Runner-up 1

The light, astringent ocean breeze was a cleansing salve to Charlie Bonner as he stepped off the plane in Cabo San Lucas. He took a deep breath, threw his small, leather duffel bag over his shoulder and strode purposefully toward the arrivals area.

Eddie, Mr. Palmieri’s driver, was precisely on time, casual in khakis and a tropical shirt and aviator sunglasses. A quick breeze lifted Eddie’s shirt just enough for Charlie to spot the pistol tucked in his waistband. If this had been a script, Charlie thought, he would have rejected it as formulaic tripe.

Eddie nodded, “Good evening, Mr. Bonner. Nice flight?”

Charlie grinned casually, “Great flight, couldn’t have been better.”

Eddie looked past Charlie, “I thought Mrs. Bonner was coming with you. The boss had me make arrangements for the two of you.”

“Well, you know women, Eddie. There was some fund-raiser, a walk-a-thon, I think, for animal rights or something. The organizers asked Genie to be a celebrity participant and she couldn’t resist -- of course, she neglected to tell me until this morning.”

Eddie nodded noncommittally. He didn’t believe a word this TV big-shot said. Never had. Never will. Of course, Eddie rarely believed anyone without corroboration from at least two other sources. That was one of his best qualities -- and the primary reason Mr. Palmieri had paid him so well for so long.

Eddie held open the back door for Charlie before he slid into the driver’s seat of Mr. Palmieri’s bullet-proof Mercedes SUV.

“Mr. Palmieri expects the meeting to start at 10 sharp. Unfortunately, he won’t be able to join you for dinner, and, without Mrs. Bonner, I’m afraid that means you’ll be dining alone,” Eddie said.

“Don’t worry about me, Eddie. I have some phone calls to make; some work to catch up on. You can have the kitchen just send a tray up to my room whenever it’s convenient.” Charlie knew Eddie hated being given orders by anyone other than Mr. Palmieri.

“Sure, no problem,” Eddie replied smoothly. “If there’s anything you need.”

“Nope, not a thing,” Charlie said, settling back for the rest of the winding, scenic drive to Palmieri’s estate.

When he got to his room, Charlie dumped the contents of his bag on the silk brocade spread, took the nail file out of his toiletry bag and carefully slit the side of the bag. He took out a black flash drive; identical to the one Genie had lifted from him at the airport. Stupid, stupid girl. So predictable.

That’s one of the reasons he had cast her on the reality show. He had known exactly what she would do at every twist in the game. She didn’t disappoint him. And he wasn’t really mad at her. She was just following her nature.

And he was following his. He slipped the drive into the inner pocket of his slacks.

That was one of the things he prided himself on and one of the reasons he was so successful in the reality show biz: In Charlie’s world, real surprises were as rare as original story ideas.

As he was relaxing on the veranda with a club soda with lime and an energy bar, Charlie admired the meticulously landscaped grounds. Mr. Palmieri was quite the amateur horticulturist.

The knock on the door came at the precise moment Charlie expected. Eddie said that Mr. Palmieri would like to see him now.

As he got up to leave the veranda, however, Charlie was startled to see Bob Falco get out of the taxi that had pulled in to the circular gravel drive.

Kris Kolker is a Los Angeles playwright, director and theater and concert producer.