 
### QB1

by

Pete Bowen

SMASHWORDS EDITION

PUBLISHED BY:

Pete Bowen on Smashwords

QB1

Copyright © 2010 by Pete Bowen

Smashwords Edition License Notes

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.

QB1

Copyright © 2010, 2012 by Pete Bowen

Prologue

He kicked the pedal to the floor. 638 ponies pinned him to the seat. The ZR-1 Corvette is a very fast car. He took his foot off the gas, dropped down from 120 to 75, no tickets tonight, thank you officer.

Turned on sports radio. Same topic of discussion as a month ago. It was like he never left.

Host: Welcome caller to Sports Talk.

Caller: Joe, rumor has it that Tony Reilly is on his way to the Bay Area to sign a contract and Isackson is on his way to Miami.

Host: The team never comments on negotiations, but I gotta believe that the decision is imminent. This contract negotiations have been long and difficult for the team. Reilly has said, he'll sit out the season rather than accept a one year offer as the franchise player. Let's face it Reilly has the juice to get what he wants here. He'll never sit on the bench behind anyone, again and the Niners can't afford these two quarterbacks.

Caller: This all should have been handled months ago. This was Oscar Tierney playing games. The man is a menace.

Host: I know, 49er management has not played this well. They've alienated the best quarterback in football and the team looks bad here.

Reilly took an exit and worked his way home, not much traffic this time of night.

He hoped she'd still be there. Maybe, just slip into bed beside her? Not wake her up? Have "the talk" tomorrow? Maybe, not even have the talk? Yeah, right.

Dashboard clock, 1:05 AM, into the driveway. The street is empty and the house is dark. The garage door opens and he pulls the Vette in. Grabs his stuff from the passenger seat and opens the car door. Puts a foot on the ground.

Never sees who puts two in the back of his head.

Chapter 1 – Two Months Earlier

"It's the friends you can call up at four a.m. that matter," Marlene Dietrich said.

I don't want to be your friend. 4 AM calls are always bad news. "Hey Tommy, you just won the lottery." No one calls at four to tell you something good. I get more than my share of 4 AM calls. I'd been asleep, maybe half an hour.

"Mr. Mullins, Torley." Torley worked for me doing computer shit and occasionally investigative work, even though, he's not licensed. When we're short handed, which we are all the time, he's out there. He's pretty good.

"Torley," was all I could manage.

"My wife is having the baby, Mr. Mullins. I have to get to the hospital. I can't stay on this guy. What do you want me to do, take the van?"

He's saying things to me. I got nothing. Take the van? Those brandy shots I threw down an hour ago aren't helping.

Torley tries again. He speaks slowly and distinctly, "I'm on surveillance, watching suspect, Charles Hinton. We've been on him for three days. Jose Penna is in Sacramento. We got no one to cover for me. I got a personal emergency, Mr. Mullins. What do I do? You want me to leave or can you cover?"

Brain begins engagement. Hinton is a suspect in a murder investigation. Our agency is working for the guy who's sitting in jail. Our client is a shithead, minor league, pimp, hustler, dealer and pillar of the community. He's been paying us double time rate, in cash, to try and nail this guy, Hinton.

We accept cash.

"I'll come out and sit on him." Tough blowing off something when you're the boss. It's my detective agency. I own it with my Aunt Velma Schwarz. She's not really my Aunt, she's my Godmother. She's 74 and looking to retire, so it's mostly been me running the show.

"You want I should call Roger, Mr. Mullins?" Torley asks.

"Why?" No, I'd more than enough of him tonight.

"He knows the equipment," Torley says.

"Okay." The surveillance equipment in the van is complicated and not my strong suit. I close my eyes and say nothing.

After a minute, Torley pleaded, "I gotta go, Mr. Mullins. What do you want me to do?"

I threw the covers off, jumped up and say, "Fuck me! Call Roger, tell him to meet me on the curb in 5 minutes. You're parked in that same alley on Army near Mission?"

"Yes," Torley says.

"If you can wait 30 minutes, you can have my car. Leave the keys by the back tire, if you have to go."

"Thank you, Mr. Mullins."

"Is Hinton there?"

"Yeah, he's here. He's a fucking crazy man, loco maniac."

Perfect.

I hung up and got dressed. If I'm taking the client's money, I'm at least going to give it a shot. I should have had Torley just drive off, but we said we'd watch him.

Walked out the front door of my house, across the street from Ocean Beach in San Francisco. The fog was in. Visibility was ridiculous, maybe 10 feet. I'm used to it, living here, but this was the real deal.

I started up the old Taurus, the work car I leave parked on the street. It's a rusty mess. Tires are good, brakes are fair. I pulled up to the house next door. Roger came out of the house with his backpack and got in.

"I'm so sorry, Mr. Mullins," Roger cried in his adenoidal, whiny voice.

"Just shut the fuck up and don't talk to me," I said.

"I didn't know that it was the lab, Mr. Mullins!"

"You knew, you little shit. You fucked up and they could have hung everyone around you. Your parents, Velma, me, the business, they could have taken everything and locked us all up. I've told you, a fucking hundred times, don't put us in jeopardy. You don't fucking listen," I was screaming at him. He had it coming, the little shit.

"I'm so sorry, Mr. Mullins," tears streaming down his face.

"Shut the fuck up. Don't talk to me." I drove slowly down the street. Roger crying. He cries a lot. 12 years old, ridiculous IQ, short for his age, red curly hair. Looks like an elf. He'd always lived next door to me. I love the kid, but he's a tremendous pain in the ass.

I could barely see the street lights through the fog. There was about twenty feet of visibility here at the beach. I slowly took a right on Judah, drove up to 19th and stopped at the donut shop. Walked in and there sat Big Ed Tonelli sitting in front of a cup of coffee, leaning on an elbow. It wasn't surprising seeing him there. This is where we hang. He did look beat. "Tonelli, I want you to give serious consideration to going on the wagon." I ordered donuts and beverages.

Tonelli looks over and says, "What's Roger doing sitting by the door?"

"Because he's a dumb fuck," I say.

"What'd he do?"

"He hacked into the personnel data base of the Lawrence Livermore Lab," I said. "The FBI showed up last night and was in the process of perp walking, Professor Bob out in chains, when I got there. I spent three hours convincing them that his Dad, the USF Dean of the Psychology Department, wasn't responsible. They didn't believe it was 12 year old Roger. You know, there are firewalls for the firewalls at that place? Fucknut Roger, got into the personnel database looking for a guy who owed his ex-wife alimony."

"So, what happened?" Tonelli asked.

"I convinced them that it was Roger. I told them he'd show them how he did it if they dropped it. Getting that okayed, took all night.

"How did he do it?" asked Tonelli.

"He got in the network through a back door service modem that they had forgotten to disconnect. How he found that, is beyond me. We agreed not to disclose anything in return for no charges. Non-Disclosure Agreements, under penalty of death, that shit."

I winked at Tonelli, "So don't tell anyone. It's a damn good thing we know Bob Forbes. Special Fucking Agent Herbert Nelson was in charge and would have had Roger's Dad on the water board, before morning. Jesus Christ, what a dick that guy is."

We both knew Nelson, well. Bob Forbes was his boss. Tonelli was always the diplomatic one between us. When I worked for the SFPD, I gave up trying to deal with Nelson and would defer to Tonelli when we had to interface with the FBI.

"So, Roger is at the top of the old shit list this morning, huh?" says Tonelli with a tired chuckle.

"Oh yeah, he'll be right up there for the next couple of years, after last night." I looked at him, "Why are you here, Tonelli? Jennifer finally wise-up to your pussy hunting? Butcher at it again?"

Tonelli looked down at his coffee and whispered, "Yeah, another one."

I raised my eyebrows, the Butcher, again? It had only been a few days since the last one.

Give the Mayor the credit for the Butcher name. Viciously carving women up in a sexual frenzy, the Butcher was a problem, Tonelli's problem. After the forth victim's hacked up, dismembered, body was found in an alley in the Mission, the national news got involved. It had been a Bay Area story till then. The Mayor, never missing an opportunity to get his mug on camera, made a speech talking about police effort against this "Butcher". It stuck. That was 3 months and 5 bodies ago. Nine women in seven months, a lifetime ago for me. It had started right after I left the department. Well, I left because I got fired.

"What do you got?" I ask.

"Prostitute, mutilated, near a dumpster by the Beach House. A lot of detail work this time, a flaying of the skin. Sexual organs hacked. All doubled bagged, with a hand sticking out the top. You couldn't miss it. He's showing off his work. The body is at the coroners. I don't expect much.

Tonelli's tone is even. He's summarizing for me.

"We've found some green carpet fibers on some of the bodies and DNA that is consistent. It's him."

"What a sick fuck." I looked down at my watch, shaking my head. "Better you then me, pal. I gotta run. Torley is having a baby. Say hello to Jen for me. Keep me in the loop. Roundball, you and me Sunday morning." I grabbed the food and walked back to the car. I thought I was going to be sitting in a van for the next 12 hours.

I was wrong.

Chapter 2

Torley Shin, our electronics guy, was standing on a corner, a block from where we had our surveillance van parked, a non-descript extended Chevy van with Peoples Plumbers painted on the side. Torley stepped off the curb and flagged us down. The neighborhood was deserted at 4:55 AM. The fog was lighting with the dawn.

"Thanks for coming, Mr. Mullins, I appreciate it," he said.

"No problemo, my man, what's going on with this idiot?"

"Have you been reading the reports, Mr. Mullins?"

"Man, I've been buried on a case in Sacramento all week. I haven't had a chance to do anything else," I say.

"I've read them," said Roger.

"The douchebag is fucking insane," said Torley. "He's dealing meth and steroids, using both and smoking crack. He's usually up all night raging about how he's going to kill everyone. Screaming at the top of his lungs at the walls, about 'The Man'. He's a fucking maniac."

"Has he said anything about Rasheed Walters?" I asked. Walters was our client.

"His name came up in a rant yesterday. Something like, "You see what happens when you fuck with me, Rasheed? That was along with 'all you fucking niggers are going to fucking pay'. He's crazy racist."

"You got cameras on him, Torley?"

"Yeah, I put two in on Tuesday. Paul Darwin and I have been watching him since then, 12 on 12 off. I don't think Paul was watching too hard. He didn't say anything about him. Hinton must have been sleeping on his shift, because this guy is a trip, Mr. Mullins. It's must see reality TV, 24/7 with this guy," says Torley.

I winced, I don't pay Darwin to sleep for 12 hours or spend his shift, surfing porn, if I know him. "Are there tapes there from his shifts?" I asked.

"It's all on the same hard drive. I haven't looked at Darwin's shift. Don't get me in trouble with Darwin, Mr. Mullins, maybe nothing happened. I haven't looked, but this guy doesn't sleep much."

"His report was short," says Roger.

"We'll review the tape. How's the wife, Torley? I thought she was having a baby?"

"She is! Her water broke an hour ago. She's having contractions, but they're slow. This is the third one. Her mother is with her. We're cool," he said.

"Perfect, I appreciate you hanging around. We'll take it from here. You go have a baby," I say.

We exchanged keys. Roger and I walked to the end of the block and slipped into the van. The area was deserted. It was in an industrial area and a strange spot for an apartment. This guy really liked his privacy.

Roger fired up the equipment and the grainy video of Charles "Chucky" Hinton's apartment filled the screen in front of us. He was sitting in a lounge chair with a beer in his hand and his head thrown back.

"Looks asleep to me, Roge," I said.

"He does to me too, Mr. Mullins."

I looked around the inside of the van and saw a pillow and blanket in the corner. Probably where Darwin had spending his shifts. I moved over and lay down.

"Keep an eye on things, Roger."

I was asleep in seconds.

Chapter 3

"Mr. Mullins, wake up."

Roger was in my face. I didn't know where I was.

"What's going on?" I said. When I'm tired like that, it takes me awhile to get orientated.

"Hinton is moving. We should go."

I sat up and saw that it was light outside the darkened window of the van. Looked at my watch and saw it was 9:15. I ran a hand over my face and moved to the front seat of the van with Roger following me into the passenger seat. "Where is he?" I said.

Roger said, "Follow him on the GPS screen. There is a tracker on his truck."

Sweet, cops don't get to put a GPS on suspect vehicles. I see a pickup truck pulling out of a building down the street. "That's him, huh?"

"That's him," said Roger. His eyes wide with excitement. "I think he's going to give someone some drugs. He just got a call and said he'd be over in 20 minutes and it would be $600." He pointed at the screen. "You can stay back of him by a half a mile and then just follow the dot on the screen, like the GPS in the other car."

Roger had spent a lot of time with Torley when we first set the van up. Tracking Hinton's vehicle required a device like a small cell phone. Torley must have set it up. I watched the dot on the screen move down the street. When he drove around the corner, I pulled out. He took Mission Ave and pulled up to an apartment house on Adair. I pulled into a parking space a block away and got my first long distance look at Chucky Hinton. "What was he doing while I was sleeping Roger?"

"Nothing, Mr. Mullins. He was sleeping, like you. I've been watching video from the last three days."

"Anything interesting?" Hinton came out of the apartment house, got in his truck and started moving again. I let him drive off and we pulled out. There was no reason to keep visual contact. This guy was paranoid, anyway.

"He brought a woman in," he said.

"So, did you watch them fucking, you little perv?" I leered over at him, stifling a laugh.

"No, they didn't do that."

"Don't make me pull this out of you, what happened?"

"They started drinking and then he hit her. Then, he threatened her with a knife.

I looked over at Roger, as I drove. I was keeping the distance between us and the dot on the map as Hinton drove further into the city. Roger was staring straight ahead.

"He was very violent, Mr. Mullins." I realized Roger had been unusually quiet, up until now. I'd been half asleep and didn't notice. He was upset. He's emotional anyway, bawling half the time.

"He hit her?"

"Punched her really hard in the stomach. Then he slapped her across the face. She was lying on the floor crying and she got sick."

"When was this?"

"Two days ago at 2:30 AM."

"Was this written up?"

"It was on Darwin's shift. There wasn't anything about this in his report."

"So, he smacks her around, has a knife and threatens her?"

"He said, you nasty fucking cunt. You puked on my carpet. I'll fucking take you apart. I'll make you wish you were dead." He grabbed a towel and told her to clean up after herself. While she was doing that, he pulled her head back and put the blade of a knife against her throat. He said, 'Get downstairs, you fucking whore.' He kicked her through the door."

"And what happened then?"

"I don't know, we only have a feed for his apartment."

"Did they leave?"

"He came back alone about an hour later. He came in naked, took a shower and then he left again. He came back 45 minutes later."

I picked up my cell and called Darwin. I got voicemail and told him to call me as soon as he got the message. I called Torley and got voicemail and told him to call me. We were now downtown in the Tenderloin. At night, this is a shitty area. During the day, it's bums, runaway kids and the occasional prostitute. A block up, I saw Hinton pull over next to a woman or at least I thought it was a woman, lots of trannies running around here. She leaned into the truck. I pulled to the curb and watched. "I wouldn't do that sweetie," I say. "Roger, call Mission Kaiser and try to get Torley's wife's room. Tell them it's an emergency and I need to speak to the husband."

Roger opened his laptop and went looking for the hospital's number. I opened my cell and called Ed Tonelli. I figured he was asleep, but I left him a message to call ASAP. As I watched the woman get into Hinton's truck, I called Tonelli's phone at the Department. I got a machine there too but I punched for the operator. I had to talk to someone. I got an operator who asked what the call was regarding and I said I wanted to speak to Inspector Tonelli or anyone else working on the Butcher case. The woman got into Hinton's truck and he started to move. I finally got a live body on the line.

"This is Officer Chavez, can I help you?"

"Manny, this is Tom Mullins." I knew Chavez well, a good guy.

"Tommy Mullins, dude, how's it hanging?"

"Loose Manny, you know me." I could hear Roger talking to the hospital next to me. He was pleading to be put through to the wife's room. "Manny, I got a question. I was talking to Tonelli earlier and he says you got a new Butcher stiff?"

"Yup, the fun never ends around here, Tommy. Hey, how you doing? I hear you're working as a PI?"

"You got it right. Up to eyeballs in alligators, all over again." Roger looked over at me and indicated he was on hold. "Manny, I got a call into Tonelli, but I want to find out, do you have a time of death on the newest body."

Chavez hesitated. I knew he shouldn't be talking about an investigation, but I knew he would. "That hasn't been released yet, Tom. If you want a guess I'd say 48 to 60 hours. Probably closer to 48. He's usually dumping them in the early morning hours. He's murdered them a couple of hours prior to that. Why, what do you got? We could use anything here."

"You got prior photos of this victim?"

"We got a couple of mug shots. She'd been busted for prostitution a half a dozen times."

"Would you email me them to me, Manny?"

"If you tell me what's going on, I'll think about it."

"Just a couple of coincidences from another case. It's probably nothing. I'll get back to you whether this turns out to be anything or not, Word, Manny." All I had was some circumstantial shit we'd found with illegal bugs and I didn't want to get SFPD into Hinton, yet. If this was Tonelli, it might be a different story. "Can you send them over to me, Manny, please?"

"I guess so." I gave him my email address. When can you send them, Manny?"

"Fuck you, Tommy! I'll send them in a few minutes."

Roger was still on hold as we headed south on 101. "Is Hinton, the Butcher, Mr. Mullins?"

"I don't know, Roge. How well do you see the face of the girl on the video?"

Roger sat up. "Thank you," he said. They're connecting me to Torley's room, Mr. Mullins." Roger handed the phone to me. The phone line was ringing.

"Hello?"

"Torley, it's Mullins."

"Mr. Mullins, it's a boy!"

"That's great, Torley, congratulations." I followed Hinton on the screen and got off at the Army exit. He was headed home. "Torley, got a question for you."

"Sure, Mr. Mullins."

"Did you know anything about the girl Hinton had in Tuesday night or early Wednesday morning?"

"Um no, I was off. That was Darwin's shift."

"Darwin didn't mention anything about a woman?"

"No, he didn't say anything." That motherfucker Darwin, I thought. He had to be asleep or off getting shitfaced.

"Is there a problem, Mr. Mullins?"

"No, Torley, what's downstairs, you've been in there. What's underneath the apartment?"

"That's where he keeps his truck."

"I know. Is there anything else down there?"

"Yeah, I think it's a paint room."

"A paint room?"

"You know where you paint vehicles, big stuff?"

"Why do you say that?"

"Well, it's an area enclosed in plastic sheeting."

I drove up Hinton's street and stopped in our same parking spot and watched Hinton's drive in to his building. "Torley, you see any painting equipment?"

"I don't remember," said Torley.

"Torley, how did you get into his apartment to set the bugs?" I leaned over and said to Roger, "Fire up the camera." Roger scrambled between the seats back to the equipment.

"I picked the lock on the entrance, when he wasn't home. Why, you want to get in?"

"Yeah, I might."

"I made a key from a copy I found inside. Should be in the glove compartment. I always do that when I can, because I'm not the best lock pick and saves time retrieving equipment."

Fucking, Torley. I made a note to give him a bonus. "Dad, enjoy your new baby. Do me a favor and leave your cell on and kiss Mama for me."

I grabbed Roger's computer and pulled up my email. There were 78 new emails waiting for me. One of them was from Manny Chavez, with attachments. I opened it and saw a mug shot of a skanky, tired looking woman. I showed it to Roger. "Is this the woman in the video?" He studied it and slowly shook his head.

"I don't know, Mr. Mullins. It looks kind of like her." The video screen lit up and we could see the inside of the apartment. The woman sat on the couch while Hinton was firing up a crack pipe. I opened the other email attachment and showed Roger. It was different and she looked much more attractive than the first one. Roger shook his head again.

"I can't tell Mr. Mullins," he whined. "It looks like her, but I can't say for sure." Hinton took another pull on the pipe and offered a hit to the girl. "Do you want me to show you? I can find it again." After the woman blew the smoke out, Hinton stood over her.

"You like that, bitch?" he said. "Of course you do, you little fucking whore." He then twisted her arm back and hit her on the side of the head with a punch that dropped her to the floor."

"Oh no," said Roger.

"Fuck me," I said. I picked up my cell and called Tonelli. I heard the phone start to ring as I went looking for the key to the apartment in the glove compartment. I found five separate keys. I got Tonelli's voicemail again. I hung up and called his house. As the phone rang, I said to Roger, "I want you to call Manny Chavez at the Department. Tell him to get his ass out here, now. Before I could finish, Jennifer Tonelli picked up. "Jen, its Tommy, is Eddie there? It's an emergency."

"Oh everything is an emergency with you, Tommy. What's going on, we never see you anymore."

"Jennifer!!! I screamed. Get fucking Eddie on the phone!"

"Gees Tommy, he's asleep. I don't want to wake him."

"Jennifer, I swear to god. I'll come over there and strangle you if you don't put him on the phone right now." I could hear Roger working his way through the SFPD phone system on his cell. We both were looking at the video screen as Hinton lit up another pipe as the girl lay moaning at his feet. When he finished with the pipe, he stood up and kicked her in the ribs, as she tried to crawl away. I handed the phone to Roger. "Tell them I'm going in. I think it's the Butcher."

I went out the rear door of the van, keys in hand. I ran up the steps to the building. It was 11 AM and there still wasn't a person on the street. The door was industrial strength with no windows on the lower level. I tried the first key, the second key, the third key turned the lock and I was in. I pulled the Glock and went in. I stopped and let my eyes get used to the darkness of the garage. I could see what Torley said was a paint room, but no paint equipment. There was just an enclosure covered in plastic sheeting, it had a drain. I moved slowly up the wooden stairs.

Take him down and let the cops figure this out, was the plan. As I got to the door to the apartment, I heard a noise, wheeled around in a shooters stance, then pulled up. Roger poked his head in the door. I put my finger to my lips and pointed for him to get out.

I turned and couldn't hear anything behind the apartment door. I twisted the door knob and felt it turn. It wasn't locked. I looked back and saw Roger standing by the door. I gently opened the door knob and then eased it open.

He was pulling the girl by her hair. He saw me and stopped ten feet away. He held a large hunting knife. He picked the girl up and raised the knife to her throat and screamed, "What the fuck are you doing in my house, dickhead?"

I held the gun in a low stance and calmly said, "Drop the knife. It's over Hinton."

"I'll fucking cut her head off," he said. He pulled her head back by her hair, with the long blade at her throat.

I sighed, "Yeah, I know."

Chapter 4

I shot him.

Hinton dropped, bullet in his forehead. I picked up the bloody girl and carried her over to the couch. She was freaking out, hyperventilating. Roger peered around the door. "It's over," I said. He stared down at Hinton's corpse.

"Roger," he didn't look up. "Roger," I said louder. He looked at me. "Tell them, it's over, get an ambulance for the girl." He looked back down at the body. The blood from the head spreading out underneath the body. "Roger," I yelled at him. He took off out the door.

Roger went down the stairs, out the door, into the bright sunlight. As he stood on the landing, a SWAT team pointed weapons up at him. He threw up his hands up and yelled, "He's dead," and burst into tears.

It was that picture, of Roger with his hands in the air, terror on his face that was on the front of newspapers all over the world the next day.

Chapter 5

SWAT piled in. Tonelli came in after them, looked down at the body, "Is that him?"

I said, "I think so."

"You think so?"

"I think so. I think he was about to kill this one. The prostitute was in the fetal position.

"Is she hurt?"

"I don't know. He was beating her, maybe internal injuries?"

Tonelli radioed the site was secure. Called for EMT's, crime scene techs and the coroner. I spent the next four hours going over what happened, in police debriefings downtown. I lost track of Roger. Tonelli said they had driven him home. They asked me to make a statement to the press, but I passed.

Late in the afternoon, cops figured they had enough. Tonelli drove me home. We left from underneath police central, bypassing the throngs of press. "You got him, Tommy," he said, when we were alone. We got blood stains all over that plastic enclosure downstairs. That's where he was carving them up."

"I never killed a guy before, Eddie."

Tonelli thought about it. "Yeah, well that was a good place to start. Holy shit! This is big, man. This is a game changer for you," he thought about it, "and Roger too."

I fished out my cell and called Velma, my partner at the agency. The line was busy to the office. I tried her cell and got her. She answered the phone with, "It's about time, I've been calling you since 7:30 this morning." Velma can be difficult.

"Hey Aunt Velma, what's new?"

"What's new, Aunt Velma?" she asks in a thick New York Jewish accent, husky from years of Pall Malls. "What's new, Tommy?" There was more than a hint of sarcasm in her voice. "Not much, feet up on the desk, watching Oprah. Oh, wait, they're interrupting the broadcast with a bulletin. Thomas Mullins killed the Butcher and saved a woman. You mean that news, Tommy? Why do I have to learn about this on TV?" Velma was hot.

"Sorry Velma, they've had me really nailed down at police headquarters. I'm with Ed Tonelli, just ask him." Tonelli put up his hand in a stop motion and shook his head.

"I don't want to ask him, I want to ask you, is Roger okay?"

"Yeah, he's okay, I guess. I haven't seen him for a couple of hours."

"He's probably traumatized, the poor little thing." I understand the obsession with that little piece of shit. He's cute and polite. Woman love him. They don't have to put up with his shit!

"I'm fine, Aunt Velma, thank you for asking."

"The agency is closed, did you know that Tommy? We can't conduct business. These people are relentless. The phone hasn't stop ringing. You don't need a Private Detective license, you need an agent! Are you sure the little angel is okay? He'll need years of counseling. Did you see the picture of him out front of that place?"

"Velma, I've been tied up."

We drove down my street. In front of our houses, there was standing room only with people and press. Satellite feed trucks lined the street, a couple of helicopters overhead. How did I not see this coming? "Keep going Eddie, take me around back."

Tonelli used his cell to call in support. He listened and says, "Neighbors already called. This just started a few minutes ago. You're hot stuff, Bucko."

I used my cell and called Roger. "Are you in the house?"

"Yes, with Mom and Dad."

"You did good today, boy."

"Mr. Mullins, I was scared you were going to be killed."

"You were brave, Dude."

"Oh, Mr. Mullins, you're the brave one," he sobbed. "My Mom wants to speak to you Mr. Mullins."

"Thomas?" Roger's Mom, Ilene, had lived next door to me since I was 10 years old. She is the nicest woman in the world, a literature professor at San Francisco State, my second mom.

"I'm sorry about all this, Ilene. I want to talk to you, I'm coming in the back door right now." Tonelli drove up to the rear of the house. I thanked him and told him I'd call him later. As I got out of the car, a crowd of reporters surrounded me.

"Tom, can you tell us what happened today?" Microphones in my face, I shook my head, "No comment," as I pushed the crowd towards Roger's house. Two uniforms pushed reporters away and I make it to Roger back door. I walked into the house as Ilene held the door. "That's no fun," I said as I saw Roger and his Dad standing on the other side of the kitchen. Bolo, their big Chesapeake Retriever was all over me. Roger and I spend a lot of time with Bolo across the Great Highway at the beach. "Hey boy," I say to him, putting him back on all fours. Bolo wants more, but I hold him down. I kissed Ilene, shook hands with Professor Bob and bumped fists with Roger. "How you doing? Look, I really want to apologize to you folks. I had no idea this little surveillance thing was going to turn out like this. I'm sorry Roger was in the middle of it."

"I'm not, it was so cool," Roger beams.

"Let's sit in the living room," Ilene said.

The dog is trying to get at me. I push him off and hold him down. "Cool it," I yell at the dog. "So what are you going to do now that you're famous, Roger?"

"I don't know, Mr. Mullins."

"I don't know either, Roge. I looked at the little family sitting across from me on the couch. Ilene runs her fingers through Roger's hair. Bob stares at me. "I'll tell you one thing. I don't feel like a damn hero. I killed a guy this morning and I feel like shit. Maybe I'm just exhausted after last night, but I just feel like shit, sorry Ilene." She's sensitive to profanity.

Bob crosses his legs and smiles. "We're all exhausted after last night. I can't imagine what you're going through. You're trained to do what you did. But, just like a soldier in combat, you never know till you actually experience it. I suggest you give yourself a break. Admit to yourself that this is painful and give yourself some time to heal."

I put my hands on my face and couldn't stop it. I started crying. Ilene came to one side of me and Roger the other and they hugged me. Goddamn it, like a little girl. I looked up at Bob still seated with his legs crossed. He hadn't moved. "Alright, I admit it. Now, what do we do?" Wiping the tears from my face.

"Now you know you're not prepared to deal with this. Maybe tomorrow you will be or next week or next year." Goddamn Bob, always has the answers for personal issues. I take him with a grain a salt, though. He's completely baffled by his son. Roger pays no attention to him, at all. The guy has precious few parental skills.

I could hear the helicopters above us. I could hear the noise from the street. There were hundreds of people around our homes. "Thomas, I had to disconnect the phone. It's been ringing constantly. We don't know what to do. If we go out and talk to them, will they go away?"

"I doubt it," I said. "Just say, no comment." We could continue to do that. We're not hiding anything. Although Roger, don't talk about the video surveillance on Hinton. That's illegal and we could lose our license. Just say, we were watching him, if it comes up. The Police know, I told them. I had to justify shooting the son of a bitch, sorry Ilene."

"I know, Mr. Mullins," Roger said.

I sat there thinking and said, "Let me call my attorney, maybe he has a suggestion." I'd been on the phone with Dominic Laverney, a couple of times this afternoon with legal questions during the debriefing. I've paid this guy a lot of money over the last few years, but he's good. He answered on the first ring, I put him on speaker "Dominic, we're buried here," and explained the situation.

He said, "I called your cell and by the way your mailbox is full. You and little Roger are the most wanted people in the world, in this news cycle. You can't possibly handle this yourself. Turn all communication over to a public relations company. I have the structure of a deal worked out for you. The PR company will represent you in all business communication and negotiate opportunities for you. You probably need an agent."

"What opportunities?"

"Come on, Tom, TV, books, movies, the world is your oyster at this point. You need help."

I called the PR company. Told them we were hunkered down. I agreed on a fee for initial work and had them send a contract. Even though it was past 5 PM, they would have someone over in an hour that could act as a spokesman for us. I called Velma and told her about it and she agreed. She wasn't happy about spending money, but she never is.

Friday morning, our spokesperson read a statement outlining what happened and answered questions. He asked the public to respect our privacy over yesterday's tragic events and of course, they didn't. Roger and I were heroes. Everyone wanted to climb on board with us. The press continued to sit outside our homes and at the agency. The phone continued to ring. I was miserable. I finally threw in the towel. I suggested Roger and the family try a weekend vacation. I packed a bag and headed out over the Golden Gate.

Chapter 6

The sign said Open, but the parking lot was empty at Limestone Vineyards in Sonoma. I walked in to an empty tasting room. I heard someone moving around out back and I yelled, "What do I have to do to get a drink around here?"

"Be right with you," I heard a voice call. The big bald headed guy came out with two trays of glasses. I'm always amazed at how much my Dad's brother looks like him. "Holy Mary and Joseph, it's little Tommy Mullins!" He came around the bar and gave me a big hug and a kiss on the cheek.

"Hey, Uncle Billy."

"The hero of the day. What are you doing here?"

"Trying to get away from being the hero of the day."

"I can't tell you how proud Betty and I are of you, Tom. You took out a very nasty piece of shit."

"Yup, he was, Uncle Billy. I'm just not feeling very good about it."

He hugged me. "Tommy, it's not an easy thing to go through, for most guys." Uncle Billy had been a cop for 30 years, starting in San Francisco and moving to Santa Rosa before buying this winery. "You did your job, end of story. You're a hero, whether you like it or not. How's little Roger taking it?"

"He's fine." Billy walked behind the bar and poured two glasses.

"This new Cab is beautiful. French Oak for 18 months. The best we've ever done." We clinked glasses and swirled the wine around in the glass. Billy flipped open his cell and placed a call. "Betty, Tommy's here," he spoke into the cell. "Yeah, he just walked in." He smiled and listened while she spoke. "I know, the hero! I almost fell on the floor. Last person in the world I thought I'd see today. Why don't you make us some sandwiches and come down. Okay, darling. She'll be down in a few minutes," He said. I want to hear all about it. I know you're sick of telling it by now, but this one's for me."

When Aunt Betty arrived with the food, I told them about yesterday from the start with Roger's early morning FBI episode. They thought it was hilarious. "That was a day to remember, Tommy. No wonder you're burned out. Now, where are you staying? You know you're welcome here."

"Thanks Billy, but I'm staying at my buddy's Scott's house. He's back east on business and he's giving me his place."

"Well, can you come for dinner? We'll put out a spread for you." I said I'd try and we talked for an hour before customers started coming in. I told them, I'd call tomorrow and confirm. Uncle Billy also gave me a case of wine and wouldn't accept any money for it. There were kisses all around and I said goodbye.

I drove in to downtown Sonoma. Put on a Giants cap and sunglasses and strolled around the antique stores, galleries and specialty food shops. Walked into a Deli and bought some salami and cheese. I watched three guys making cheese in big vats out back. I strolled down to Sebastiani Winery, did a quick tour and tasted some wines and bought a couple of bottles.

I sat down in my favorite wine bar on the corner and ordered a glass of Zinfandel. Big alcohol, big fruit, I love zins. I looked over at a copy of the Santa Rosa newspaper sitting in a pile. I could see a picture of Roger holding up his hands, with a picture of Hinton beside it on the front page. "Butcher Killer Slain" read the headline. I grabbed the paper and opened it to page two, to see an old photo from when I was a cop.

There was a few people in the place at 3:30. I spotted the piano and asked the bartender if I could play it.

"We only have one requirement, you got to be able to play it." We laughed and I took my glass over. I'm not very good at the piano. I'm a guitarist. I use to be in a band when I was high school. I dabble at the piano, but there is one song I do play. I played and sang _Crocodile Rock_ by Elton John.

"I remember when rock was young; me and Susie had so much fun." The few people in the bar clapped when I finished. Then, a beautiful woman sat down on the stool beside me. Blond, blue eyed, freckles, she was a knock out.

"Pretty good," she said. "What else don't you know?" We both laughed. She had perfect teeth.

"That's pretty much my repertoire," I said, "maybe a little blues?"

"Oh good, you play the chords and I'll play the bass line," and we played. The moment we started I saw I was way, outclassed. The bass line carried the song but it sounded great.

At the end, I scooted over and said, "Now you. You're the piano player." She thought for a second and played " _Walking in Memphis_." She played and sang it flawlessly to a big ovation, well, to the half dozen people in the bar. "Where did you come from? I didn't see you sitting here."

"I heard you playing from outside and decided to poke my head in," she said.

"You must be a professional. You're fantastic."

"I've played some professionally. I use to entertain on a cruise ship."

I held out my hand and said, "I'm Tom Mullins."

She said, "I thought you were Ray Charles." I still had my sunglasses on. We laughed and I took them off. "I'm Liz McNulty, and we shook hands."

"Can I buy you a drink, Liz McNulty?"

"I could probably force one down. What are you drinking?

"A really good zin," I said.

"I'll have what you're having. Are you going to play something else?" she asked.

"No, I suck. Would you please play something?" I ordered and she played, " _I'll Always Love You_ ". It was better than having Whitney Houston in the room. I was floored. She got a standing ovation and I was in love.

She acknowledged the people in the bar and grabbed her glass and my hand and said, "Show's over. Let's go sit down." I laughed and toasted the people in the bar. Picked up my glass and we found a table in a corner.

"Wow, you're something special, Ms. McNulty."

"You're not so bad yourself, Mr. Mullins."

"Forget about it," giving it the Sopranos lilt. "So, no more cruise ship entertaining?"

"I don't think so. I'm working on a recording project now. I'm excited about it. We've gotten a lot of positive reaction to it. We'll see."

"So what brings you to Sonoma on a Friday afternoon?"

"Oh, I just needed a change of scenery. I've never been here before. I read about the Sonoma Mission Inn and wanted to indulge myself for a couple of days."

"Where you from," I asked?

"I grew up in Mission Viejo. Went to UCLA and lived on cruise ships for the last two years, and you?"

"I live in San Francisco on Ocean Beach, about halfway between the Zoo and the Cliff house."

"Isn't it really foggy there?" she asked.

"Yeah, I love it. I've lived in the same house all my life, across the street from the beach. I surf and run the beach. I can't imagine living anywhere else. My father gave me the house, before he died a couple of years ago."

"I'm sorry. That's a nice thing to do for a son."

"He was a great Dad. He was always there for me. He raised me alone when my Mom died, when I was eight. I have a lot to live up to be as good as he was."

"We're both orphans, she said and smiled. You have any brothers and sisters?"

"No, I was a late life surprise for my parents. They had given up trying to have kids. My Mom was 44 when I was born."

"Wow that must have been a surprise. You don't hear about that happening very often." We finished our glasses of wine.

"Are you hungry?" I asked.

"Yes, I am. I just had fruit and yogurt for breakfast. What did you have in mind?"

"Well there are half a dozen good restaurants around the square or I bought some food for the weekend. We could have a picnic." I hesitated, "Or, we could go up to the house where I'm staying and cook something on the grill. I'm a good cook and the place has an incredible view."

She raised her eyebrows. "How do I know you're not going to rape and dismember me?"

"I don't do that on the first date; besides, they caught that guy."

She smiled. "What do you have to grill?"

"We can stop at Safeway, maybe get some salmon or steak and some veggies, salad."

"Got any wine?"

"I picked up a case earlier."

"How about some Rombaurer Chardonnay? It's my favorite."

"We'll pick up a bottle at Safeway."

So, we left and she followed me to the store and then up to Scott's house. I found the key and went in. Scott's house does have a spectacular view. The sun was setting over the Sonoma Valley and the fields of vines below us. "Wow, this is beautiful," she said. I got out some cheese and bread and poured a couple of glasses of wine. We sat on lounge chairs soaking in the view and the wine. "Was this a set up?" she asked. "Were you stalking me?"

"Damn it! You saw through my ruse."

"I just hope you're not a liar. You better be able to cook." I laughed.

"You'll see. I cook better than I can play the piano."

"I hope so," she laughed.

"Oh, that hurts."

"Is the hot tub hot?" she asked.

