Runner-up 4

Bonner heard the screams too.

After Genie walked away from him, and apparently out of his life, Bonner quickly composed himself and grabbed the bags. He couldn’t understand how his plan had so suddenly collapsed. He thought he had everything and everyone under control.

But Genie stunned him with her disappearing act, and Ernesto was missing in action. All that didn’t matter now. He needed a Plan B: Get to Reseda, take care of Carmen, retrieve a copy of “Birds of Paradise” and rush to Cabo. His life depended on it.

He ran from the terminal and toward the line of people waiting for a cab. No time to retrieve his car. He frantically pushed his way to the front of the line. “Emergency,” he shouted at those in line. The others there, used to the rudeness of L.A. people, shot dirty looks at him and muttered a few obscenities but did little else to stop him.

“Reseda!” Bonner shouted at the cabbie as he opened the back door and threw the bags in. He wasn’t even sure why he hung on to her bags. He should have just thrown them away. Oh well, he thought, much bigger things to worry about now. “I don’t care how you get there, just get there -- floor it,” he said to the driver, as if screaming a stream of expletives would make the infamous 405 parking lot vanish.

“Do my best,” the cabbie said, unfazed. Boy, if I had a buck for every time some jerk asked me to drive fast, the cabbie thought to himself as he sped away.

“Good. It’s urgent,” Bonner replied. “I’ll give you directions as we get closer.” And with that, Bonner grabbed his phone and flipped it open, but just as quickly slammed it shut.

“Think, think,” Bonner muttered to himself. “Where the hell is Ernesto and why hasn’t he taken care of her?” Bonner’s mind was racing as he tried to piece together the last few days. Where had he gone wrong?

“Falco!” Bonner shouted.

“Sir?” the startled cabbie replied.

“Nothing,” Bonner retorted. Suddenly, it all became clear: Falco had double-crossed him, gotten to Genie and, unless he hurried, to Carmen too. He hadn’t counted on the three of them -- well, four, if you counted Ernesto -- talking to each other.

Bonner laughed at the irony. Here was a congressman embroiled in what could be the greatest sex scandal of all time -- a scandal that would make Spitzer’s recent mess look like a toe-stubbing -- and Bonner was the one getting double-crossed.

Bonner had all he needed on his little friend, all the dirty secrets of “Birds of Paradise,” the all-too-clever name Falco had dubbed his troop of high-class girls. He should have known something was amiss when he saw how cozy Falco and Carmen had gotten.

But how did Genie figure into this? And how had he so misjudged this airhead wife of his? It wasn’t like him to be so wrong.

All the musing had Bonner lose track of time; he heard the cabbie shouting.

“Hey, mister, I’m on the 101. Where to?” the cabbie bellowed from the front seat.

“Exit Reseda, then north a couple miles; I’ll tell you where to turn,” Bonner said as he shook off his ponderings, and prepared himself for what he might find at Carmen’s.

After giving the cabbie final directions to the apartment, a highly agitated Bonner threw a bunch of hundreds across the seat and rushed out the door.

He was stopped in his tracks as he slammed the door shut by the blood-curdling screams coming from Carmen’s apartment.