themob.At least he served a good brand of whisky. Imarried Shirley – OK, I guess that’s not too far-fetched.


We reallymean a lot to each other, but I can’t bringmyself yet to say that four-letter word that begins with “L.”A son, Paul Junior? I call him Paulo. He hates the nickname, but he loves me.The detective business grows.More parking. Parking? That fateful day when Grace Lundquist was shot in my


office after seeing a meeting on the top floor of a parking garage. Paulo and I raced around LA looking for a connection between parking lot owners and a strange group of politicians, “fixers.”And, yes, that race at 3 a.m. acrossMulholland Drive with Paulo in hot pursuit. Betty, the woman I had saved in that first caper, was driving Shirley and me to what really looked like an early grave. She lost control, a shot rang out. But I’m confused now. The timeline is all wrong – in the


next view, Paulo is only about 14 years old and has dragged me along on a harebrained hunt for ghosts in a parking (yes, still parking!) structure. There were flashing lights and clank- ing chains.Yeah, right. But then as we sat in the bushes across the street (I was


trying to show him some of the hard work in stakeouts), there itwas – chains, flashing lights and all.We got closer and found a van and a body.What was that all about?We had a murder and no client. The garage owner hired us (not a lot of confidence in my


old employers, the LAPD) and that 14-year-old kid actually solved threemurders and got us a very strange phone call from a very sick senior senator froma state in New England that no one can ever spell.Hewas a senator?His brother has just been elected president. I really had that one all wrong. Then things got really strange.My dreammorphed into a


celebration of Paulo and Grace’s engagement at the Holly- wood Bowl and finding a dead body in the trunk of my car. Kidnappers, the mob, the FBI. Foggy airport scenes from Casablanca.A woman whomI knew was dead. Private jet air- planes (must have been invented by the same guy who made the coffeemaker). Ransoms, parking operators, a twin sister. Thank heavens the alarmwent off when it did. I sat on the veranda thinking. Could I be seeing the


future?Married, successful detective agency, a son.And what was all that about every woman in the dream being a blonde, except that actress who somehow was sleeping with Howard Hughes?Well, I am partial to blondes. I guess in that regard I ama gentleman. They say that people have premonitions. I wondered ... It was time to get to work. I dressed and drove to my


office. It was in a building on Hollywood Boulevard across fromGrauman’s ChineseTheatre. On the office door’s frosted glass, it read “PaulManning, Investigations.” There were two rooms, an outer office with a desk and a


couple of chairs. The desk was for the secretary I would have when I had enough business to justify one, and the chairswere where I made my clients wait a few minutes to ratchet up the stress just a tad before interviewing them. My office had a nice view of the theater across the street.


I had a desk, a couple of chairs, a filing cabinet, and a corner I was saving for a rubber plant. There was a sink in the other corner.Abottlewas in the bottomdrawer of the filing cabinet. I didn’t need a lot of furniture. Detecting is done on the street, not in an office. I was “between assignments.” I had just finished up a


divorce case.Thewomanwas playing around and her husband wanted proof. I tookmy camera and followed her for two days,


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got a few pictures of her going into amotel on Sunset Boulevard in Brentwood. She was with what is known in the trade as a “man not her husband.” I hate that kind of work, but I have to eat.When this agency grows, I won’t take such window-peeping cases anymore. There was a knock on the outer office door. “Come in,” I said. I have a penchant for picking just the right


words to use in the right situation. And she did. Beautiful, legs that went all the way toMontana,


high cheekbones, blue eyes, and hair the color of hay, just before it’s cut. Her makeup was smeared. She had been crying. Oh no, I can’t handle women who cry. “Mr.Manning? I’m Linda Hallenbeck. I have a problem.” She


sat down and broke into tears. Ever the suave one, I smiled, opened a drawer and took out a


box of Kleenex. I handed her the box and said, “Take your time and tellme about it.” At that moment, a man threw open my office door and said,


“There you are.And I’mguessing this guy is the one you have been cheating onme with.” He then took out the biggest gun I have ever seen and pointed it


atmy heart.


Look for Paul Manning, wide awake this time, returning to investi- gate the ins and outs of parking in 1960s LA, in the February issue of Parking Today. If you are curious about all of the dream sequence above, you can read the previous episodes of “Death by Parking” in the “magazine” section of PT’s web site (www.parkingtoday.com).


PT


Complete Systems Integration for Parking...and Beyond.


PARC Group is the leading network of systems integrators in the parking industry, and your one-stop resource for the design, contract, installation and service for all of your access control systems.


From parking control to a customized integrated system,we can help you achieve your goals.


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