"Should be, he's got solar panels." I got up and took the cover off the tub and saw the steam rise. "Looks like it." I fired up the gas grill and went in to spice the salmon fillets and assemble the salad. When I came back out again her clothes were on her chair and she was in the hot tub. I said, "I'm sorry this is not a clothing optional establishment."

"Too bad, don't look, prude." We laughed.

"A little rosemary and olive oil on your salmon?" as I put the fillets on the grill.

"Sure, that's a good sign you may know what you're doing." She leaned back in the tub resting her head on the side."

"This is pretty close to perfect, hot tub at a perfect temperature, incredible view and a man doing the cooking. Can you hand me my wine?" I retrieved her glass and handed it to her.

"What are you looking at," she said as I handed it to her.

"The bubbles," I said as the water jets obscured everything below her bare shoulders. She looked unbelievably sexy. I sipped my wine and fed her a piece of cheese. "You got about 5 minutes till dinner, girl."

"I guess I'll need a towel," she said.

"Well, you're going to have to get it yourself. I'm sick of waiting on you," as I sat down and stared at her. We were both laughing. "Jesus, my work is never done," I stood up, walked over to the grill, flipped the salmon and went looking for a towel.

She came to the table in just the large beach towel knotted around her. I placed the dish in front of her. I had placed a small flower on the plate as garnish with the salad and salmon. "Oh, is the flower edible?" she asked.

"Yeah, it's an aphrodisiac."

"Really?"

"No," I said dismissively, chuckling. "It's just the flowering part of the rosemary."

"You're a wiseguy," she said taking a bite of her fish, "Um good." She pulled my head over to her, kissed me on the mouth and said, "in fact, it's delicious."

Dinner didn't last long. About half way through she was sitting on my lap. The towel fell away and we moved to a bedroom. Kissing, licking and the passion I hadn't experienced in too long. When it was over, it started again and then again. Darkness fell and after the intense play and more wine, we slept.

I was out cold, exhausted. Later, from somewhere deep in a dreamland, I heard someone talking. As I listened and tried to understand what the voice was saying, I realized I knew this person. It was my attorney! I opened an eye and saw an answering machine beside the bed. I picked up the phone and said, hello.

"Tom, is that you?"

"Yeah, what's up, Dominic? I turned my phone off."

"I've been trying to get you all day, Tom. There is a lot going down. Tom, are you near a TV? Roger is about to go on Leno."

I sat straight up in bed, "What the fuck?"

"Early this afternoon, offers started coming in for TV appearances. NBC put $100,000 on the table for exclusive rights for Roger to tell the story. There are options for additional opportunities that if this goes well; it might earn him a lot more. NBC flew him and his family down to Southern California for taping. He'll be on next, turn the TV on."

"Holy shit! I'll call you back." I found the remote for the TV and turned it on. Found Leno, just in time to hear him introduce America's youngest private detective and hero, Roger Goody. I couldn't believe my eyes. Out walked little curly red haired, freckled Roger in a black suit with an open white shirt. He shook hands with Leno and sat down next to him. His legs didn't touch the floor. He looked like a midget. The TV audience laughed as he sat with a big smile just looking out at the camera.

"Hello Mr. Leno," he said in his squeaky adenoidal voice. The crowd again laughed. I should mention here that as much of huge pain the ass Roger is to me, people and especially women, find the kid adorable. I don't get it. I may be a little too close to him to think of him as adorable.

"America's youngest detective had a pretty big week. Here you are on the front page of the Los Angeles Times," said Leno. The screen flashed to the picture of Roger holding up his hands in front of the SWAT team from yesterday.

"Yes, that was a pee your pants moment," he said glancing away from the monitor. The crowd went nuts, laughing and clapping. Roger flashing a big smile.

"Well, lets back up a little and tell us about what happened," said Leno.

"Okay, I work for a private investigation company that is owned by next door neighbor Thomas Mullins."

"What about school?"

"I'm home schooled and I take some college classes. I only work at the agency part time, or at least they only pay me part time."

"And you do investigate cases?" asked Leno.

"I don't have a license or anything, more like work in the office and on the computer, but sometimes I ride with Mr. Mullins."

"What was going on in this Butcher case?"

"Our agency was working on another case. We were watching a man who we thought was guilty of another crime. Mr. Mullins and I were observing this man yesterday and he was acting very strangely. While we were following him, he picked up a woman..." Roger stops talking and looks over at Leno. He gets up, stands on his seat and whispers into his ear.

"Ah," says Leno, "allegedly a woman of ill repute."

"Exactly," say Roger. The crowd laughs and claps.

"Go on, Roger".

"The man took the woman back to his house and we became very worried for the woman's safety. Mr. Mullins told me to stay in the vehicle and called the police, while he went into the house. While there he determined the woman was being attacked, so he confronted the man."

"You didn't stay in the vehicle, did you Roger?" said Leno.

Roger breaks into tears. "I was very worried about Mr. Mullins. I went to the door and saw Mr. Mullins holding a gun and the man holding a large knife against the throat of the woman. Mr. Mullins said, 'Put the knife down.' The man said a bad word and said, "I'll cut her head off". Leno hands him a tissue and Roger wipes his eyes.

"And what happened, Roger?" The crowd wasn't laughing now.

Mr. Mullins said, "I know." Roger hesitated. "And then he shot him." He pointed to the center of his forehead, "Right here." The TV audience went crazy.

"And this turned out to be the man who had killed seven women in the Bay Area. What happened then, Roger?"

"Mr. Mullins helped the woman and sent me out to let the police know, it was over. The police were already there and someone took my picture. I was surprised they got there so soon."

"Well, that sounds like a pretty exciting day. Better than hanging around the house playing Xbox I guess."

"Oh, I like doing that too." The crowd laughs.

I'm shaking my head. I can't believe what I've just seen. I looked around and see Liz sitting up in bed with the sheet drawn up to her shoulders and she's staring at me with her mouth open. I shirk my shoulders and shake my head. I got nothing.

She said, "I meet the most amazing men."

Chapter 7

The cat was out of the bag with her. The next day I called everyone including Roger. He thought I'd be mad, but what could I say? I had taken off and told other people to deal with it. If there were repercussions, it was my own fault. There were multiple offers for me to do interviews. I didn't want to. Financially, it didn't make sense to turn it down, but I did. There was talk of movie and book rights. There were other opportunities that didn't involve TV interviews and the cover of the Rolling Stone. Fame just didn't have much of a draw for me. I didn't want to be famous for killing someone. The agency was doing well. I didn't feel I needed the money and the whole being fame thing didn't really interest me.

Roger was another story. This was not my decision. I talked to his parents and suggested that opportunities be carefully considered. I would hate to see him on Maury, but his parents weren't rich. He could bank some money for school on this thing and who knows how long this gravy train would last? The other part of this was, Roger liked it. There was a lot of talk about Roger becoming a star. By the end of that week, there were millions of hits on YouTube of him on Leno.

Liz and I sat around all day Saturday talking it. That was in between eating, drinking, soaking and...making love. She was completely on my side on this. I talked to everyone involved and by late Saturday afternoon, I told the PR company to turn down everything. I wanted privacy. Having one superstar in the family was going to be enough.

Liz said she had to get back Sunday noon. We stayed in bed all morning, leisurely making love. She called me killer one time in the throes of passion, but apologized for it when I winced. Later, she was sitting having coffee when she got very serious and I heard those dreaded words, "We need to talk."

She hadn't said much to me of a personal nature. A married sister in Dallas and that she was working on a music project and living with a roommate in Redwood City. I thought we had gotten very close. I was in love, but that isn't always a good sign.

She looked me in the eye and said, "I want you to promise me something."

"Okay," having no idea where this was going.

"I want you to promise me you won't come looking for me." In a week full of surprises this might have been the biggest. It didn't take long for me to connect the dots and the conclusion was, married. "I'm going through a personal mess at the moment and I've got no place for you in it."

"I see."

"I'm sorry," she said. Things may change and I know how to get in touch with you, if you're still interested, but not right now."

"Well Baby, we'll always have Sonoma," I said. A tear fell down her cheek and she kissed me.

"You're going to be okay, Tommy. I've never met anyone who has it more together than you, hero." I carried her bag to the car and noticed that it had dealer plates, no license, no tracing the car. We kissed again and I watched her drive off. It hurt, but I kept my promise. As much as I wanted to, I didn't go looking for her.

Chapter 8

Six weeks later, the phone rang at 4:06 AM. "Wake up, it's Tonelli."

"What do you want?"

"Wake up."

"Why?"

"Bad news."

"What?" as if I was expecting good news.

"Tony Reilly has been murdered." This got me out of bed.

"The 49er quarterback Tony Reilly?"

"Yeah, it looks like a terrorist hit."

"What the fuck?"

"He was shot twice in the back of the head getting out of his car tonight at his house. The phrase 'Praise Allah' was written on his car in marker."

"Anyone see this?"

"We don't think so. His wife was asleep in the house. Looks like it was at least an hour before a private security cop saw the garage door open and went to take a look and called it in. We woke up the wife; she doesn't know anything."

"Wow, this sucks," I said, trying to take this in. Tony Reilly was a true sports legend after the season he just had and he was a Bay Area guy! Went to Cal, lived in San Francisco, for Christ sakes. This was horrible. It then occurred to me, "Why are you calling me?"

"His wife wants you to pick her up. She's here at Central. We're done with questions. Her house is a crime scene and closed up."

"His wife?"

"Elizabeth Reilly, she requested you pick her up. Apparently, she knows you. Hey Tom, this is a big fucking deal. The press is swarming. Drive in to underground parking and we'll get you out of here."

"Okay, I'll be there in a half an hour."

Elizabeth Reilly? Why would she want me? I took the Porsche. I turned on the radio and got about the same information I had just gotten from Tonelli. It was all over the radio. There was speculation that this was an attack on high profile Americans. The FBI and Homeland security were expecting to make a statement and was advising caution for sports figures and celebrities. With light traffic, I made it downtown in 20 minutes. A cop was waiting for me and had in restricted parking by the elevator. I rode up to the 16th floor and was immediately shuffled into Captain Edward Conners' office, where the Captain along with Tonnelli and two Lieutenants sat. I shook hands all around. I knew them all. I'd known Conners, as a good friend of my Dad's, since childhood. I said, "This is a horrible thing. Reilly was beloved here."

Conners said, "We've just been saying the same thing, Tommy. Look, we've questioned Mrs. Reilly and apparently, she knows nothing about it. The couple had recently separated. Reilly just showed up there, tonight. She wasn't expecting him. She says they hadn't even talked for a month and she didn't know where he'd been since then. She doesn't seem to know anything about this. We gave her a residue test, nothing. She has been fully cooperative and she doesn't have a lawyer and doesn't want one. We're going to turn her loose."

The next of kin would have been the first person to pop up on the investigative radar. "She didn't know he was showing up tonight after a month?" I asked.

"That's what she says, but, from what we've been able to find out so far, no one else did either. We've talked to his agent and Reilly told him he was coming back tonight, but he didn't have any details. There was an imminent contract deal and his agent suggested he return ASAP by email. He emailed he was on his way back and would contact him tomorrow. He's been in this contract dispute and wasn't reporting to camp. Apparently, there had been some movement in negotiations and he decided to return from wherever he was. The agent says communication had been rare during the last month and he didn't know where he was."

"Someone knew he was coming home," I said. "The wife didn't hear any of this go down?"

"She was asleep in her room when SWAT went in. They scared the shit out of her. She says, she knows nothing about it. If that's how it went down, you have to think the killer was waiting there for him. Anyway, we got work to do, but we're done with Mrs. Reilly, for the moment. How do you know her by the way?" Conners asked.

"I don't," I said, "or at least I don't remember meeting her." The Chief was puzzled. "So, you think this is a terrorist hit?" I asked around the room.

"Possibly or made to look like one," said Conners. "The word 'Alhamdulillah' was written in marker on the top of the car. It means 'Praise Allah'. It could be a signed terrorist hit. It makes sense, it's a hell of a lot easier to gun down an American celebrity and get worldwide notice, than to take down a building. All you need is one guy looking to poke 77 virgins and a gun or this could all be bullshit. Anyway, that's enough to get the Feds involved and you know what that means, the usual clusterfuck. And there is the press all over everything. This investigation will be as big as it gets."

"Look," Conners said to me, "You're going to have to find a place for Mrs. Reilly for a few days. She has no family in the area. We've got the house locked down. Please stay in touch with Tonelli. If Mrs. Reilly needs to get some personal things out of the house or any help, let us know. We'll try and get you out of here tonight without the press in back of you. You know what a pain and the ass they can be," and winked at me.

"Okay, thanks Captain," I said as I stood up and shook hands.

"Tommy," the Chief looked me in the eye, "we appreciate your help with the Butcher. If Mrs. Reilly remembers anything that you think might help, you know how to find me."

"You got it, Chief." Tonnelli took me down a floor and into a room that had a cop standing outside. I followed him in and saw her sitting on a couch. With a tear stained face and red eyes, sat Liz McNulty. I was too stunned to say a word.

When she saw me, she immediately stood up and walked by me and said, "Let's go."

Chapter 9

We drove out of the underground parking without being noticed. I looked over at her as she stared straight ahead. After a minute I broke the silence. "I'm sorry."

She put her hands up to her face and screamed, "OH MY GOD!" Screaming, crying women are not my strong suit. I put my hand on her shoulder as I drove. She was sobbing and cried, "Oh my god," again. "And they think it was me!"

"They don't think you did it. It's just policy to question the family first."

"Oh my God," she cried again and bent over in her seat. "I can't believe this is happening."

"I'm so sorry," I said, feeling useless. "Do you have a friend or family you might want to call?"

"Oh no," was all she said. I don't think she heard me. I continued to drive toward my house. I thought about going to a hotel, but decided that wasn't a good idea. Sit down and figure out where I should bring her, was the thought. She leaned her head against the passenger window. She just sat there and wept.

I said, "This is my house," as we drove into the garage. We sat there in the dark garage for a minute and said, "Let's go in and figure out what we're going to do." We got out of the car and went in. She sat down on the couch and I thought, as bad as this girl looks with tear stained cheeks, she is stunningly beautiful. I sat down next to her and put my arm around her.

She leaned into me and said quietly, "Oh no".

At 7:15 AM there was a knock at the door. Liz was asleep on the couch, with a blanket over her. I'd been sitting there watching her for the last hour drinking coffee. I quickly got to the door. I didn't want her to wake her up. I could see it was a big black guy, dressed in a suit, through the side window. Stuck the glock in the back of my waist band, opened the door and quietly said, "What do you want?"

"Tom Mullins?"

"Who's asking?" He handed me his card.

"I'm Shawn Samuelson. I'm head of security for the San Francisco 49ers football team." I didn't say anything and just waited for him to continue. I closed the door behind us and stepped out on the porch. "Mr. Mullins, I understand you picked up Mrs. Reilly from the police department last night." I didn't know where this was going. "Mr. Mullins, the team's President, Oscar Tierney would like to extend sympathies to Mrs. Reilly and offer her help with anything she may need." I nodded. "Also, Mr. Tierney would very much like to speak to you regarding the events of last night. He would be honored if you could meet with him this morning to discuss the investigation of Tony Reilly's murder."

"I'm tied up at the moment."

"Yes sir, Mr. Mullins, could you please speak to Mr. Tierney? He held up his cell phone.

I considered it for a second and said okay. He punched in a number, "Mr. Tierney, I have Mr. Mullins here," and handed me his phone.

"Hello Mr. Tierney," I said.

"Hello Tom, how are you?"

"Tired and feeling awful about Tony Reilly," I said.

"You have no idea how bad I feel, Tom. It's why I wanted to set up a meeting with you. I would like to discuss you working with the team in the investigation of his death. We are prepared to offer you a significant retainer to represent us and the league during this investigation. Can you meet with me to discuss this? I would like to move on this immediately." I thought about it.

"Possibly, can you put security outside my home?"

"Mr. Samuelson can arrange that. Is Mrs. Reilly there, Tom?"

"Yes, she's asleep. I don't want her disturbed."

"We'll take care of that."

"Okay, Mr. Tierney, where would you like to meet?"

"I'm in our offices now."

"I'll see you in an hour."

"Thank you, Tom. I'm looking forward to it. May I speak to Shawn again?"

I handed him his phone. He listened for a moment and hung up. I said to him, "I want you to be low key. Looks like the press doesn't know where she is yet, but I imagine it will be a zoo when they find her."

"Yes sir, I'll have very specific instructions for my men. Do you want them in the house?"

"No, I'll have someone in the house. If there is an issue how do we contact you?"

"Use my cell phone number. I'll be here until you return."

"Thanks Shawn. Are you ex-military?" He had the look.

"Yes sir, I was a Ranger."

I nodded. "They'll be someone in the house with Mrs. Reilly." I took out a business card and wrote a cell phone number on the back. He's a kid named Roger Goody."

Chapter 10

I filled Roger in on the situation and drove 30 minutes south to the team offices. The outside of the place was a zoo with press and network satellite trucks with hundreds of people standing around. Security waved me through. I parked and went in. I was immediately shown into the office of the President and General Manager, Oscar Tierney.

"A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Tierney, again I'm sorry about your loss."

"Thanks for coming in Tom. We've met before haven't we?"

"Yes we have, sir. I met you a few years ago with my Dad, Chief Edward Mullins of the San Francisco Police Department. I was in your box for a game. It was quite a thrill."

"Oh, I remember Ed Mullins, he passed last year, didn't he?"

"Yes sir, heart attack."

"Sorry to hear that, son. He was a great guy."

"Yes he was."

"Well, this thing is devastating, Tom." He stared out his window, shaking his head. Some players were running sprints on the practice field. I looked around the room and saw personal photos of Tierney shaking hands with two Presidents. Up on one wall was a depth chart of the team. For every position there were magnetic strips with player's names, so they could be moved around. The first strip at the QB1, starting quarterback position, was Tony Reilly.

"Tony was on his way to being one of the best that ever played the game, Tom."

"I think you're right, sir." He paused, still staring out the window. "Tom, I have to think of what is going to happen to the team going forward. This kind of thing could hurt us for a long time. My job is to see that doesn't happen."

"Yes sir."

"First of all I have to protect the player on this team. We have no idea if others have been targeted by these fucking rag heads." I almost laughed when he said it, but managed to stifle it.

"I've already had FBI, Homeland Security and the San Francisco police investigators in here this morning. You know what I think?" He didn't wait for a response. "They're a bunch of fuckups in suits. They haven't a clue what happened or what to do. Is this a conspiracy to kill professional athletes? Was this a random act of a bum walking down the road? Nobody has nothing." He turned back around and looked out his window again. "How's Elizabeth?"

"Very upset. I took her to my house. She was asleep when I left."

"How do you know her, Tom?"

"Just casually, I met her at a restaurant a while back. She has no family here and didn't know who to call. She doesn't have a lawyer. I left her asleep on the couch. I'm not sure what the next step is. We'll probably figure it out when I get back. Police have no reason to believe she was involved. She's been cooperative."

"Elizabeth Reilly couldn't have had anything to do with this," said Tierney. "She's a sweetheart. I know, she and Tony were having problems, but I'd heard they were going to get back together." Tierney shakes his head, "Tony was under a lot of pressure. Tom, just between you and me, these contract negotiations should never have gone on as long as they did and I accept responsibility for that. It's blood under the bridge at this point. My responsibility is to get this situation under control and get a team prepared for the start of the season."

"I spoke with Robert Greenfield this morning." Greenfield was the President of the NFL. "We agreed, we have a situation we're not prepared for. We have nothing in place for an investigative stand point. We know security, but for something like this, from the NFL's standpoint, we don't know where to go. When there has been a crime committed in the past by a player or to a player, we've had law enforcement handle any investigation aspects and we've stayed out of it. This situation demands coordination. I've suggested that we bring in our own investigative team to coordinate with the various law enforcement entities and conduct any additional inquiries as they see fit. We, and I mean the collective we, from the standpoint of all professional sports, need to get a handle on this situation, so we can deal with it. This could be a jihad against professional athletes or any kind of celebrity. Did you see El Jazeera out front?"

"I didn't, but I'm not surprised," I said.

"This is the biggest act of terror since 9/11 and we have feds and cops running around with their heads cut off." He sat up in his chair and looked across his large desk at me. "Tom, I want you to come on board as the team representative in this investigation. I need you to drop whatever else you're working on and get into this."

I thought for a second and said, "That's easier said then done, Mr. Tierney. We're a small agency and frankly we're as busy as we could possibly be at the moment. There are far bigger organizations that could conduct this investigation on a national basis."

"I don't give a fuck about a national basis," he said. I need someone on the street, here. I need to know what the fuck happened to my quarterback, right now!" He stared at me and I didn't say anything. "I'm willing to offer you $50,000 to start this investigation immediately. And a retainer of $200,000 to be paid at double your existing rates for any work done. I will also retain your firm with yearly guarantees for investigative work. I've cleared it with the League, you will also be offered investigative work as situations come up. You'll have a separate contract with the league for that work. All of this will be guaranteed." I thought to myself, few contracts in the NFL are guaranteed.

He stared, waiting for me to speak. I was thinking, how many athletes and agents has he worked over since he's been running the team? "You've thought this through? Our getting involved just may add to the circus outside," I said.

"I need the best private investigator around, working for me," he said.

I thought about it for a moment and said "I need to run this by my partner." I thought about it about it a little longer, my eyes never leaving his, "Fax a contract to my office. I also need to run this by an existing client of mine for any conflict of interest."

"Who's that?" said Tierney.

"Elizabeth Reilly."

Chapter 11

I got back to my house before noon. Saw a guy sitting in a car across the street who waved, obviously working security. I walked in and saw Liz and Roger sitting at the kitchen table playing backgammon. "What the fuck is this?" I said. "That isn't backgammon is it? What have I told you about backgammon in this house, dickhead?" He quickly started picking up the pieces.

"It's just a game," he said.

"It's just a game you always cheat at. How many times do I have to tell you? This is an NBZ. Tell Liz what an NBZ is." Liz sat there with a startled look on her face. Roger mumbled something.

"I can't hear you. Tell her what an NBZ is!"

"No Backgammon Zone."

"That's right, this is a No Backgammon Zone. How many games did you play, Liz?"

"Um, two?"

"And you lost two, didn't you?"

"It's just a game, Tom," she said.

"Oh no, it isn't," I said. "It's much more than that. It's an opportunity to steal your money."

"How much did you lose?"

"Well, the first game was just practice, but I wasn't doing too well in this game."

"And this was for the money, right?"

"It was for a dollar."

"And the next game would have been double or nothing and so on, till he owned you. He's a devious little shit."

"You're mean, Mr. Mullins," Roger said.

"He's been wonderful, Tom," Liz said. "He made coffee and toast and called the police and got my things delivered here."

"NBZ, Roger." I shook my finger at him, "Fucking kid, go put on some work clothes, we got things to do." Roger folded up the game and ran out the back door with the board under his arm.

"He cheats?" asked Liz. I just shook my head and sat down across from her.

"How are you doing?" I said.

"I don't know. I'm trying not to think about it."

"Did Roger tell you where I've been?"

"He said you were talking with the team."

"I was with Oscar Tierney. He wants to hire us to investigate the murder."

"Aren't the police doing that?"

"That's not the problem. The problem is between SFPD, State Investigators, FBI and Homeland Security. This will be a difficult investigation as a turf war will inevitably break out. Feds are supposed to trump everyone else, but I have very little confidence in them. Tierney wants someone on his side, coordinating or at least representing him and the League."

"He's a smart guy. He's always been nice to me."

"What about you? Have you talked to an attorney?"

"I don't know who to call. Tony and his agent handled the legal stuff."

"Have you talked to anyone?"

"I just woke up. All I've done is lose a game of backgammon."

"We should go talk to Tony's lawyer and his agent. His agent is Rosenbloom isn't it?"

"Yes, I've met him a few times."

"Let's call him and tell him we want to see him. He should be able to get you headed in the right direction. Who is Tony's lawyer?"

"I don't know," she said.

"Tom, I'm sorry about not telling you about Tony in Sonoma. It was a bad time for me. Tony had left the week before and I was miserable."

"Well, I figured something was going on. Nothing was said for a couple of minutes. "Sonoma was wonderful," I said. She leaned against me and started crying.

"What a mess," she said.

"What happened last night?" I asked her.

"I don't know." She looked at me and said, "I really don't know. I hadn't heard from Tony for a month. Before he left, he asked me to stay while he was figuring things out. He asked me not to talk about it to anyone. He said he had to figure it out on his own. He wouldn't say what the problem was. He just said he was working through some problems and he hoped we could stay together. He came to me after he had been living by himself for a month. He had walked out. I didn't really have anywhere to go, so I stayed at the house. I have a music studio there and just kept working. I was waiting to hear what we were going to do."

"Was there another woman?"

"He said there wasn't."

"Were you guys not getting along before all this?"

"No, we weren't fighting or anything. He had just become distant. He said it was a contract thing that would eventually resolve itself. I thought he needed some space, so I didn't bug him. I guess I'm not confrontational. When he said he was moving out in April, I couldn't believe it. The next week, I decided to go up to Sonoma to have a change of scenery. And, you know what happened up there."

"He moves out for a month. Then says he's going to leave town for a while. You don't hear from him for a month and then one night he shows up murdered in the garage."

"That's it."

"What happened last night?"

"I told the police, I took an Ambien at midnight and at around 2 AM, I woke with the SWAT team in the room, men with guns pointed at me. I got dressed and they took me to the police station. They read me my rights and asked if I needed a lawyer. I said no because I didn't know anything about what had happened. They gave me a test to see if I fired a gun and a blood sample. I had nothing to hide. I didn't even see the body on the way out. I just saw lots of people around the car and the place lit up with police cars everywhere. It was a nightmare. They questioned me for a long time. They decided to release me and asked me who I wanted to call. I couldn't think of anyone, so I said you."

I didn't like it. "What are you not telling me?"

She thought for a moment, "Nothing."

"They'll look at every phone call or email you've ever written. If there is anything else, tell me or your lawyer, now and we'll deal with it."

She looked at me and said, "There is nothing. I've told you everything."

"Someone either followed Tony from the airport or knew he was showing up at the house last night. Was there any contact between you guys, by email or phone? This is all easy to determine. If there is anything you're not saying, tell me now and we'll deal with it."

She turned to me and looked me in the eye. "Like I told the police, Tom, I don't know anything."

We found a number for Rosenblum's agency. Liz called him and arranged an appointment for 1:30 downtown. He said he was anxious to see her and had been trying to contact her.

I thought about logistics and said, "I think we should get a driver. That way we won't have to fuck around with parking." I called a friend with a limo service and arranged a pick up. I showered, put on a suit. Roger, Liz and I piled into the car. She had on a black dress and looked great and I told her so.

"Wow, this is a big car, isn't it? I rode in a limo when I was on Leno." Roger said. He had his little netbook computer open on his lap. He had an Internet roaming card the office paid for. It came in handy sometimes.

"Anything new in the investigation?" I asked as we drove downtown. Roger looked for news. "An Arab extremist organization has taken credit for the shooting. The FBI cautions not to take this seriously until proven. That's an article from the AP. Other news organizations have also picked up the story."

I called Tonelli, told him about working with the 49ers and asked him if he had anything. He told me that he couldn't talk, but would speak to the guys upstairs, see what he could share and get back to me. I saw Liz wipe a tear away from her eye.

Surfing the net, Roger said, "There are some stories about sports figures and celebrities increasing security. The President has issued his regrets about the loss of a great athlete, but has urged the public not to jump to any conclusions until more of the facts are in." Roger read through a few more pages. "The head of Homeland Security stated that there had been no indication of increased terrorist communication regarding any type of plots against Americans. They have raised the terror alert status to Orange."

"Thank God, we're saved," I said. Liz looked over at me. "I'm sorry."

She laughed, "Don't be. That's funny."

We pulled up to a high rise on California Street and got out at the front door and took the elevator up to the 56th Floor. Mr. Rosenblum was making a few bucks as an agent. We were shown into his large office with an incredible view of the Bay. There was a bank of TV screens, all lit with different channels on one wall. Nonstop coverage of the latest "terror" incident. Rosenblum knew of Roger and me. He hugged Liz and told her how sorry he was for her loss. "This is a terrible thing for you and everyone who knew him. He was an exceptional athlete, but he was also a tremendous guy. I got to know him as a man and I'm beside myself over this." He started crying, Liz was crying and Roger was crying. Rosenblum composed, himself wiping away tears and passed around the tissue box.

He drew himself back into business mode. "We should probably discuss Tony's estate," he said. He looked over at me. "This information is private. Let me suggest that Tom and Roger leave us for this."

I stood up and said, "Oh sure."

"I'm comfortable with letting them stay," Liz said. "They've been helping me."

"If you're comfortable Elizabeth, I'm comfortable." I sat back down. "Have you retained an attorney to represent you?" he asked.

"No, I haven't. I'm not sure who Tony used," she said.

"He used us for everything," said Rosenblum, "Our staff attorneys handle his legal affairs. We're a full service agency. We even pay your household bills."

"Yes, Tony told me that," she said. "So, is there any money left?"

"You really don't know?" asked Rosenblum.

"I don't. Tony told me about some endorsement deals, but I don't know the specifics."

Rosenblum sat back in his chair and looked at Liz. "And you don't know anything about his will?"

Liz shrugged her shoulders, "I have a credit card that always works and I don't spend much. I've got some money I saved from when I was working on cruises. We didn't talk about money very much. I just knew he was unhappy about his contract. I'm into my own thing in the music business, for what it's worth."

"Tony signed a contract in March with Nike for $27 million dollars. That contract is still in effect and I don't see them canceling it. There are also a couple of other endorsement deals that were already completed that total over $7 million. His last six months have been very lucrative. We've invested all that for him. He also had an insurance policy that will pay $5 million plus the mortgage on the house." The room was silent as Rosenblum looked at Elizabeth. She looked stunned. Roger's mouth was open and his eyes wide. Rosenbloom continued, "My job is to protect our clients and maximize income. Elizabeth, you're sole beneficiary. The total estate is probably in the area of $40 million before taxes."

Liz shook her head and said, "Are you kidding? I thought we were screwed unless he got a new contract and he said he was going to hold out till he got one. I thought it was going to be Hamburger Helper without the hamburger."

Rosenbloom said, "The contract is a whole different story than endorsements. Let me tell you about what was going on with his contract. Tony had completed his original contract of three years at $550,000. He wasn't drafted, that's the money you make in his position as third string. The team designated him the franchise player this year. He was going to receive a salary of $14 million this year. That's the average of the top 5 players in the game at quarterback. That's a lot of money, but we felt that was unacceptable because that was only a one-year contract with no bonus money. If Tony were a free agent, he could expect the highest contract in football and a huge signing bonus. We told the 49ers, Tony would sit out the year rather than play under the franchise tag contract. It was never going to work and I can only attribute the team's stance to sheer arrogance and stupidity. It isn't the first time Oscar Tierney's been accused of that."

Rosenbloom continued, "What the Team had to do was trade Tony or Paul Isackson and trading Tony Reilly wasn't really an option after last season. Tony proved he was a better quarterback than Isackson. Why Tierney was screwing around with this is beyond me. I don't get what the end game was for the Niners. Tierney's always been a tough negotiator, but this was ridiculous. He alienated Tony and the fans with this craziness. I know the last couple of months were difficult for Tony. I know that it hurt your relationship with him," he said to Liz.

"You can say that again," she said. "I thought it was over."

"Don't feel bad, he was angry and barely speaking to me. He wasn't himself. He was anxious and angry, with a situation he couldn't do anything about except wait for it to be worked out. He wanted to play football, but we were out of options. Last month he said the situation was driving him crazy and he was taking off till it was resolved. He didn't know or he wouldn't tell me where he was headed. He told me to send him an email when it was done. I'll be honest, I had no idea where he was for the last month. Three days ago I sent him an email and said I thought the situation was about to change and that he should return. When they found his body last night, it was the first time I knew where he was, in a month."

"Join the club," said Liz.

"He wrote me back that he would be returning the next day. Up until that time, I sent him daily emails about the negotiations, which until yesterday afternoon, hadn't budged in a month. The Team was dragging its feet, God knows why. This should have been handled months ago. I still don't know what the issue was with the team. They finally worked out a deal to trade Isackson to Miami, a couple of days ago. It was all going to happen today. The contract making him the highest paid quarterback in football was on the table, ready for his signature. That all turned to shit this morning."

I said, "Yes it did. That's an amazing coincidence." I thought about it for a minute. "I don't like coincidences. Mr. Rosenblum. Who knew Tony was on his way back?"

Rosenblum said, "People on my staff. I told the Niners that we would be in today to sign. No one was going to say anything until it was a done deal."

"Who were you dealing with on the team?"

"Details of the contract were worked out with the Head of Player Personnel, George Crowley."

"Did you tell him Tony was arriving early this morning?"

"No, I told Oscar Tierney, he would be in today."

"When did you tell him?"

"It was about 7 PM last night."

"Can you find out if your staff leaked or told anyone that Tony was on his way back?"

"Sure, but that's highly doubtful."

"Why?"

"Because they knew they'd be fired for disclosing something like that. It goes to the press and there would have been a crowd of reporters waiting for him when he landed. I can't imagine that happening out of this office."

I said, "I can't imagine the Tony Reilly being murdered by a terrorist."
Chapter 12

We got in the car and I yelled up at the driver, "Eddie, food, I'm starving." I hadn't had a thing all day except coffee. It was 3 PM. "Can we do burgers, Liz?" She said it was okay with her and we did the drive through lane of an In-N-Out Burger. Roger was plugging away on the computer. I ate a burger while trying to figure out how a Muslim terrorist assassin, figures out that his victim is about to show up in a spot where he hasn't been in a month. "They could have been following him," I said to the others.

"I don't think so," said Roger. He didn't look up and continued to tap away on the keys.

"What are you talking about?"

He looked up at me. "There are lots of famous athletes that would have been easier to kill than Tony Reilly. If you wanted to make a terrorist statement, kill Michael Jordan or Mohamed Ali or A-rod or Beckham. Tony Reilly was MIA, gone. I don't know why someone wanted to kill Tony Reilly so badly. I think we start with, where was Tony Reilly?"

I thought about it, "Someplace very low key. He seems to have been completely off the radar for a month. If I was a betting man, I'd say he was out of the country. He was too well known to have not been recognized, for a long period of time."

"Betting man," Roger snickered.

I looked up at him and said, "What do you mean by that?" and I threw a fry at him.

"You mean like Texas Hold'em?" Roger turned to Liz and said, "Mr. Mullins regularly contributes to other player's pockets," he said and laughed.

"He plays Texas Hold 'em like he plays backgammon?" Liz said.

"Exactly," said Roger and they were both laughing.

"Oh that's rich, the two of you ganging up on me." Roger held up his fingers in the shape of an L and put it to his forehead and looked over at Liz. She laughed.

"He's also unlucky in love," said Roger.

"Oh really? Do tell, Roger," said Liz.

"Shut up, Roger," I said.

"Two letters," said Roger.

"Two letters?" asked Liz.

"MK," said Roger.

"Shut up, Roger," I said.

"MK stands for Mary Kennedy," said Roger. I threw another French fry at him. "Mary was Mr. Mullins' longtime girlfriend, but she's gone now and she won't be coming back. She dumped Mr. Mullins."

"No, she didn't dump Mr. Mullins. There was a mutual dumping, as you well know."

"Roger, does he refer to himself in the third person, often?" asked Liz.

"Okay, it could be thought of as a mutual dumping," said Roger. He turned to Liz and sarcastically shook his head, "Ms. Kennedy was a beautiful woman." Roger quickly added, "Not as beautiful as you, Liz." Liz laughed and chucked Roger under the chin.

"You are a charmer, Roger," said Liz.

"Mary Kennedy is one of the Assistant District Attorneys for the City of San Francisco. She and Mr. Mullins were together a long time."

"It felt like forever," I said.

"How long was forever?" asked Liz.

"Which time?" said Roger giggling.

"You think this is fucking hilarious, don't you dickhead?" I said.

"It was like 5 years altogether," Roger said. "They always seemed to be fighting. I never understood it. She was always very nice to me."

"Well, you didn't have to live with her, Roger," I said.

"Ms. Kennedy is a very smart, woman. She graduated form Stanford Law School and was very dedicated to her career," Roger said.

"She was also dedicated to being an argumentative, impossible bitch, most of the time," I said.

My cell rang and I saw it was the Niners, "Mr. Mullins, it's Shawn Samuelson."

"Yes, Shawn."

"Mr. Mullins, there is a meeting of law enforcement personnel at 4:30 this afternoon regarding the investigation. Mr. Tierney requests that you attend."

"Okay, we'll see you then, Shawn."

I opened the window to the driver, "Eddie, we're going to 49er Team headquarters. You know where it is?" He did and I looked at the other two, "We got a meeting."

"Let's get back to Mary Kennedy," said Liz. "So, you guys lived together?"

"Sometimes," said Roger.

"Mary was a difficult person to be around on an ongoing basis. She never lost an argument. She was always right. She was a workaholic and had anxiety issues," I said. "You want to know how it finally ended? She was driving me crazy. I was actually seeing a counselor, because I was trying to make the relationship work, God knows why! Anyway, we're in bed and we start making love. During sex..., during sex, she started a fight! I swear to God, it's true. I got up from bed, put my clothes on and went home. The next day I told her, I couldn't do it anymore. I told her we had to stop seeing each other. The woman loved to fight."

"Would that be coitus argumentus interuptus?" asked Roger.

"I've known some difficult people," said Liz. "It's no fun."

"But, it all has a happy ending," said Roger.

"Shut up, Roger."

"Two months after they broke up, she married a friend of Mr. Mullins and now they're going to have a baby! Isn't that great?" The sarcasm dripped from Roger's mouth.

Liz grimaced and said, "Ouch."

"Yeah," I said. "I want to thank you for bringing this sordid story of woe up, Roger. You remember me mentioning to you Liz, how necessary it is to keep a foot firmly planted on the back of Roger's neck?"

"So do you have a girlfriend now, Tom?" Liz asked.

