Ockham's Razor: A Deductive Riddle

Chapter 8

The flight to Chicago proved uneventful. Ian was quite used to flying as he would fly to his parents' house at least twice per year to visit. So, he was not nervous about flying. What was at the end of the flight, he was unsure.

As soon as he cleared the secure zone, he headed to the baggage collection area. While waiting there, he heard a message over the intercom, "Mister Ian Goel is requested to pick up a courtesy phone."

He got to the phone, picked it up, and stated "This is Ian Goel." A woman in a heavily accented voice told him to hold for his call. A smaller, unaccented woman's voice came over the line.

"Mr. Goel?" she started. "You are to go outside the airport, look for a Diamond Taxi. The driver's name is Rock. He will have further instructions for you. Is this clear?"

Ian stammered a weak "yes" and the phone went dead.

Ian, afraid slightly of the prospect of facing this new challenge, picked up his luggage and looked for the taxi line to find Rock. Outside, it was rather quick and painless. There was only one taxi that had a diamond symbol on the roof. Ian went up to the cabbie, "Are you Rock?" The cabbie's eyes lit up. He had obviously been waiting for a while. Time was a cabbie's livelihood, and waiting for a called in ride must suck. Ian told Rock that he had never been to Chicago, in fact, he had no idea where he was going.

Rock calmed his fears by reading off a card "I am taking you to a hotel. You are to go to room 468." This was evidently the limit of Rock's information to give to Ian, so Ian sat in the back, trying to calm his butterflies, and enjoyed the ride.

This was his first time ever to Chicago. It was like he was in another country. He could not stop looking at the way traffic flowed, or rather rushed the street intersections looking for any opening to squeeze their cars through. The use of multiple languages everywhere was a shock to his cultural system. Although he had grown up speaking Hindi and English at home, and in Seattle, a larger metropolitan centre, it was not part of his cultural experience to see multiple languages on display everywhere. It proved useless to him in real life interaction when doing day to day business in Great Plains. However, here he could sense immediately that his high school level Spanish left him far too unprepared to live in the cosmopolitan city within which he was tempted to work.

Rock started asking him whether he was new to the city, oblivious to the fact that Ian had already told him, so to help pass the trip and to learn more about Chicago, Ian partook in the small talk. He learned all about Rock's life. How he was from Philadelphia, his wife and son were at home, he loved hockey and hunting and he looked forward to getting out of the city. Rock's expertise did not stop at his biography. Ian learned about the history of the city, the waterfront properties, the economical aspects of living in Chicago, the influence of Oprah and about every sports team. Rock continued without taking a breath and explained the injustices visited upon the people of Chicago by the corrupt politicians in the mayor's office and the latest measure being pushed by the city to the governor's office. Ian was slightly bemused because Rock claimed to be anything but Chicago. He was actually from Philly, but had obviously spent five years integrating himself and his family into Chicago society. His name, according to the license on the visor of the cab was LaRocque, a French name. It was pretty evident where "Rock" got his handle.

Ian got to the hotel. He looked up at its imposing façade and imagined the impressive cast of characters that had been inside over the course of the lifetime of the building. Al Capone probably walked through these doors during his heyday. Rock dropped his bag at his feet. Ian paid him, giving a decent tip, and with a well practiced flourish, Rock was off, in the cab, heading down the street. Looking left and right down the sidewalk, Ian slowly grabbed his bag. He had a bit of an uneasy stomach as he had no concrete idea about what he was getting into.