to do it.
The possibilities occurring to me just were not striking my fancy. Hollywood is lousy with bars and lounges, but I didn't feel like spending the afternoon drinking in a joint with acquaintances and nary a true friend in sight.
When I gave the subject more thought, I decided the sort of celebration I needed was to get above the world for a different perspective, and I knew just where to do that. I pushed the transmission lever into first gear and pointed the Chrysler's dandy streamlined hood mascot in the direction of Mulholland Drive.
For those who are not up on LA geography, Mulholland Drive winds along the ridge of the Santa Monica Mountains from Hollywood to Malibu. Those particular mountains separate Los Angeles from the San Fernando Valley to the north, and for my purpose of getting above it all, Mulholland is the perfect road. It offers terrific views of LA and the Valley.
What makes Mulholland even more perfect for getting away from it all is that it is away from it all. The Santa Monica Mountains are pretty rough and desolate. Nobody lives up there, at least not until you get near Malibu and the ocean. I've driven the seven or eight miles of Mulholland from Hollywood all the way to Sepulveda Boulevard without encountering another living soul.
Because of its desolation, mystery writers with overactive imaginations like to murder folks up on Mulholland Drive. Phooey on that. It's not that you couldn't kill someone up there, but why traipse clear out into the hinterlands when you can much more easily sneak out at night and toss the body off the Malibu Pier? Of course, the rich folks with beach houses in Malibu aren't too thrilled when decomposing bodies wash up onto their private beaches.
Anyway, I began my celebration playtime cruising along Mulholland in a westerly direction, occasionally pulling off the road to spend a few pleasant moments looking down on the busy little ants of Beverly Hills, Westwood, and Brentwood industriously increasing the size of their fortunes. At Benedict Canyon Drive, I turned south to take a gander from one of my favorite overlooks.
This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, locations, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Story and design © Steve Eitzen
Header Graphic & HPO Logo © HPO Productions
Johnny Spicer fictional character © Mysteries In History
Historic Los Angeles images © Water & Power Associates
Historic Chrysler photo © Classic cars for sale
Tom Petty's Mulholland Drive? Ah, yes, I know that one.
I can think of other references that bring to mind a more appropriate picture of Mulholland Drive in 1940, but yes, that one.
Lol. That's the only one I knew of.
Trust me, with the right escort, you'd like this one a lot better. ;-)
Just so there is no doubt as to my meaning, I should add that the "right escort" would be someone who appreciates your finer qualities.
Write on, escort. Fellow writer/tourist is prepared for anything.
Well, that isn't exactly what I meant either, but it will work.