"Mr. Mullins just dates whores now," said Roger. He pronounced whores, "who-ares". "Mr. Mullins has been living like a rock star when it comes to women. There is a definite lack of maturity, when it comes to relationships."

I got off my seat across for Roger. Got him in a head lock and give him a nuggy on the top of the head, while he screams.

"You're so mean, Mr. Mullins," cried Roger, as I sat back down. Liz was laughing at us.

"Who-ares, Roger?" she asked.

"I brought a girl around the office one day and she was dressed for a walk on the beach. Velma saw her and told me she didn't appreciate me bringing who-ares around the office. So now it's the go-to line for any woman I'm with."

"I hope I'm not referred to that way," she said.

"Velma is a little overprotective and a little crazy. She loves us though," I said.

"She loves me," said Roger. "I don't know about you."

We pulled into 49er Headquarters, through a crowd. This was the first exposure Liz had to the craziness. "Wow, I think I should wait in the car. This is going to be weird."

"Don't worry about it," I said, "the more, the merrier."

"This looks like in front of our house, after you shot Chucky, Mr. Mullins." Security directed our car out of sight of the press and ushered us into a side entrance. Shawn Samuelson was there to greet us. We were shown into a meeting room with a number of guys standing around. I nodded to Tonelli and Captain Conners. Oscar Tierney jumped up from his place at the head of the table, ran around and hugged Liz.

"I'm so sorry, Elizabeth," said Tierney. "It's just such a terrible loss for everyone, words don't seem to work." They embraced for a long moment. "I'm so glad you came today, Elizabeth. I need to get an update from these people who are working on this, but I'd like to spend some time with you." He directed Liz to a seat and shook hands with me. "Good to see you again, Tom. I'm glad you could make it." And then he shook hands with Roger, "Ah yes, it's the other half of the dynamic duo, young Roger Goody. I've seen you on TV, boy." Roger shook his hand with a big smile on his face. We all sat and then I noticed our old friend FBI Special Fucking Agent Herbert Nelson seated on the other side of the room. I nodded and smiled at him.

"Agent Nelson," I said as sweetly as I could. He nodded back at me, but he had his "fuck you" face on. There were introductions all around, another FBI agent, a guy from Homeland Security, two State of California Investigators and some security people from the team. Altogether, a group of about 15 people in the room.

Not surprisingly, it was Nelson who spoke first. "Before we get started, Mr. Tierney, since we're all here to discuss progress on the case of Tony Reilly's murder last night, I'm going to have to question the appropriateness of having a possible suspect in the room." He let that sink in. I knew we were about to rock and roll. "I'm referring to the widow, Mrs. Elizabeth Reilly."

Did I mention this guy is an asshole? Chief Conners immediately spoke up, "Last night a tactical team found Mrs. Reilly asleep in her bed at the crime scene. She was immediately taken downtown and given a residual test and a blood test. She has been completely cooperative. She was thoroughly questioned about every aspect of the crime and was simply unaware of what had happened or where her husband had been for the last month. We don't feel Mrs. Reilly was involved in this crime. After further investigation today, checking phone records and email, there has been nothing more that would give us any reason to suspect Mrs. Reilly of any involvement. I don't see any reason why she shouldn't be involved in an informal discussion of progress in the case." I could see Liz was about to bolt. She wasn't crazy about being here, anyway. I put my hand firmly on her arm, holding her down. I wanted to play.

"The FBI hasn't had a chance to question Mrs. Reilly, yet," countered Nelson. The implication being the SFPD is incompetent versus the superior investigative skills of the FBI. "There is certainly motive for Mrs. Reilly to want her husband dead. We estimate the size of the estate of Tony Reilly at $25 Million. There was marital discord; the couple was separated at the time of the incident. There is also opportunity for the crime as no one else seems to have known where Tony Reilly was for the last month and Mrs. Reilly was the only one home. I'll concede it may not have been Mrs. Reilly who pulled the trigger, but certainly with the domestic situation between the couple, there is reason to continue to suspect Mrs. Reilly of involvement in the crime."

Nelson paused and went in for the kill, "I also question the relationship between Private Investigator Thomas Mullins and Mrs. Reilly. Her first call was to him following the questioning at Police Headquarters. Why him? Phone records don't indicate communication between these two people, but our investigation has turned up a meeting between the couple on the afternoon of April 21st in a Sonoma Restaurant called the Wine Country Bistro. The couple was seen leaving the restaurant together. My gut feeling is that Elizabeth Reilly and Thomas Mullins may both be involved and I feel it is inappropriate that they're involved in any discussion of the crime."

What an asshole! I knew he probably got a ration of shit following the silly business of trying to arrest Roger's Dad for the lab computer break in. The contentious relationship between us, went back years. I looked over at Oscar Tierney and wondered if I was still going to be working for him an hour from now.

The room was quiet as I started to speak. "Herb, can I call you Herb? After all, we go back what, 5 years? All those times I busted your balls for being incompetent? How you never seemed to actually solve anything, but managed to take the credit for everything? The way I treated you with such disrespect every time I ran into you? The practical jokes, teasing you about you being an idiot? I know I've been an asshole to you and I'm sorry. I didn't realize just how much I've hurt you that you would come after me like this.

Accusing me of an affair with the wife of Tony Reilly and implicating us in his murder? Holy shit, Herb, we're in unchartered territory here. This really breaks new ground even for you, Nelson. I've seen some fucked up shit from you, but...wow! Now ordinarily, I could just let this go because I know, its just Herbie being Herbie, but, you're freaking me out here. And knowing you like I do, you're about to leak this fucked up fairy tale to the press and ruin the life of an innocent woman and set back this investigation where it may never get solved.

Here is what I have to do, I'm going out beyond the fence and wait till every network has a close up of me and announce that an FBI Special Agent, Herbert Nelson, a man with a personal grudge against me, has concocted a story of an affair between the wife of Tony Reilly and myself and has gone as far as implicating us in his murder. All this despite the fact, that he doesn't have a shred of evidence. I'm going to make a recommendation that given the importance of this case that the Federal Bureau of Investigation immediately re-examine the personnel assigned to this case, so we can move forward and find the people responsible for the death of Tony Reilly. My question to you motherfucker, is do you want to be cleaning urinals in the Fargo office by the end of the week or do you want to try and figure out who killed Tony Reilly?"

Chapter 13

The meeting turned around after the little shitstorm. All the law enforcement agencies had input and there was no evidence or any progress to speak of. No one knew where Tony Reilly had been for the last month. There were no leads on the terror implications of the killing. The 49ers and the NFL were working on a reward for information leading to solving the crime which would be announced. What it came down to, was despite a tremendous amount of investigative manpower, no one had anything.

After the meeting, Oscar Tierney brought Nelson and the other FBI Agent who turned out to be his new boss, back to his office for a meeting with the three of us. Tierney read Nelson the riot act. He promised a call to the Director of the FBI. He warned him that if he heard of anything in the press about Elizabeth or my involvement in the killing, he would join me in denouncing the FBI as ridiculous. Nelson mumbled something about having to run down every lead, but Tierney stopped him. "You think long and hard before you go public with that bullshit, Agent Nelson," and then threw them out of his office. That left the four of us sitting there.

"I certainly hope you two didn't kill her husband," he grinned at me.

"He's an idiot, Mr. Tierney." We sat there in silence for a minute.

"What do you suggest? I have no confidence in anyone in that meeting," said Tierney.

"I'm not sure about the terror angle and that seems to be where everyone is heading. I think we need to figure out where Tony was for last month and who knew it. I think I'd start with his friends and teammates. Someone knows something about where he's been. I'd like to talk to his friends on the team."

Tierney called his secretary, on the intercom and said, "Susie get me the contact list for the team. He turned back to me, "Start with Cochran, Isackson and Benson. Also, touch base with Coach Warren." The center, the quarterback and the star middle linebacker were probably a good place to start. "I'll call them and tell them you'll be over to see them tonight. Charlie Warren should be in his office." I took the list and told Tierney I would keep him informed and appreciated his support.

"Mr. Tierney, if this business with me being implicated in the murder heats up, all you need to do is say the word and I'll back out. I won't let it become a distraction. There was nothing going on between Elizabeth Reilly and me."

"Tom, find out who killed Tony Reilly."

Chapter 14

Head Coach Charlie Warren looked like shit. Roger and I introduced ourselves and sat down in front of his desk. He was slumped over, leaning on his elbow. He looked at us through rummy eyes. "Coach Warren, I'm investigating the death of Tony Reilly for the team." I could smell the booze wafting across the desk. The abrasive, winningest coach in football over the last 5 years, Charles Francis Warren, Notre Dame, USMC, was shitfaced.

"What can I do for you?" he slurred. He was shitfaced.

"Coach, we're investigating the death of Tony Reilly. I would appreciate access to the team and your support."

He took his head off his hand, straightened up and said, "You know who was the best quarterback?" He didn't wait for an answer, "Fran Tarkington." That's all he said and put his head back on his elbow.

Roger went Wiki on Tarkington. "The Mad Scrambler led the Minnesota Vikings to three Superbowl appearances. He started in Minnesota, was traded to the Giants and then went back to the Vikings. He's 6th on the all time passing list with 47,000 yards and 4th on the list with 342 career touchdowns. He was a great."

Warren looked at Roger in amazement, "Who the fuck are you?"

"I'm a football fan," said Roger.

"Yeah, I loved to love to watch Scramblin Fran," said Warren.

"What do you think Tony Reilly's legacy will be, Coach?" I asked.

He thought about it for a minute. "Probably the best single season a quarterback ever had, will ever have." He shook his head, "What a tragedy. I can't remember a sadder day. I loved that kid."

I saw we weren't going to get much out of Charlie Warren today. We said our goodbyes and went looking for Liz. She was in the car waiting. Roger opened his computer. Liz was on her cell. I gave the driver the address for Jerry Cochran's house. "What's going on, Roge?"

"Celebrities hunkering down, buying guns," said Roger. "Other than that, just a lot of speculation."

Liz closed her cell and sighed, "The coroner doesn't expect to release the body till Sunday. They're talking about holding the services at Grace Cathedral next week some time. Rosenblum's office is handling the details with the team involved.

I asked, "What do you want to do, now? We're going over to see Jerry Cochran to see if he can fill us in on what Tony might have been up to for the last month. You want to come?"

"Jerry and Penny Cochran are my two favorite people in the world. I'd love to see them," she said. "I don't think Jerry knows much or Penny would have told me." Jerry Cochran lived 10 minutes away in Sunnyvale. We rang the doorbell and the whole family answered the door. Jerry stood holding a baby and a two year old stood at his mother's knee. Liz and Penny burst into tears hugging each other while Jerry welcomed Roger and me. Cochran was big. Six feet four, handsome, well spoken, he was a Communications major out of USC. He was often on TV and radio as a team spokesman. He definitely had a future in broadcasting. After Penny, it was Jerry's turn to hug Liz. "I loved him, Elizabeth," he said. "I've never been so torn up about losing anyone before," he cried. "Sorry," turning away and wiping away tears, "I've been a mess all day."

"I know how close you were, Jerry," Liz said, as she held him in her arms, the baby between them. "Oh my God, this baby is cute," she said taking the baby from Jerry's arms. Liz knelt down to the toddler and said, "Your sister is very beautiful, JJ."

"She has a vagina," said JJ. We all laughed. Leave it to a kid to sum things up.

Cochran, Roger and I left the woman and children in the kitchen and we went into the den. "Man, what a day," he said shaking his head. "This really, really sucks," and wiped a tear away.

"What's going on with the team?" I asked him.

"We're all stunned," he said. "In this league, you get used to seeing people come and go, but not die! I couldn't even talk to the press. What is there to say? The leader of the team and my good friend is gone. Someone murdered him? I can't get my head around it."

"I'm sorry for your loss, man," was all I could think of to say.

He went around the small bar and pulled out a beer handed one to me and a Coke to Roger. "All there is left to do is to get drunk," he said shaking his head.

"Jerry, let me ask you something," I said. "You guys were friends; do you have any idea what Tony was up to for the last month?"

"I don't, Tom. He was pissed off about the contract and he said he was going to get away for a few weeks. I thought it was a good idea. I think he needed a change of scenery. I'll tell you this, something was really bothering him after the season. I think he was more upset about Elizabeth than the contract. He should have been the happiest guy in the world, but here he was moping around like a sick sow. I didn't understand the whole separation from Elizabeth thing. I asked him, what's wrong with you? How could you leave her? She's the best thing that ever happened to you."

"What did he say?"

"He said they were having some issues, but I knew they weren't. Penny talks to Elizabeth. He was having issues and he wouldn't talk about it. He wasn't himself." Cochran crushed the beer can, got himself another, popped it open and said, "It was like he was depressed or something. Anyway, one day he bugs out, we don't hear anything from him for a month and this morning he turns up in his driveway, murdered. What the fuck?" No one said anything. The three of us just sat. We could hear the kids in the other room.

"What's going to happen with the team?" I asked.

"Beats the shit out of me. Tony got us there last year. I don't have a lot of confidence in Isackson. It's tough enough without this kind of a distraction." He thought about it for a moment. "Maybe it'll be motivation. It doesn't feel like it today, but back to business tomorrow."

"I'm going over to see Isackson tonight," I said.

"Don't tell him what I said. I have to live with him," Cochran said.

"I'm thinking Tony would have wanted you guys to suck it up and kick some ass," I said. I handed him my business card and told him to get in touch if he heard anything. The girls were in the kitchen with children in their laps. I said, "We need to push on, I'd like to talk to Paul Isackson."

Penny and Liz looked at each other. Penny said, "Say hello to Lydia for me."

Liz grimaced and said, "I'll wait in the car." The girls laughed. I had no idea what was going on there. Everyone said their goodbyes, with promises to meet up in a few days. I told Jerry I would probably see him around the team offices until this thing got ironed out.

Once again we were on the road. Roger on the computer and Liz staring out the window. We took 101 to Menlo Park. Houses in this area were very expensive. We pulled up in front of a big house on a quiet oak lined street. Liz said, "I'll wait in the car."

"You were serious back there," I said.

"Yeah, I'm not a big fan of Lydia Isackson," she said.

"Okay, we'll try and make this quick."

"Take your time, I could use a few winks," she said as she stretched on the long cabin seat. Roger and I walked up to the front door. A Team security guard, who I recognized from yesterday, came out of the dark and said, "Good evening Mr. Mullins, Mr. Isackson is expecting you." I thanked him and rang the doorbell. It was answered by one the most drop dead, beautiful blond, I think I've ever seen.

"I'm Lydia Isackson, please come in." I was a little overwhelmed to be honest. She shook hands with both of us. "I saw you on TV, Roger. You were great." Even the unflappable Roger Goody was tongue tied. "Come this way, Paul is watching baseball." The house was right out of Architectural Digest, every room was perfect.

"You have a beautiful house, Mrs. Isackson"

"Please call me Lydia and thank you, Tom. Paul told me you were working with the team. It's such a shock," she said, as we walked into the media room. Paul Isackson sat watching a baseball game on a huge flat screen.

"I'll say it was a shock," said Paul, shaking hands. "We went to bed last night thinking we were going to Miami and woke up this morning and found out we were staying here. So, how's it going, who done it?"

"At this point, the most important thing is just making sure the team is secure," I said. "That's our first priority."

"Well, with security outside and an arsenal inside, we feel pretty secure," said Isackson. Lydia sat next to her husband. They were a very attractive couple. "I've been a hunter and a gun collector all my life, so heaven help the jihad motherfucker that tries coming in after me and my family, right Babe?" he asked his wife. She smiled and put a hand on his leg and he looked back at the baseball game on the huge screen.

"How is Elizabeth doing, Tom?" she asked. "I feel so bad for her. I'd bet anything, she and Tony were going to get back together. I'll bet that's why he was there last night."

"Elizabeth has been very upset," I said. "This has been a big shock for her. She's going through the grieving process."

"We were very close. I just feel terrible about all this," Lydia said. "What are the plans for the services?"

"That's really still up in the air. They still haven't released the body," I said. "I wanted to ask you, Paul, if you may have heard where Tony has been for the last month?"

"I don't know a thing," he said. "I thought I was getting traded so I haven't been around the team at all since the Superbowl. We were back in Utah before training camp started. I wasn't talking to any of the rest of the team. You know, all I can do is my job. My job is to be in shape and ready to lead a team with my God given talents. We've been praying a lot on this contract situation and I can't help but see the hand of God in how this all worked out." I sat there stunned by that remark and couldn't think of anything else to say.

"Well, I hope it works out for you and the team and best of luck on the upcoming season," I said and stood to go.

He and his wife stood and he said, "Thank you and I'll pray you find the murderer quickly, so we can all get back to football."

"I'll show you to the door," said Lydia. "Please give my condolences to Elizabeth if you see her. She's in our hearts and prayers."

"I will," I said, "and thank you for your time."

When we got back to the car Roger said, "She was really beautiful."

"And he's a fucking idiot," I said.

"Well that pretty much summarizes things," Elizabeth said.

"He thinks it's the hand of God that had a part in Tony's death. God didn't want him to go to Miami," I said.

"What did you think of her, Tom?" Liz asked.

"The beautiful, doting wife. She said you and her were close and wanted me to pass on her condolences."

"We were close?" Liz said. "Were' may have been the operative word here. We saw them socially a couple of times and I sat with her during some games at the beginning of the season. We went to a couple of charity functions together. As I got to know her, I started to see what a back stabbing, nasty person she was. She rarely had something good to say about anyone. She was just mean. By the time of that fourth game, when Paul, then Jeff was injured, I was dreading sitting by her at the games." She sat looking out the window as the car started to move. We had one more stop.

"You okay Liz?" I asked. "I want to go see Matt Benson and then we'll call it a night." She nodded and continued to stare out the window. The silent treatment; I knew the silent treatment. The silent treatment usually meant one thing when it came to me and women. I had fucked up, somehow. "Anything new, Roge?" I asked, as he typed away on his computer.

"They may be close to finding Higgs Boson."

I looked over at Liz, "Higgs Boson?" She shook her head. "Third baseman for the Devil Rays?" I asked.

Roger laughed. "Higgs Boson is the 'God Particle' thought to be critical to forming the cosmos after the Big Bang. Higgs Boson has only been theoretical up to now, but they've been making big jumps forward in the science at the LHC."

"The LHC?"

"The Large Hadron Collider project in Geneva. It's a 15 mile looped tunnel that creates mini-Big Bangs by smashing together particles. It's only operating at half speed now because it's new, but in the next few years as they begin operating it faster, at conditions that recreate the Big Bang, the scientists are pretty sure they're going to find it. You have to look for the Higgs in the low mass region."

"Yeah, I don't think it's there," I said.

"Why not?" asked Roger.

"I think it's in Milpitas."

Roger ignored me. "They think they have just detected the Top Quark, a massive, short lived particle. The Higgs is a theoretical energy particle. This is exciting stuff, Mr. Mullins. The more they raise the energy, the closer they get to the conditions of the Big Bang, the more likely they are to find the Higgs."

"And why do we want to find this, Roger?"

"Because then we'll know how the cosmos was formed 10 billion years ago, after the Big Bang. The Higgs gave mass to the disparate matter spawned at that time."

I thought about it for a moment. "What is the practical application of knowing this stuff?"

"What's the practical application of knowing why an apple falls from a tree? It furthers our knowledge of all life to know how and why we got here and the principles in which the world operates." He looked at me with the sarcastic look worthy of the dumbass, I am. "And, QB Tony Reilly received a speeding ticket in Los Gatos a month ago," he said, "a 95 in a 45 zone."

"Find out who gave it to him," I said. "Maybe he told the cop where he was going to be for the next month," I said sarcastically.

I looked at Liz still staring out the window. I picked up the intercom and spoke to the driver, "Eddie, coffee, Starbucks or something." He quickly found a place and I handed Roger money and told him to get coffee for us. When the Roger closed the door and walked off, I slipped beside Liz and said, "Something I did?" She looked at me for a moment, smiled and climbed on me. Facing me, she took my head in her hands and kissed me hard in a long, lingering kiss. It hurt, it was so hard. She put her hand inside my shirt and thrust her tongue down my throat. Then, after playing for a while, as she had me pinned into the seat, she abruptly stopped and sat back down next to me again as Roger got back in with a bag of food.

Liz was staring out the window again. As we started to drive off, she said quietly, "I think I know who killed Tony."

Chapter 15

That fourth game of the season. The day that Baltimore's Dometrius Daniels, alias Dominent D, alias Mr. D, alias DD, came to town. Three hundred and five pounds of speed and muscle. You can make an argument that he is the best player in football. He is certainly, the most dominant defensive lineman in football. With fourteen sacks of the quarterback last year, you have to know where he is, when he's on the field. He has to be double teamed.

On the Thursday prior to the Baltimore game, Jeffery Chang, the San Francisco Pro Bowl left tackle, pulled a hamstring. Chang limped off the field and in stepped rookie Clarence Pierce to take Chang's position in practice. Clarence Pierce is a 325 pound, fourth round draft pick out of Nebraska. A likable young man, he is exactly what he appears to be, a big old farm boy. Someday, Clarence may become a good lineman, but he was not prepared to take on the best defensive player in football that Sunday.

The left tackle on the offensive line is charged with protecting the quarterback's blind side. Right handed quarterbacks turn to their right to throw the ball. The right defensive end, lined up against the left offensive tackle, has an advantage because he's often charging to the quarterback unseen by him or not seen till the last second. DD Daniels has made a living making crushing sacks of quarterbacks, who never saw him coming. If Daniels doesn't sack the quarterback, he's disrupting plays with his defensive pressure.

When DD heard that the San Francisco guard was on the injury report, he wasted no time finding out all about Chang's replacement and was overjoyed to hear that it was a rookie. DD studied all the information he could find on his opponent including all his personal family history, because there was one aspect of DD's game that no one could measure up, talking shit. He is absolutely relentless. He would use the opponent's wife, mother or grandmother and begin as soon as the game started to describe to his opponent the explicit sexual encounters he had with that person. Usually, this involved an oral or anal rape of that person, in which the person begs for more. "You'll never guess where I was the day before yesterday, Clarence. I was in your Mama's ass. I was in there most of the morning while your Daddy was out to work. You know what Clarence? You're Mama doesn't like Mr. D's big black dick in her ass. Oh no, she LOVES Mr. D's big black dick in her ass. I love when a woman knows what she wants and she wanted Mr. D's big black dick so far up her....."

So along with a constant stream of derision directed at his mother, Clarence Pierce was being consistently beaten by DD. DD was being double teamed with a fullback. This tactic worked for the first few sets of downs in which San Francisco went nowhere. They punted on their first three possessions and had a total of minus 26 yards of offense. Clarence had been caught holding twice already and the first quarter wasn't over. DD was schooling him.

On their fourth possession, San Francisco tried a screen play, to DD's side. DD figured this was probably coming, when he felt the boy's lack of effort against him. He thought screen, retreated a few steps and jumped up, tipping the pass up into the air and down into his hands. He ran the ball back 20 yards and three plays later, Baltimore found the end zone.

As the second quarter began, San Francisco still had no answer for DD. He was in the backfield on every running play and had pressure on the quarterback on every pass attempt. At one point, Clarence Pierce blocked out DD long enough for the team to complete a crossing route for a first down, their first of the day. DD congratulated Clarence. "That was excellent footwork Clarence. Your mother is going to be very pleased and believe me Clarence, I know when your mother is pleased. It takes work. Just like you showed me there. You used leverage and technique. You know what? That's what I used when I was fucking your Mama's ass, leverage and technique."

On the next play, DD used a swimming move to flow by Pierce. The San Francisco fullback was just able to nudge DD enough on the double team for DD's helmet to hit the quarterback in the lower leg. Paul Isackson's tibia snapped like a match stick. A pin would have to be inserted to hold the bone together. He was out for the season. It had been a clean hit. DD had been blocked into the lower leg. A cart hauled Isackson off the field, writhing in pain. DD Daniels stood impassively, with his hands on his hips staring at the scene of medical people working around the injured quarterback. The crowd was hushed. This looked like the end of the season for San Francisco.

DD Daniels had two sacks, four tackles, intercepted a pass, pressured the quarterback half a dozen times and had now taken out the QB for the season. There was still eight minutes to play in the second quarter. Daniels was having a career game, but he wasn't done yet. The veteran Kyle Schular came in to replace Isackson. He was a ten year veteran who had played with five teams. He had once led Buffalo to the playoffs, where they had been eliminated in the first round. He had a strong arm, but was slow.

On Schular's first play, DD Brown hit him as he was throwing. The interception was run back for a touchdown. Baltimore was up 14. On third and 17, on the next possession, San Francisco went with a screen pass. DD Daniels had come up the middle on a switch. Untouched, he charged into Schular, picking him up and driving him into the turf, breaking his collar bone and leaving him unconscious. Roughing the passer and an unsportsmanlike conduct got an outraged DD Daniels thrown out of the game. The following fight on the field between the two teams resulted in offsetting unsportsmanlike conduct penalties. You don't often see the benches empty in a full out brawl in football. Including Daniels, five players were thrown out of the game following the brawl. The crowd was in a frenzy. They were throwing everything not tied down, onto the Baltimore bench. Almost 20 minutes went by before things were sorted and the final five minutes of the first half played could be played.

The third string San Francisco quarterback had begun to warm up on the sideline, as soon as, Schuler went down. He hadn't taken part in the brawl. He just calmly started throwing the ball on the side lines. For the first time in his three year NFL career, Tony Reilly stepped on to the field in a regular season game. His team was down 14 against the best defensive team in football that season. Tony Reilly was ready.

First and 10 at his 46 yard line with 4 minutes to go in the half. The San Francisco back went off tackle for a couple. Reilly then hit his tight end for 17 yards and a first down. He then sent his receivers long and took off, when they were covered, picking up 12. Having Reilly run was pretty risky considering his backup at this point was a wide receiver who had last played QB in high school. The Niners were out of quarterbacks. First and 10, 20 yard line San Francisco had two running plays for five yards. Reilly found an open wide receiver in the end zone, who dropped the pass. They kicked a field goal and the half ended.

Two 49er quarterbacks were on the way to the hospital. Emotions were running high in the locker room. Tony Reilly met with the offensive coordinator and the coach. The plan for the second half was to play conservative and pass, when they had to. The idea was to grind out a respectable game. Reilly wasn't having any of that. He adamantly insisted they had to go no huddle with a spread offense to have any chance. No huddle keeps the defense in their defensive look, longer, allowing the quarterback to get a better look at what the defense was doing. The defensive players also have to stay in their stance possibly longer tiring them out. The defense can still change at the last second, but it's harder. The quarterback is often calling plays at the line at the last second. The quarterback has be able to read the defense, to make it work.

San Francisco rarely ran no-huddle, but Tony Reilly had often ran no-huddle in practice, simulating the other team offense for the 49er defense to practice against. The coaching staff reluctantly agreed to come out in the no-huddle and see what happens. Reilly also made a request for his buddy, Terrence Brown to play in the slot receiver position. Reilly and Brown had spent a lot of time together in practice and Reilly felt comfortable throwing to him. The short meeting broke and the Coach Warren went out to address the team. He gave a simple speech to his team. No clichés, no win one for the Gipper, "We're down to a team that has beaten us up in the first half. I need professionals with pride out there in the second half. Play with passion, but play the way I know each and every one of you can. Defense, I need you to hold this team, because Tony Reilly is going to win this one for us."

Baltimore took the opening kickoff and with the help of a holding call and a questionable pass interference call, managed to get a long field goal. San Francisco got the ball back in the second half down 17-3. They came out in a spread, no huddle, shotgun formation, which they hadn't shown all year and really hadn't practiced much. Reilly walked up and down the line shouting signals and at the last second snapped the ball and hit a wide receiver on a crossing route. They stayed in the no huddle and used a sweep for 7 yards. On second and three, he hit Terrence Brown for 27. They pounded the middle when the linebackers deep and on 3rd and 3 on his 41, threaded a perfect pass to wideout Jimmy Oliva for a touchdown, when he saw him in single coverage. The Niners were back in the game.

The 49er Defense intercepted a pass for their first turnover of the game and the offense again came out in no huddle. Reading the defense, shouting "Kill, Kill" to change the play at the line to take whatever the Baltimore was showing them. On a 2nd and eight with his receivers covered, Reilly took off for 26 yards, showing his speed. The Baltimore defense were on their heels, when he hit his tight end in the end zone to tie the score and the stadium was rocking.

Baltimore went three and out and punted. Reilly marched the 49ers down field and just before the end of the quarter, Reilly went into the endzone on a keeper, stuffing the football over the crossbar at the end of the run as he was mobbed by teammates. 21 points in the third quarter. Baltimore hadn't allowed 21 total points to an opponent in their four games. The fourth quarter was more of the same. The San Francisco defense dug in. The offense put up ten more points by the time the game ended 34-20. This was against a team without their best player in DD Daniels, but it was done with a third string quarterback. Reilly had no interceptions, 270 yards passing, three touchdown passes and had scored. In the locker room, the coach told his team, "Goddamn it, I told you Tony Reilly was going to win this one for us," and handed him the game ball.

Reilly had won his first game.

Chapter 16

"Well?" I said to Liz. Roger and I were both staring at her.

"Well, is a deep subject," she said.

"Who killed Tony, Liz?"

"I don't want to say," she said.

"Why not?"

"Because," she said. I looked at Roger.

"Why won't she tell us," I asked him.

"She's afraid," said Roger. "You know what, Liz? Mr. Mullins is almost always wrong, when he makes guesses.

"I'm never wrong," I said.

"I'd say he's right about...2% of the time."

"I'm right about 85% of the time," I said.

We rolled to a stop in front of what I assumed was Matt Benson's house and we sat there looking at each other. "Are you afraid of something, Liz?" I asked. She didn't say anything. She just looked at me.

Finally she said, "It's bad. It's very bad."

"Bad?" I said. She nodded her head and looked out the window.

"And I haven't finished thinking about it." I looked at Roger and shrugged my shoulders.

"Let's go see Matt," Liz said. "I love this guy."

I shrugged my shoulders again and said, "Let's go see Matt." We got out and went to the door. I didn't see any security around. Benson answered the door himself and immediately took Liz into his massive arms. Up close, these football players are huge. Matt was a first round draft pick out of Texas. As a middle linebacker, he anchored and led the defensive team. The Team defense had become dominant last year and he was definitely the star.

"I'm so sorry about Tony, Liz," Benson said. Roger and I shook hands with him and he led us into his living room. A beautiful woman stood there to meet us. Holy shit, these football players get the women! Matt introduced her as his friend Keisha. She offered her condolences to Liz and asked about refreshments. We declined and we sat down as Keisha left us.

"What happened to Jade?" Liz asked Matt.

"I upgraded," he said.

"You do a lot of upgrading," she said.

"Elizabeth, I'm so bummed about Tony," obviously wanting to get out of that discussion. "He was more than just a friend. I would have done anything for that guy."

"He thought the world of you, Matt."

Benson looked at us, "I know you guys. I saw you on Leno young man," he said to Roger.

"I've seen you on TV too, Mr. Benson," said Roger.

"Matt, Oscar Tierney suggested I speak with you, as one of the leaders of the team. He's hired me to look after the team's interests, to be a liaison for the investigation with the authorities and the team, and the NFL. We were wondering if you could share anything about what Tony may have been up to for the last month. He seems to have fallen off everyone's radar."

Benson stretched in his chair. "A liaison, huh?" he said. "How long have you known Tierney?"

"Met him today," I said.

"Here is a tip for dealing with Tierney. If his lips are moving, he's lying. He is a two-faced motherfucker."

"I've heard that before," said Liz.

Benson continued, "For all the love he professes for his players, he makes decisions for one reason and one reason only. How will this benefit me? He is the most soulless person I have ever met."

Shrugging my shoulders, "It's a business," I said.

"It is, Tom," said Benson, "and we're all just cattle to him. Just make sure your agreement is set in stone, because he'll find some way to fuck you. He's very consistent."

A thought struck me, "You think he had something to do with Tony's death?" I asked.

Benson looked at me with no expression on his face. "If it benefited him in some way."

"You're a little bitter, I take it."

"I've seen the shit he's pulled. I've got no use for him, as a human being."

I could see this was going nowhere, so I changed the subject. "You and Tony were close?"

"Tony and I were close. I respected him more than any player on the team. Tony Reilly had a great head for football. He knew more about football than anyone on the field. I would have been very surprised, if he didn't end up as a head coach someday." Benson again stretched and put his hands behind his head. "We came in as rookies together. I was a number one draft pick. I was the anointed one, the middle linebacker that was going to run the defense. Tony was undrafted and if he hadn't gone to Cal, he probably wouldn't have been playing. Tony's job was to run the scout team against the defense. Since he saw so much of the defense, he became a student of it.

He was a very positive guy and worked both sides of the ball in practice, encouraging the defensive and the offensive players. Pointing out mistakes and telling someone how to improve, but never in a critical manner. That's a unique talent and everyone knew that Tony was someone special. He would often go through me to relay a message to a player. This was supposed to be the job of the defensive coaches and they started out telling Tony to mind his own business and just run the offense. But he kept doing it and after a while, they just left him alone because it was a positive influence. He was on me, anyway. Here was this rookie QB telling me what to do, but I could see that he was right most of the time. So, I listened to him. During games, he'd speak to me a few times with pointers and encouragement. I got so I needed to hear what he had to say. That is a unique relationship, because half the time, I know the coaches are full of shit."

"We worked out together after the season ended, when I was around. I couldn't believe it when he told me you guys had split up, Elizabeth. I asked what happened, but he didn't have much to say. Then the contract negotiations soured and he stopped coming around the training facility. I didn't see him for a few weeks and then one night he came over for a beer and said he was pissed off, life sucked and he wanted to get away."

"Do you know where he went?" I asked.

Benson said slowly, "Yeah, I do. He went to Mexico."

"There is no record of him leaving the country."

"Didn't need one. He took my boat and sailed down to Baja." I looked around at Roger and Liz. We were stunned.

"Why haven't you said anything, Matt? Everyone's been trying to figure out where he's been for the last month. It could be important in the investigation."

"News to me, no one asked and I didn't know they were looking for him. It gets me involved in this and I don't know anything. I didn't have any contact with him during the last month."

"I didn't know Tony could sail," said Liz.

"Yeah, he sailed Lasers in the Bay when he was a kid. I teamed him with a guy who knows the boat and Mexico. Tony was crew, but I'm sure he learned how to sail if he was on it for a month. It's a 49 foot boat. I used to live on it when I was visiting my parents in San Diego. You could sail that thing around the world. Find Jose Pena and ask him what they were up to for the last month."

"Can we call him?" I asked.

"He's elusive. I get in touch with him through the Marina. He's in and out. I don't even know if he's legal, but that's how he makes a living. Moving boats around for people, crewing, great guy!"

"I need to get a hold of him," I said.

"I can talk to the guys at the Marina, let them know you want to speak to him."

"I want to speak to him, now."

"I doubt he's going to want to talk to cops."

"Do me a favor? Call the guys at the Marina and tell them we need to find Jose." I thought for a moment, "Tell him, I got some cash for him to talk to me. Did the Marina guys see Tony coming and going?"

"I don't know, maybe, depends on what time of day it was. You can get into the marina, just knowing the combination to the gate. I don't know if anyone is working at night. There is probably some security people."

I looked at Liz and Roger. "I guess we're going sailing."

Chapter 17

When we got back in the car, Roger got up on his knees and whispered something in Liz's ear.

"It's a secret," she said aloud. Roger again whispered in her ear for a long time. When he was done, he sat looking at her with pleading eyes. She leaned over and whispered in his ear.

"Lydia Isackson?" Roger said aloud. Liz hit him on the shoulder.

"You said you wouldn't tell!" she said.

"You can't trust him, he's a liar," I said, "Lydia Isackson?"

"Now, I know you're a little rat, Roger."

"Why her?" I said.

Liz sat staring ahead with a frown on her face. "I haven't got a good reason, just that she's a sociopath and always gets her way. I don't think Miami was her style. And, I think she might have been having an affair with Tony." She started crying.

Roger and I looked at each other. "This is going to get messy," I said. "What do you know for a fact, Liz?"

"Other than she's a sociopath, nothing. That's why I didn't want to tell you."

"Why do you think she was having an affair with Tony?"

"She was fucking everyone else; she was probably fucking Tony, too."

"You want to back up and tell me a little more about Lydia Isackson, Liz?"

Lydia McCormack Isackson was a runner-up for Miss Utah. A Mormon, she was the oldest child in a big family. She went to the University of Utah and was the head cheerleader where she met, the big man on campus, Paul Isackson. An English major, she was smart and beautiful. She was active in charities and was well known in the Bay Area.

"What went on between you and Lydia, Liz?" I asked.

"We got to know each other through the team. They have various get-togethers for the families. I didn't know anyone and she was fun to be around. When the games started she asked me to sit by her and I got to know her other friends. I started to realize that I had been invited into her clique. It was like high school all over again, only I was now part of the mean girls. Did you ever see that movie?"

"Yes, I know what you're talking about."

"I went along on some charity events she was a part of. Lydia stays very busy with her social life and charities. She's very outgoing. Paul, is the complete opposite. Lydia likes to have her clique around her, her camp followers. So, I got to know her and the more I got to know her, the more I realized what an asshole she was. She didn't care about the charities or even football. She just cares about Lydia. She hates her husband. She thinks he's an idiot. She has as little to do with him as she can. As long as Paul gets laid occasionally, he's happy. So she's out most nights doing her thing. Smiling in the stands for the camera during the game. I quickly got to the point where I couldn't stand her. One day I was talking to Penny Cochran and the topic of Lydia came up. I started saying, she wasn't a very nice person and Penny unloaded. Turns out most of the team wives, hate her. She's a jerk, but because of who she is, the quarterback's wife, she gets away with it."

"Okay, but a capable of murder?" I asked.

"Capable of anything. I don't know, Tom. I was thinking out loud. It just occurred to me. I'm sorry I said it."

