Upon arrival at WJJ for his afternoon show, he found an interesting message. It was a “please call” from none other than High Five club owner, Tommi Gilmour. He called her. She invited him, this very night, to dinner at the High Five. The High Five limo would pick him up. “When's a good time?” She said, “My show's over at 6:00, how's 6:30?” “Fab, my driver, Gus, will be there, 6:30 sharp.” Radio show over, Carl tidied up in the men's room and went to the WJJ lobby. Gus was waiting. Carl said, “Hi Gus.” “Yes sir.” Carl remembered Gus. He resembled a frosted Classic Coke bottle—white crew cut hair, red turtleneck sweater, black suit, black leather gloves. His close-set beady brown eyes seemed to be sending messages to invisible aliens. Carl, dressed in a maroon sports jacket, white turtleneck, and camel overcoat, followed Gus to, parked curbside, the familiar High Five limo. Carl inside, his door closed, Gus gripped the limo's steering wheel like it might run away.
