Free Single Jeopardy by Gene Grossman Page B

night law school, two classmates of mine and I became close friends and formed a study group. Both were L.A.P.D. sergeants, and knowing about my fascination with crime stories, they talked me into applying for the police force.
    My written test, physical exam, agility, and oral tests went fine, but the colorblind test stopped me cold. My U.S. army induction exam determined that I had a slight red-green deficiency not severe enough to keep me out of the service, but their test wasn’t as tough as L.A.P.D.’s. Maybe it’s because people were trying to get in the L.A.P.D., while people were trying to get out of the army.
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    As usual, it’s a gorgeous day outside. My assignments for the day are completed and my deck chair is all set for some reading. A voice down on the dock calls out “ahoy, Grand Banks!” It’s the retired doctor. He comes over and welcomes me to the dock, apologizing for the fact that it took him so long to get around to it. We shake hands and have a cordial conversation. Most of the boat owners in the Marina can tell you the same story about having long conversations with boat neighbors on the dock without ever knowing their names, what they do for a living, or their opinions on anything in the world except boating. Maybe that’s the way it should be all over, instead of deciding to like or dislike a person because of what political party they belong to, or what they think about the half-dozen issues that continuously polarize us.
    Of course the topic of his girlfriend doesn’t come up in our conversation, but he does mention that one of these days he’d like me to join him and “Rita” for dinner on his boat. At least once a week he prepares a gourmet meal. I’m sure he’s referring to the times when his gorgeous stewardess girlfriend is between flights and staying with him. Feeling pretty sure that she’ll be there for any dinner he invites me to, I graciously tell him I’ll be looking forward to an invite, and hope it’s soon. He tells me that it won’t be until next week, because since his weekly ‘guest’ is out of the country, he’s decided to take his boat over to Catalina Island for a few days of relaxation and will be back by Noon next Wednesday, when Rita is expected to be coming by.
    I never could quite understand why people have to go somewhere to relax. People who hear that I live on a boat usually tell me about their dreams of ‘sailing away into the sunset.’ They really don’t want to do that, spend weeks on end without hot water or a shower, constant motion, always heeled over ten to fifteen degrees with constant pitching and rolling, no comfort, no television, no restaurants, no nothing. What they really want to do is sail away from their in-laws, boss, job, bratty kids, mortgage payments, alimony, ex-wives, etc., etc… and no matter how far you go, you never really get away from things like that because they stay with you in your mind. But if the Doc wants to go to Catalina, that’s OK with me. I’ve taken a plane over there several times, and if you don’t suffer from seasickness, it seems like it might be a nice boat trip when you’re with people you enjoy.
    The Island’s a really quiet place that’s only accessible by boat or plane and if you own a boat, you’re bound to be bumping into other boaters walking around there that you know. I enjoy going to Avalon, the island’s only city.
    Up the mountain a little way there’s a restaurant called “The Landing,” where you can have a serving of cerviche while you drink Patrón Margaritas and look down at the harbor until the sun goes down and the drinks get to you. There’s a water taxi service that ferries people from their boats to and from the landing dock, and the last one out in the late evening is the most fun to be on, because it’s usually full of half-loaded boaters trying to tell the driver how to find one of the mooring cans that their boat is tied up to.
    I tell the doc that