I looked at Roger. "See what you can find out. We can't let it get out that we're even thinking about this. Holy shit, what a mess it would be if she did it. Do you think you're capable of being discreet, Roger?"

"Discreet is my middle name," said Roger.

"Yeah, right."

Chapter 18

I called Tierney and told him we had a lead on Tony and wanted to check it out in San Diego. In 45 minutes he had a jet waiting for us at the San Jose. We flew into San Diego and got a cab to the Marina, where Benson had his boat. No one around at 1:30 AM, but there were cameras. I had the combination into the Marina and the keys to Benson's boat and it was big. We gave Liz the master and Roger and I each had a cabin.

We were up at 8 AM for coffee and donuts. Liz had been on a food run. The Marina was getting busy on a Saturday morning. Liz and I sat together drinking our coffee on deck.

"You sleep okay?" I asked her.

"I would have slept better with you beside me," she said.

"Then there wouldn't have been much sleep," I said. She laughed and snuggled up close to me. "Better be careful, I don't want us on the front page of People Magazine."

"I can see someone at the office, want to go talk to them?" she asked. We walked to the open air, office counter that had been closed up tight last night. A guy sat behind the working on a computer.

"Good morning," he said.

"We're friends of Matt Benson. I'm Tom Mullins. I'm a private investigator looking into the death of Tony Reilly. The guy behind the computer got up and brought us over to a table under an umbrella while the other guy was helping a customer.

"Yeah, he left a message you would be in. He said you were looking for Jose Padilla. Unfortunately, he's not around. I can find someone else, if you want to take the boat out?"

"I wanted to speak to Jose. Do you know where I can find him?"

"He left yesterday on a boat heading for Catalina. I don't think he has a cell phone. Maybe the owner has a cell phone number for the party that has the boat. I'll give him a call.

"I'd appreciate that, I said. "By the way, did you see Tony Reilly when he came and took Benson's boat?"

"No, none of us knew anything about Tony Reilly being here. We did see Jose Padilla getting the boat ready. It was gone a month and was back the other night."

"Do you have security at night?"

"A security service monitors the cameras and alarms. Patrols come by a few times a night."

"Have you talked to Padilla since he got back?"

"I said hello, but it was busy and I didn't get a chance to talk to him. He was off on another charter yesterday. He works pretty steady during the season. He's in and out. He doesn't work for us. He's a freelancer, hires on as needed. We've never had a problem or a complaint about him from a customer."

"You think I'm going to be able to find Padilla on Catalina?"

"Yeah, they're probably heading for Avalon. Check-in with the Harbor Master and see if the Greta Jean is anchored there. Meanwhile, I'll try and come up with a cell phone or a number for the boat. Padilla works with a service that places crew. You can try them, also."

"How can I get to Avalon today?"

"Well, there are high speed ferries and regular flights. You could hire a charter. You can hire a chopper. I would try Avalon first. I've got a list of numbers you can call to arrange something."

We were in the air an hour later.

Chapter 19

Padilla wasn't hard to find. The Greta Jean was in Avalon harbor and we got a water taxi out to it, after we landed. There was a couple on board that told us Padilla was with them, but had gone onshore. "Try the bars, he likes to drink," they told us. We found him sitting at a bar in about 15 minutes, the crackerjack detectives that we are. There aren't that many bars in town. I bought Jose a drink, got one ourselves and asked him to sit down and talk with us.

"Tony Reilly, he a good man, my friend," said Padilla in heavily accented English. "He play American football. He very good."

"Not any more, Jose," I said. "Someone shot and killed him two days ago."

"Oh my God!" Padilla leans over with a string of Spanish, blessing himself a number of times. He started crying. I reach over putting my hand on his arm. People in the bar were looking at us.

When he begins to collect himself, I point at Liz and say, "This is his wife and we are trying to find who did it." He comes around the table and gives Liz a hug and says how sorry he is.

"I spend a month with him. Oh my God, I don't believe it." He said. Apparently, he had got to know him very well and they had become friends. Liz spoke to him in Spanish, which surprised me. Liz introduces Roger who also begins talking to him in Spanish. I'm lost with nothing more than my basic high school "kitchen" Spanish. I let Liz and Roger get the story from Padilla. I nod at Roger and point at Padilla, indicating I want him to get the story. I walk out on a deck overlooking the magnificent Avalon harbor. It's a gorgeous day. I'm surprised to see I have good cell reception and call Tonelli at the SFPD.

"Tommy, how's it hanging," Tonelli greets me

"I don't know, brother, I haven't had a chance to look."

"Maybe you should start prioritizing."

"I should go back with the SFPD, so I can relax."

"Ouch, that's harsh, man."

"Have you got anything new? I know you've been emailing Roger. I really appreciate your help."

"No problemo, man, you're on the team for this one. To address your question, we haven't been able to prove you or Elizabeth Reilly did it...yet."

"We covered our tracks," I said.

"The FBI isn't talking to us, but I'd be surprised if they had anything. We understand he may have left the country, but there is no record of it. I'd say, we got nothing at this point in the investigation. The terrorist angle is what we're working. We're chasing some leads, but I'm not confident it's the right direction."

"Okay, let me fill you in on what we're doing." I told Tonelli where we were and what we had learned. Told him we were now in the process of speaking to Padilla and I would update him in a couple of hours.

"Wow," said Tonelli, you've been busy. That's interesting. Why didn't Benson tell us about the boat?"

"You didn't ask him? Look Eddie, I got something else, but it's a motherfucker."

"I'm listening."

"You have to promise me, you'll play this close to the vest."

"Tom, what do you have?"

"Lydia Isackson has come up as a possible suspect."

"Get the fuck out!"

"I suggest you take a look at her. She was possibly, that's possibly, having an affair with Reilly. Get her cell phone records. Poke around a little. I don't know how, but don't let this get out. It's probably nothing, but take a look. I'm not going to mention this to the team. In fact I'm not going to mention this to anyone. Eddie, we could do this ourselves, but you have more juice and I trust your discretion. Plus, you owe me one."

"Why do you think that she's involved?"

"Elizabeth thinks she's involved and she was very reluctant to tell us. It's just a hunch. She knows her well and she just thinks she's capable of anything. There may be nothing there, but you should take a look at her."

"Why didn't she tell us that when we questioned her?"

"I don't think it occurred to her, initially. It looked like a terrorist thing, remember? She doesn't have anything specific. She thought Reilly might have been having an affair and she thought it might be Lydia Isackson. That's about it."

"I'll see what I can do," Tonelli says. "If she's involved, then her husband is in it too? Fuck me, this could get messy."

"Exactly!"

"Hey, I want to talk to this, Padilla."

"He's elusive. He's crewing on boats and doesn't carry a cell phone, but I'll make sure we can find him again. I'll have Roger write up the interview and email it to you in a few hours. Eddie, please, discretion on Lydia Isackson?"

I checked in with Velma at the office. Listened as she read me the riot act. I cut her off and tried to listen to a few voice mails, deleting most of them after I heard who they were from.

I walked back in and sat down. The conversation continued in Spanish among the three of them. Finally, all of them looked at me. "We know where Tony Reilly was for the last month," said Roger.

Chapter 20

Tony Reilly showed up at the dock in San Diego late in the evening a month ago. He found Benson's boat and Jose Pedilla drinking a beer, watching a soccer game on a flat panel TV screen in the wheelhouse. Jose had finished provisioning the boat for a week's cruise. Tony got a tour of the boat. A 49-foot Hunter complete with Corian countertops and a large galley with stove and microwave. The boat's interior was outfitted with light colored teak woodwork, beautiful upholstery, plenty of headroom, GPS and radar. There was a flat panel TV screen in the saloon bulkhead and a smaller one between the two helm stations. They all tied into the navigation and entertainment center. Tony took the spacious owner's cabin. The boat's white exterior was complimented with teak decks and trim. It was a magnificent, long distance, two masted cruiser.

The two men where they might go. Tony wanted to learn how to sail. He didn't have a clue about something this big. He didn't want to go to tourists spots. He told Padilla he was an American football player, like Matt Benson and was lying low during contract negotiations. Jose knew little about American football and had never heard of Tony. Jose asked him if he knew how to surf. Tony said he'd been surfing a few times and enjoyed it, but wasn't very good.

"I have two boards on board. I can teach you to sail and surf," Jose said. "I know the best places."

"Sounds good to me," said Tony. They decided to head down the Baja coast and hit smaller villages that had the prime surfing, bypassing bigger ports like Rosarita Beach and Ensenada. They could always go anchor somewhere and stay at a hotel, if that's the way he wanted to roll.

"All, up to you," Jose told Tony.

At dawn they motored out of San Diego and headed south. After they cleared land, Jose started working with Tony. The two men were quickly working as a team. Favorable winds and calm sea made for ideal sailing conditions. Tony was exhilarated. "I'm getting me one of these, Jose."

"You like it, Tony?"

"I love it, Jose."

They went over all the safety rules of boating. Jose put the boat on auto-pilot and went through every detail of the boat. He showed Tony how to raise and lower sails and where problems were likely to occur. Jose was a pro when it came to teaching boating and Tony was a good student. Jose made some fish tacos for lunch while Tony took the wheel. Jose gave the boat to Tony when he took a siesta. They arrived in Puerto Balandra later in the afternoon. This was an isolated, unpopulated coastal area with beaches, an interior salt lagoon and a rock formation called "El Hongo", the mushroom. They took the dingy into shore. Tony went for a five mile run and a swim along one of the eight beaches while Jose found a little shack bar and settled in for a few beers.

The pattern was established. A day cruising at sea followed by Tony running and swimming. They worked their way down the coast. Jose started calling Tony "Captain" after three days. Jose would pick a spot on the map and tell Tony, "Get us there." Tony would do it using the sophisticated navigation systems.

They hit Isla Natividad, a small, desolate island, on a perfect day for surfing one of the best, break barrels in the world. Tony wasn't a match for Jose, but he got better throughout the day. It was so good, they decided to do it again the next day and then a third day. By the end of the third day, with Tony's athleticism, he was earning his chops as a surfer with Jose's encouragement. This island was only accessible by airplane or boat, making it usually uncrowded. There was nothing to do on Isla Natividad, but Tony said he could have stayed a month. It was unusual to hit surf that good so early in the season. Jose convinced him to move on, he needed a little night life.

Punta Abreojos was a legendary right reef break, surfing spot. Offshore winds hold up the waves and the water is warm. Local fisherman supplied the fresh fish and lobsters. They would surf the day, cook dinner on the boat and drink beer at the little beach bar at night. They were few people that early in the season and no one recognized Tony. There were a number of senoritas around, that Jose fell in love with and he would take for the night. Tony would paddle back to the boat alone. He would be back on the beach in the morning for his usual run and meet up with Jose for surfing. One morning, Jose was waiting on the beach for Tony. "No run today, we go."

"What's going on, Jose?"

"Her Papa want I marry Maria."

"Yeah," said Tony, "we go."

They headed off to the very secluded, Isla Magdalena. Mag Bay is the place to go for perfect waves and absolutely no crowds. You can only access Magdalena Bay by boat. They found challenging surf, but with the exception of a few shacks, not much else. The next day, they were off to Costa Azul, the bay with the most famous surf spots in all of Baja, the Rock and Zippers.

The Rock was Jose's surfing home. All his surfing buddies were there. Locals have been known to gang up on tourists, but not with Tony with Jose along. If you're good enough, The Rock is The surfing spot on Baja. After two weeks, Tony was good enough and improving, in the challenging waves. He earned everyone's devotion buying cases of beer and Tequila every night. No one knew who he was, just another rich gringo with a boat. The night life consisted of locals around a bonfire with Tony usually helping a drunk Jose, back to the boat. He was on the beach every morning, running and surfing.

Three weeks after leaving port, a tourist walked up one night and asked Tony for his autograph. All his new buddies were sitting around. Tony just smiled and signed. The group was dumbfounded. Tony and Jose had never mentioned football. The two Aussies still didn't know who he was, but half dozen Americans did now. He asked them not to say anything. He was down here on the QT. The next day, a football was found and Tony spent hours chucking passes to wide receiver wannabes.

Chapter 21

Following the Baltimore game, the Niners had a bye, a week off. They had two weeks to prepare for their next opponent, Houston. The team needed to sign a couple of quarterbacks, but with Reilly's performance, they weren't looking for a starter. They had their man. Tony's performance was the talk of football. Is this guy for real? Usually a team is given at least a few days off with an upcoming bye week, but with the quarterback changes, that was cut short. Reilly was in on Monday morning, working with the offensive coordinator. They reworked the offense to take advantage of the skills he had shown during the game. The team recognized that they may have found that elusive diamond in the rough.

Playing it by the book, when you have a new quarterback on the field, you blitz him. You never let him get comfortable. Show him every kind of defensive alignment and keep unrelenting pressure on him. That's what Baltimore had tried to do. When you blitz, attack the quarterback from the defensive secondary, you create single coverage for wide receivers. Reilly had been running the taxi squad against one of the best defenses in football for the last two seasons. He knew what Baltimore was going to throw at him. Now, he had the first team offense to react against it. He was uniquely prepared to step in and run one of the best offenses in football. By the time the first practice rolled around on Thursday, the team was ready to change its offense, making it more flexible and taking advantage of Reilly's quick decision making skills.

Before that first practice, Tony asked for a player only, team meeting. With the players gathered around, Reilly began, "I asked for this meeting because I have something to say. Sunday was the most fun I've ever had playing football. I didn't have a great game. You had a great game and I want to thank you for letting me be a part of it. When I walked off that field, I thought of something that I needed to share. Like most of you, I've been blessed with some talent that has allowed me to play the game at this level. In Pop Warner, in high school and college, I was the best player on the team, but I wasn't always on the best team, go Bruins." Everyone laughed.

"For the first time in my life, I'm on the best team. Tony paused for a few whoops. "Let me say that again, this is the best team in football. He paused again and this time no one said anything. The best team in football is now 2 and 2. This was a team that was going to be 1 and 3 through the first half of that game, Sunday. We've got a lot of work to do. We've got the best defense in football and we're going to work our asses off to be the best offense in football. We are not going to lose another football game. We'll take one game at a time, but we are not going to lose another football game. We're not going to do that by not losing football games. We're going to do that by winning football games. We're going to win games, because we're a better team. We will execute. We'll execute by being better prepared than the other team. By pushing the guy next to you to be the best player, he can be. Dedicating yourself and everyone around you to be the best. Gentleman, you play for the best team in football. Let's prove it next week. And then we'll prove it the following week. And then we'll continue to prove it every week after that."

He continued, "We lost two games already this year and I think I know why. We were not prepared. Let me say that again, we were not prepared to win those games. Part of that reason is coaching. We were not prepared to win those games. We were out-coached. It's easy to assign blame here, but it can't be put entirely on the backs of the coaching staff. We have players on this team who are showing up to practice, going through the motions, but they don't give a shit. We've got players that are phoning it in. When was the last time you looked at film of what other teams are doing? When was the last time you suggested a different way of doing things, because of what you saw on film from a team we're not playing next week? Who is taking the extra effort it takes to win? Who is doing more than required in the weight room? Who is here just collecting a pay check? You can point to the coaching staff and say it's their responsibility to prepare us, but that isn't going to help us win ball games. Ultimately, it's our own individual responsibility to prepare this team to win. We do that by doubling our own prep time to take on next week's opponent. Make our coaching staff better by being prepared yourself. You have families and girlfriends and drinking buddies and other shit that you're doing that's taking away from your prep time. That has to change. I want each and every one of you to make the commitment to do everything that's necessary for this team to be the best team in football, every game. It means getting here early and staying late. It means focusing and prioritizing everything in your life, to be part of the best team in football."

No one said a word. Reilly went on, "I'm the weak link here. I know that. But I am the man today and that is subject to change (a few laughs). My promise to you today is that I will be prepared every game to get us the W. We're a different team than we were four days ago. I desperately need your help. The help of each and every one of you, to be successful and to prove to everyone in the world, The San Francisco 49ers are the best team in football. Will you help me?"

Matt Benson stood up and slowly looked around the room. "Anyone here surprised with Tony's performance yesterday?" A few hands came up and then Reilly raised his hand, everyone laughed. It became silent again and Benson continued, "Because if you were surprised, then you don't know Tony. He's been riding me for two seasons. I know Tony. He has the best head for football, I've ever met. His performance Sunday proved what I already knew, coaches don't know shit. They coach scared, scared to fuck up. Scared to lose the game and lose their job. Tony's been given an opportunity to run this offense. He will be successful. He has the brains and heart to take this team all the way. I believe you, Tony. This is the best team in football, today. You want my help, man? You didn't even have to ask. We have something to prove and you're the guy who is going to prove it to them. Speaking for the rest of the team, we'll help you, every step of the way."

Houston was a team with a hot offense and looked like a playoff team. San Francisco was up 17 to 7 at half time and went on win 28 to 10. They made it look easy. Reilly was made a captain after the game.

Chapter 22

"Tonelli, are you out of your fucking mind?" David Fong, the Chief of the San Francisco Police Department, was in his face. "Let me get this straight," Fong said. You've got one dead quarterback's wife accusing the other quarterback's wife of murder. No evidence, just a feeling and you want to go after her on that basis?"

"Well," Tonelli paused and cleared his throat, "Chief, we've done some preliminary checking and some questions have come up. I can see why Elizabeth Reilly didn't think of Lydia Isackson initially, but after she thought about it, she suggested to Mullins we check her out."

"I know Lydia Isackson, Tonelli! I met her at a symphony fundraiser. She's beautiful, intelligent and one of the nicest human beings I've ever met. What the fuck are you talking about?"

"Chief, you met one side of Mrs. Isackson. Lydia Isackson is not a well-liked person. A number of people have described her as an asshole. She is involved with many charities, but has done little except attend functions. She seems to be involved in everything. Many have characterized her as merely a social climber. People have intimated that she's had a number of affairs. She knows guns and the Isacksons owns a number of .22's."

"Beautiful women usually aren't liked by other women. We start investigating this woman and the shit will hit the fan. What do you want to do Tonelli? Bring her in for questioning? That isn't going to happen."

"Sir, there is motive here. Lydia Isackson liked it here, she didn't want to move to Miami."

"That's not a motive, Tonelli."

"There may have been an affair between her and Tony Reilly, a spurned woman, possibly?"

"Are you making this shit up as you go along, Tonelli?"

Captain Conners jumped in, "Chief, we wouldn't have come to you if we didn't think this had some merit. We want to take a look at this, as quietly as possible."

"I doubt it's going to stay quiet 10 minutes, Captain. Where is the FBI on this?" asked Fong.

"We haven't mentioned it to them and they aren't communicating with us."

"Of course they're not, those motherfuckers! Do they know about Tony Reilly was sailing Baja, for the last month?"

"We haven't told them because they're not returning phone calls."

"What the fuck is this, high school?" He rose and paced his office. "Jesus Christ, working with these FBI pinheads is like pulling teeth." He sat back down put his hands on back of his head and his feet on his desk and fumed. "Well, I don't want the SFPD hung out to dry on this, do you understand me?" He stared back and forth at the two men in front of him.

"Here's what I'm going to do. I'm going to call numb nuts Nelson or Forbes or the ghost of J. Edgar Hoover and demand a fucking meeting tomorrow afternoon. By that time, you'll have a report on my desk on everything we have, including a full report on Reilly's Mexican cruise vacation and all your suspicions about Lydia Isackson and anything else that we have. Let's say 4 PM, Okay? So, you have 24 hours Tonelli and then I hand it over to those fucking, swinging dicks at the FBI, which will be the same as giving it to TMZ. Now, get the fuck out of my office." He yelled at them as they left, "When the history of this abortion is written, I want our skirts clean."

As the two men walked down the corridor out of the Chief's office, Tonelli said to Conners, "That went better than I expected."

Chapter 23

San Francisco at Chicago was a Sunday evening game on ESPN. The story of Tony Reilly was featured before the game. The story of a hot quarterback who was able to step in and rally his team now had two solid performances under his belt.

"This was a good team before Paul Isackson went down," Reilly said during a pregame interview. We were in the playoffs last year and we expect to be in the Superbowl this year. We've got the best D in football and the focus every week is to prove we're the best team on the field."

"Tony, you've shown great decision making and poise in the last two games. How did you develop those skills?"

"Watching the great players in front of me. I'm a student of the game. Coaches and teammates have made me better. Paul Isackson always took the time to show me how to be better and I'm just thankful he's still by my side to help. I'm a sponge, man. I worked at getting better and had great teachers."

"You've attributed your decision making skills to running the taxi squad against one of the best defenses in football. How important has that been to your success?"

Reilly laughs, "I practiced getting my ass kicked all week. I encouraged the defense to do it. You do that long enough and you can see mistakes and where the opportunities are. It's me and the rest of the scrubs against the best. That's how Terrence Brown and I developed together. I know what he's going to do or he knows where I want him to go, because we've done it so many times. I study defenses. I've seen what the best defense in football can throw against me. You better bring your "A" game against this offense, because it's my job to pick you apart."

San Francisco picked apart the third best defense in football 48 to 13. Reilly came out of the game at the start of the 4th quarter with a 38 to 3 lead for his new backup to get some playing time. Tony Reilly was the highest rated quarterback in football for the month. He had yet to throw an interception.

Chapter 24

Paul Isackson really on board, with the rest of the team. After attending a couple of practices after the Texans' game, he returned to Utah to spend time with his family. Lydia stayed in the Bay Area with her heavy social calendar. She loved the Bay Area and wasn't crazy about her large extended family and the strict Mormon lifestyle back home. She had moved on.

Her days consisted of rising late in the morning. Having breakfast with her daughter and leaving her with the nanny. Then off to the club for a workout with her personal trainer and lunch with the girls. That left afternoons for play and Lydia had a number of playmates. Always discreet, Lydia liked her male friends. As she told her girlfriends, "Paul just doesn't need it very often." Lydia did and she had no problem finding an assortment of discreet friends for extended "sessions". With Paul out of town, these trysts became more frequent. Her busy social calendar allowed her to meet a rolodex of discreet horny guys.

But, Lydia was a football girl at heart. She had always liked Tony Reilly. When he took over at quarterback and played the way he did, she became more interested. She called him one afternoon and suggested they get together. She had flirted with him on a number of occasions and he liked it. That's how it started.

Chapter 25

We finished talking to Jose Padilla in Avalon, walked out of the bar, strolling slowly in the warm California sun. "Sounds like Tony had a great time last month. I wish I was there," said Liz.

"I'll bet he was thinking about you," I said. "He headed back to you, first chance he got." I stopped on the sidewalk and told Roger and Liz, "I'll be right back," and went back into the bar. Padilla was staring at his beer. I sat down across from him.

"Jose, I want to ask you something."

"Si, senor?"

"Did Tony talk about another woman?"

"Yes, he did. I not tell you in front of his wife. Please don't tell her. I know he loved her. He was going to go back to her."

"What did he say about the other woman, Jose?"

"He say he make big mistake with other man's wife. He want to end it, but woman is difficult to leave. He say it is not good for him. He say he come here forget her."

"Did he tell you the woman's name?"

"No. He say wife of man on his team."

I nodded. "Anything else you can tell me, Jose?"

He thought about it for a moment. "He say he love his wife, senor."

Chapter 26

I looked out the window at 30,000 feet. "So, where are we? Where do we go next, Roge?"

Roger looked up from a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, "Who knew Tony was going to be at his house?"

"Lydia Isackson?" said Liz.

"How would she know?" I said.

"I don't know, she knows everything."

"Any word from Tonelli?" I asked Roger.

"Nothing yet," said Roger. "We should know soon."

"Roger, see if Torley can get something on Lydia's email or cell phone records."

"That's illegal," said Roger smiling at me.

"We should go talk to Tierney when we get in," I said.

The limo was waiting in San Jose. I got Tierney on the phone and told him we were on the way over. I called Velma and filled her in on what we'd been up to, listened to her bitch for 10 minutes and left a message for Tonelli, asking him to call.

The press was still at team headquarters, but the numbers were down. We still hadn't seen any reference to us in the press. We kept out of sight, like before. The three of us went in the back door. Shawn Samuelson greeted us and escorted us to Tierney's office.

"The world travelers," he greeted us warmly, giving Liz a hug.

"Traveling in style, on your dime," I said. "I appreciate your help."

"Anything you need, Tom, Carte Blanche on this. What have you learned?"

"Well," as Tierney was settling back into a deep comfortable leather chair in front of his desk, we did the same. "We know that for the past month, Tony Reilly was on a boat, sailing around Baja and surfing."

"No wonder nobody saw him. Wouldn't he have had to go through immigration?"

"You're supposed to check in, at the ports and get processed into Mexico, but it's not enforced," I said. "When the contract looked like it was ready to be signed, his agent emailed him and eight hours later he called Rosenblum. He said he was on the way back. Rosenblum called you and said he'd be in to sign the contract, the next day. We think only Rosenblum and you knew he was coming back. We don't know who else might have known."

"Sailing around Baja for a month?" said Tierney.

"He really enjoyed himself," I said. "He worked out every day. The guy he was with said he was very quiet and seemed to be unhappy when he arrived. As the weeks went on, his attitude changed. He was going to try and patch things up with his wife and play football."

Tierney shook his head, "What a waste."

"We're working on a few other things. I'll call you as soon as we have something."

"What other things?" Tierney asked.

I wasn't going to tell him about Lydia Isackson. "I don't know, I haven't thought them through yet."

Tierney nodded and said, "Elizabeth, looks like the services are going to be the end of the week. I understand you're working with our people."

"Yes, final details are still up in the air, but your people have been great," she said.

"The governor called me this afternoon. He wanted to let me know that all of his resources were available to me. He was very upset, even emotional. An hour later, the President of the United States called."

"That's impressive. Did you ask him why that shithead Nelson was heading up the investigation, for the FBI?"

"No, he wasn't calling to hear that, but I think he'll take a return call if needed. Point being, the entire world wants to know what happened here. You've made some progress, Tom. Have you shared it?"

"I'm talking to the SFPD, who is trying to talk to the FBI."

"Are you making progress?"

I stared at him, for a moment. I'd been in these meetings a thousand times and I had a standard answer, but you have to deliver it. "I need a couple of days; I'm working on some things."

"Good, I know you can do it." He bought it. "I'd like to put Shawn Samuelson on your team." No, he didn't buy it.

"Respectfully, sir, I'll be happy to keep Shawn in the loop, but I'm not working with anyone. This is not a team, it's me."

"You seem to have a team with you."

"No, this is just the practice squad, that's tailing along at the moment." Tierney laughed.

"Okay, follow up on what you have going and keep me us informed." He bought it.

Chapter 27

"The practice squad?" Liz and Roger were on my ass. "Fuck you, PI Boy," said Liz.

"Mr. Mullins is consistently, emotionally dishonest," said Roger.

"Fuck you, Roger. I'll take it from her, but I'm not taking your pseudo-intellectual crap."

"Practice squad that's tailing along at the moment," Liz said sarcastically.

"He laughed! It was a joke!"

"Did you like that joke, Roger?" Liz asked.

"I thought it was extremely condescending."

I went across to the back of the limo, "I'll condescend you, you little fucking.... Liz got between us defending Roger and I sat back down.

My cell phone buzzed, Tonelli. "What do you got?"

"Where are you?" he asked.

"Driving up on 280 out of San Jose. What fucking difference does it make where I am? I've been waiting on you, buddy, what do you got?"

Cell phone records for Lydia Isackson show no calls to or from Tony Reilly. Lots of calls though, that woman is on the phone all day."

"Who is she talking to?"

"Lots of people, I guess, but that's irrelevant. I just got a call from the FBI. They've arrested four men that they say, are people of interest in the Tony Reilly case. They're four Muslims from Union City."

I said to Roger and Liz, "FBI has arrested four Muslims in the Tony Reilly case."

Roger looking at his computer, "Yeah, four members of a mosque from Union City."

"Where do you see that?"

"It's on the AP wire from 5 minutes ago."

I said to Tonnelli, "When did you get this information?"

"About 5 minutes ago."

"Nice, they released it to you at the same time they released it to the press," I said.

"Well, it explains why they've been so quiet," Tonelli said. "They may have this sewn up."

"So, Liz didn't do it, huh?" I looked over at her. "Okay Roge, take the cuffs off." She wasn't amused.

Chapter 28

San Francisco went to Seattle the following week and beat their division rivals, in their insane stadium, in the rain. The 49er defense played possessed, with four take-aways that the offense turned into 18 points.

San Francisco had basically been a pass oriented team during the last few years. They used the pass to set up the run. They used a running back by committee approach, meaning they had a veteran running back, Reggie Robinson, who received most of the carries and a rookie fourth round draft choice named Keiland Best who was carrying the ball less than half the time. Robinson was a power runner, who ran well straight ahead. Best was a better receiver with good running skills. He emerged in the Seattle game, taking dump off passes in the flat, for long runs and running over smaller defensive backs. In the Seattle game, he had six catches for 74 yards. In the fourth quarter, he broke a 57 yard draw play for a touchdown and ended up with 122 yards running. San Francisco cruised to a 38 to 13 victory and had a new weapon in their offensive arsenal.

In week eight, the team again traveled. This time, it was to the much-anticipated Monday Night matchup of last year's divisional championship game, against an undefeated New York team. The Giants were a seven point favorite going into the game. The pre-game show had another interview with Reilly.

Host: Welcome Tony.

Tony Reilly: Thanks for having me.

Host: You've been an amazing story this year, taking over the team when two players in front of you went down with injuries. Rallying your team in a big win over Baltimore, and masterfully taking apart two strong teams in Houston and Seattle. Where have you been?

TR: (Laughs) Stuck behind two good players on the bench.

Host: Do you think the team knew what they had? You've certainly surprised a lot of people around the League with your poise and passing skills.

TR: Well, they kept me around. I had two seasons to learn how to be a quarterback in this league. I worked hard to be ready to play. You have to remember, this was a very good team, with many excellent players. The goal was to win the Superbowl this year from day one.

Host: Take me back to that Baltimore game and watching the two guys in front of you go down before the half. What was going through your head when you took the field that afternoon?

TR: Fear? (Laughs) I think I was on auto-pilot. I knew Baltimore was going to come after me, I knew there were going to be open receivers if they did. I knew what I wanted to do.

Host: You came out in the hurry-up offense in the second half and proceeded to dismantle that defense. You asked at half time for that?

TR: I did. What we were doing wasn't working and I felt I could find receivers under pressure and the coaching staff let me give it a try. Fortunately, it worked.

Host: You're four and two coming into New York against one of the premier undefeated teams in the NFL. What are you expecting tonight?

TR: I expect they're going to blitz all night long, against an inexperienced quarterback. That's what I'd do.

Host: How do you think you match up?

TR: We've got what I consider, the best defense in the NFL. On offense, we're going to take what they give us. What I think they're going to give us is single coverage. We're ready.

Host: Good luck, Tony.

TR: Thank you.

New York took the opening kickoff and went three and out. San Francisco took the ball at their own 27 and ran the ball. On third and five in the hurry up offense in a spread formation, the New York showed blitz. At the last second, Reilly hand signaled to his wide receiver, a go route. Jimmy Oliva hesitated on the line, freezing the cornerback and took off. With a full blitz on, Reilly lofted the ball in his direction before getting buried, delivering the ball perfectly, in stride, to Oliva, for a 68 yard touchdown. A hush fell on the Meadowlands.

New York went three and out on their next possession. Again, the 49ers spread the field, in the hurry up. Reilly hit his tight end for 26 yards. When New York, showed blitz, Reilly dumped it out to Best in the flat for 17 more yards. San Francisco ran it with Best finding the first down marker on a sweep. Reggie Robinson ran it eight yards up the middle for second and two at the 14-yard line. Reilly then found Oliva uncovered in a crossing pattern, in the end zone.

"That's just too easy, Tony Reilly and San Francisco are carving up the New York tonight," said the announcer.

On third and long the San Francisco defense intercepted the ball and ran it back to the six yard line. Two plays later, Reggie Robinson ran it in for 21 to 0 as the first quarter ended. The rout was on.

New York never got it going and the best defense, statistically, in football could not stop the San Francisco offense. They put up 10 more points for a 31-3 half time lead. When New York came out throwing in the second half, San Francisco sat back in a zone defense and picked off three passes for a total of five interceptions in the game. Keiland Best had 134 yards and two touchdowns. Reilly had three touchdown passes and 420 yards passing. The final was 47-10 and by the fourth quarter, the stadium was empty. The Niners would never again be a Vegas underdog.

Chapter 29

The flight back from New York was a drunken affair with Oscar Tierney bringing on the Dom Perignon, before takeoff. The party was on. The flight got in to San Jose at 3 AM and the team had the day off. The normal practice schedule was thrown off for the week. By game time Sunday at home against Atlanta, the emotional high and confidence were there, but the same team that had beaten New York wasn't. San Francisco got the ball and started driving, but after a holding and an offside call, they kicked it away. Atlanta came back with a 10-play scoring drive and went up 7-0.

San Francisco went 3 and out. Atlanta came back with another scoring drive and went up 14-0 at the end of the first quarter. Late in the 2nd quarter, a deflected pass resulted in Reilly's first interception in 5 games. The defense held and Atlanta kicked a field goal for a 17-0 lead.

With two minutes to go in the half, Best fumbled and Atlanta was able to put up another field goal, as the half ended 20-0. At home, after a big win on Monday night, San Francisco was in a deep hole.

Reilly went in with the offensive coordinator to discuss second half strategy as they usually did. He was unusually quiet. He listened to what the coach had to say, but didn't offer any input. When he left the meeting room to rejoin the team, the mood was sour. As Coach Warren came into the center of the locker room, Reilly asked him if he could say something. Reilly looked around the room. He was angry. "This is what happens when we come into a game unprepared," he said. "We thought we could mail this one in, because we beat the Giants last week. Well, guess what? No one told the Falcons. Every week we have to prove, we're the best team in football. We can't just turn it on. Now, we're going to have to climb back into this one. Atlanta is going to sit back in zone and do what we did to New York last week. We're down three touchdowns. We're fucked." He looked around at Keiland Best and said, "You drop the rock again and you're going to be teaching PE in middle school next semester, motherfucker." Reilly looked over at his tight end, "Where do I have to put the ball, Chester? Because when I put it in your hands, you ain't fucking catching it. Catch the fucking ball!"

No one had ever heard Tony Reilly say, anything to anyone, that wasn't positive. The room was in stunned silence. "I can't tell you how much this horseshit effort pisses me off," he yelled at the room. He then took his helmet and threw it as hard as he could at the water cooler where it bounced 20 feet away. He then walked over and further demolished the cooler with two kicks. He then walked into the trainer's room and slammed the door.

Coach Warren started to say something, stopped, changed his mind. "Let's go," was all he ended up saying as the team broke for the field. Reilly sat on a table in the trainer's room. One of the assistant trainers walked in and said, "Can I get you anything, Tony?"

Reilly looked at him and smiled. "How's it going, Mikey?"

"Good, Tony." He didn't know what else to say. He'd been sent in by the head trainer to see if Tony was alright.

"How's the wife?" Reilly asked him. "She went to UCLA, same as Elizabeth, right?"

"Yup, both Bruins. They were talking after dinner the other night."

"Yeah, Liz told me." Reilly just sat there smiling, dangling his legs."

"You going back out there, Tony?"

"My helmet okay?"

"Yeah, it's okay."

He smiled and calmly said, "Yeah, I'm going back out there."

The on-field commentator for the network said just before the kickoff, "Tony Reilly was the last man out of the locker room, jogging with a trainer. We haven't had any reports of injury. Coach Warren refused comment which is unlike him, but an assistant said it had been an emotional half time, back to you."

Atlanta went three and out running the ball three times which announcers interpreted as "looking like they're going to sit back and let San Francisco continue to make mistakes and burn clock. We'll see what happens on this first series and whether they've made any adjustments."

Reilly was confident in the huddle. Jimmy Oliva said after the game, "When he talks that way he does, with that confidence and swagger, there is no doubt, we are going to score."

Atlanta was happy to give San Francisco the underneath stuff. Playing conservative, prevent defense, trying not to give up the big play, in a 10 play drive with 5 different receivers, Reilly went in for the score untouched on a keeper. Atlanta came back and had a couple of first downs, but the drive stalled and they put San Francisco deep in their own end on the punt. Keiland Best was electrifying. On 2nd and two, with wide receivers throwing blocks, Best went for 27 and it took three guys to haul him down. Three plays later, he went for 17 yards on a dump off pass. Reggie Robinson came in for Best and ran for 11 yards. Jimmy Oliva just managed to touch his toes down (confirmed with a replay challenge) in the back of the end zone, for the score. Back in the game, 20-14, with the stadium rocking.

At the start of the 4th quarter, another Atlanta drive stalled on the San Francisco 45. Reilly took over at the 12 and again came out in the hurry-up offense in a four receiver spread formation. He picked the defense apart. Keiland Best in the slot fought his way for 33, on a flat pass. Two plays later, the tight end got 19 more. San Francisco gave Best the ball four straight times as Atlanta sat back in zone trying to stop the San Francisco passing attack. With two more first downs, Reilly found his third option in the pattern all alone when the defender fell down in a crossing route for a touchdown. Reilly calmly walked off the field with a lead for the first time that day.

Atlanta didn't roll over. They put on their own sustained drive and kicked a 36 yard field goal for a 23-21 lead with 3:30 to play. This was the first time that Reilly had been in this position all season, having to win a game with the clock winding down. Reilly looked around the huddle and said, "Plenty of time boys." He then called two plays. Saw the Falcon cornerback off Oliva, changed the play and fired it out to him for 14 yards. He then handed it off to Best for another 9, up the middle. At midfield, he hit one of his crossing wideouts and did it again on the next play at the two minute warning. Reilly walked over to the coach and said "the safeties are cheating trying to stop Best. Let's go get it now with Oliva."

"I want to manage the clock," said the coach.

Reilly responded, "Let's get the TD. It may not be there, closer in. The defense will hold."

The coach waited till the last second. "Okay, don't force it."

