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Show john harringtort Perry Mason was sitting in his modest frame house in Coalinga, Calif., contemplating his retirement and thinking about dinner when the quake nit. In 20 seconds his house was flattened and he was sitting on a wooden chair in the middle of Main Street wondering what in the world happened. After it sunk in, Mason decided, "This is no way to live." ; He rummaged through the rubble, found his brief case and, jumped in his Rambler and headed for Delia Street's house in Manhattan Beach. "Delia," he asked, upon arriving, "where the hell is Paul Drake working these days?" "Well, Perry," said Delia, now a retired matron living on her modest pension and Social Security in her tiny, tidy home, "Paul is in Sacramento selling burglar alarms." "Call him," Mason snapped, "We're coming out of retirement." Four hours later, Drake was in the front seat of the Rambler with Delia in the middle and Mason at the wheel. "Well, what's up, Perry?" Drake inquired. "Last year, I visited my granddaughter in Park City, Utah," Mason said. "It's a nice little resort town in the mountains and we're going up there to re-open the practice." "Oh, goody," chirped Delia. "Sounds good, Perry," intoned Drake. Mason made his first stop at a rented storage garage in West L.A. where his '62 Caddy convertible had been on blocks for the past 18 years. Mason called a mechanic and told him to put the car in perfect running order and to install a trailer hitch. Next, Mason had the contents of his old office retrieved from the back lot at Universal and in 12 hours the trio was on the road to Utah in the Caddy with the fins, pulling a 30-foot 30-foot Airstream. They hit Park City, found a house in the commercial district and opened an office in a week. Even though Mason had been retired, his reputation preceeded him. It wasn't 20 minutes before his first case walked in the door. "Send him in, Delia," Mason said, when told he had a possible client in the lobby. , "My calling card, Mr. Mason," said the man, who tossed the bundle of 100 One Thousand Dollar bills on Mason's desk. "It's your retainer," said the man, who introduced himself as "Duke." Delia and Paul drew close to Mason's desk and Perry asked Duke what the team could do for him. ; "You see, I am missing this, shall we say, package, from my condo and I want it back," Duke said. "Have you tried the police?" Drake asked. "I'd rather not involve the authorities, if possible, Mr. Drake," Duke said. "In fact, I'd really rather not let anyone know the contents of the package. Let's just say it's about the size of a breadbox and it appears to contain several plastics bags of baby powder. Call it sentimental value, but those bags mean much, much more to me than the hundred Gs I just tossed on your desk," Mr. Mason," Duke said. "Sounds illegal, Mr. Duke," Mason said. "So, you won't help," said Duke, reaching for the cash. Mason brought a paperweight down on Duke's hand in a move swifter than Perry's year's would seem to allow. "I said it sounds illegal, Mr. Duke, but I didn't say we wouldn't take the case. Get to work on it Paul," Mason said. "Right, Perry," Paul shot back. A few minutes later, a woman with a veil barged into Perry's office, Delia on her heels. "It's all right, Delia," Mason said. "That swine," the woman snapped, "I want everything, Mr. Mason, the land, the condo, the Deer Valley lifetime passes." "Let's talk about it, ah, Mrs. what did you say your name was?" Mason asked, as he leaned back in his chair, put his feet out in front of him and began to sip some of Delia's i coffee with a big smile on his face. |