I liked him in the first Night Stalker. When I noticed his name on one of my work orders for a disconnect, I looked forward to possibly talking with him. Pulling in front of his home, located just under Sunset Blvd. and above Holloway, his place sat on the left of a large cul-de-sac. As I parked my phone van, I hadn’t even turned off my engine when I caught a glimpse of a man throwing open an upstairs window at the address I was dispatched to. As he catches my eye, my first thought was, “Oh, a fresh air lover, letting in the morning breeze.” Wrong. It was Darrin McGavin himself, wrestling a large cardboard box onto the window sill. He had already removed the screen prior to my arrival from the look of it. It was a bit odd, so I kept an eye on him.

The house was well kept and had the poor man’s version of an English Tudor facade. As I start up the drive’s slight incline, I’m still watching the man in the window. Halfway up to the main entry doors, I see the large cardboard box get shoved off the window sill followed by a quick trip to the ground. As the box hits the walkway, the old style brass clappers inside the phones give a last death jangle as some of the phones fly out of the ruined box and roll down the slightly inclined lawn.

As the box hit, Darrin himself pokes his head out of the still wide open window. He then smiles while he looks right at me and says in a cheerful voice, “Here comes the control unit!” His face disappears and a new box is set upon the sill. It follows the other box. Darrin pops his head out again, then says in a pleasant voice, “Now take your fucking phones and get off my property!”

I look at the smashed pile of phones at my feet then back up at Mr. McGavin. I get into the spirit of the moment. I say back a chipper, “Gee, Mr. McGavin, where’s the yellow Trimline listed on my order. I don’t seem to be able to see it with the other phones. It’s listed here on my order and I would hate to have to charge you monthly for it for eternity. It will turn into a really expensive remembrance.”

He smiled back, then replied, “Well hold on young fella, we’ll find that little rascal!” His head disappears from the window. A few minutes later the front door is pulled open in a quick tug. Using a baseball type throw, he pitches it out onto the driveway. The missing yellow Trimline hits the pavement and disintegrates at my feet. I notice it has a jagged rim of plaster all around the back of it. Hmm, must have been a wall mount.

Darrin smiles from his doorway and says, “Now go fuck yourself!” he then quietly shuts the door. Another satisfied customer.

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