On play action, the fake froze the secondary and matched a streaking Oliva, one on one, with the smaller cornerback. Oliva took the perfect pass over his outside shoulder. The corner wrestled him out at the 4. Two plays later Reggie Robinson powered in with 1:20 to go. The 49ers intercepted an Atlanta desperation pass on 4th down and it was over. The fans had seen a classic.

Inside the locker room, a laughing Tony Reilly yelled over at Keiland Best, "I'm glad you decided to show up for the second half, rookie."

The quiet, polite, deeply religious Best said smiling, "You hurt my feelings."

Reilly walked over to him, "Aww," then jumped on top of him, followed by the rest of the team.

When asked about a report about an emotional halftime outburst in the locker room during the post game press conference, Reilly admitted, "I was hot. We weren't playing very well."

"I heard a water cooler was destroyed."

"That damn water cooler, I asked them to move it half a dozen times. It was too close to my locker, always a lot of riff-raff hanging around there. Seemed like as good time as any to take care of it." The crowded press room loved it.

"Do you think the team came out flat today?"

"That's excellent insight, Bob," Reilly said sarcastically. "When you're playing like we have lately, other teams are going to be up for you. We need to be prepared to handle every team at their best. I hope we don't make that mistake again."

They didn't.

Chapter 30

On a cold wet November Sunday, San Francisco showed up to play a struggling Chicago team. Chicago had a rookie quarterback playing for their injured starter and a defense, uncharacteristically, that wasn't stopping anyone. San Francisco established their running game and Chicago couldn't stop it. Best had a hundred and forty yards and two touchdowns. Reggie Robinson had 63 yards and a touchdown. It wasn't till two minutes to go that Chicago finally scored for a 28-7 San Francisco victory. It had been old time smash-mouth football all afternoon and it showed the offense was not just about finesse and passing. Opponents had to respect the San Francisco ground game.

The next week at home against Seattle, San Francisco again established a running game and forced the defensive changes that opened the passing game for big plays. This was every team's dream. A running game so good, it forces other teams to play run defense against it. As soon as Reilly saw the defense cheating against the run, he would change the play at the line and throw it to a receiver who was in single coverage. He would force the defense to show their hand by playing hurry up with no huddle. Seattle, like Chicago the week before, just didn't have an answer. Neither did St. Louis the following week when San Francisco won their 8th in a row, in another easy win.

The Team was playing the best football in the league, on both sides of the ball. Tony Reilly was on the cover of Sports Illustrated.

Chapter 31

I spent two hours returning phone calls and emails and took a nap. When I woke at 11 PM, Liz and Roger were playing backgammon in the living room. "I beat him two games, Tom." Liz was drinking a glass of wine. Mullins grabbed a glass, opened the freezer, pulled a bottle of Stolie out, and poured himself two fingers.

"Roger, go home and go to bed. And take that fucking game with you."

"Awwww," said Liz as Roger packed up.

"What's going on with the Muslims?" I asked Roger.

"Their lawyer says they didn't do it," Roger said, while gathering up his stuff.

"Anything else?"

"Their booking photos were released. The story is that they're radicals and had been planning it for months, according to unnamed sources."

Liz took a sip of white wine. Mullins sat down next to her and stared at Roger. "Okay," Mullins said, "and how did they know Tony was going to be at his house that night? Were they sitting out there waiting for the last month?"

"I don't know," Roger said. I sat looking at Roger who was ready to leave. I made a call.

"Hey, Eddie."

"Tommy!"

"What's going on?"

"The FBI has the four guys somewhere and they're probably sweating them."

"That's it?"

"Yeah, the guys have no record. They're all part of the same mosque. They're Intel engineers and they live in Union City. That's all we got."

"Engineers? Not exactly Al Qaeda profiles."

"Tell me about it. I wouldn't put it past the FBI to just be on a fishing expedition here."

"Exactly." I sipped my drink.

"Just tell me how these guys knew Reilly was going to be at home that night?"

"We're asking ourselves the same questions, Tom."

"FBI won't talk to you?"

"Nothing."

"Let's see if they'll talk to Oscar Tierney."

"Give it a shot. Tell him to say he needs answers. He's trying to protect his team."

"Eddie, do me a favor and send me the phone logs for Lydia Isackson."

"Ummmm."

"Come on, Eddie, my word, this won't come back on you."

"I suppose so."

"Excellent! Send them to Roger, will you?"

"Jesus, Tom!"

"I'll get back to you, Eddie. Thanks." I got up and went to the kitchen to make himself another drink and called Oscar Tierney.

"Good evening, Mr. Tierney, sorry to call so late."

"Anytime for you, my friend. What's going on?"

"I guess Muslim terrorists are going on, tonight and that's what's bothering me, sir. The SFPD and I don't know a thing about the arrests and we're wondering if you'd heard anything."

"The Regional guy, called me this afternoon when they picked them up and said they think they got the guys."

"Did he say why he thought that? There is a big hole here. Only a few people knew Reilly was in the area that night. Did they say how these Muslims know?"

"Eavesdropping? You know, the FBI has access to phones."

"But who were the Muslims eavesdropping on so they'd know? Or is this just a big pile of shit and the FBI has nothing?"

"You want me to make a call?"

"Yes, I would, sir, because I've been down this road before with these assholes and this is the type of thing they do. Specifically, how solid is the case against these guys? What do they have? Can we let our guard down?"

"I got that impression this afternoon, but I'll get some answers."

"Thank you, Mr. Tierney. I look forward to hearing from you."

"No, thank you, Tom. This is why you're working for me."

I sat back down next to Liz and looked at Roger. "Were the games for money?" I said to Liz.

"Yes, Roger owes me two bucks."

"Always get the cash from him. He's a weasel about money. Go to bed, Roger."

"That's because you only pay me minimum wage," Roger said, as he walked out.

Liz and I turned to each other and cracked up, laughing. "He's a pistol, huh?" I said.

"You're very hard on him," Liz said. I just shook my head. "Can I ask you something? Why do you have him around you if you're going to be so unkind to him? It's an unusual relationship."

"I'll tell you about Little Roger."

Chapter 32

"The Goodys lived next door to us my whole life. When my Mom died when I was 10, Ilene, his mother, became a step-mom to me. The families were close. I would go to their house for dinner as my Dad worked long hours, as a Chief in the SFPD. They were a childless couple for 18 years of marriage when unexpectedly baby Roger showed up when I was 17. I had never been around babies. I didn't even know how to hold one. A new baby next door was a big damn deal. I fell in love with the kid. I spent a lot of time holding him and taking care of him. I'd take him for walks in the stroller. He was so damn cute.

It wasn't long before we realized that this was one smart kid. He was unusually alert. He didn't sleep a lot. Then, at about six months, he started talking. His parents always talked to him like he was an adult. There was never any baby talk in the Goody house, except by me. I could always get a laugh out of him.

You know his father is the Dean of the Psychology Department at Cal? That gave him access to the best child development people in the world. Roger was in a program with other gifted kids at a very young age. I swear, he ran the class. A lot of gifted kids are shy and withdrawn, not Roger. He was just the opposite, very outgoing and engaging. Roger would remember the name of everything after being told once. By the time he was nine months old, he was reading. He loved puzzles and numbers. You know Sudoko? He was solving those before he was two years old. I hate Sudoku. I can't do them! His parents exposed him to a lot of different things, but numbers were always his thing. He could give you the square root of any number in seconds by five years old.

He was like a sponge. He wanted to know about everything. He was a pest. The Goodys had a Chinese nanny who taught him Mandarin, which he speaks fluently as well as God knows what else. He has a friend who he speaks to in Vietnamese.

He latched onto me from the beginning. If I went over to see him, he would cry when I left and I loved being around him. I would do my homework and he would sit in the room reading or drawing. He would entertain himself. He was my baby brother and that relationship continues. He'd read my college text books when I was doing homework. His comprehension was unbelievable. We would discuss things like he was an adult, when he was, like five.

He had a tutor at 5, and by 7 he had finished up the course material through the 6th grade. Math and science were easy for him. He thought about things from different angles. Stuff the footnotes might say, if I had bothered to read them. He always was on the computer. His mother used to have to take away and hide it to get him off. He learned to network with other people through the Internet. He loved online games and quickly mastered them and moved onto the next one. He learned game theory and how to design games. He still runs a game that he designed where he is the godfather of a crime family. He doesn't play it as much now, but at one time there were 10,000 other people playing it.

You couldn't send him to a regular school. He got along well with other children, but was light years ahead of them. He has always been home schooled, but he would play sports with other kids - not always successfully, but he's had his moments. He played Little League baseball up until last year. Too busy playing real cops and robbers for that kind of thing now. I rolled my eyes.

He likes chemistry and physics. He doesn't have a long attention span for various subjects lately. He learns a lot about a subject and then goes onto something else. He's very knowledgeable about electrical engineering and architecture. His mother sees that he is always reading something and will discuss it with him. He knows the Classics. He hasn't latched onto any one thing. He can play the piano but isn't a prodigy. He has an electric guitar but just isn't crazy about music. His parents could get him into a college, but he won't go. His mother lets him study whatever he wants.

The big thing lately is Law. Can you imagine a twelve year old reading law books? He met my attorney a couple of years ago. Saw all the books in his office and started pumping him about what an attorney does. Next thing I know, he's into it. It's not just criminal law. It's contracts, tax. I just don't get it. I asked Laverney to test his knowledge. He had him sit in with law students in study groups. He said he wouldn't be surprised to have him pass the bar. He's been at it on and off for a year.

He really gets off on tangents. He went through a Buddhism phase last year. He would quote Buddha to me all the time. He loves Ornithology, the study of birds. He'll give me the proper scientific name of various birds just walking along the street. When he doesn't know something, he'll immediately look it up online and it goes in the vault, never to be forgotten. Last month we were out doing something and he begins telling me about the mapping of the genome of the Zebra Finch. After about an hour of that, I called for a cease and desist. Sometimes he wants me to know about something, other times he's just thinking out loud.

He wants to be around me, doing what I'm doing. If I'm involved in something, he wants in. Lately, he's been doing more of the day to day management of the agency, the endless routine stuff that drives me crazy. He reads all the office reports and handles my office email. He'll respond as me and then blind copy me. He writes like me. If it's something I should know about, he'll text me or come to tell me about it.

The biggest problem with Roger is he gets whatever he wants. He's got everyone eating out of the palm of his hand. He's cute and smart and knows it. I won't stand for any of his shit. The parents actually like this arrangement, since they've lost control of him. He's deviously manipulative. Often, I can see the bullshit, because I know how he thinks. I don't always know why he's being manipulative, but I know he's fucking with me for some reason.

Aristotle said, "There was never a genius without a touch of madness." I put up with absolutely no shit from him, because when you give him an inch, he takes a mile. He has accepted that. The only thing that slows him down is to threaten to not allow him to be in the office or around me."

"So, why do you have him around if he's so manipulative?" Liz asked.

"I like him when he's not being a dick. Having a genius around has its advantages. He knows all the electronics we use. How to repair things. He used to follow the maintenance man around. He's a wiz with computer networks. He changed the accounting system in the office. Velma had been doing the books forever by hand including payroll. Roger computerized the whole business, put in systems and controls. It's like having a Stanford business school graduate on staff. He tireless, doesn't sleep much. You ask him to do something and he'll plow through it till it's done. I'd have to get three people to replace him.

"And you pay him minimum wage."

I laughed, "Yes and I'll continue to pay him minimum wage. There are also incentives for projects and he gets more for the computer work we give him. His parents don't want him paid more. It's a concession that they even let him work, but Roger runs the show at the detective agency. No one can say no to him, except me."

"Lately with the investigative work, he's gone to a new level. Together with Torley, another guy who works for us, they're doing computerized investigations that are amazing. I had a guy call me up from a big Silicon Valley company and tell me he was amazed at the speed they figured out an issue that was systematically draining them of cash. They had it diagnosed and traced for an arrest, in one day. It was a guy in Italy. Interpol arrested him last month. We have a contract now with the company for diagnostic, preemptive security. Roger loves that kind of stuff. I've been holding back on signing more customers, because I don't want to tie him up just doing that."

"Fucking, Roger," I said shaking my head. He's around because he's glued to me."

I looked at her, "So, what have you been up to?"

"Talking to your lawyer, who is now my lawyer and to Rosenbloom."

"It would be nice if it was over."

"Doesn't sound like you think it is."

"I don't see how it could be." I sipped my drink.

"What's going to happen to us if it is?"

"Us?"

"Yeah, us." She looked at me.

"I guess that's up to you."

"In the last three months I've only made love to one guy."

"Lucky guy."

"Very lucky," she said.

"Any chance of his getting lucky tonight?"

"That's up to him. He could start by kissing me."

"I was thinking, I'd go for tit."

"That's the reason you don't have a girlfriend."

"Probably right." I put my arms around her and gave her a long, slow, passionate kiss, "I do now."

Chapter 33

I was sitting in front of Oscar Tierney's desk at 9:30 the next morning. "So, it all sounds like bullshit to me, Tom. They've got 4 guys talking about a 'dramatic event' in the same time frame as the shooting. Nothing even close to specific. And there is no indication that these guys are even violent! I don't know how they even got arrested for mentioning a 'dramatic event' on an illegal wiretap."

"No wonder, the FBI isn't talking. There is nothing to talk about."

"Where do we go from here?"

"Well, I suggest we continue to poke at it and hope we get lucky." Tierney turned around and looked out his window onto a guy fielding punts on the practice field.

"That's our second round pick trying to field punts." Mullins walked over and watched as the punt bounced off the players face guard.

"I could do that," we laughed.

"Yeah, but you don't have 4.3 speed." They watched again as this time the rookie watched the ball into his chest and then sprinted the length of the field.

"He is fast."

"He'll be a good receiver someday. We didn't need him, but you take the best player available and we had him higher." They watched as the player did it again. "Well shit, Tom. Keep me posted on your progress. Meanwhile, make yourself at home around here."

"Thank you Mr. Tierney. That was the plan." I walked down to the locker room which was full of players getting ready to practice. I spotted Jerry Cochran and walked over. Another player sat dressed for practice on a bench beside him.

"Hey Jerry," and I nodded to the other player sitting beside him.

"Hey Tom, you think they found the guys who did it?"

"No."

"No?"

"Not unless they designed a killer robot to sit in his garage waiting for him." I glanced at the player sitting next to him whose knee was bouncing 100 miles an hour and then looked back at Jerry.

"This is our rookie center, Carl Jackson. His motor runs a little hot."

"I can see that." The young guy looked up at me and said hello.

"He's as dumb as fence post." We both laughed.

"Pleasure to me you, Carl." The young man smiled up at me.

"God help us if I go down."

"He's just a little nervous," I said.

"No, he's really stupid. What was your major in college, Jackson, General Ed Requirements? You know why he's sitting here? Coaches told him to stick close to me and maybe he could learn something. His locker is on the other side, so he gets in early, dresses and then comes and sits by me. He doesn't want to miss any pearls of wisdom, out of my mouth."

"That's a good plan, Carl."

"Only he's just too fucking stupid to learn anything. It's a waste of time. So, you're still on the case?"

"Oh yeah, we're working on a couple of things, still knocking on doors."

"How's Elizabeth? Services set for Friday?"

"I gave her a ride home this morning. She's working on the details. I think she was going to call Connie to get some help."

"I hope she does. We want to help her any way we can." Jerry finished getting dressed. "Come on, rookie, let's go watch me get taped. We can then work on the concept of snapping the ball. Now let's go over this again, when the man says, hike..." He gave me a wink as he walked by.

Carl Jackson hesitated a moment, watching Jerry walk away. He said under his breath, "I graduated cum laude in Economics from Penn State," and winked at me. "It's a rookie thing."

"Let's go rookie," Jerry shouted across the locker room. It was going to be a long preseason for that guy, I thought.

I went looking for Matt Benson and found him in a trainer's room getting stretched. He had ear buds in and took them out when he saw me. "Hey, Tom. I hear you found Jose Padilla. Give us a moment, Bob," he said to the trainer and he left us alone.

"Sitting on a bar stool in Avalon. I told him about Tony. He didn't know, he was crushed. They got close cruising around Mexico in your boat and surfing."

"I'll bet. Did he say they had a good time?"

"He said Tony had the time of his life. Jose said he became a much happier guy over the course of that month."

"Well that's what the Doctor ordered. I'm glad that last month was a good one. He wasn't a happy camper when he left."

"Jose, said it was about a woman. He said he had made a big mistake with another woman, not his wife."

"It's usually about a woman." Benson started to wrap some tape around his wrist.

"Come on, Matt, what was going on?" Benson finished with one wrist and started taping the other.

"What makes you think he told me anything?"

"I just think he might have told you. He went to you, told you about a mess he was in. You handed him the keys to your boat and told him to get lost for awhile." Benson cut the tape with his teeth and stared at me. "Was it Lydia Isackson?" He blinked.

"Why her?"

I shrugged my shoulders. "Just a hunch."

"Just a hunch?"

"A name that keeps coming up."

"Well that shit is going to fuck this team up, maybe beyond repair."

"It's just between us right now." He stared at me and he nodded. "Why is there no record of cell phone calls between them?"

"They were careful? We have meetings about behavior as representatives of the league. We're warned about affairs with married women. We're also warned about other players' wives and girlfriends. If they were having an affair, and I do mean if, because he never said that to me, they were careful."

"I'm positive they were having an affair," I said.

"I think you're right," Benson said.

"He breaks it off and she kills him in his garage on the night he comes back?" I said.

"The thought had occurred to me." We stared at each other. "Now what?" he asked.

"I don't know."

"Could be a terrorist thing. They got those guys under arrest. Even if they were having an affair, it could be irrelevant."

"It isn't terrorists."

"You sure?"

"Pretty sure."

"This is a big pile of shit," he said shaking his head. "You better be sure before you let that cat of the bag."

"Yup. I think I'll go talk to the cat."

Chapter 34

The Niners faced two tough opponents in a row at the beginning of December. Tennessee was coming off a big home win against division rival Indianapolis. After the St. Louis game, San Francisco was again playing on the other side of the country. Traveling like that takes it out of a team. It screws up practice schedules. If there were ever a time for a let down, this was it.

Didn't happen. Usually Monday is day off after a Sunday game, especially when the flight gets in after midnight from the previous game. The team leaders went to the coaches and told them to have a late practice on Monday and move the week's schedule up. It was an unusual request, but this had become an unusual team. The players were supposed to be in at 2 PM for practice, but most of the team were there by noon, reviewing Tennessee film. A number of new offensive plays and defensive looks were suggested. Rather then complaining about the extra work, the players, to a man, weren't just motivated, they were on a mission. By the time they got on the field the following Sunday, they were ready.

Tennessee turned out to be the next victim. San Francisco's defense was relentless, setting up the offense for three straight opening scores. At half time, the score was 24 to 0. The Titans couldn't move the ball. They went on to a 41 to 10 victory with every player on the team seeing playing time.

The players wanted to use the same practice schedule for the following week's game against Minnesota. The Coach decided it was too much. The players were welcome to come in and watch film and work out, but no formal practice. All the players were in Monday afternoon. Reilly and the receivers worked on passing routes with DB's shadowing them. The Minnesota Vikings were 11 and 1. San Francisco was 10 and 2 with 9 in a row. This game was probably going to determine home field advantage throughout the playoffs. It was a highly anticipated the biggest game that pulled big rating numbers for Sunday night. Minnesota had the best rated defense in football, San Francisco was second. Minnesota had the best running back in football. The combination of San Francisco's two backs were the best running game in football. Minnesota had a veteran Quarterback with two Superbowl rings and he was probably in his last season. Tony Reilly, the hottest quarterback in football. Two evenly matched premier teams. San Francisco at home were a two point favorite.

Before the game, the San Francisco Coach, Charlie Warren, was interviewed by ESPN.

ESPN: Welcome Coach. It's been a crazy season for you, going 1-2 to start the season, losing your starter and backup quarterback in the first half of game four, coming from behind to win that game, and then running off 9 in a row.

Coach Warren: It's an old cliché, but we've been taking it one game at a time. It's been an incredible run, but we're focused on the game tonight.

ESPN: What were you thinking when your two quarterbacks went down that day?

CW: I was thinking we were screwed. (Laughs) There was so much going on with the fight that broke out after the second injury. Remember, we not only lost our second quarterback, but our safety Brian Reed was tossed. I said to Tony Reilly, control the ball and let's get out of the half.

ESPN: Half time and Tony Reilly comes to you and says let's go hurry up and spread the field. Up till then, the team wasn't using that offense, often.

CW: Tony knew exactly what he wanted to do. What we were doing wasn't working. He convinced us he could do it. I said, let's give a try and the rest is history. That afternoon, Tony Reilly took over the offense and made me look like a genius.

ESPN: (Laughing) Did you know you had a such a talented player buried on the bench?

CW: Of course not. I knew I had a student of the game who worked his tail off every day at practice to be a better player, but I never imagined he had come that far. I also knew that we were capable of playing with any team in the league. Tony's performance that day was simply incredible. Since then, he's just gotten better.

ESPN: Your offense and defense has gotten better throughout the season. Why the big turn around?

CW: The leadership of this team has stepped up and I'm referring to individual leadership with the likes of Tony Reilly, Matt Benson and Reggie Robinson. People, who are inspired, inspire others. This is the easiest team I've ever coached. I have to make these guys go home at night. They are quietly confident that they are the best team in football and they can't be stopped. I rarely say anything to motivate this team. You know why?

ESPN: Why?

CW: I don't have to. They motivate themselves and each other. Winning is contagious. Every coach should get an opportunity to coach a team like this once in his life.

ESPN: Minnesota thinks they're the best team in football. How are you going to play the best Defense in football tonight?

CW: Playing it by the book, against a blitzing defense you pass, but we haven't seen a blitzing defense we couldn't beat. Please, all you defense coordinators out there, blitz us. Reilly licks his lips when he sees blitz.

ESPN: Finally Coach, what about this quarterback controversy in San Francisco? You have two of the best QBs in football now. What do you do? Who do you keep?

CW: What controversy? I'll be honest with you, I don't think about it. I don't compare the two. I just don't think about it. I go with the team we put on the field. I'm concerned with Minnesota right now. I don't know what's going to happen in the future. We'll deal with it when we have to.

ESPN: Good luck, Coach.

CW: Thank you.

It was a perfect night for football. 62 degrees in a calm San Francisco stadium. The crowd had been partying in the parking lot all day. There was an electric playoff atmosphere.

San Francisco took the opening kick off. On the second play of the game, a Minnesota defensive lineman put his hand up and tipped the ball thrown to the Tight End on a crossing pattern. The ball hit the receiver in the shoulder, bounced up in the air and into the arms of the Defensive Back who ran it 30 yards into the end zone untouched. 7-0 Vikings in the first three minutes of the game. That took the air out of the crowd. Reilly walked off the field expressionless, the same way he did when he threw touchdown passes.

Again, San Francisco took over and on the first play from scrimmage, they ran Best up the middle for 8 yards. On second and two in the hurry-up offense, Reilly saw the DB back off of Oliva. Changed the play at the line and fired it out to him. The bigger Oliva shook off the Corner and took it for 27 yards. At midfield, they gave it to Best twice in a row and set up 3rd and four at their own 45. Again, Minnesota showed blitz. Terrence Brown, as the slot receiver found the wide open spot in the zone coverage and Reilly found him for 18 more. Minnesota was getting to Reilly, but he was getting the ball off. San Francisco gave Best the ball 3 times in a row and a first down at the 19. Oliva made another of his toe tapping catches in the back of the end zone to tie the score.

Minnesota went 3 and out the first time they got the ball on offense. Their powerful running game was getting no traction. The teams traded the ball back and forth. On a pass interference call and a 20 yard run, Minnesota kicked a 45 yard field goal as the 1st quarter ended.

When the Niners got the ball back, Oliva ran under a last second desperation throw just before Reilly was buried. Oliva broke two tackles and went in for the score.

"Every time Tony Reilly sees single coverage on Oliva, he's throwing it to him," said the color man. "And he is toasting one of the best corners in the game." The stadium was bedlam.

Niner defense continued to hold the Viking offense and again Reilly went to work, running Best and throwing to open receivers in a zone defense. The Minnesota defense had now been on the field twice as long as the San Francisco defense. There were no answers for the no huddle spread offense. On 3rd and three at their own 40, Reilly openly signaled a go pattern to Oliva. Reilly took the snap, looked at Oliva running a deep slant, freezing the Safety and then firing to the other side, to the receiver who turned just in time to see the ball on top of him. He was forced out at the 11 and Reggie Robinson powered the ball into the end zone two plays later for 21 to 10.

With Minnesota in their two-minute offense, San Francisco picked off the Minnesota future hall of fame quarterback and kicked a field goal to end the half 24 to 10. They cruised to an easy 41 to 17 victory, with Minnesota only scoring in the last two minutes. The Niners had completely dominated the Minnesota Vikings. They would have home field advantage throughout the playoffs. They were on a mission.

Chapter 35

Roger and I picked Liz up in the morning and rode over to our office. I introduced Liz to Velma, who was unusually gracious. Liz had been expecting the worst after what Roger had told her about the "who-ares". Ed Tonnelli and Torley Shin were there. "Okay, what do we got?" I asked to start the meeting.

Tonnelli said, "We got a women who loves to talk on the phone. She's mostly talking to girlfriends, but there are a number of guys she's regularly speaking with, too."

"No calls to Tony Reilly?" I asked.

"No, but I've got a theory on that."

"Well?"

"Separate phones. They buy a couple of cheap phones just for talking to each other," said Tonelli.

"Could be," I said. "What do you think, Roge?"

"Make sense to me. You just throw them away when you're done with them. Professional athletes are counseled never to have phone records or texts that can come back and bite them," he said.

"How do you know?" I asked him.

"I called Rosenbloom."

I said to Liz, "See, I told you he was smart. Anyone else got anything?" Everyone just looked at me. "So, Lydia Isackson begins an affair with Tony. They communicate using cheap cell phones to keep it a secret. Tony leaves his wife. Tony is in the middle of contract negotiations and he decides to get out of town. Heads for sailing around Baja. Tony or Lydia decide to break it off and she murders Tony for dumping her? Or, she decides she doesn't want to move to Miami? And how does she know he's arriving that night? He texts or calls her? She writes Alhamdulillah on the top of his car to throw off an investigation. What did I miss?"

"A crime of passion, okay, we've seen it before," says Tonelli, "but she murders him because she doesn't want to move to Miami?" says Tonelli. "That's pretty weak."

"Agreed," I said. "I'm thinking out loud here."

"There was a call from the team headquarters to her cell phone the night of the murder," says Torley.

"Why would they be calling her?" I ask. "Could it have been her husband calling her from there?"

"There are a number of calls from Niner headquarters to her cell," says Torley, "three or four a week."

"Do we have Paul Isackson's phone records?"

"Yes," says Roger. "Paul Isackson calls her from his cell often. He doesn't make a lot of calls."

I shake my head. "We haven't got anything. All we have is that they were probably having an affair."

"Go talk to her. Maybe, wear a wire," says Velma. "Ask her if she murdered Tony Reilly and then shadow her. Tap her phone. Stir things up. See what she does." She takes a big pull on her Pall Mall.

"The more we talk about this," said Liz, the less sure I am about this whole thing."

"You and me both," I said.

Chapter 36

Roger and I were waiting by Lydia Isackson's car outside the Palo Alto Golf and Tennis Club when she walked out at 2 PM. She said, "Hello boys," when she saw us.

"Hello, Mrs. Isackson. We were wondering if you might have a moment to speak to us."

"For you two," she said laughing, "anytime and please call me Lydia."

"I have a car over there," pointing at the limo.

"Your office?"

"Lately." She climbed in and Roger and I followed. You're a tennis player?" I asked.

"I am. Keeps the weight down." It never ceases to amaze me how women are never satisfied with their bodies. Lydia Isackson's was perfect. "Lydia, we have been doing some digging into Tony Reilly's death."

"Yes, I know."

"It's come up that you and Tony apparently were having an affair." Lydia Isackson looked at us with a puzzled expression.

"Who told you that? It's not true."

"Tony told a couple of different people that you were."

"Well, I don't know why he would say something like that."

"These are very believable, independent sources, Lydia. I think it's true. I'm hoping you'll tell us anything you know about the death of Tony Reilly."

"I wasn't having an affair with Tony Reilly and I don't know anything about his death."

"Lydia, this is going to come out. We have the cell phone records of the calls between you and Tony. Too many people know about you and him for it to remain under wraps for long. I work for the Team. I will do my best to keep you out of this, but I need to know what happened."

She stared at me. "Do you think I killed him?"

"It's a possibility," I said. "The spurned lover, it wouldn't be the first time."

She sighed and began, "We started seeing each other after the Superbowl. I called him up and asked him to make a charity appearance and we got to talking. He came over for lunch the next day and it started. A month later he moved out of his house. I was considering leaving Paul when he got cold feet. He said he was reconsidering leaving Liz. I was very upset and disappointed, but I wasn't going to kill him. Then, he left for a month. I didn't hear from him. He called me the night he was returning and said he had decided to try and get back together with Elizabeth. I wished him luck. It was over. It had been a month and I was over it. The next day he was dead. I have no idea who killed him. That's it."

"Who else besides you, knew he was coming home that night," I asked her.

"I don't know, the team, his agent, Liz?"

"Elizabeth didn't know. His agent didn't have specifics on when he was returning. You're the only one who knew."

"Oscar Tierney knew, there must have been others."

"How do you know Tierney knew?" She thought about it for a moment.

"I told him."

Chapter 37

An article in Sports Illustrated for the January edition: "Tony Reilly Is Cool" by Drew Sullivan, Sports Writer, The Boston Globe.

"Tony Reilly is cool. That's what I said as I watched him put another touchdown pass on Jimmy Oliva's fingers, in a corner of the end zone, a pass only he could possibly catch. I watched Reilly jog expressionless to the sidelines, giving the goalposts a quick glance back. It reminded me of a gunslinger walking away from a day's challenge, after taking care of business. He ignores the players slapping him on the helmet and back. He sits down, puts headphones on and starts talking to the booth. He's oblivious to all the congratulations on the sidelines. A few players say something to him, but most leave "Ice" alone. He's in the zone.

Why do I think Tony Reilly is cool? What's cool? Maybe it's something along the lines of talent combined with class? How about, cool is primarily an attitude of self-assurance? It's composure and self-control, but it's also admiration or approval. Where does the ironic detachment figure in here? The problem is 'cool' has no single meaning. Cool is elusive. It's a word used all over the English speaking world and its meaning is vague, but always positive. I like, "Cool cannot be manufactured, only observed."

I decided cool is whatever I say it is. "Cool can only be observed by those who are themselves cool". Since I know, I'm cool, I'm going to give you My Ten Coolest Guys list. This is done in no particular order.

10. Steve McQueen- Coolest actor ever, always played the cool guy. The Great Escape is still one of my all time favorites. The Bullitt car chase is the standard. I met McQueen during the filming of The Thomas Crown Affair, filmed in my hometown, when I was a teenager. It was summer and he was learning to play polo for the movie. Drove a motorcycle and a dune-buggy around town that summer. He was cool.

9. John Lennon- Musician who founded and led the Beatles. Seeing The Beatles on the Ed Sullivan Show as a kid, I knew cool when I saw it. Twist and Shout. Imagine. He was outspoken about the hypocrisy he saw around him. I continue to discover how cool he was.

8. Bobby Orr- One of those players you had to watch when he was on the ice. He changed hockey. He was a defenseman back in an era when the defenseman position was a defensive player. Orr remains the only defenseman to have ever won the season scoring title. He scored the winning goal in both of the Bruins championships. He refused the salary of the Chicago Blackhawks after he was traded and injured, because "I didn't earn it." He'll always be cool for me.

7. Ted Williams- Best hitter in baseball history. I idolized him as a kid and saw him hit a few. Served as a fighter pilot during WWII and Korea. Here's his "Bobby Orr" story: "In 1941, he entered the last day of the season with a bating average of .39955. This would have rounded up to .400, making him the first man to hit .400 since Bill Terry in 1930. Manager Joe Cronin left the decision whether to play up to him. Williams opted to play in both games of the day's doubleheader and risk falling short, explaining that "If I can't hit .400 all the way, I don't deserve it." He singled in his first at-bat, raising his average to .401, and followed it with a home run and two more hits in the first game. Williams went 2 for 3 in the second game, for a total of 6 hits in his last 8 at-bats, for a final average of .406. No player has hit .400 in a season since Williams. He fought with fans and the press throughout his career. In his last at-bat at Fenway, he homered, then, as usual failed to tip his hat to the standing ovation, too cool.

6. Larry Bird- What did you think? I was going to give it to Magic Johnson? No. If you haven't guessed, I'm from Boston. Bird was Red Auerbach's favorite player. He considered Bird to be the greatest basketball player of all time. The working man's player. His rivalry with Magic Johnson led a resurgence in basketball during the 80's. He's white but he's cool.

5. Frank Sinatra- Is it "Old Blue Eyes" or "Chairman of the Board"? From a different generation, Frank was always cool. Leader of the "Rat Pack", he did it his way.

4. Jack Nicholson- He first came onto my radar in Easy Rider in his first big acting break. But as Randle P. McMurphy, in the movie adaptation of my favorite book, Ken Kesey's, One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest, he hit his stride and never looked back. A hard drinking, hard living certified bad boy, Nicholson continues to amaze with the likes of A Few Good Men ("You can't handle the truth") and as the Irish mob boss in The Departed. I never thought much of his choice of teams (Lakers and Yankees) but as an actor, Nicholson is cool.

3. Jack Johnson- It took the filmmaker Ken Burns-produced documentary about Johnson's life that drove home just how cool this guy was. He was the first black heavyweight champion of the world in an era when that was almost impossible to achieve. He was one of the first celebrity athletes. He loved white women, fast cars and tailored clothing. Muhammad Ali often spoke of how he was influenced by Jack Johnson. "I'm Jack Johnson. Heavyweight champion of the world. I'm black. They never let me forget it. I'm black all right! I'll never let them forget it!" Jack Johnson was cool.

2. Miles Davis- You can't make a cool list without including the "prince of darkness". In 1954, his Birth of Cool album gave its name to the "cool jazz" movement. The Rolling Stone Encyclopedia of Rock & Roll noted, "Miles Davis played a crucial and inevitably controversial role in every major development in jazz since the mid-'40s, and no other jazz musician has had so profound an effect on rock. Miles Davis was the most widely recognized jazz musician of his era, an outspoken social critic and an arbiter of style - in attitude and fashion - as well as music." The man invented cool.

1. Tony Reilly- The new, cool rookie. Does he really belong on a list with the above? The way he carries himself, motivates the players around him and his workmanlike concentration during a game have him two games away from the Super Bowl and unbeaten as a starting QB. We're about to find out how cool "Ice" really is. I wouldn't bet against him. He's way too cool."

Chapter 38

"You told Tierney, Reilly was on a flight home?" I asked Lydia Isackson.

"Yes, oh this is bad." She started crying. "I told Oscar, I knew Tony was on was on his way back and that it was over for us here. I called to say goodbye to him. He's been very good to me."

"What did he say?"

She didn't say anything for a moment and then blurted out, "He asked me to leave Paul and marry him."

"Marry him? You were that close to Tierney?"

She wiped away tears and nodded her head.

"Close like you and Tony were close?" She turned to me and again nodded her head.

Roger was the one who asked, "Tierney was in love with you?"

She looked away from us, out the window. "Yes, he didn't want me to go."

"How long had this been going on?" I asked.

"For a year and a half," she said.

"Did Oscar Tierney kill Tony Reilly?" Roger asked.

She looked back at us, "I hope not."

Chapter 39

The Cowboys beat the Lions in the wild card game. For the first time in 20 years, San Francisco and Dallas faced off in a playoff game. San Francisco had two weeks to prepare for the game and came in firing on all cylinders. On the first possession, San Francisco marched down the field in the hurry up offense. The Cowboy couldn't get the right personnel on the field and burned two time-outs in the first five minutes. At the 10, Reilly faked a pass and took off right, untouched into the end zone. He had completed his first seven passes in a row.

The Niner defense was on a mission with punishing tackles. Dallas didn't manage to get to midfield, till the last two minutes of the half. On the offensive side, San Francisco scored 5 times for a 23-3 lead. The much-hyped rematch of two storied teams, from the past, never materialized. San Francisco was on a roll and the game was never in doubt. With a 35-10 lead late in the fourth, Reilly came out of the game to a tumultuous standing ovation. He had completed 31 of 35 passes for 420 yards, 3 touchdown passes and scored himself. He had been flawless. When he ran off the field, he uncharacteristically jumped in the air and holding up his index finger, #1 and then put it to his lips, "don't tell anyone."

The Minnesota Vikings came to San Francisco for the NFC Championship game. They had easily beaten Atlanta, to get there and were confident despite the loss to San Francisco six weeks ago. The game developed slowly featuring two strong defenses. Late in the first quarter, a pass interference call gave the Vikings a 30-yard field goal. When San Francisco got the ball back, they put together a drive, but it stalled and they kicked a field goal. A spectacular 45-yard run by the Vikings star running back got the Vikes their first touchdown. The Niners went three and out. The Vikings again, started marching and it felt like Minnesota had all the momentum.

From the 15 yard line, the Vikings veteran quarterback forced a pass to a crossing tight end, in the end zone. He never saw Matt Benson, sitting back in coverage, waiting on the play. Benson stepped in front of the pass and ran it back for a 103-yard, pick-six, in the play of the game.

With the half running out and the Vikings in the two minute drill, San Francisco again, intercepted a tipped ball at their own 40. Five plays later, Reilly found Oliva in the end zone for six. 14 points in less than two minutes, to end the half.

Color man: You know, I got to agree with Reilly, when this team is clicking, they are number one.

Announcer: You got a defense that's running back 103 yard interceptions and there are just too many weapons that Tony Reilly can use and for the Minnesota defense to cover. That's how you got single coverage on one of the best receivers in football.

