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Maltese
Falcon , so he decorated Mickey’s office in blacks,
whites, and grays and had photos on the walls from various old P.I.
movies. An old coat rack next to the office door sported a tan
trench coat and a dark brown fedora. Mickey’s office was never used
by Sam or the other detectives who rotated through the office so
Pearl Cooper, the office manager, could always say, “He’s out.” In
addition to the storage/tech room, there were two other offices in
the complex that they used. One was Sam’s, and the other was used
by the other rotating detectives. Sam was happiest when he worked
in his home county. He was selective in what cases he took, because
his goal was to help the poor people—and help punish the bad guys.
He was good at that.
     

Part 2
     
Becky
     
     
    “ Towering genius disdains a beaten
path.
    It seeks regions hitherto unexplored.”
     
    Abraham Lincoln, speech, Jan. 27, 1838
     

Chapter 5
     
    Saturday, August 8, 1998
    Irvine, CA
     
    It was 6:05 P.M. and Sam was settled in
his Mike’s Plumbing surveillance van, his equipment focused on the building
across the street—a rundown apartment building. The large windows
on each side of the van’s rear compartment were covered with tinted
glass so he could see out, but no one could see in. His high-tech
equipment—an expensive digital camera with the best of zoom lenses,
a digital Camcorder, and a shotgun mike with a range of 50
yards—were fitted in special ports in the side of the van and in
the dome on top. He was waiting for a philandering husband to come
out—hopefully with his mistress—so he could gather more evidence
for his client, the guy’s wife’s lawyer. The wife wanted to take
her husband to the cleaners in a divorce she was planning. Sam
normally didn’t take this kind of case, but he found out that the
father was abusing the kids—a big no-no to Sam.
    Sam didn’t particularly like working for
divorce lawyers, but it allowed him to be close to his parents’
beach house more often than when he worked away from Orange County.
His specialties were finding people and bodyguard gigs. He was
bored, so he was peering out one of the one-way windows, watching
the sparse traffic and the few pedestrians in this part of Irvine.
A beat-up, 10-year-old white Toyota pulled up to the curb across
the street and parked. Sam noticed that the two blonde girls in the
car appeared to be young, most surely teens. He watched them as
they sat there; the driver was watching the pedestrians and the
passenger—the youngest—seemed to be reading something on her
lap.
    Sam checked his expensive spy toys for the
umpteenth time, then decided to get out of the van and stretch his
legs. He leaned against a tree planted by the city and took out a
piece of gum and popped it into his mouth. He wished it was a stiff
scotch as he checked his watch. Two skinheads—Sam guessed them to
be in their early twenties—sauntered up to the car. One strolled
into the street and began talking with the young girl behind the
wheel. Sam did not like the looks of things. But, he figured, the
girl could always drive away if she got hassled. Then the driver
got out of the car. She wore a very short denim skirt and a tight
tank top that showed a lot of cleavage. Her feet were shod in
platform shoes.
    Shit! Ugly shoes! thought Sam. And she’s going to get
in trouble dressing like that! I don’t understand today’s
teens.
    The girl then followed the two men into an
alley next to the apartment building.
    Shit! A friggin’ teeny-bopper hooker! That
girl still in the car looks 12 or 13! I can’t allow this to
happen!
    Sam watched until the street was clear of
traffic, then dashed across the street toward the alley. As he
passed the Toyota, he glanced at the girl in the car. She was still
reading. Then Sam heard a scream come from the alley. He rushed to
the mouth of the alley and was in time to see one of the men hit
the girl in the face with his fist, knocking her violently