3 of a Kind by Rohan Gavin Page A

Knightley explained privately. ‘He will escort us to our vehicle, engage us in light chit-chat and then wait until we give him a tip.’
    Darkus turned to Tilly. ‘Dad means a gratuity on top of the agreed cost of service.’
    ‘I know what he means,’ she snapped, then turned to the greeter. ‘Who sent you?’ she demanded.
    ‘A company called …’ The greeter checked his paperwork. ‘SO42?’
    ‘Bill thought of everything. Lead on, Todd,’ said Knightley and gave him the trolley to push. ‘It’s veryimportant to “tip” everyone you meet,’ the detective carried on to his colleagues. ‘That’s why I have a stash of one-dollar bills in my “fanny pack”.’
    ‘Your what?’ Darkus and Tilly said in unison.
    ‘It’s an American thing,’ Knightley repeated and took a bunch of bills out of the nylon bumbag belted round his waist.
    The greeter led them out on to the kerb, past an array of travellers, SUVs, yellow taxis and a handful of paparazzi pursuing a celebrity; then across a busy access road to a car park where a large shiny Dodge saloon waited for them. Darkus wasn’t a car fanatic, but even he experienced a shiver of pleasure at the sight of the gleaming machine.
    ‘This is your vehicle,’ said Todd grandly. ‘It must be your lucky day because they’ve given you a complimentary upgrade. A mid-sized sedan for the price of a compact.’
    ‘What he means is …’ began Darkus.
    ‘I get it,’ replied Tilly.
    ‘With collision insurance included and less than a hundred miles on the clock,’ Todd announced proudly. ‘The satnav is built in, just press this button here … And you’re ready to roll.’
    Todd loitered by the driver’s-side door until Knightley handed over a sheaf of one-dollar bills.
    ‘Thank you, sir, and welcome to Los Angeles.’ The greeter handed over the keyfob, pocketed the money and returned to the terminal.
    ‘So where are we going?’ asked Tilly.
    ‘Has Bill organised a hotel?’ asked Darkus.
    Knightley took some paperwork from his bumbag. ‘The Mar Vista Motor Inn,’ he read out. ‘It doesn’t sound encouraging.’
    ‘I’d better have my own room,’ Tilly demanded. ‘With a hot tub.’
    ‘Don’t get your hopes up,’ advised Knightley, examining the dashboard.
    ‘Shotgun,’ called Tilly.
    The Knightleys spun round. ‘Where?’
    ‘I’m riding shotgun …’ she explained, shaking her head as she hopped into the car. ‘That means I’m taking the front passenger seat, you doofus,’ she lectured Knightley. ‘See, you learn something new every day. And the ignition is here .’ She pointed to a ‘Start’ button.
    Darkus took the back seat, which was the size of a small bed.
    Knightley pressed the button, causing the engine and lights to flick on. ‘Now, we’re all a little jet-lagged and as our designated driver I need to keep my wits about me.’ He tried to enter the address into the satnav before Tilly nudged him aside and entered it for him.
    The satnav began speaking in an automated American voice. ‘Please pro-ceed to the highlighted route …’
    Knightley put the car into ‘Drive’ and slowly pulled away from the kerb. He stopped at a parking barrier, fed a machine with more one-dollar bills, then joined a brightly lit highway leading away from the airport.
    ‘Please pro-ceed on to … World Way ,’ said the satnav.
    ‘So far so good.’ Knightley indicated and changed lanes, finding himself surrounded on all sides by large American cars.
    ‘Please turn left on to … Air-port Bou-le-vard ,’ said the satnav.
    ‘The street names are very helpful,’ commented Darkus.
    The Dodge negotiated the turn and Darkus stared out of the window at the orange sky and the neon façades of the airport hotels. Up ahead were giant billboards for upcoming blockbusters, and arteries of traffic extending outwards in a sea of headlights and tail lights. He thought to himself that Los Angeles really was just how it appeared in the movies.
    Tilly