In the locker room, at the half, Reilly spoke to the team, "We've got 30 minutes of football left. If you think the Vikes are tucking their tails between their legs and letting us have it, think again. There is no quit in that team. We've got to go out and take it from them. Thirty minutes away from going to the dance, boys. He said slowly and deliberately, "Focus. Focus. Focus. They're going to come out throwing the ball and try and loosen up their running game. D-line, you got to keep pressure on the QB." He looked slowly around at everyone on the team, "Let's go kick their ass."

Minnesota put together a drive, for a field goal, but that was as close as they were going to get for the rest of the day. The Niner defense took over the game. Sacked four times and hurried countless others, the Minnesota QB was limping at the end of the game. He'd been beaten up and bloodied. San Francisco put up 10 more points and then slowed down the game, burning clock with the run. When Minnesota moved up to play the Niner run, Reilly would stretch them with the pass. It was over. San Francisco was going to the Superbowl.

Chapter 40

I sat stunned in the Porsche with Roger. This whole thing sucked before; now it sucked more. "We have to go see Tierney," Roger said.

"Are you running the show now?"

"I think we should bring the cavalry."

He meant the police. "I think they'll laugh at us," I said.

"Tierney killed his own player. Not only is it murder, but it's morally reprehensible," Roger said.

"You coming?" I asked.

"Duh," he said. I hate the duh.

"Call the cops," he said.

"I want to talk to him." I said.

"Talk to him in his jail cell. He's a manipulative asshole," Roger said.

"Don't use that language." We looked at each other and laughed.

I sighed, "Let's roll."

Chapter 41

Tierney met us at the door to his Atherton mansion at 8 PM. There didn't seem to be anyone else around. He greeted us warmly and showed us through a spacious, beautifully decorated, home and into his office. He had a breathtaking canyon view out his window. The place had to be $20 million. I said, "It's a beautiful house, sir." We sat down. Roger took out his netbook out of his computer backpack.

"So, what's new and exciting boys? Figure it out, yet?"

"Maybe, we talked to Lydia Isackson, again. We've got a problem we need to discuss," I said.

He cocked his head and with a puzzled look, he said, "Yes?"

"Mrs. Isackson has admitted to an affair between herself and Tony Reilly."

"Um, that is awkward," said Tierney. "I hope we can keep that under wraps. I would hate to besmirch Tony Reilly's legacy or Lydia's reputation, for that matter."

"That's not the problem I'm worried about," I said. "The problem is that apparently, she was also having an affair with you." I let that sink in. He had no reaction. "That would seem to implicate you in Tony Reilly's death. There would be motive and since Lydia told you when Tony was returning, it would also give you opportunity." Tierney didn't change his expression and just stared back at us."

Roger looked up from his computer and said, "Why did you do it, Tierney? You murdered the best quarterback in professional football, your own player," he hesitated, "...for pussy?"

Tierney considered the question and shifted in his seat. "Smart boy. Too smart. This kid is a pain in the ass," he said to me.

"Tell me about it," I said.

"Well, it didn't take long for you guys to figure it out," he said casually. "I didn't think it would." Was this guy admitting to he killed Reilly? "Yeah, Lydia is one of those once in a lifetime women. I couldn't let her go."

"What the fuck, Tierney," Roger said, "Why hire us? Did you want to get caught?"

"I wanted to know where the investigation stood. If you could find out, then eventually others could too." He paused and then said, "I figured it would all turn to shit. Lydia was the problem."

"Did you ever think you were going to get away with it?" Roger said disdainfully.

"You know what Roger, for about an hour, I thought I might." He then opened the top drawer of his desk and pulled out a silenced berretta and cocked it.

"Oh gees," Roger looked said to me, "I told you."

"Don't give me that, I told you, shit," I said.

I said to him, "Mr. Tierney, please, I came to help you out here. Turning yourself in is the only option. We might even be able to make this all go away. You have to trust me, Mr. Tierney."

"Make this go away? What do you have a time machine, Mullins?"

I said, "I thought you were involved. That's why I called Tonelli and told him what I thought was going to happen. I said you'd be coming to turn yourself in." Of course, I hadn't done that and was grasping at straws. "Say it was an accident that happened in the heat of passion," more bullshit.

"In the heat of passion? I shot him in the back of the head!"

"Bingo," said Roger.

I'm staring at Tierney's eyes and the barrel his gun, when two things happened at once. A gun went off, the shot hitting Tierney in the side of the head and Tierney's gun fired and the bullet went into the wall above my head. I looked over at Roger, sitting with two hands holding a gun, the gunshot still ringing in my ears. "What did you do that for?"

"He was going to shoot you and then me."

"I don't think so; he was probably going to shoot himself."

Roger put the gun into back his computer case. "I doubt it."

"Where did you get a gun?"

"It's Irv's old gun. It was in the safe at the office. It's technically Velma's."

"How long have you been walking around with that?"

"Since yesterday, when it looked like things were heating up."

We stood over the lifeless body of Tierney, blank eyes open with the bullet wound in the temple. I stood there speechless. I finally said, "I'm going to take the fall for this."

"No way," Roger said, "I recorded the whole thing on the computer. I shot him. I know you want to protect me, but forget about it. We'll tell them exactly the way it went down. That's only one way to do this. Besides, forensics will show I did it. He was a murderer about to shoot us. I had no choice. He even took a shot at you."

Roger was a step ahead of me, as usual. I looked at him and saw the determination on his face. I wasn't going to win this fight. I sat back down on the couch. "Call the cops," shaking my head. "I had the situation under control," I said, but without much conviction.

"How about a, thanks Roger for saving my life?" he said. "Next time, I'll let him shoot you." He pulled out his cell and called the cops. "Tierney was an asshole."

I leaned back and closed my eyes and tried to think about a glass of wine, the sun setting across a vineyard and a beautiful woman in a hot tub. Holy shit, what a mess.

Chapter 42

The Superbowl featured the New England Patriots and the San Francisco 49ers. Both teams had coasted through the playoffs and were clearly the best teams in football. East Coast versus West Coast and all the clichés that conjures up, were dragged out by the press. New England featured a veteran quarterback with a high powered offense and a good enough defense, to get them there. San Francisco had the hot quarterback and a defense that had just gotten better throughout the season. Vegas had Niners a three-point favorite.

San Francisco fumbled the opening kickoff and two minutes into the game, New England had a touchdown lead. The Niners took the ball across midfield after the kickoff, but stalled and they punted. New England drove back down the field in a ten-play drive and punched the ball in to go up 14. New England had been flawless and SF was back on its heels. Runs were getting stuffed and Reilly was missing his targets. On third and eight from his own 36, Reilly ducked under the pressure and took off for 18 yards. Two plays later, he faked it to Best and bootlegged around end for another 12 yards. He threw to Best in the flat for 8 yards. As New England moved in to cover the underneath stuff, he found Terrence Brown on a go pattern to the seven. Robinson wasted no time punching the ball in with 3 players hanging on him, 14-7.

The teams traded the ball back and forth on the next possessions. New England had a big interference call, but the drive stalled and they kicked a field goal. With time running out in the half, Reilly again scrambled for big yardage when his receivers were covered. Getting a hard hit running out of bounds, the refs tacked on another 15 for unnecessary roughness. With eight seconds left to go in the half, at the 25, Reilly hit Oliva who couldn't get the ball over the goal line before being pushed out of bounds, stopping the clock. With 2 seconds left in the half, at the one yard line, instead of taking the 3 point field goal, Reilly turned to the coach and put his hand up like a traffic cop stopping the kicking team from coming on to the field. Reilly faked the handoff to Robinson and ran the ball in through an open hole on the other side of the line to make it 17-14 New England, at the half.

The talk at half time was about Reilly having the green light to run for the first time all season and what that meant in the second half. The San Francisco locker room was calm. They had made some mistakes, but were confident. The coach's final words before coming out after the long half time show, "Thirty minutes of football left, boys. Hold onto the rock and we'll take this."

New England took the kickoff and methodically marched down the field and scored with a one yard plunge, pushing their lead to 10. On play action with 5 receivers in the pattern, Reilly hit Oliva on a comeback route. On the next play, he again hit Oliva. Two passes in a row, and San Francisco was in the red zone. Best took a flat pass for 12 more. Reilly faked the handoff up the middle and again took off on a keeper, broke a tackle and put the ball over the line with an outstretched hand before being pushed out, at the flag. On instant replay it clearly showed the ball going over the line and the call on the field was reversed for a touchdown.

New England drove the ball, but stalled at midfield and punted. San Francisco started inside their own 10. They put together a ball control drive. Stretching the field with long pass attempts, followed by short passes and runs. A 22-yard run by Best got them to their own 45. Reggie Robinson came in to spell Best and added 17 more on the next play. Reilly had been in the shotgun, playing hurry-up, with the no huddle offense. The New England defense had been on the field, a long time, at this point. Reilly caught them offside with a quick snap, when New England tried to change personnel. With more defensive confusion, Reilly found his tight end all alone, for another 25 yards. The drive stalled and San Francisco took the field goal at the end of the third quarter with the score tied. Reilly was seen rallying his offense on the sidelines.

New England took the kick and marched 70 yards, but had to settle for a field goal. Again, teams traded the ball back and forth until New England started a time consuming drive, but at their own 12 yard line. Matt Benson made the defensive play of the game, stripping the ball from the runner and recovering the ball himself. With four minutes to go, New England was up three. On 3rd and eight, Reilly again found his tight end for 18. Best drove through a hole for 11 to put San Francisco at midfield at the two minute warning.

A pass interference call got San Francisco to the 33. With an empty backfield and five receivers in the pattern, New England in the nickel defense, Reilly brought the pass down and took off for 10 yards. San Francisco quickly got to the line and hit Oliva for seven and then his tight end for eight. They were now on the 15 yard line, first down with one minute on the clock. Reilly called time and walked over to his coach. He smiled at his coach and took a drink. The TV camera stayed on him in close up before going to the booth.

Announcer: Ice is on his game.

Color man: He certainly is. They've got to be talking about the clock here. Do you take a shot now or burn clock and not give New England another chance? I think you take a shot at the endzone and play defense with a touchdown needed to beat you.

Reilly said to his coach, "Let's give it to Reggie." Robinson took it to the eight and San Francisco called their 2nd time out. With 3rd and two, Robinson got the first down at the four. Reilly got his team quickly to the line, handed it off to Robinson for a gain of one and San Francisco called its last time out with 12 seconds left. Reilly studied the scoreboard as he walked to the sideline. Time for two plays.

"Throw the ball into the ground, if it's not there," the coach reminded Reilly. It wasn't there. Reilly threw to Robinson, but a linebacker got a hand on the ball. Clock stopped with 3 seconds to go. Kick the field goal and send it to overtime? There was never any question. Reilly spread the offense, faked it to Robinson, spun and sprinted for the sideline. He dove into the end zone as a linebacker made contact. Reilly cartwheeled over the line for his third touchdown of the game.

It was over, all over.

Epilogue

I'm lying on a lounger with Liz, at Scottie's place a few days later. I'm drinking a bottle of Zin and trying to put the bullshit storm behind us.

The sad funeral service for Tony Reilly drew a huge crowd, at Grace Cathedral. It was a Who's Who of celebrity and sports figures paying their last respects. Roger and I sat that one out but Liz and I have been together the rest of the time. I kissed her neck and she snuggled closer to me. I sipped my wine and thanked, whoever was above; it was over.

Solving the Tony Reilly murder and killing Oscar Tierney was bigger, even than the "Butcher". The difference this time was, we were ready. We told it like it happened and no one had a problem, except fucking Special Agent Nelson. He was one of the first on the scene, with a chopper and wanted to take Roger and me in. I said, I wasn't talking to the FBI and he could kiss my ass. Nelson was ready to perp walk us out. Cooler heads prevailed when we played the recording of the shoot-out with Tierney, Roger had recorded on the computer.

"What are you reading, Roger?" I asked him. He looked up from his laptop, sitting across from us, on the deck. I had to take him with us. We'd gone to the mattresses.

"Josef Stalin, wow, if ever a guy needed a bullet upside the head. You know he was responsible for killing at least 35 million, of his own people?"

"Here we go," I whispered in Liz's ear.

"He was just a horrible human being. He put 18 million people in slave labor camps! Most of the time, these people weren't involved in any political movement or connected with the government."

"I think most people think Hitler was the worst," I said.

"Hitler had a body count of only around 12 million."

"Ah, just a piker," I said. Wasn't there like 50 million killed in World War Two?"

"Jolting Joe Stalin ruled for 30 years with an unending reign of terror. What a piece of work. Right up until his last days, he kept at it. He was a psychopath's psychopath." Roger laughed to himself.

"Where does he get this stuff?" asked Liz.

"The number one, murderous piece of shit, has to be Mao Zedong," continued Roger, "70 million of his own people."

"Wow, that's impressive," I said.

"He used to say all the time, 'Too lenient, not killing enough'. You know what the funny thing is, Mr. Mullins?"

"No, Roge."

"Stalin and Mao are still revered in their countries. I don't get it."

"Maybe that's where Hitler went wrong, not killing enough of his own."

"When you control the story, you can make it read any way you like," said Liz.

"Those three were the worst in terms of numbers, but they didn't do the actual killing themselves. They had people doing it for them," said Roger. For sheer bloodthirsty sadism, you can't overlook, Vlad the Impaler. He was also known as Dracula. He got the Impaler name from his favorite method of execution. He would have big wooden stakes inserted up the ass of his victims."

"Okay, that's enough for me. I'm going in to lie down," said Liz. "I've had all the murder, I can handle, for...ever."

"You don't want to hear more about Vlad?" I grabbed her hand as she got up."

"Later."

"I'll be in a few minutes," I said, as she walked off.

"He's another one who went after his own people," Roger said.

"And you know what, Mr. Mullins? Romanians think of him as a freedom fighter, a great warrior."

I shook my head and looked over at Roger, "Are you done?"

"Yes, the three worst people in the world plus one."

I sipped the wine. "How you doing?"

He looked up from the computer, "I'm okay."

"You worry me. You have significantly less remorse, than I had after killing someone."

He thought about for a moment and said, matter-of-factly, "I've killed a lot of people online."

I laughed at him, "I gotta remember that one."

"What's going on at the office?"

"It's busy, lots of opportunities."

"Like what?" I didn't want to go back to work.

"Oh, I don't know, there is a Formula One race car team that wants us to investigate an issue."

"What issue?"

"Don't know. They won't say. There is a fat consulting fee and first class tickets."

"First class tickets to where?"

"Madrid, you know, Spain?"

"I know where Madrid is, dickhead."

"I know you're geographically challenged, 6 million people, capitol of the country. It's a beautiful city, rich in history."

"Soccer, bull fighting and rioja wine," I said.

"They call soccer, football there."

"Why us?" I asked.

"Might as well get the best. Those Formula One teams burn through $500 million a year."

"You checking it out?" I asked him.

"I sent them a contract with ridiculous terms, but they seem to want us."

I finished my wine and said, "When were you going to tell me about it?"

"When a decision needed to be made. You know, we should re-brand the detective agency into a security consulting company. Easy to sell contracts to corporations for a steady revenue stream."

"What are the terms with Spain?"

"Do you really want to discuss the negotiations?"

I thought about it, let it go. I didn't really give a shit.

"Terms include a ticket for Liz." He looked up at me. "She speaks Spanish." He was typing, not paying attention to me. "They want us, tomorrow. I think I can put them off for a couple of days."

I got up and started for the house. "There is food in the kitchen. I'll make dinner later. I opened the door and looked back at him, buried in the computer. "We've been lucky," I said.

"I've been lucky. I'll be lucky again," Betty Davis said that." Roger thought for a moment, "Luck is what happens when preparation meets opportunity. You want a few more?"

I walked into the house and made my way to the back bedroom. Liz was naked under the sheets. I took off my clothes and slipped in beside her. She spooned up against me.

"You going to impale me, Vlad?"

"Yeah, I promise it won't hurt." I pulled her into me and she let out a passionate little groan.

"I don't believe any of your promises since that whole, 'I promise, I won't cum in your mouth thing'."

"Gees, can't a guy, make one little mistake, without hearing about it over and over again?" We were both laughing. I pulled her tighter.

We lay there a minute, I whispered into her ear, "Ever been to Spain?"

She sang to me in her beautiful voice:

" _Well, I've never been to Spain_

But I kinda like the music...

Say the ladies are insane there

And they sure know how to use it;

They don't abuse it

Never gonna lose it

I can't refuse it."

Book 2

The Liz

Chapter 1

Tonelli is standing outside the Union Street parking facility, talking on his cell. He sees me and gestures to follow. We walk double time up the street. Something is going on besides drinks and dinner.

"Anthony Thomas, Tony Thomas, TT," he says into the phone. "Remember that piece of shit?" he says to me.

"Vaguely."

"We picked him up at a crack house with his girlfriend's two little girls, all bruised up? Turned out, he's been assaulting them?"

"Oh yeah, a prince of a guy."

"He just walked by me, he's right there." Two guys and a girl are strolling down the street 25 yards in front of us, "Okay, send backup, we're across from Perry's," says Tonelli and ends the call. He takes out his badge and hangs it around his neck. "He jumped parole a few months ago."

We walk up behind them and Tonelli puts his big paw on Thomas' shoulder, turns him around and says, "San Francisco Police Department, may I see some identification, please?"

It's Tony Thomas alright, and he remembers us. "Officer Tonelli!" Then, he looks at me, "and Mullins?"

"How you doing TT?" I say.

"Well, what a surprise, a couple of my old buds. I thought you went on to bigger and better things, Mullins." Thomas starts to move his hand to his back, but Tonelli isn't having it. He grabs Thomas' arm and spins him around. A gun falls to the ground. Tonelli pushes him up against the wall and spreads him as the other idiot moves towards them.

I step in front of him and say, "Please, don't to do it." He's bigger than me, fat, stringy long hair and rotten teeth. He smiles and cocks his fist. It's a 30 mile an hour beach ball thrown down the middle of the plate. I've learned the hard way; don't break your hand on a scrote. I deflect the punch and his momentum carries him into my best Chuck Norris roundhouse belly kick and oh...down goes Fraiser. I roll the groaning pig on to his stomach and pat him down. "I did say please, dickhead."

While I'm bent over him, the girl jumps on my back, wraps her legs around my waist and pulls her arm across my throat. Tonelli is cuffing Thomas. The girl is choking me. I've got to get her off, now. I stand up, turn around and run backward into a brick wall. Her head bounces against it and she drops to the ground. Two mobile units pull up almost simultaneously. People are stopping to watch. Tonelli surveys the situation and says, "Take off, Tommy, I'll see you at the Balboa."

I gotta get out of here, exit stage right.

The Balboa is part of San Francisco's Bermuda Triangle, a number of well-known watering holes, named by the famous columnist Herb Caen. Singles head there Friday night and aren't seen again till Monday morning. I spent my share of time here, back in the day, but haven't been down here in a while. This was going to be a rare boy's night out for Tonelli and me. I walk into the Balboa and plant it on a barstool. It's a good crowd for a Wednesday.

"Tom Mullins, what can I get you, my man?" asks the bartender. These are union bartenders, they never change.

"Love, affection and an Anchor Steam, Teddy boy."

"You came to the right place," and puts a beer down in front of me, as I survey the talent. A table of babes are looking at me. I avoid eye contact. I wave to a couple of familiar faces sitting in the back. The best looking women at the babe table, strolls over.

"Are you Tom Mullins?"

"Sometimes."

She laughs. Back in the day, I'd be all over this cute thing. She's smoking hot. "No Liz tonight?" Everyone knows my girlfriend.

"She's in LA, we're meeting up tomorrow."

"You know what they say," she says touching my hand.

"No, what do they say?"

"If you can't be with the one you love...I'm Casey."

Talking to this little hottie is not a good idea. "Can I get a picture of us?" she asks.

I grimace, "I really try to keep it low key, you know? How about if we just shake hands?"

"Sure," she says with a big smile. I shake her hand and she pulls me to her, leans into my ear and whispers, "I'd love to get to know you better."

I lean back, smile at her and say slowly, "Nah." I turn away and say hello to the two middle age women sitting next to me, "How are you girls tonight?" I see Casey walks back to her table, out of the corner of my eye. That had trouble written all over it.

The women who witnessed this conversation say, "Who are you?"

I laugh, "Just a mild mannered reporter from a great metropolitan newspaper."

They laugh and say, "We're Alice and Edna from Wisconsin."

"You're kidding, the land of the dells? I love Wisconsin. Teddy boy, get Edna and Alice a drink. What are you drinking ladies?"

"White Zinfandel," says Edna.

"With an Ice cube," says Alice.

"Of course you are. What have you been up to today?"

"We went to Alcatraz."

"Wow, I've never been. Was it fun?" Casey is over there frowning at me. I'll bet she doesn't get many rejections, in fact this may be the first. Tonelli walks up and orders a beer. "Ed, this is Edna and Alice from Wisconsin. They went to Alcatraz today."

"Never been," Tonelli says. He's a little edgy. I see him check out the table of women, staring at us.

"You really should see it. It's fascinating," says Edna.

"I spend too much time around prisons, as it is."

I explain he's a San Francisco police detective and they're impressed. "You mean like Dirty Harry?"

We're laughing, "Yup, that's him, Dirty Ed. Did he fire six shots or five? I just heard him use that line a few minutes ago, as a matter of fact."

Tonelli gives it his best Clint Eastwood, "Do you feel lucky, punk? I'm sorry ladies, Tom, let's grab dinner. I have to get back and process that garbage."

"You didn't tell us who you were? I've seen you somewhere before," Edna says to me.

I think about it for a moment. I stand and put an arm around them, whisper like I don't want anyone else to hear, "I'm Liz Reilly's boyfriend."

The realization dawns on them, "Oh," they say together with big smiles on their faces. I may have made their vacation. I pay the bin and bid aloha to Wisconsin. On the way out I say goodbye to the Casey table.

"Maybe next time, Tom?" Casey says. I smile back.

When we get outside, Tonelli smirks and says, "Obviously, she wanted in, to the Tommy Trim Club."

"The Tommy Trim Club membership is frozen."

"You're blessed," Tonelli says sarcastically.

"I know."

"Born on third base, thinking you hit a triple."

"Fuck you."

Chapter 2

Looking up from my _Road and Track,_ at 35,000 feet. Roger is intensely typing away on his laptop. "What are you doing?"

"You're firing Gloria." I go back to reading an article about the new Porsche Turbo S. Liz is threatening to buy me a car. I would hate for her to surprise me with the wrong model. The Turbo S has 530 horsepower, twin turbos, 0-60 in 3.6 seconds, 4 wheel drive, this would work. "It gets 25 MPG, Baby!" That would be the way to sell it. Liz doesn't know shit about cars. If it was up to her, we'd be driving around in a Prius, God forbid.

"Why?" I say to Roger.

"Why what?"

He's exasperating. "Why am I, firing Gloria?"

He looks over at me, "You really want to know?"

I'm mildly interested to hear what put Gloria over the top on the Roger Goody shit list. I put the magazine down, "Yes."

I'm annoying him by asking for details. He gives me that condescending, why are you bothering me look, "The short story is that she is arrogant and incompetent. She's overcompensated, does precious little actual work and consistently pisses everyone off. Her work is sloppy. She's a detriment to the company. She rarely completes work on time, because she spends most of the day shopping online, when she's not on Facebook and Twitter."

"Yeah, what did she do this time?"

"She's discussing company business in emails to her friends. That alone is enough to shitcan her."

"And?"

"She responded disrespectfully to you in an email, when you requested a check be cut for a security team expense voucher."

Bingo, finally the crux of the matter, the boys in the back needed money for pizza and Gloria didn't hop on it fast enough. Definitely a firing offense in the Roger Goody management manual. "How was she disrespectful?"

"She responded to your email with, 'When I get around to it, I'm busy,' and then went back to Facebook. You responded back, 'Now'. She responded you were interfering with her schedule and threatened a sexual harassment suit."

"Nice."

"First, we'll show her the documentation of numerous company policy violations, including her Internet surfing habits, the previous write-ups and the emails in which she discusses company business with outsiders. We'll give her three month's severance, which she doesn't deserve, if she signs an agreement not to sue, which she will because she's broke. She's going to hand over the keys to her company car and phone. A taxi will be waiting, when she's escorted out the door with her cardboard box of belongings."

"That'll teach her not to fuck with you, I mean me. Is Carl cool with this? He hired her." Carl Petersen was the COO of SAI and the former owner of the company."

"Oh yeah, he's had it with her."

"So, what happens on Monday morning? She's in a key position."

"The new guy starts Monday, a young man out of Santa Clara with an accounting degree, who just passed the CPA exam. This will be his first corporate gig. He's ecstatic about the opportunity. He wrote a couple of months ago, begging for a position. He said he would take the janitor job to work for us."

Laughing, "Is he any good?"

"We did a background check, everyone loves him. His Domino's boss says he's the best delivery guy they ever had. Carl interviewed him and said he thinks we should groom him for CFO. He's sharp!"

"Perfect, pizza runs and accounting." I went back to _Road and Track._

Roger calls the limo driver as soon as the plane lands, it's at the curb waiting when we walk out of the LAX Southwest terminal. Roger jumps back online. He loves running SAI. I'm the CEO, but he's running the show. Few people know the extent of Roger's involvement. He's a consultant, on the books. He spends most of his time at a table in my office. I make phone calls, show up for meetings and go on the occasional sales appointments. Roger and Carl do the rest. I feel the most important thing I do, is criticize Roger when he fucks up, which isn't often, but often enough to keep it interesting. If he doesn't fuck up, I make stuff up.

Running the company was killing me. I hit the wall and told Roger, I can't do it anymore. I'm sick of it, you do it. That was it. I think that's what he wanted all along. As a result of that epiphany, my life is run by a twelve year old. He handles my company email and along with a secretary, my schedule. Responding as me, my emails have become more professional and timely. He keeps me informed on a "need to know basis". If I'm blindsided, I stall and check with him. Somehow, it all works and we've prospered.

We've folded the private investigation agency into our new company, SAI. The Investigative Division now has its own manager and we pretty much leave them alone. I get (Roger gets) a daily email updating everything that's going over there. With our notoriety, we have all the business we can handle in the investigative division. I'm out of the day to day, PI business.

We'd been dabbling in cybersecurity at the detective agency. Roger and his hacker buddies were providing services to a couple of clients. We set out to transition the PI business into a cybersecurity services business. Roger found a local company that was doing well, but needed capital to grow. We bought SAI, Securacom Associates Incorporated.

First thing we did was to hire a bunch of Roger's hacker buddies. Their official title is Penetration Tester. We flew them in, gave them a place to live, a car and good money. They're geeks. In some cases, we bought them clothes. In some cases, we bought them deodorant. As our geek group grew, the word got out and we have our choice of good people now and we hire the best. It's a fun place to work and San Francisco is a draw.

Most of the work gets done in the computer lab. They work long hours back there and seem to enjoy what they're doing. When I have to go back there, all I hear are keyboards chattering with the boys writing code. Sometimes, they're all playing war games on a big screen, drinking Mountain Dew and eating pizza. It looks like chaos to me, but they're designing revolutionary cybersecurity tools and customers are satisfied. Providing security services creates a growing, steady stream of income.

Part of what SAI does is design intrusion detection systems for computer networks. Our first product is a device that protects against DoS, denial of service attacks, the hackers favorite weapon. The interface we've developed, show visualizations and offers analysis when the DoS attacks occur on networks. It's an elegant tool for monitoring intrusions and it's been getting great reviews.

We also offer network monitoring services. Persistent threats are rampant on the Internet. We've found hackers that have been accessing companies' networks for months and in some cases years, without detection. In one case, the administrator of a network had no clue that an adversary had been pilfering data.

SAI is a hot little company. We've doubled the size and tripled the revenue in six months. Roger drives SAI. He has his finger on the pulse of every aspect of the business. The plan is to take the company public.

I never imagined that I would be in the position I'm in. I'm not talking about CEO at Securacom. Six months ago, Tony Reilly, the Superbowl MVP, was murdered. As the result of a settlement following the murder, Elizabeth became a wealthy woman. She could have sat around painting her toenails for the rest of her life, but that's not the way she played it.

Her first investment was Securacom. It was some of her money that we used to buy the company. Roger sold the concept to her. On paper, she's probably doubled her investment. Her second investment was herself.

She's an amazing musician. She released a CD of her music, "Liz" and it took off. It didn't hurt that there was a compelling story behind it, as the widow of the murdered MVP Quarterback. The story had grown into mythical proportions. With an initial appearance in a "60 Minutes" segment and as featured artist on "Saturday Night Live", her music career took off

A month after the album's release, one of the songs, "Can't You See" became #1 on the charts. Two more songs followed it into the top ten. Liz become a worldwide sensation. She's rich, famous, beautiful and my girl.

Chapter 3

Traffic was the usual Friday afternoon mess in LA. It takes an hour to get to the hotel, 20 miles away. I look over at Roger staring off into space. "What's up, dude?"

"Semi-solid flow cell batteries." Here we go. "Within the batteries, solid particles are suspended in a carrier liquid and pumped through the system in which the battery's active components, the positive and negative electrodes or cathodes and anodes, are composed of particles suspended in a liquid electrolyte. It looks like black goo. These two different suspensions are pumped through systems separated by a filter. It's a breakthrough for batteries and grid storage."

"Why do I want a black goo battery?"

"In place of petroleum for powering electric vehicles. The design is more efficient and compact. It's going to cost significantly less to produce battery systems. You refuel by pumping out the liquid slurry and pumping in a fresh, fully charged replacement. I recommended, they consider using replacement cartridges to quickly swap out the tanks."

"You recommended to who?"

"The guys at MIT developing this."

"How do you know them?"

"I wrote them emails and we talk on the phone."

I'm not surprised at the things he gets into. "Did they like the idea?"

"They want me to work with them."

"What did you say?"

"I told them I was too busy, but they're going to keep me in the loop. They want me to go to school at MIT."

"You want to go there?"

"Go to school in Boston? Are you crazy?"

"Sorry for asking."

"School sucks, waste of time."

"I forgot, too cool for school."

"I wouldn't mind having a piece of the company developing this battery technology." Roger is a bottom line child. "I'll continue to talk to them, but batteries aren't ultimately the answer."

I thought about it for a while and against my better judgment ask, "What is the answer?"

He slowly looks up from his computer and says in that typical what's wrong with you tone, "Hydrogen?" I don't know what he's talking about.

"Liz will like it. She's big on the environmental stuff."

We pull into the driveway of the Beverly Hilton and meet our man, Shawn Samuelson waiting for us at the front door. He's become a friend. A former Delta Force ranger, he use to work for the San Francisco 49ers, but works for us now, in charge of Liz's security team. He walks with me to our suite.

"What's going on, Shawn?"

"Liz is at the sound check, Mr. Mullins. Something has come up, I want to talk to you about." We walk into the palatial Presidential Suite, 2000 square feet, living and dining room, two large screen TVs and a smaller one in the spa bathroom.

"What a dump," says Roger as he looks around. There is a bottle of Champagne and an enormous flower arrangement on the table. I head for the fridge and pull out a Heineken.

"You want a Coke, Roge?" He ignores me, his nose buried in the computer. "So, what's up Shawn?"

"I got a call from Todd Burnett yesterday, asking about the cost for Liz's security." I stop and look at Shawn. This also gets Roger's attention.

"What the fuck is her security to him? I thought he was PR guy or something?"

"I don't know," says Shawn, "apparently, his job has changed."

I don't get involved in Liz's stuff. I'm just a fan.

"Roger, how much are we charging Liz for personal protection?"

He punches a few keys and answers, "We have a manager, Shawn, a driver and four body guards, maybe $7,000 a day on a cost plus basis?"

"Sounds reasonable, with expenses. What's his complaint, Shawn?"

"He thinks it should be lower," Shawn says. "If anything, we should be adding people. Liz doesn't go out often, but when she does, it can get hairy. The paparazzi is out of control."

"Todd Burnett has been promoted to Business Manager," says Roger looking up from his computer.

"Roge, get the faggot on the horn."

Roger winces at my derogatory homophobic reference, punches in a number and hands me his phone, "Hey Todd, Tom Mullins, how's it going?"

"Fine, Mr. Mullins, I'm glad you could make it, for the concert tonight."

"Yeah, we're looking forward to it. Hey Todd, wanted to let you know that we're going to be beefing up security for the rest of the tour. Paparazzi is starting to get out of hand." There was silence at the other end of the line. "We'll double up and start them tomorrow." I hang up and toss the phone back to Roger. "Douche bag is going for a little power grab. Shawn, don't talk to him anymore, refer him to me. Anything else?"

"Nope, that's about it, I guess," he laughs.

"Don't take any shit from that weasel, he's nothing. Remember something, everyone in the music business is an asshole. When is Liz due back?"

"She's on her way, any minute now."

"Excellent, we'll see you later." I sit on the couch, take a pull on the beer, close my eyes and doze off. I wake up when Liz walks in the door. Roger runs over and hugs her. I get up and put my arms around the both of them and kiss her. "Hello baby," I say with my best Big Bopper impression.

"My boys are back in town," she says pulling us tighter. "I'm so glad you're here." We sit down on the couch, Roger grabs his computer and Liz and I kiss again.

"Absence makes the heart grow fonder," she says.

"I couldn't get any fonder," and pull her onto my lap.

"Ick," says Roger.

"Shut up, you."

"Why don't you guys get a room?" he says.

"Why don't you get a room? In fact, I can arrange that in about two minutes."

"Oh, it's so nice to have my children back," Liz says, laughing at us. "Tommy, did you get into a fight last night, with a woman?"

Uh-oh. I give her my best, "what are you talking about" look, one of my specialties.

"I just saw a clip on YouTube that looks suspiciously like you in a street fight with a woman."

"Umm, oh yeah, Ed made an arrest last night and a woman jumped on my back and started choking me."

"Beating up women now, Mr. Mullins?" says Roger. That fucker never misses an opportunity to pile on.

"Jesus Christ, Tommy!"

"She attacked me! I was trying to get her off my back!"

"Oh for fuck sake, Tommy! Can't you stay away from trouble?"

"It finds me. I'm innocent! I was defending myself!"

She gives me the evil eye, then smiles, "I know, I spoke to Tonelli. He says it was his fault."

"Oh, just busting my balls?"

"Yes, but why did you make poor Todd Burnett, cry?"

"Fuck me, it didn't take him long to run to Mommy," shaking my head. "He was fucking with us."

"So you decided to bully him. Sweetheart, he's just doing his job."

"That's Mr. Mullins' specialty, bullying," says Roger.

"Shutup, shutup," I say to him. "I like that _Shutup Shutup_ song," I say to Liz.

"It's your theme song," Liz says. She stares at me for a minute and the storm passes. She smiles, "Are you guys ready for the big show tonight?

"I'm excited," says Roger.

"Me too," I say.

Liz is tired, so we go in for a "nap". It's one of those, "I haven't seen my girlfriend in ten days", kind of naps.

Chapter 4

We pull up to the back of Royce Hall on the UCLA campus 45 minutes before the concert. HBO is filming the concert, so a film crew is there, as we get out of the limo. We head into Liz's dressing room where she sits for makeup. Roger and I decided to have a walkabout and check out the place. I don't need a tour guide, I got the kid.

"Royce Hall was built in 1929 as one of the first buildings on campus. Its Romanesque architecture is based on a church in Milan. That's in Italy."

"I know where Milan is."

"You don't know where Milpitas is. This is one of the great concert halls in America, renowned for its beauty and its acoustics."

"It is beautiful," looking up at the artwork on the ceiling.

"They had to basically rebuild the place after the Northridge Earthquake in 1994." We climb the stairs up to the pipe organ.

"Holy shit, this is impressive," looking at the huge keyboard console and the view down onto the floor.

"There are 6,600 pipes."

"Is that the biggest?"

"No, not even close. The biggest one is at the Atlantic City Convention Hall, but it's not really the biggest, because it doesn't work."

"It doesn't work?"

"It never really worked right and it's fallen into disrepair. I think it's still playable."

"So who has the biggest organ?"

"Johnny Wad was pretty impressive, I read."

High Five.

"The Wanamaker organ at a department store in Philadelphia is the biggest with 26,000 pipes. The one at the Convention Hall has 33,000, but like I told you, it's with an asterisk."

How does he know this shit?

"There are two in San Francisco that are bigger than this one. Grace Cathedral and Davies Hall, both in the top 50."

I'd forgotten about those.

We turn to look down at the crowd, as the hall fills up. It's loud and boisterous with the partying students on a Friday night. Liz has specified that this is only for students of her beloved alma mater. You need a UCLA ID to get in. "Let's go tell Liz to break a leg," I say. We head back down to the dressing room.

"What have you boys been up to?" She's drinking a bottle of water with her feet up. She's wearing a blue graduation gown.

"Checking out the big organ," I say.

"Tommy, you don't have to feel bad about yourself, you're big enough," she says condescendingly. The staff in the room all chuckle, at that one.

I shake my head, "Dick jokes."

A guy with headphones on, pokes his head in, "Five minutes, Liz."

Liz says, "Why don't you guys find your seats? I want you to see the entrance from the audience." I hug her, not wanting to smear her makeup. She hugs Roger and we're shown to our seats in the front. A minute later, the lights go down and the place erupts. The curtains part and Liz walks out in a blue graduation cap and gown to the music of _Pomp and Circumstance_ , the graduation march, spotlight on, the band in back of her in the dark. A drum roll and she slowly sings the first line from the Beach Boy's song "Be True to Your School", only she changes it. " _When a USC dickhead..."_ She stops and laughs as the place goes crazy. She starts over. " _When a USC dickhead tries to put me down,_ _He says his school is great..."_ Boos roar for hated USC. She continues,

I tell him right away

What's the matter buddy?

Ain't you heard of my school

It's number one in the Pac 10...

She stops as the hall goes crazy again. The night before, UCLA had beaten Stanford to take over first place in the Pac 10. Finally, she sings the last line of the introduction and the band kicks in, she strips off her cap and gown to reveal a little sparkly blue cheerleading outfit and belts out the song...

