Runner-Up 2

Charlie Bonner eased his midnight blue 1972 GTO convertible into the parking lot at the Santa Monica Airport.

Eddie MacManus, Charlie's pilot/body guard/spiritual advisor, opened Genie's door first, then came around to shake hands with Charlie.

"Beautiful day, Mr. Bonner, Mrs. Bonner. Beautiful day," Eddie said. He'd known Charlie since second grade but had gotten the habit of calling him Mr. Bonner back when they were just a couple of UCLA grads with liberal arts degrees pretending to be businessmen.

A half-Samoan bear of a man, Eddie tossed their luggage into the cargo compartment and helped Genie into the plane. Once onboard, he handed them each a hot, perfect espresso he seemed to conjure from thin air.

After a simulator-perfect takeoff, Eddie asked, "Falco call you earlier?"

"Yeah, on my home number, the SOB," Charlie said.

"He was pretty agitated last night. Didn't think he was dim enough to call you at home, though," Eddie answered.

"Ernesto's on the way to meet him," Charlie said.

"Good. Good." Eddie appreciated a swift response to problems.

Genie pulled a mirror from her enormous handbag and scrutinized her flawless peaches 'n' soy milk complexion. "Charlie honey, do I need Botox? See these little lines?"

Charlie replied, "You don't have any lines, sweetie. Don't you dare inject anything into that lovely face." Knowing she was completely immune to the effects of caffeine, he suggested, "Take a little nap. We're going dancing at Emil's on the beach after we land."

Genie stretched like an alley cat, balanced her huge sunglasses on her tiny nose and drifted off into the dead sleep of the inexplicably lucky.

Charlie stared at the horizon. He saw the pole dancer walking into a congressional hearing wearing nothing but that ridiculous headdress and a necktie that said "Property of Charlie Bonner."

Eddie woke him gently. "Boss, look out the window. Behind us, about 30 degrees left."

Charlie was instantly awake: "Another jet? On this route?"