The Weapon - Lex - part 9
By Diana the Valkyrie
California, here I come
Update: 24/10/2003 to valkyrie05


I can't tell you much about the journey. Well, actually, I can't tell you
anything. I was blind the whole time, and I couldn't even feel the wind in my
face. All I could feel was Wendy pressing against me. Or possibly it was me
pressing against Wendy. And then, maybe half an hour later, or maybe an hour
later, I forgot to check my mobile for the time, we were there.

I knew we were there, because the heat struck me like a furnace. I knew the
big yellow thing in the sky was the sun, because I've read about it, we don't
actually get to see it much in England, but it was twice the size and ten
times as bright. Also, and you definitely don't get this in Cricklewood, it
was hot. And the air - it wasn't air, not the sort that I was used to. I
wasn't sure whether I was supposed to breathe it or drink it. I blinked a few
times; the transition from blackness to full Californian sunlight took some
getting used to. Wendy waited patiently while I tried to adapt. This wasn't
just jet-lag, it was Wendy-lag. But gradually I found I could see my
surroundings.

We were standing on the pavement, outside the Imperial Palace Hotel, in the
middle of downtown San Andreas. People were bustling past us in both
directions, a stream of people going about their business, avoiding me, three
suitcases (well, two and a large bag), and pretty much ignoring us. You
wouldn't really expect people to take much notice of a slightly portly (I am
not fat) man with three suitcases standing outside a hotel, that's probably
something you see every day. But I was a bit surprised that Wendy wasn't
attracting more attention, because she was standing there, six feet of
Guardian of Humanity, in full costume, white-and-gold. I suppose they see a
lot of outlandishly dressed people around here. But you'd think they wouldn't
see very many with a fifty-foot wingspan, even if they were folded.

Maybe people around here are just very jaded. "Wendy, you'll need to put those
away, or we won't be able to get through the revolving doors."

Inside, the climate was cool and dry, like springtime in Oxfordshire. I felt a
bit silly following Wendy as she carried my three suitcases in, but I couldn't
really object, they were far too heavy for me to handle. Once inside, she said
"Now what?" "No problem, follow me," I said. I went up to the reception desk,
and dinged the bell. I love dinging those bells. Maybe I should resist doing
it when the receptionist is already in front of me and looking at me. "I want
a room, please." "Yes sir," she said, "for how many?" "Um." I looked at Wendy.
"Two," she said. "Two," I said. "Yes sir. Twin beds of double?" I went a bit
red. "Double," said Wendy. "Twin," I said, over-ruling her. "Double," she
said, "shut up Herb." I shut up.

The receptionist did something with her computer and said "Card?" I fumbled
out my plastic. "That's like money, isn't it?" said Wendy. I looked at her,
puzzled. "Don't you have a card?" "No, Herb ... slight problem with proof of
identity." "You can't prove who you are?" "Not to the banks, no. No birth
certificate, no drivers licence, no exam results. I had a library ticket once,
but not many people accept that as proof." "But it's bleedin' obvious who you
are." "Yes. But if it isn't on paper, it doesn't count."

I looked around, furtively, and whispered. "Does that mean you don't have a
..." "Passport," said the receptionist. I slid mine over to her. She wrote
down the number, then looked at Wendy. "She doesn't have one," I said, "but
you can write down my number against her name."

Now, that might sound like a really dumb thing to suggest, because it ruins
the whole point of the identity check. But the fact is, they don't hire
receptionists on the basis of being able to deal with unusual situations, and
what I'd suggested was just close enough to what she was supposed to do for
her to accept it. After all, they had my card swiped, they'd get paid, why
would they care who we actually were. "You're from Britain," she said.

"England, actually," I replied. She looked at Wendy. "And you?" Wendy showed
her wings, folded, but still huge and white and feathery. "Heavens!" said the
receptionist. "No, not quite," said Wendy.

I took the room key, and a bellboy grabbed our suitcases before Wendy could
get them. He showed us up to the room, put the cases down, then he sort of
hovered, waiting. I knew what he wanted, but the problem was, all I had was my
credit card, I needed to get to someplace that could give me a bit of cash.

Wendy watched him hovering for a few seconds, and looked at me questioningly.

"Tip," I whispered. She smiled, and said, "Oh, tip." She walked up to him, and
took the hand he was holding out. She pulled it towards herself, and then sort
of reeled him in until he was locked in her arms in the sort of full-body hug
that I'd experienced earlier. "Thank you so much," she breathed into his ear,
and then he found himself outside the room, with the door gently closed.
Probably the best tip he'd ever had.

"Right then," she said. "I suppose you want to unpack. I'll have a look around
town, explore a little. See you later." She vanished. How does she do that?
While she was gone, I got out the court papers, and my mobile, and introduced
it to the hotel mobile port. Then I told it to hop over to the legal database
and google out a copy of all the submissions on this case. While it was doing
that, I had another thought, and told it to find out who my opposite number
was, who would be leading the case for the plaintiff. It never hurts to know a
bit about your opponent.

I had expected it to come up with a firm of shady ambulance chasers, the US
equivalent of Messrs Sue, Grabbit and Runne. But I was pleasantly surprised;
the law firm representing the other side was an old-established outfit called
Roberts and Williams, Attorneys-at-law. The name on the case documents was
Cattermole, so I delved into their web site to see if I could find out
anything about Mr Cattermole.

I certainly did. The first thing I found out was that the name was Jane
Cattermole.

Damn.

It isn't that I'm chauvinistic or anything like that, there's no reason why
lawyers need to be male. No. The problem is, I'm absolutely hopeless when it
comes to dealing with women, especially capable women. Wendy made me feel
rubber-legged, but at least she was on my side. And then I had another
horrible thought, and I checked up on who the judge of this case was. And my
worst fears were realised. Mrs Justice Langley. I'm doomed. Doomed.

I sat back in my chair and closed my eyes. Maybe Wendy should get someone else
to represent her, I was going to be as much use as a soggy biscuit. And then I
thought, no, I can't let her down. She's trusting me to do my best on this,
and that's what I'll do.

And I will *not* let her down. I can do this. I can do this. Yes I can.