So, be true to your school

Like you would be to your girl

Be true to your school now

Let your colors fly

Be true to your school

The Bruin cheerleading squad enters behind her, complete with pom-poms and acrobatics. The place is bedlam. You just couldn't have opened with a better song and choreography. At the end, there are about six verses of "Rah rah rah, sis boom bah," the audience singing along. At the end of the song, the cheerleading squad holds Liz high up in the air. They must have put a lot of practice into that production.

The cheerleaders put her down and exit. Liz walks to the microphone and says, "Settle down. Hello boys and girls. Welcome to Rock and Roll 101." She goes to her synthesizer and starts playing. The place is rocking. For the next song, she moves over to the grand piano and says, "This is a magnificent instrument. One speaks to it, and it speaks back. I only hope I can hold up my end of the conversation." She then plays "Walking in Memphis", my favorite cover she does.

At the midpoint of the concert, she grabs some cards and walks to the microphone. "I've got some questions here from you. Youth wants to know! Let me try and answer them. Paul, do you think I can get a stool out here?" Out from the side, walks a tall young man, carrying a stool. When the crowd recognized the Bruins star basketball player Dominic Brand and the hero of last night's game, they burst into a standing ovation. Brand places the stool at center stage, pulls out a rag from his back pocket and pretends to dust it off. "Okay, okay, that's enough," says Liz. "Go practice your free throws." When she sits down, Brand kissed her on the cheek. "Eww, she says wiping the kiss off, where does it say in the script, kiss the girl? This is a team effort, Brand, follow the game plan. There is no I in team, rookie. Go run some lines." Brand starts to exit, he gets half way across the stage when Liz says to him, "Brand, you better show up at the dance." She's referring to the NCAA tournament, March Madness. Nodding his head, Brand waves to the adoring crowd. When the audience settles, she says, "He'll probably make more money than me next year."

"Our first question tonight is from Robert Brimley, oh he's from Sigma Alpha Epsilon! Some booing, SAE is known as the rich boy frat. Liz immediately throws the card over her shoulder. The crowd roars. "Robert, where are you?" A guy in the middle raises his hand. Liz says, "Hi, Robert, Polo or Armani?" She lets the laughter die down before going on, "I'm sorry, Robert, let me give you the same answer I gave to every SAE guy who ever asked me a question, when I went here, I don't give a shit that you drive a Lexus and I won't fuck you." The crowd is in hysterics.

"Let's see the next question is from Julie Chu, oh, an Asian girl, what are the chances, huh?" The campus is dominated by academically driven Asians. "Where are you?" A girl in the balcony raises her hand. "My roommate freshmen year was Chinese and I got to know her family very well. We talked many times about being raised by a very driven Mother. As her mother used to say to her, there's no Chinese word for try. She'd get 98% on a test and her mother would beat her ass for not getting 100. She'd gets 100 and the mother would be on her, for not getting extra credit! You ever wonder how white people get in here. Julie writes, 'Liz, what words of advice on success can you give to a freshman?' Well first of all...don't fuck SAE guys." Liz laughs with the crowd. "Julie, you know Big Man on Campus, Robert?" Julie shakes her head. "He drives a Lexus, you know?"

Robert yells out, "It's a Ford."

"Oh, the old man is Republican," says Liz. Robert is nodding his head. "You got Orange County written all over you, Robert. Back to you Julie, words of advice on success? Let's see, drop out of school, take the tuition money and buy lottery tickets? I don't think I'm qualified to answer. I consider myself the luckiest woman in the world to be where I am today. The chances of duplicating it are longer than winning the lottery, but I worked at it."

"After I graduated, I took a job as an entertainer on a cruise ship for two years. It was a fun job. During those years, I was constantly performing and getting better at it. I was also writing music. I had a goal. It was always a long shot, but I worked at it and it happened. It can be done and I'm not just talking about the entertainment business. You'll never know unless you try. You guys are the best and the brightest. Define your short and long term goals, be flexible, but work toward them and maybe, just maybe, you'll get lucky too. You can't get hit by lightning, if you don't stand out in the rain." The crowd gives her a long round of applause. "Do you want some words, Julie? I got four of them; play, enjoy, create and imagine." She gets another round of applause.

"How about a song?" She walks to her synth and hits the opening for her #1 hit, _Can't You See_. The applause rises to a deafening cheer.

Liz ran through her album, throwing in a few covers. The band is flawless. She moves back and forth from the grand piano to the synth or just comes out to the microphone and sings. The crowd knows her music and is singing along. She's been on an hour when the place goes dark. We hear the deep low note growl of the massive pipe organ.

The spotlight hits Liz sitting at the console high above the stage. A camera is on her as she plays with her back to the audience and her face on the two big screens, set up on the sides of the stage. It starts as a slow dirge with the pipe organ, filling the hall. She begins to sing The Phantom of the Opera theme. Her lead guitarist takes the male lead with the Phantom mask and black cape on.

The song is incredibly difficult to sing with the end of the song requiring singing in the highest register. The two of them pull it off perfectly. I'm blown away. It was perfect. The two take their bows to a tumultuous ovation. The guitarist hurries offstage and back down to the band, that was the _Theme from the Phantom of the Opera_ , also known as _Toccata and Fugue in D Min_ or by Bach. I bet you didn't think you'd be hearing Bach tonight. I think this one was written by Bach too." She turns back to the organ, "Ready boys?" They launch into the Doors _, Light my Fire_. You haven't lived till you've heard _Light My Fire_ on concert hall pipe organ.

She finishes the concert with two encores. Finally, it's over with her final words to the crowd, "I'll be back. Now, go home." She gets a big hug and kiss from me as she gets off stage. "Not bad, huh Sweetie?" she says.

"Liz, that was the best. You were incredible. You have to take pipe organ on the road!"

"Darling, that's what synthesizers are for. Paul's great isn't he?" referring to her lead guitarist. They've been on a 60 date world tour and the band is tight. I've been busy back in the Bay Area and have only seen them a couple of times.

"The whole band is great. You guys are amazing."

The plan was to leave the concert right away, rather than go back to the dressing room. The idea was to beat the traffic jam that would inevitably follow the concert and get back to the hotel. She says her goodbyes to the band and the staff, signs some autographs, puts a coat on and we start moving to the limo, parked out back.

Shawn leads us out. I'm walking with Liz and Roger is behind us, on his phone. As we came out of the door, there are three guards standing with their backs to us. They turn and I see stocking masks. They raise guns and open fire. I go down. Lying there, I figure I'm dead. I can't move. A big fucker walks over to me and slams a gun into my chest.

"Fuck you," he says and shoots me again. That's all she wrote.

Chapter 5

I'm in agony with the pounding on my chest, as I come around. I open my eyes to see Roger on top of me, crying and giving me CPR. Every time he compressed my chest I feel like I was being stabbed. It takes every ounce of strength I have to push him off and yell, "No." I raised my head and look down and don't see blood. I do see stars and pass out again. I wake up in the ambulance.

"Are you with us, Tom?" says the EMT above me. Roger is sitting beside me.

"I don't know."

"I think you've been hit with rubber bullets and tasered," he says. Your chest looks bruised, but there is no penetration. I've got cold compresses on it. You also have a bump on your head, a possible concussion. Your vitals are okay. We're heading for the ER."

Every time I move, I see stars. "What happened?"

"It was a kidnapping," Roger says. "Three guys in guard uniforms and stocking masks. They killed Shawn and Ricky. I thought you got shot too, but there's no blood. They left in the limo with Liz."

"Oh my God," I say writhing in agony. "Where were you?"

"I was behind, when they opened up on you. I turned around and ran back down the hall and called 911. I heard the limo pull away, walked out and saw you all lying there. I thought everyone was dead." I curl into the fetal position with the pain. It was a short trip to the UCLA Medical Center. They wheel me in and a team immediately start working on me.

"I think the EMT has it right. Looks like you've been shot with rubber bullets and tasered, Tom," the doctor says. "You've got bruising on your chest in three places. Heart rate is elevated. We're watching for internal bleeding. We're going to check you in, give you something for the pain and keep an eye on vitals."

I want to go after Liz, but I can't move. I don't have much choice. Something for the pain sounded good. My head is spinning. I'm useless. They wheel me into a room and Roger comes in and sits next to me, tears running down his face.

"Roge, who do we have left here?"

"I don't know. I don't know where the other two guys are, maybe Shawn sent them home? I don't know what happened to the limo driver either. Mr. Mullins, I'm sorry I ran away when the shooting started."

"Shut up, what were you going to do? Find some people to work for us. Get some down here from San Francisco. Get Torley." I'm trying to think, but things are beginning to cloud up as the drugs kick in. "Do we have insurance for the people who were killed?"

"I don't know, Mr. Mullins."

"I need to see the families." My mind is racing, but I'm going nowhere. "Find Liz, Roger." That's it. I'm out.

Chapter 6

Where am I? It feels like I got a ton of bricks on my chest. I open my eyes and see Ed Tonelli leaning over me. "There he is," he says. Roger leans over me, looks into my eyes. My head is spinning.

"Where's Liz?" I manage to say with a big tongue.

Roger holds up a copy of the LA Times. The headline reads, "Five Dead in Bloody Liz Reilly Kidnapping."

"She was abducted," Roger says. "They found Raoul, our driver, in the trunk of the limo, two UCLA security guards in the dumpster next to the loading dock, Ricky and Shawn. Five people murdered."

"Shawn and Ricky, why not me?"

Tonelli says, "Maybe they want someone to negotiate with?" A doctor comes into the room, says hello and starts pushing and poking. "How you feeling, Tom?"

"Couldn't be better, Doc," wincing as he feels around.

"You want to stand up, maybe use the bathroom? I want to make sure everything is working." I painfully get out of bed with some assistance. "Blood in your urine?" the doctor asks, when I come out.

"No."

"Well, take your time, get cleaned up and I'm going to release you. We'll get you something for the pain. I'm going to give you my card, with my cell phone number on it. If you're having any problems or additional pain, anything, give me a call or get yourself back here. Don't try and man-up. I'd be particularly worried about problems eating or problems with a bowel movement."

"Got it, thank you doctor. Let me take a shower and we'll get out of here."

"Just a moment please." The Doctor walks to the door and motions a guy in a suit in. "Tom, this is UCLA Chancellor Donald Christianson. The Chancellor shakes hands all around.

"I'm at a loss for words," says Christianson. We've never had anything like this happen before. This is a terrible tragedy. I want to say how sorry I am and that I'm personally at your disposal, to help find Elizabeth and bring these killers in."

The guy is about to cry. I'm in a weird zone. I hear him talking, but I can't relate. I'm dingy. I thank him.

"Tom, the press is in a feeding frenzy. This is a worldwide news event."

"We've been here before," says Roger.

The Chancellor says, "I'm going to suggest a short meeting with the FBI, LAPD and our security department. We have a room set up and people are waiting to talk to you. Is this something you can handle now?"

"Yeah, I guess so," I hear myself say.

"I've already talked to some of them," says Roger. "I told them I didn't think you had a lot to add."

"Why don't you get cleaned up and we can start this whenever you're ready," says the Chancellor. "Following the meeting, I'm going to speak to the press about what happened last night. I'll say you were treated for trauma and released, but if you would like to make a statement, be my guest. We should be able to get you out a private exit, if that helps, but I'm warning you, I've never seen anything like this before. The press is swarming."

Get some rest, the doctor tells me it's going to take at least a few days before you're back in the saddle."

I tell him I'll think about making a statement and he leaves. "Roger, did you call our PR guy?"

"Yes, he's here."

"Good," Roger is on his game. "Let's let him make a statement for us. Do you think these assholes know how to contact us about a ransom? It's got to be what this is about."

"There will be a police number and we'll give out an email address."

I take a shower and as I'm getting dressed, I reach into my pocket and pull out a cell phone that isn't mine. There is a text message on it. It reads, "Respond to this SMS for info on LR. Do not involve the police." The son of a bitch who tasered me must have slipped it into my pocket. I text a reply, "I'm here. What information?" I close the phone, put it in my pocket and come out of the bathroom. Roger and Tonelli are waiting. We walk with the Chancellor down a hall. Hospital personnel stand back and watch me walk by. Tonelli is chatting with the Chancellor. Roger and I are following them as I feel the phone vibrate in my pocket. I pull it out and read, "25 million in cash. You have 48 hours. Do not involve the police. We are watching."

Roger watches me reading the phone with a puzzled look on his face. He knows the phone isn't mine. I look down at him and shake my head. I'm still digesting the message when we walk into a conference room. A dozen people are standing there. Looking around, I see, to my utter disbelief I see FBI Special Fucking Agent Herb Nelson and lose it.

"What the fuck?" I scream. I look at Roger, "Did you know that asshole was here?"

"Nope."

"What the fuck are you doing here, Herb? Arresting me? Arresting Roger? Arresting Roger's Dad again, motherfucker?"

"I see you know each other." A guy walks towards me with his hand out. "I'm FBI Western Regional Supervisor Dan Wilkins."

I ignore the hand. "FBI Western Regional Supervisor Dan Wilkins, go fuck yourself." He puts his hand down. "You brought this useless suit in with you?"

"I didn't realize there was a history between you two," says Wilkins.

"Of course not, and Herbie, you didn't think, to maybe break it to the boss that there might be a little problem here? Well, FBI Western Regional Supervisor Dan Wilkins, there is a big fucking problem here. You gotta get this useless motherfucker out of my sight and light years away from anything to do with this investigation. Holy Christ on a cookie, how do you have the nuts to show up here, Herb? This useless piece of shit is the best the FBI can do, Agent Dan? You're not getting near this, Herb, go fuck yourself."

Herb, being Herb, isn't going to take this lying down. "This is a courtesy meeting with you, Mullins. Kidnapping is a federal offense. You're out of it." I start over at him and Tonelli gets between us. He's stepped between us on a number of occasions. Nelson used to work with the SFPD while I was there. We have a long history. I got absolutely, no use for him and I'm pissed off anyway.

"Come on Herbie, one time for old time sake," I say beckoning him. My chest hurts so badly, after all this blustering, there are tears in my eyes. "In all the time I've known you, I've never seen you do a fucking thing except take credit for other people's work and fuck up everything you touch. Sorry dick breath, stakes are too high this time around. Go fuck something else up. I hear the Muslims are restless up in Fond du Lac, a perfect assignment for you. Call me at the Hilton later, Agent Dan. Maybe get your ducks in line? Bring a little cred with you next time?"

"This is not your investigation, Mr. Mullins. If you get in the way, you'll be arrested," says Nelson.

"Arrest me now, motherfucker. I'm going to get in the way. I'm fucking going to be all over this." As the FBI Agents get the hint and leave, I yell over at him, "Hey Herb," he looks over, "go fuck yourself."

Chapter 7

It was still the LAPD's case with no indication that state lines had been crossed. After they find me a cup of coffee, the guy in charge of campus security goes over what happened, from his standpoint, last night.

"At 10:15, a parked car went up in flames in a dorm parking lot. A minute later, another one a few hundred yards away went up. This was on the other side of campus, away from Royce Hall and the concert. They appear to have used simple Molotov cocktails. As shown on this security camera video, a figure in black carrying a briefcase stops and throws one bottle after another until there are three cars on fire. We thought we were under attack. The diversion scrambled all available Campus security and LAPD to that area leaving only two guards at the rear of Royce Hall."

We watch the video. The video shows the limo pulling up to the rear with the two security guards standing there. Three guards get out of the Limo with guns. The real guards are herded off the loading dock. You can't see what happens to them and the three guys from the limo come back and stand on the dock with guns by their sides. Shawn, Ricky, Liz and I come out the doors. The three guards open fire. Down goes everyone except Liz.

One guy walks over, grabs her by the hair and puts a gun to her head. He walks her to the car and throws her in. One of the other guys walks over to the bodies of Shawn and Ricky and puts a bullet into both heads. The other guy comes over to me and you see him jam the taser into me. It isn't obvious, but I can also see him slipping something into my pocket. I would never have guessed he was putting a phone in my pocket. I look at Roger and he nods at me. The kidnappers get into the limo and drive off. After a few seconds, Roger comes out and makes a call while kneeling next to the bodies. As he's talking on the phone, he's checking pulses. Stops at me, drops and begins to give CPR. You can see me push him away. Cops and security people are there in a couple of minutes. I'm loaded into an ambulance.

Next up was an LAPD Detective, who introduced his boss, the guy sitting next to him, the LAPD Chief of Police Andrew Washington. I didn't know he was in the room. He wasn't in uniform. We never got around to introductions with the Nelson blow-up. The Chief has been quietly sitting with the two other suits, while I went at it with the FBI. The detective starts, "After we arrived at the scene at Royce Hall, a police officer spoke with Roger Goody and determined what happened. We put out an APB on the limo. At around 12:30 this morning, a patrol car saw a limo parked in back of a 7/11. The vehicle was searched and the body of the driver was found. Forensics is going over it. We don't have much in the way of leads at the moment. We've assembled a task force. We have feelers out looking for any information as to Liz Reilly's whereabouts. Abduction or so called kidnapping is a pretty rare thing in the US. The laws are severe and the likelihood of success low. My feeling here is that these are not sophisticated criminals. I'd say you're alive, Mr. Mullins, because they plan to come through you for a ransom."

"Yeah, we came to the same conclusion. So, you've got nothing."

"That's about it for the moment," he says with a sigh.

"First of all gentlemen, I'm sorry you had to hear all that with Agent Nelson. I have a long history with him and he's an idiot. Now, I want to add, when that guy tased me, while I was lying on the ground, he said 'fuck you' as he jammed the taser into me. It was a 'fuck you' with an accent. It was as if Arnold Swarzanager had said it to me, maybe Eastern European? I think it would be impossible to pinpoint what accent it was, just that it wasn't an American accent. The men I saw wore stocking masks and rubber gloves, but I think they were all white. So, taking a wild swing at this, I'm thinking Russian Mafia."

"Yes, they have some history of kidnapping here, but always against other Russians," the Chief spoke for the first time. "I would guess the Russian mob because of the sheer brutality of it. Anyway, thanks Tom, anything else you can think of would be appreciated. I spoke with the SFPD Chief this morning. He speaks very highly of you and Roger. I know Inspector Tonelli is here with his blessing," nodding at Tonelli. "I know about Special Agent Nelson's prior history with you. I can only guess that Agent Wilkins brought him along today not knowing. Wilkins is new here this year. We only have good things to say about him and the FBI can be a valuable resource. We'll call him and bring them up to speed, but this is still an LAPD investigation of abduction and multiple homicides. Because of your past and personal involvement with the victim, I'm willing to include you in all aspects of this investigation, but make no mistake, Tom, this is an LAPD investigation, not yours."

I smell a turf war. I'm not about to pick a fight with the LAPD Chief. The most important thing is to get Liz back ASAP, in one piece. "When a ransom demand shows up, we'll pay it. We'll get her back. Then you guys track them down. In your enthusiasm of wanting to grab these guys, I want it impressed on everyone the priority is having Liz returned safely. I think these assholes got lucky last night. I think they're sloppy. They're going to make mistakes. We'll get them."

"I agree, but I don't want you in the way."

"I understand, but can I make a request? I've got a friend who works for the LAPD, Detective Joel Thompson. I don't know where he works, but could he possibly act as a liaison between your investigation and us?" Thompson was an old friend.

"I'll see if that can be arranged. I'm going to have a press conference about the investigation, when we're done here, bringing everyone up to date. I'm thinking that announcing a reward for information might be the way to go," the Chief says.

"Well, I'm down with that. What kind of money are we talking about?"

"The LAPD is not in a position to offer a reward, possibly the Federal government is. This might be considered a terrorist attack. I know Homeland Security have people assigned. We'll know more later today."

The UCLA chancellor spoke, "I've already been working on this and I believe we should have something put together with the help of the Alumni Association."

I said, "I'd like to get this out as soon as possible. Let's announce a reward of a million dollars for information leading to the safe return of Liz. I don't care about arrest and conviction. I'm sure any reward is going to be peanuts compared to what these guys are going to ask for and Liz has got it. What I don't want is for a reward to have anything to do with me. I'm willing to put up the money, but I don't want the assholes to know I'm financing it. I want them contacting me for a ransom and her return."

"We'll announce this as a reward offered by UCLA Alumni Association. We'll figure out how to finance it later," says the Chancellor.

"Agreed," I say.

"Do you want to talk to the press with us?" asks the Chief.

"Not now, we have a press agent who will make a statement after we get a chance to discuss it. We've been through this high profile crime thing before, unfortunately. I want you to keep me out of any statements. If they are going to come to me, they can't be thinking I'm working with the police. Let's make it easy for them, no police presence around me."

"Then, I guess that's it. How do we stay in contact with you?" the Chief asks.

"A child runs my life, pointing at Roger," people laugh. Send him texts or call him if you want to get in touch. He will handle it. We'll be at the Beverly Hills Hilton at least through tomorrow."

"We're good to go. We'll get her back, Tom," said the Chief.

"Yes we will," I say.

Chapter 8

I sign paperwork for the hospital release. "Ed, can you go see the families? Roger, can we get Ed a driver?"

"Yes, we've got a car standing by."

"Get addresses and details of death benefits for him to discuss, if you can. We should pay for funeral expenses and have some kind of a compensation check ready for them. Check to see what insurance covers."

"They were contractors, not employees. It isn't much," Roger says.

"Ed, tell them we'll stay in touch and work out something for them in the next few days, okay?"

Tonelli agrees and I tell him to see us back at the hotel later. On the ride to the hotel, I call Securacom and ask Paul to go see Shawn Samuelson's family. I show Roger the text messages on the found cell phone.

"Twenty five million in cash? These guys are idiots," he says in disgust.

"Successful amateurs?"

"They got lucky," he says. Think about it, instead of just three people coming out with Liz, it could have been half a dozen. We sent one guy home early to attend his daughter's birthday. How did they know they were going to pull two UCLA guards off when the fires went off? I'm telling you, all the breaks fell their way and there should have been more people out there."

"You think there's someone working on the inside?"

He sits there shaking his head. "I don't know, but 25 million in cash is a joke. They could have grabbed Liz in San Francisco, with little security to blast through. These are thugs." He pauses and thinks. "25 million is where you start negotiating. Text back to them, that's impossible. Tell them you don't have access to that kind of money. Offer them 3 million, delivered Tuesday. That gives us three days to get it together. Tomorrow is Sunday. Nothing is happening then. See what they say? If these guys knew what they were doing, there would be wire transfers in and out of a dozen accounts 10 minutes after we wired them money. Cash, they're idiots!"

I give it some thought and agree. Roger punches in the text. "Do not have access to LR's money. I can have $3 million ready for you in $100 bills by Tuesday morning soonest. Please be reasonable."

Five minutes later came the reply, "Have $10 million ready by Monday morning 10 AM. Instructions to follow. We will send pieces of LR to you for any delays or police involvement. No further negotiations. We are watching."

We read the text together. "Cool, we got a discount," I say. "Now all we have to do is find ten million in cash and I'm tapped this week." We sat there looking at each other. "How big is ten million cash?"

"It's one million after nine million," said Roger. I punch him on the arm and he starts crying.

"Oh, stop, I didn't hit you hard, wuss."

"I bruise easily."

I pulled up my shirt and showed him my chest that looks like a Rorschach test. "Call Liz's people," I tell him heading for bed.

When the going gets tough, the tough take a nap.

Chapter 9

I wake up a couple of hours later and gingerly walk out into the living room bleary eyed. My chest is killing me. On TV, CNN is interviewing the head of security at UCLA. Tonelli and Joel Thompson, are sitting there with my Torley, just in from San Francisco. In the corner, sits Special Agent Dan Wilkins. I wasn't expecting him.

"Gentlemen," I greet everyone. "Sorry, but I needed my beauty sleep. Ed, you see the families?"

"Yeah, wives and young children."

I shake my head, "Fucking animals, I can't wait to find these guys."

Wilkins speaks up, "Mr. Mullins, I need to speak to you in private for a moment."

I ignore him. "Hey Joel, how you doing?"

"Hi Tom, I appreciate the opportunity. This thing is huge. I've got some updates for you."

"Okay, let me speak with Agent Wilkins first. Let's step on to the deck, Agent Wilkins. I smile over at Torley, "How's the family?"

"Good Mr. Mullins, I'm sorry about all this."

"Me too, man. You guys go ahead and order what you want from room service. Please keep it low key around the hotel. Roger, let's get a guard outside the door."

"There is someone already there and the hotel has added extra security."

I walk out on the deck and close the door behind Wilkins. I think about it for a second and tell Roger to join us. We sit down, Roger with his computer open in front of him. Wilkins says, "$10 million in cash by Monday morning." I glance at Roger.

"Don't look at me, they probably intercepted the SMS."

"First of all, let me apologize," says Wilkins. "I had no idea of the history between you and Nelson. I've only been in LA a few months. He's been an excellent agent during that time. I grabbed him as I was walking out the door and he never said a word about knowing you. I'm now up to speed on Agent Nelson's past with you and you're right, he shouldn't have been there."

"He shouldn't be in any meeting that has to do with law enforcement and he'll fuck with me, just for spite." I thought about for a moment, "And, he's useless."

"He won't have anything to do with the investigation."

"Okay," I say. "What's going on?"

"The SMS was out of LA, but we can't track an SMS with any accuracy. We have our best people look on this crime. We think it's a bunch of amateurs. We think they got lucky. Everything went right for them."

I look at Roger, "You should be an FBI agent."

"They could be amateurs, but that doesn't mean they're not dangerous," Wilkins says. "That may make them more dangerous. Tom, you have to work with us on this. If you have a problem with me, then I'll get someone else in here. It's too important to allow a successful celebrity abduction in the US. We're going to throw all our resources at this investigation. This comes from the very highest level. The good news, we're going to arrange for 10 million in cash for you. We're going to be all over this. My advice is to just give them what they want and let us handle it."

I looked over at Roger, "What do you think?"

"Where is the LAPD in this?"

"I spoke to the Chief ten minutes before I walked in. He'll defer to us with 100% cooperation and it will be a joint effort. All information about the investigation will be on a need to know basis, a complete news blackout. Everyone involved will be cautioned that any news leak will be a firing offense. We realize how big this story is and that any leak could be disastrous. No one will know what's going on except people on the team."

"The team...," I say sarcastically. "I want my guys on the team. I want to know every move you make, no surprises."

"Yes, you'll know everything that's going on."

"You're not going to tell us what to do. If I don't like how it feels, we're out."

"Agreed, you're a full partner in this."

I nod, "Anything else, Roger?"

Roger thought a moment. Looking at Wilkins, "Who controls the Russian mob in LA?"

Chapter 10

Roger and I take a drive up into the Hollywood Hills, park on the street, walk up to the front gate and ring the bell. There is a video camera trained on us.

The response is an immediate growl, "Yes?"

"Tom Mullins and Roger Goody to see Aleksey Mullova."

"What is this regarding?"

"It's regarding the abduction of Liz Reilly." We hear nothing for a couple of minutes. The gate opens and we walk down the driveway. As we come around a bend, a sleek, modern home overlooking LA comes into view. "Nice crib," I say to Roger. Two extra-large suits are waiting at the front door. They thoroughly pat us down and hold onto Roger's backpack, as one of them show us through the house and onto the deck. A guy in elegant casual clothes sits reading the Wall Street Journal under an umbrella. The infinity edge pool, with the breathtaking view of LA, is right out of Architectural Digest. A naked woman is gracefully swimming laps.

He stands, "Good afternoon gentlemen. I'm Aleksey Mullova." I introduce us. "To what do I owe the honor of a visit by the great crime fighting duo?"

I laugh, "Oh, just in the neighborhood Aleksey, thought we'd drop in, say hello."

He laughs as well, "Please sit down and join me, what can I get you?"

"The people who kidnapped my girlfriend?"

"And what makes you think I know anything about the kidnapping of your girlfriend?"

"I don't know. We thought this would be a good place to start looking."

"That's it?" he says. "Are you going door to door in the area?"

"Well, we thought we'd start with the head of the Russian Mafia."

"And what makes you think I have anything to do with the Russian Mafia?"

"You're well known here."

"I'm well known as a business man," he says with a smile. He looks out at the pool. "It's beautiful isn't it?"

"It's an amazing view," I say.

"I'm not talking about the view, I mean her ass."

"Aleksey, I don't think a high profile kidnapping is your style. I don't think you had anything to do with this. I see you as a more subtle, kind of guy. This was way too sloppy and too much publicity, but if these guys are Russian, life is going to get a lot tougher for you."

"What makes you think they're Russian?"

"One of them spoke to me. I'm not sure, but I think it was Eastern European accent."

"Gentlemen, I'm a business man. The FBI knows, when I take a shit. It makes no sense that I would be involved in something like a high profile kidnapping. It's impossible."

"I believe you, but when these guys get caught, and they're going to get caught, I promise you, everything Russian in LA is going to come under the magnifying glass. It's going to be bad for business, very bad. I'd appreciate it if you would find out, who these assholes are." He stares at me. "I would greatly appreciate it. Let's say a million dollars' worth of appreciation." I let that sink in. "It would be under the table, strictly a gratuitous gesture by me. Wired to any account in the world, a private transaction between you and me, just tell me where Liz is."

Roger speaks, "Mr. Mullova, we need to get Liz back unharmed. We think you can help us out. We've given you a financial incentive. We want you to be thorough. If something happens to Liz and it turns out there is a Russian mafia connection, Mr. Mullins will kill you and if he doesn't, I will."

Chapter 11

"Was that really fucking necessary?"

"Yes."

"For Chrissake, Roger, he's got a fucking army down here." I thought about it as I drove. "I probably would kill him, if something happens to Liz, but I would like to leave my options open."

"I wanted to get his attention." We ride in silence. Roger makes a call.

"Is Bobby there? He listens and responds, "Roger Goody and Tom Mullins, this is in regard to the abduction of Liz Reilly." He waits. "Hello Mr. Esposito, this is Roger Goody, would you have a few minutes for Tom Mullins and me?" He listens to the response. "Can we say, 20 minutes at your restaurant? Thank you, sir. Westwood, Paulie's Pizza," he says to me. "Let's go talk to 'Fat Bobby' Esposito."

"How do you know him?"

"It says he's an Italian Mafia soldier on Wikipedia and even gives his business name. I figure as a Westwood business owner, next to the UCLA campus, he might be sympathetic to the cause."

There are only a few people in the place at 3:30 in the afternoon. As soon as the kid at the front sees us, he says, "Right this way, please." We follow him through the place to a private room out back. There sits Fat Bobby in front of a large spread of food. Bobby hasn't missed many meals in his life. At about 5' 10", he had to go 400 pounds.

He greets us warmly and shows us seats. Gives us cloth napkins and says, "Please, eat". There is salad, a couple of hot pizzas and four different pasta dishes. I grab my phone and call Tonelli.

"Hey, come in here, we're out back." Tonelli is in there in seconds. He and Joel Thompson have been shadowing us, making sure nobody is watching us. I say to Fat Bobby, "This is Ed Tonelli, my old partner from the San Francisco PD. He likes to eat."

"Pisanne!" says Bobby. Bobby pours Chianti as we dig in.

"You were expecting us, Bobby?"

"Not surprised you'd come and see me. I figured you'd be hungry after chasing around after your girlfriend."

"I don't remember the last time I ate. I'm starving. It's great, thanks."

"I figured you might want to check and see if the Italian mafia knows anything. I am a soldier according to Wikipedia, you know."

"Yeah, that's what Roger said."

Fat Bobby looks over at Roger, "How's the pizza, kid?"

"It's really good, thank you Mr. Esposito."

"I'm afraid there isn't much left of the Italian mafia in LA these days, boys. I take a few bets, lend a few bucks, here and there and run a pizza joint. We leave the strong arm shit to the fucking Russians and the Triads. Only time LAPD is interested in me is to lay down a bet on a game. That's the way it is. The mob in LA is over."

"What a shame," I say. "I never ran into them when I was with the SFPD. You see much of the mob, Ed?"

Tonelli considers the question with a mouth full of Ravioli, sips his wine, "They're not active as far as I know. They were in the day, but I think everyone is retired or in prison. Joey Vaccaro used to run the show, but I think he lives with his daughter in Walnut Creek these days."

"Yeah, I know Joey . . . knew him. There's nothing going on up there. You know what it is, not enough Italians! We had our heyday back when Vegas was mobbed up. That's over. Organized crime needs new blood, crooked politicians and cops on the take. Organized is the key word here. We just don't have a younger generation to take over. So, I'll sit here, get fat and quietly take a few bets."

"What happens when someone has trouble paying his bets?" I ask him.

"There's always muscle around."

"What do you think happened last night?"

"With Liz? That was pure insanity. I wouldn't put it past the Russians, but even they're not that stupid. This isn't Mexico City or Bagdad. This is LA. You're not going to get away with that shit here. I'd kill them myself, if I knew who did it. This gives everyone a bad name, fucking assholes. They ask for a ransom yet?"

"Just between you and me, they've been in contact." I finished the last bite of a meatball. "Bobby, there's a reward out for information. I'm willing to sweeten the deal. Any info that leads us to Liz, gets a million bucks under the table. Call everyone and let them know. No questions asked, a successful tip for a million bucks, tax free."

"I'll make some calls, but you know who I'd talk to?"

"Who?"

"Aleksey Mullova, the Russian boss."

"Roger threatened to kill him, an hour ago." Tonelli squinted with a mouthful of food, as if he was in pain.

"Nice," says Fat Bobby laughing.

"Maybe Roger is the kind of youth movement you need down here, Bobby," Tonelli says.

"Anything else you might suggest?" I ask. He's thinking about it when the kid from upfront comes over and whispers in Fat Bobby's ear. He nods.

"Tom, the press is waiting for you out front, you want I have Dominic bring your car around back?"

I handed him the keys, "It's the grey suburban out front to the left, Dominic." The kid hustles off.

"Tom, you know there are a lot of flavors of Russian mafia around and they don't mix well together. The Armenians in Glendale and Burbank are well-known. They go by the name Armenian Power. They're a bunch of fucking idiots, as far as I'm concerned. The Russian gang that can't shoot straight, dumb fucks. They're pretty active, but it's usually small time stuff. There's the beaners and the niggers, but they're mostly about drugs."

"We're leaning toward Eastern European. That's the accent I think I heard. They weren't black and I doubt they were Mexican, but who knows? We're just poking around."

"You got a name with the Armenians," asks Roger?

"I'll make some calls," says Fat Bobby. "The LAPD had a Eurasian Task Force in place or had one. I know a cop working on it."

"Get me the LAPD, Roger," I say. "No love lost between the Armenians and Russians, Bobby?"

"There may be cooperation, I don't know. Historically the Russians have persecuted the Armenians, as well as anyone from the Caucuses, much like they did to the Jews. Russians are racists."

Roger hands me the phone, "Chief."

"Hello Chief, what's new and exciting?" I listen to a litany of lack of progress. "We've been poking around out here, as you know. I'd like to talk to whoever is running Armenian Power, can you get me some names? I understand you've had some . . . initiatives." The phone went silent, "Chief?"

"Tom, can you get downtown for a meeting in an hour? I'd like all hands in on this."

What the fuck? What's with this guy? "Did something just come up?" I ask him.

"Yeah, Armenian Power."

Chapter 12

The LAPD Police Chief stands in front a meeting that includs the FBI. "Tom and Roger, we want you to know finding Liz Reilly is the number one priority here. I appreciate that you're out there knocking on doors. I know you spoke with Aleksey Mullova earlier today."

"Yes, Roger told him I was going to kill him, if we found out there were Russians involved." There were snickers around the room.

The Chief says, "I doubt he has a hand in this, but I wouldn't put anything past them. Now, you brought up the Armenians and I felt I had to discuss the situation with you personally, before you go sticking your nose in."

"What situation?"

"Operation Power Outage or what we call, OPO. This is highly proprietary information I'm about to share with you. We're a couple of weeks away from taking a big chunk out of the Armenian Power organization. The FBI and LAPD will target dozens of people on various charges that will dismantle the gang's racketeering operations. The charges include drug trafficking, bank fraud, identity theft, extortion and kidnapping."

"They're into kidnapping?"

"There have been two incidences where they have abducted an individual and held him for a ransom. The amount paid was $500,000 in one case. This insured the victim against future abductions as well as release. However, in both cases it was done against other Armenians. Like the other gangs, they mostly prey on their own. Russians in LA are scared to death of other Russians. This isn't unusual. The Hispanics and Blacks prey on their own as well. What would be out of character, would be for anyone to go after a celebrity. We have informers in Armenian Power and there is no indication of any involvement. If we had any indication that the Armenians were involved, we'd move on them now."

"I'd like to go over and say howdy, anyway. I think we can manage to keep our mouths shut about your operation," giving Roger an obvious elbow.

"Okay, we can point you at the leaders. I don't know if they'll talk to you."

"They'll talk to you. They love to talk." One of the detectives steps forward, "I'm Larry Rocha. I'm in charge of OPO."

We shake hands. "What do you suggest; we knock on their front door?"

"You don't have to. They'll be having dinner together tonight. Just walk over and say hello," said Rocha. They'll invite you to sit down and you'll end up paying the bill. It's one of their passions in life after big screen TVs and black BMWs, screwing someone for the dinner check." A number of the heads nodded in agreement. "Big screen TVs, black BMWs, screwing someone for the dinner check and Cher."

"Cher?"

"You know Sonny and Cher?"

"Why Cher?"

"She's Armenian! Her Armenian father walked out on the family when she was twelve years old," says Roger. I just look at him in amazement. The shit he comes up with.

Chapter 13

We walk in to Raffi's Place in Glendale a little after eight. It's crowded. I walk to the bar and order a Stoli, while Roger looks around. We've seen photos of the people who would likely be here. He finds a table of 12 in a private nook. I walk up to the guy at the head of the table and say, "Mr. Petrosian, I'm Tom Mullins and this is Roger Goody. I'm sorry to interrupt, but could I have a word?"

There is a look of befuddlement on the guy's face that dissolves into a big smile as he stands up. "Detective Tom Mullins and his little friend Roger," he says to the rest of the table. Your girlfriend kidnapped, yesterday!" He snaps orders at a waiter in Armenian. "I get you chairs. Please, Mr. Tom Mullins, sit down and join us." I was expecting this; after all, they needed to stick someone with the check. We're introduced around the table. We're greeted like long lost friends. I know who most of these guys are and what they're into from the LAPD. All of them would be in the slammer in a couple of weeks. Chairs and a table are produced and we sit. Plates of kabob, hummus, fragrant rice, koobideh and chicken soltani are placed in front of us. I ordered a bottle of wine and dig in. Roger has bread and butter. It isn't exactly his fare. We're talking about sports, cars, wine, seemingly no interest in why we we're there. I chow down. We better find Liz soon or I'll need an extra notch on my belt.

Roger goes Wiki on Armenia. The table is amazed that he knows all about their country and its history. Armenia has its own language and alphabet. The men talk among themselves in Armenian. When Roger gives them a complete sentence in their language, there are raised eyebrows. They're thinking we need to be careful around the kid. He may know more than he lets on.

I play dumb and say, I thought Armenia was part of Russia. I get the whole spiel about their independence in 1991. Turns out, most of these guys were born here, in spite of speaking with accents. Any one of them could have given me the "fuck you," before he tased me.

With the mention of Russia, I tell them I met with a Russian today, named Aleksey Mullova. That name brings silence to the table. I continue to eat.

Petrosian finally says, "And how is my good friend Aleksey Mullova, Tom Mullins?"

"Oh, he's got a beautiful place up in the Hollywood Hills, great view and that naked girl in the pool. . .wow! She was hot, huh Roge?"

"I don't know, I didn't look."

"You looked, you little perv." This brings smiles around the table. I finished and tell a waiter to bring me the check, for the table.

"Tom Mullins, what did you and Aleksey Mullova talk about?"

"Oh, we just shot the shit. I told him I was looking for my girlfriend. I told him, I'd slide him a million bucks under the table for any information leading to getting Liz back safely. That's an offer I want to extend to you gentlemen, as well."

"Why would you think we know anything about Liz Reilly?"

I sign the check and carefully put the receipt in my wallet. "Because you're a bunch of fucking crooks? I also told Aleksey, I'd kill him if I found out it was Russians who grabbed Liz. Just like I'll kill everyone at this table, if I find out it was Armenians." I stand. "Let's roll, Roger. See ya, boys, it's been a slice." We leave behind a silent table.

Chapter 14

"No more meets in restaurants," Roger says as we drive. He held up his iPhone and I see a YouTube video of us sitting in Raffi's with the Armenians. "There is one of us walking out of Fat Bobby's too. We're peddling the world news cycle. They're talking about us meeting known criminals on the news channels." I shake my head with disgust.

"Probably a mistake chasing these assholes. Pay the money and let the cops find them. Anything from Torley?" Torley has been at LA police headquarters monitoring incoming intelligence. There hasn't been anything exciting.

"He says that there is an excellent effort on the ground. They're keeping him informed. The heat is on. He says there are a lot of leads and the credible ones are being worked." Roger takes a call and hands the phone to me, "Joel Thompson".

"You want in, on a raid on a bunch of Chechens? They're busting them for weapons trafficking, but they have fingers in everything."

"Where and when?"

"It's going down in a half an hour here in Glendale, follow me." Joel pulls out in front of us with lights and siren. We follow him and we're at a police station in ten minutes. A cop in SWAT gear meets us. They take Roger inside as I suit up in body armor and pile into the back of a transport with ten guys in kit.

A guy sits down next to me, "Mr. Mullins, I'm Lieutenant Rodriquez. I'm lead on this operation. We've had a tip that there are a number of suspects, believed to be Chechens, at a building in an industrial park. We've had the place under surveillance for the last few hours. They're currently unloading a truck. We think this a weapons deal. We're going to cut the power in the area. Let them think it's a power outage. Roll up with force, toss a few stun grenades in, turn the lights on and shoot anyone who pulls a weapon. I need you to stay out of this. You may observe and be involved in the questioning of them. We don't know who these guys are, but we suspect they're some real pieces of shit."

I laughed, "Oh good, I've met a number of pieces of shit today. Go get them, Lieutenant."

"Yes, sir." I didn't know why he's "yes sir-ing" me. As soon as we stop, one of the guys escorts me in a different direction than the SWAT team. We climb to the roof of a nearby building. I'm handed off to another guy. We're looking at a single story building a few hundred yards away through infrared night glasses. The power goes off in the industrial park and I can see the unit move into position. Three quick explosions, a few shots fired and it's over. I follow the guy I'm with to the scene and get there as the power comes back on. They have four men on the ground in restraints. One of them is wounded and is getting some attention. It doesn't look serious. I walk over to Rodriquez who is shouting orders.

"Like clockwork, Lieutenant," I say.

"Yes sir." He looks around and sees who he wants. "This way, Mr. Mullins." We walk to the rear of the building where a few men are standing. "Mr. Mullins, this is Captain Cowans and Special Agent Saunders. We're continuing to search the building, sir," he says to the Captain and walks off.

Saunders, the FBI agent says, "We didn't think Liz Reilly was here, but we're going to question them about her. You never know. We're interested in seeing what's inside these crates, first." An FBI agent walks up with a crow bar and goes to work on the first crate. Inside the crate was packing material and a box. Sanders makes a phone call and says, "It's the stingers."

Chapter 15

Along with the four crated stinger missiles are a half a dozen grenade launchers with a couple hundred grenades. Packed in ten drums, filled with oil are assault rifles sealed in plastic bags. Other weapons that are being inventoried as I sit down with two other FBI agents in the sparsely furnished office of the building. The door is closed and a desk light is pointed at the wounded Chechen, who's handcuffed to a chair. He's crying.

"What is your name?" asks Saunders. The guy whimpers something unintelligible. Saunders walks over to him and slaps him across the face with an open hand. "I asked you what your name was." The guy begins chanting or praying, in what sounds like Russian. Saunders walks up to him again and this time gives him two hard slaps across the face. One on either side and then grabs his wounded shoulder and starts squeezing, "What is your name, motherfucker?"

"Teroleva," he screams. "I want to see my lawyer!"

"A lawyer," says Saunders, "that's rich. You're going to bleed to death long before you see a lawyer," punching his wounded shoulder.

I probably should be uncomfortable watching this . . . not so much.

"Mr. Khanpasha Teroleva," says Saunders.

"Why you ask me my name if you know?" Teroleva asks.

Saunders walks over and smacks him across the face again. "Keep your fucking mouth shut unless I ask you a question. Do you understand, Mr. Teroleva?" Teroleva just looks at him. "I'm going to ask you some questions. I need you to answer my questions right now. If I don't like your answers or I think you're fucking with me, I'll beat you to death. You're responsible for the death of an FBI agent last month who, by the way, was my friend." He gets one inch from the guy's face. "I'll enjoy beating you to death. Do you understand me, Mr. Teroleva?" Teroleva hesitates for a moment and then nods his head.

Saunders sits in a chair across from him. "What were you going to do with the weapons?"

"Sell them."

"To who?"

"I don't know." Saunders springs out of his chair hauling back to punch the guy in the face. "It was a deal set up by the Russian," pleaded Teroleva.

Saunders keeps his fist cocked. "Who is the Russian?" Teroleva hesitates, shaking his head.

"He'll kill me."

"No he won't, because I'll kill you first." Saunders slaps him in the face so hard the chair goes over with Teroleva in it. Saunders reaches down and picks up the chair with Teroleva in it, cocks his hand again and says, "Who is the Russian?"

"Siderov," says Teroleva.

"Andre Siderov?"

"Yes."

"You see Khanpasha, that wasn't so hard. Now who is the customer?"

"I don't know." Saunders immediately kicks the chair over, jumps on top him and starts smacking him across the face again.

"The Ride," Teroleva screams.

"NLR?"

"Yes," whimpering. Saunders picks up Teroleva and the chair.

"Why are you making this difficult Khanpasha? You're really pissing me off. Just answer the questions and you won't have to bleed to death. I'm a reasonable man, Khanpasha. I don't really want to kill you."

He could have fooled me.

"Khanpasha, when is the transfer?"

"Tomorrow night."

"Where is it going to be?"

"They are coming here."

"How much?"

"$1.5 million."

"Seems a little rich for those dumb fucks," Saunders says to us.

"NLR?" I've never heard of them.

"Nazi Low Riders," says Cowens. "White supremacists, a prison gang, mostly into meth, part of the Aryan Brotherhood, aren't they Ted?" he asks Saunders.

"Allies," answers Saunders. "Okay, Khanpasha, here is the $1.5 million dollar question. Why do they want the weapons and don't you tell me you don't know?"

"I don't know," screams Teroleva as Saunders raises his hand. Saunders stands there with his hand ready to nail him. "I never talk to those guys. Men pull up with truck. Give us money. We load, 9 PM Monday night."

"Teroleva, what do you know about the kidnapping of Liz Reilly?"

"Who?"

"Liz Reilly, dumb fuck. What do you know about her kidnapping last night?"

"I don't know who she is and I don't know about a kidnapping."

"I'm going to ask those other assholes out there the same question. I'm going to let them walk if they tell me. After they tell me, I'm going to come back in here and beat you to death. Now, one last time, what do you know about the kidnapping of Liz Reilly?"

"You want me to lie? I don't know about that. I tell you everything I know."

Saunders puts his hand down and stands there, looking at Teroleva. He then spits in his face and screams at him from one inch away, "You're a fucking piece of shit! I would love to fuck you up. They're going to use those weapons and people are going to die, lots of people." Saunders walks around Teroleva and hits him across the back of the head. He comes around and gets into Teroleva's face again, "You know what you're going to do, Khanpasha? We're going through with the deal. We're going to patch you up. You and the other shitheads are going to act like there isn't a problem, when the NLR shows up. You make the phone calls; let everyone know that it's a go. You do this and maybe, you get to live. Do you understand me, Khanpasha? If you fuck this up, say something wrong on a phone, anything . . . I'll kill you. That's a promise. Do you understand?"

While a medic works on Teroleva, Saunders, Cowans and I talk in the corner. "This will be difficult to keep locked down," says Saunders. He stands there thinking. "Tom, I don't think he knows anything about Liz. I'm wondering where the NLR is going to come up with that kind of bread. Or better yet, why? You're paying ransom on Monday, right? You see where I'm coming from? I don't like coincidences."

"Nazi Low Riders?" shaking my head in disbelief.

"Yeah, they're a delightful bunch. I'm worried something is going down. Look, nothing is going to happen here for a while. We'll have a full court press on the NLR and Andre Siderov over the next 24 hours and we'll keep you informed. We may have someone in the NLR. I'll keep you in the loop."

Back at the police station, I find Roger in a conference room talking with a man. Roger introduces me to a Mr. Smith. I say hello and ask Roger if he's ready to roll. It's midnight and I'm tired.

In the car, I ask Roger who that guy was.

"I don't know."

"What do you mean you don't know?"

"He says he's Mr. Smith, but I think he could have just as easily been Mr. Jones."

"What are you talking about?"

"I think he's maybe CIA or NSA."

"CIA?"

"Yeah, a spook."

"Why do you think that?"

"He was there because of the weapons bust. He was knowledgeable about everything to do with Liz's kidnapping. He said he was a consultant working with the LAPD. The CIA is rumored to be working domestically setting up a spying program with major police departments and his name was Smith. He also mentioned a number of our customers."

"What the fuck?"

"CIA is my guess."

The conversation hurts my head. All I can think about is Liz.

Chapter 16

He stands by the cell door and opens the piece of paper that's just been relayed to him from the next cell. He's big, bald and muscled like a champion body builder. He's covered in tattoos; swastikas, SS lightning bolts, a picture of Hitler, eagles, skulls and demons. His face is scarred. "NLR" in small letters is tattooed above an eyebrow. William "Stomper" Rolph walks over and lies down on his bunk in San Quentin prison. He's been expecting the kite, as these messages from the outside are known. He reads it again, "It's on." He hands the kite to Stephanie and says, "Burn it." Stephanie reads it and fires up the piece of paper.

Stomper is serving a 25 year sentence for attempted murder, witness intimidation and narcotics. He's one of the founding members of a street gang from Costa Mesa, the Nazi Low Riders. The name makes fun of the Mexican's preferred mode of transportation combined with the group's white supremacist philosophy.

Juvenile convictions put Stomper in the California Youth Authority system as a kid. The NLR aligns themselves with the Aryan Brotherhood and starts acting as middlemen for AB's many criminal activities. Over the years the California Department of Corrections successfully disrupts and suppresses AB's activities. NLR flies under the radar and eventually finds itself in a position to take over the older organization's place in the prison gang hierarchy. The NLR becomes the principal white gang in California's penitentiary system.

The NLR has fluid management with shifting bosses and senior advisors. Stomper has risen to the top in this environment. Under his command, the NLR's well-run and extremely violent criminal activity establishes it as a major player in the criminal world.

Stephanie used to be Steve. That was before he was in a street drag race that killed two bystanders and sent him to prison for eight years. The sexual assaults began the day he arrived in county jail, when he was thrown in a cell with three black guys. Slim, blue eyes, blond hair and unable to protect himself, the beatings and sexual assaults were a daily occurrence. Surrender to his cell mates was his only option.

Steve had become Stephanie by the time he made it to San Quentin. In the super masculine world of the penitentiary, Stephanie soon becomes the bitch of THE man in there, Stomper. Stephanie shaves his legs and body hair and wears woman's underwear. He dotes over Stomper like a wife. Stomper confide in him. He's learned to value Stephanie's opinion. They've prospered as a team. The NLR has never been stronger than it is now under Stomper's leadership and it's looking to expand.

This is a big step for the NLR. Stephanie lies down next to Stomper and turns on his side and spoons into him. "Don't worry, Baby. All the bases are covered." Stephanie sighs with satisfaction.

It's on.

Chapter 17

Roger wakes me up at eight Sunday morning. "There is a message from the kidnappers," he says and hands the phone to me.

"Buy 10 five gallon paint containers with lids. Put one million in each and be ready to drive 10 AM tomorrow. LR is dead if any police involvement."

I walk out into the other room where Tonelli and Johnson sit. I'm wearing boxers and Tonelli comments how colorful my chest looks, referring to the bruising. I tell him to go fuck himself and grab a cup of coffee. There's an interview with a former FBI agent turned kidnapping and ransom consultant on TV.

"Kidnapping is a $500 million dollar a year industry. The first step is determining who the kidnappers are. Is this a criminal, religious or political organization? Are they professionals? In this case, there is no indication that this is known at this point. They do seem to be professional."

"Who would you see being able to pull off something like this?"

"Kidnapping is prevalent in many countries throughout the world. I would speculate that these are criminals from outside the US, trying to score here. Often these kidnappings are carried out by professional crime organizations. Tom Mullins has been seen speaking with a known Mafia figure Robert "Fat Bobby" Esposito and Armenian Power members at meetings last night. It looks like he's putting out feelers to different crime organizations."

"How do you think the case is progressing?"

"Let's face it, kidnapping cases in this country are rare. We often see child abduction, but they are usually tied to domestic disputes. We're in unchartered territory with Liz Reilly's brutal abduction. The authorities are not discussing any specifics, but I think there has been a ransom demand and terms are being discussed."

"Can you speculate what those demands might be?"

"Pick a figure, ten million?"

"Wow, this guy's good," I say to the boys. "You guys saw this?" I held up the phone with the new SMS." They nod. "The FBI, too?" I ask Roger.

"Yeah, everyone knows. The FBI wants you to hold off on responding. They're on their way over."

"Does a million bucks fit into a five gallon paint pail?" I ask him.

"A million in hundred dollar bills fit easily."

The TV interview continues, "The biggest issue the police are looking at is how to balance the safe return of the victim with the successful capture of the perpetrators. If this kidnapping is successful, it increases the likelihood of more kidnappings. That's why this case is so important. It's why many of my contacts in the FBI are saying, this is their primary focus, right now."

I flop down on the couch and shake my head, "I'm making things worse." Everyone looks grim.

"What do we do, Roge?"

"Well, there is a school of thought that says, when you don't know what to do, don't do anything."

"There is another school of thought that says, you keep stirring the pot," says Tonelli."

I give it some thought. "Fuck me, you guys had breakfast? Let's get some food sent up if we're expecting company." Liz is all over the front page of the LA Times. I glance at a few articles while listening to the talking heads on TV. There is nothing about the Glendale raid, on the Chechens last night. I shower and get dressed as the FBI and LAPD arrive. We sit around the dining room table and I listen as they detail intelligence gathering efforts and the leads being generated. The effort is impressive, but unproductive.

It's decided that we text back, that we are ready to make the exchange for Liz tomorrow, but that we need assurances that she's alive and well, before any money is handed over. We also need to know specifically when she will be released. Roger writes the text and sends it.

I ask, "Can we track the money?"

"We're going to go with a couple of different things," says the FBI agent. "We have to anticipate the unexpected. We're going to have three drones up in the air over LA. They are equipped with cameras to monitor all movement of the money. Second, it's fortuitous that we know they want the money in paint buckets. We're working on embedding GPS devices, in the buckets. We may be able to make the buckets traceable with no apparent GPS device. We've got people working on it."

"No GPS device in with the money?"

"No, too risky, that's the first thing they're going to look for."

"Anything else?" I ask.

"We're thinking about making the money radioactive."

"Why?"

"It gets you the ability to follow it easier on the ground if everything else fails. The problem is it could be dangerous to the public if the money gets in distribution."

"So, what are you going to do?"

"We're talking about it. We may be able to do one bill per bucket. Believe me, we're looking at everything."

The FBI and LAPD take off and leave the four of us watching TV, switching through channels. Roger is on the phone with the computer in his lap. We're watching Fox News talking about past celebrity kidnappings. A bubble headed bleach blond perks up with the story of Fairlie Arrow, an Australian singer who went missing for two days. She claimed she had been abducted by a fan, but later admitted it was staged to boost her career. I throw a donut at the screen,

"What about the five dead men, you fuck? Fox News, what did you expect?" I'm disgusted. "Let's get out of here."

Chapter 18

We buy a basketball at a sporting goods store and find an empty court. Roger sits on a park bench with his computer. The three of us play "21". First guy to 21, two points for shots from the 3 point line. Make the basket and you take the ball out again. It's not easy. You have two guys defending you. Three kids from the local high school team show up at the other end of the court and we get a game of 3 on 3 going. The kids are good. Their team is in first place and one of the kids is leading the league in scoring. He's quick and has an outside shot, but he doesn't defend very well. Close game. They win by a point . . . youth.

Joel and Tonelli walk off in different directions returning phone calls. I stay with the kids trying some dunks. I start talking about defense, something I prided myself on when I was playing. "What does your coach teach about defense technique?" I ask them. They say they don't spend a lot of time on defensive technique. They play zone most of the time. They do okay, but it turns out the high scoring kid is fouling out of games. I talk to them about the "bubble" concept.

Good defensive position, means not so close that the player, with the ball can step by you with one step. You want to be close enough that you can slap the ball if he should hold it in front. Close enough to bother him. Make him worry. Make him think you will touch the pass, block the shot, or steal his next dribble. Hands don't have to be up. They should be down, faking at the ball or helping your body stay balanced and in position. If the ball is in shooting range, have one hand up, almost touching your shoulder. Keep it ready to jab upward.

"If a player gets by you, get low. Get yourself into that habit and you'll pick up some steals," I tell them. "It works when you've been slanting him on his strong side. Once he thinks he has you beaten, the player will put the ball back into his strong hand. This is the side you'll be on. That first dribble with his strong hand will be right in front of your face. This is where you pick his pocket without fouling." The kids practice the technique, while I lay down on the grass.

Oh Liz, how you doing, Baby? I remember being with her in Europe last summer after her husband's murder went down. Smart move getting out of the States, to where no one knew us. We started in Madrid, then Rome. In a low rent Paris hotel, we heard from Liz's attorney. Liz had opened a law suit against the heirs to the football team. The plaintiff had made an offer to settle the wrongful death suit. When the agent told her the amount of the settlement offer, she hung up the phone and stared at me with her mouth open. A half an hour later, she called back and told him to settle. A week later after we had moved on to London, the settlement was finalized. Liz was ridiculously wealthy.

We spent a couple of weeks in Barbados for some tropical beach time and then back to San Francisco. We'd been living together for a month and I was crazy in love with her. I think I fell in love first time I laid eyes on her.

You really get to know someone traveling for a month together. She was the easiest person in the world to be with and so beautiful. We were living at my house on Ocean Beach, when she said she wanted us to spend the night at her house in St. Francis Wood, an upscale area close by. She made dinner and then said, "I want you to play for you." She opened a bottle of wine and we went into her home studio. She ran through a dozen original songs. They were all arranged with all the instruments and backup vocals. She had done it all herself. I knew she was good, but I didn't know she was that good. Every song was great. I was speechless. "What do you think?" she said.

"I think I have an amazing girlfriend."

"I have an amazing boyfriend," and kissed me. "I have a surprise for you." She got a guitar case out and opened it up. "I know you love the guy, so I got you Eric Clapton's Strat. It's made by Fender's Custom Shop, an exact copy."

"Blacky!" I said.

"Yup, that's Blacky."

"Thank you, Baby, I know how much this cost, thank you very much."

"I thought you'd like it."

We played for hours. What a sweet guitar.

I watch the boys practicing their defense. I get off the grass and have them guard me. I take the ball out from the three point line. I make a move to my strong side and I'm cleanly stripped of the ball. "Excellent, do it again." We start again from up top.

"We have to go." Roger is standing there with his backpack. Something is up by the look on his face.

"Okay gentlemen, it's been fun. Good luck with the rest of the season. Stay out of the bubble."

They thank me and one says, "Good luck, Tom." The boys are all smiles. They know who we are. "And good luck Roger," one kid says. "Find Liz."

As we walk away, I whistled to the other guys, still on their cells, "Let's roll." I look down at Roger, "What's up?"

"Mullova wants to talk."

Chapter 19

We hit the hotel for a shower and then back up to the Hollywood Hills. The muscle pats us down and we walk through Mullova's house out to the pool. The sun is setting on LA, an amazing view. Mullova is reading the paper, dressed impeccably without a hair out of place. The guy is GQ, all the way. "Gentlemen," he says greeting us, "how nice of you to drop by."

"Nice of you to ask us back, Aleksey. We don't get many call backs after Roger threatens the host."

"I realize he's an impetuous young man."

"Yeah impetuous, that's one word you might use on him. I was thinking along the lines of dumb fuck." Roger gives me a dirty look.

"Oh, I wouldn't ever use the word dumb, when it comes to young Roger. I understand he has quite an intellect."

"He might," I say. "I've rarely seen him use it."

"What kinds of things interest you, Roger?" Mullova asks, "A kid with Mensa credentials?"

"Lots of things," Roger says. "Business, finance, law, crime, individual moral choices," he pauses, "Higgs Particles".

"The Champagne Bottle Boson," Mullova says.

Roger looks at Mullova with a stunned expression and then breaks into his high pitched laugh. Mullova looks at me and winks.

"I think we choose a good name. We all hated the God particle," Mullova says.

Roger doubles over in hysterics.

Mullova shakes his head, "I'll never understand children."

"I'll never understand Russian crime bosses." Roger looks at me and explains, "A jury of physicists judged 'The Champagne Bottle Boson' the best choice in a renaming competition. I'm sure they checked in with Mr. Mullova before announcing the winner," he says sarcastically.

"Why the Champagne Bottle Boson, is that the shape?"

"Maybe," says Mullova.

Roger laughs, "No, they're going to pop open champagne when they finally find it. No one has ever seen it. It's a theoretical particle. Although," Roger looks at Mullova.

"There are suggestions in the media that evidence for the Higgs boson may have been discovered at the Hadron Collider in Geneva," Mullova says.

"Geneva is in Switzerland," Roger says to me.

"I know where Geneva is," I yell at him.

"You don't know where Alviso is."

"It's next to Milpitas."

"Higgs Particles are believed to be responsible for mass of objects in the universe," Mullova explains.

"I don't think many mob bosses know about Higgs Particles," Roger says.

"I don't think any of them do," says Mullova.

"Why do you?" Roger asks.

"I have varied interests."

Roger starts counting on his fingers, "Loansharking, assassination, blackmailing, bombings, bookmaking, gambling, confidence tricks, copyright infringement, counterfeiting, prostitution, drug trafficking, arms trafficking, oil smuggling, organ trafficking, contract killing, document forgery, dumping of toxic waste, trading of nuclear materials, military equipment smuggling, nuclear weapons smuggling, passport fraud, trading in endangered species, trafficking in human beings, what did I leave out?" Roger says, "Oh yeah, kidnapping."

Mullova looks at Roger amused. "I'm a business man, Roger."

"That's splitting hairs, so was Al Capone. I just don't get it. You're obviously a smart guy. You've made your money, why don't you bail while you can still walk away, if you can still just walk away?"

"You may have hit the nail on the head, kiddo. You know, Roger, a physicist friend says they clocked a neutrino going faster than 186,282 miles per second."

Roger stares at Mullova for a moment and then says, "Bullshit." He says to me, "The speed of light is the cosmic speed limit."

Mullova says, "They haven't released the new neutron clocking. They're skeptical as well, but that's what they've found. No one is rushing out to rewrite the science books, just yet."

Roger says to me, "Going faster than light is something that just can't happen according to Einstein's theory of relativity, you know E=mc2?"

"They could be passing through another dimension, neutrons are very hard to track," Mullova says.

I'm confused and change the subject, "Aleksey, why did you ask us here today?"

"Yes, time to get down to business. First of all I need assurances that this information I'm about to give you, won't come back and bite me in the ass. In other words, I'm not telling you this."

"Okay."

"It isn't much. A colleague overheard, someone was being held by the Armenians in a closed restaurant in Glendale. I don't have anything further. I don't know who, what, when, nothing. I should tell you, my first inclination is that this isn't your girlfriend. That kidnapping is too adventurous for those idiots."

"I thought they were your idiots."

"You thought wrong."

"What's the name of the restaurant?"

"I don't know; figure it out. How many closed Armenian restaurants in Glendale are there?" We stood to go. "Remember, it's important that you keep me out of this."

"I'll make sure we do," and stand to leave.

"Take it easy there, killer," Mullova says to Roger.

Roger glares at him and walks out in front of me. When we get to the car, I let him have it. "What the fuck is wrong with you? The guy is trying to help us."

"He's a psychopath. I don't trust him. He has an agenda." He's angry. I see Mullova as a personable guy who's bent. Roger sees him as criminal and Roger hates criminals. Hates 'em.

It took about two minutes to figure out which closed Armenian restaurant Mullova was talking about. Within an hour, we're there with a SWAT team. Thermal imaging indicated three people in the front of the place and one in the rear. A plan is drawn up and the team is ready to go a few minutes later. They lob in stun grenades and take the place. The three in the front of the place, give up immediately, too concussed to put up a fight. The team makes its way to the rear. Kick open a door and find a bound fifty six year old Armenian businessman, Kevork Vartoogian, who isn't all that grateful for being rescued.

"What have you done? They'll kill everyone in my family!" The kidnappers were waiting for an agreed upon amount of $300,000. The kidnapping had not been reported to the police.

"I guess we're paying to get Liz back," I say to Roger driving back to the hotel. Roger's phone buzzes. He looks at the caller ID and takes the call.

"Hello? Oh, how are you? I'm fine. Yes, I'm with Mr. Mullins." He listens. "We appreciate your thoughts. I hope to see you again too. Goodnight, Mr. Leno."

"Your buddy, Jay?"

"Yeah." Roger had been a big hit when he appeared on his show and talked about "The Butcher" last year. He's since grown media shy, like me.

He reads through emails as we drive. "Lots of offers for us to talk. Let me know if you want to make some money. There are book and movie deals on the table."

I grunt, "Vultures."

"The HBO movie of the concert is probably going to be big. I wouldn't be surprised if it gets a theatrical release."

"I just hope it has a happy ending. All this Army, Navy, FBI, Homeland Security, State, LAPD and CIA bullshit is going to fuck everything up," I paused, "and get Liz killed." We drive. "You see any other way out of this?"

Roger thinks about it, "There's a lot that can go wrong." He says, "Pull over here at this Rite Aid." I honked the horn at Tonelli and Thompson who we're following to let them know we're stopping. Roger is in and out in five minutes. He pulls two disposable cell phones out of a bag.

"Why?"

"Ours are monitored. Maybe we'll get a chance to talk to these people or maybe we'll need to have a private conversation." He spends the rest of the ride activating them. "I'll make sure this is under the seat, before you leave tomorrow."

Roger thinks a few moves ahead.

Chapter 20

The Nazi Low Riders, the NLR, have been in the meth business in Southern California since the early 90's. It's hard to put a number on them . . . maybe 3000? With the Glendale weapons bust, the NLR becomes a hot target on the law enforcement radar. Intelligence gathering begins, but not much is known about who is running the NLR on the outside. Prisons are one thing, but leadership on the street, is different. Why did they want heavy weapons? Answers are elusive in a close knit criminal organization, especially this one.

Daniel Hendricks came out of Pelican Bay prison at 28, after ten years for stabbing to death a Mexican gang member. He rose in the NLR ranks. In prison society that values ruthlessness and violence, Hendricks becomes known for his intelligence and negotiating skills. Surrounded by low-lifes, the mentally disturbed, psychopaths and just generally violent men, who can't function in society, he impresses the NLR leadership.

Pelican Bay houses some of the worst, of the worst, of California's criminals. The outside operations of several prison gangs, such as the Mexican Mafia, Nuestra Familia, the Black Guerrilla Family and the Aryan Brotherhood are directed via secret communications from within Pelican Bay. Hendricks was responsible for opening lines of communication between prison gang leadership. He convinced leaders that there were common interests between gangs.

When he gets out, Hendricks makes the pilgrimage to San Quentin and visits with William "Stomper" Rolph. Stomper likes what he hears from Hendricks. Hendricks uses the contacts between gangs, with Stomper's blessing, to expand the trafficking of drugs and weapons. The local gang war bullshit still goes on, but now with open lines of communication, he mends some disputes. Hendricks advocates the NLR membership tone down the racial agenda and concentrate on professionalism in their criminal endeavors. "Stop with the Nazi tattoo shit and start making money," he tells his people. Hendricks has the NLR spread the word that NLR means No Longer Racist. Stomper realizes this is the future of NLR and Hendricks rises up the ladder outside of prison.

Hendricks arrives at a one story building at the end of an industrial park. It's leased in his wife's name. Isolated with high razor wire fencing, the building is used for storage of stolen goods and drug manufacturing supplies. Hendricks' right hand man, Hans Klocker punches in the alarm code and opens the front door. The two men make their way through the unused front reception area, to an office in the rear of the facility. They surprise the two young gang members in the warehouse office. They're covered in tattoos, shaved heads, wearing wife beaters, baggy pants and they're playing Call of Duty on a wide screen TV. Pizza boxes and beer cans littered the room. The two men stand as Hendricks and Klocker enter. Hendricks and Klocker wear dress shirts, jeans and casual jackets. They look like yuppie business men.

"Hello Daniel, Hans," says one of the nervous young men. "It's been very quiet." Klocker stands with a look of disgust on his face. Hendricks' face is blank.

"Shut up, pin head," says Klocker, with his slight German accent. He walks over to where the men had been seated. He pushes some of the trash around on the table and picks up a small, empty plastic bag and holds it up to show Hendricks. "I thought I told you, no crank. What part of no crank, don't you understand? You think this a party we invited you to? You fucks are worthless." The two skinheads now have very worried looks on their faces.

"We just wanted to stay alert."

Klocker shakes his head, "Did you feed her?"

"An hour ago, we gave her a bag of food from McDonalds."

"Has she said anything?"

"No, she waits in a stall like you told her, hasn't said a word."

Klocker pulls out a gun from a shoulder holster and points it at the two, "Did you touch her?"

Both men have their hands up in front of them, scared to death, "No, I swear. The light is off and we wear the mask and gloves."

"How do you know she's there?"

"I use the flashlight and can see her legs in the stall. I drop the bag on the floor, use the flashlight, just like you told me."

Klocker looks over at Hendricks, "Amazing what you can teach a monkey to do." He starts to put the gun away, pulls it back out and shoots the big screen TV. He then walks over and tosses the Playstation against the wall, where it shatters into pieces. He uses the gun to hit both of them, "This is not fun and games," he says as he's beating them.

"Enough," says Hendricks. "Go get the photo."

Klocker walks across the warehouse floor to the restroom on the other side of the building. He puts on a hood, knocks on the door and uses a key to open the door. He sees food wrappers and water bottles on the floor beside the mattress on the floor. He can see the legs of the woman standing in a stall. He turns off the light and says, "Come out." She opens the stall door and looks at the figure framed by the low light in back of him. He walks over to her and she cowers. He says, "Hold this in front of you." Klocker takes a picture of her holding the front page of today's LA Times. Checks the pic to make sure her face and the newspaper can be seen. Without saying anything else, he leaves and locks the door.

Liz breathes a sigh of relief.

Chapter 21

Stomper is pacing his San Quentin cell. Guards came and took Stephanie hours ago. They've been talking to NLR members, offering perks and reduced sentences for information related to the weapons bust last night. No one knows anything about it except Stomper and Stephanie. Stomper isn't worried about Stephanie.

Hendricks and Klocker are sitting watching Sunday night football in the living room of Hendricks' Long Beach home.

"How did the dry run go today, Hans?"

"No problem, we're ready to go."

"How much you paying those boys to watch her?"

"A thousand each."

Hendricks nods, "They know too much."

"I trust my brother."

"Yeah, what about the other one?"

"They're okay."

Hendricks has come to rely on Klocker. Growing up in Austria and moving to the US, as a ten year old, Klocker is teased and bullied about his accent. The neighborhood kids call him the Nazi. As Klocker gets older, he starts to embrace the name and to his mother's horror gets his first swastika tattoo at thirteen. He finds others like himself when he starts hanging out with a local gang, the Nazi Low Riders. That's where he meets Hendricks. The street gang is small back in the early 90's. Hendricks and Klocker become friends and watch each other's back. Now, they're at the top of the NLR, on the street. It's Hendricks' dream to take the NLR to the next level. The kidnapping ransom would be the financing, for some big changes.

Hendricks receives an SMS, reads it and tosses the phone across the room at the wall and says to Klocker, "They busted the Russians."

"How?" says Klocker. Hendricks just shakes his head.

"Stomper wants to end it, now. Says the heat is on. He thinks, we're made."

"What do you want to do?"

Hendricks stares at the TV and finally says, "Cash out."

We're sitting in the hotel room when Roger says, "You want to hear the oath you take, when you become a Nazi Low Rider?"

"Yeah, this should be good."

There are eight keys you recite to join the NLR:

1. I, as a Nazi Low Rider, hereby swear an unrelenting oath upon the green graves of our sires, upon the children in the wombs of our wives, upon the throne of god almighty, sacred to his name, to join together in the holy union with the brothers in this circle and to declare forthright that from this day moment on that I have no fear of death, no fear of foe, that I have a sacred duty to do whatever is necessary to deliver our people from the Jew and bring total victory to the Nazi Low Riders.

"Gees, they really hate the Jews, huh?" I say.

"I wonder what happens when they achieve total victory."

"A victory goose step by the Fuhrer?"

2. I, as a Nazi Low Rider Warrior, swear myself to complete secrecy to the Order and total loyalty to my comrades.

"I want that one in the Securacom employment contract."

"We might have to omit the Nazi Low Rider Warrior, part to get it by Legal."

3. Let me bear witness to you, my brothers, that should one of you fall in battle, I will see to the welfare and well-being of your family.

"You think they offer health insurance?"

"Probably just free meth."

4. Let me bear witness to you, my brothers, that should one of you be taken prisoner, I will do whatever is necessary to regain your freedom.

"It's a prison gang! That one is going to be tough to follow-up on."

5. Let me bear witness to you, my brothers, that should an enemy agent hurt you, I will chase him to the ends of the earth and remove his head from his body.

"Enemy agents?" says Roger

"Remove his head from his body?"

"They're probably selectively enforcing that one."

6. And furthermore, let me bear witness to you, my brothers that if I break this oath let me be forever cursed upon the lips of our people as a coward and an oath breaker.

"In my book there is nothing worse than a Nazi, speed freak, oath breaker."

7. My brothers, let us be his battle axe and weapons of war. Let us go forward by one's and two's, by scores and legions and as true Nazi Low Riders with pure hearts and strong minds face the enemies of our brotherhood and families, with courage and determination.

"One of my coaches would say stuff like that before every game."

"His battle axe, who is HE? God? Hitler?"

8. We hereby invoke the blood covenant and declare that we are in a full state of war and will not lay down our weapons until we have driven the enemy into the sea and reclaimed that which is rightfully ours. Through our blood and gods will, the land will be that of our children. UNTIL DEATH.

"It's different than the Boy Scouts oath isn't it?" says Roger

"Yeah, the Boy Scouts oath doesn't end with "Until Death". It's mentally awake and morally straight. Putting "Until Death" would definitely give it some pizazz though."

Chapter 22

I heard the door open to my room Monday morning. Peeked and saw Roger walk in grab the remote and make a flying leap, to land beside me on the bed. He turns on the TV, gives me a kick and says, "You ready to get your girlfriend?" I groan and keep my eyes closed. We're supposed to have an all hands on deck meeting at 7AM, to discuss last minute details. I look at my watch, a little past six. I went to bed after 1 AM. When does the kid sleep?

He's scanning news channels. "In breaking news this morning, during a crackdown on the Armenian mafia operating in the Los Angeles area, police rescued a kidnap victim late last night. It was not Liz Reilly. Let's go to Stacy Sullivan on the scene. Stacy, is this related to the hunt for Liz Reilly?"

"That's not clear this morning, Ted. I'm standing at the Marouch Restaurant in Glendale. According to neighbors, the Restaurant has been closed for over a year, but cars were often seen here. Last night a SWAT team raided the place and found three individuals and a local Armenian businessman, Kevork Vartoogian. Vartoogian was being held in what turned out to be another kidnapping. This kidnapping had not been reported to the police. This is not the first kidnapping of this type. The raid was part of a much larger crackdown on the Armenian Mafia operating in the Los Angeles area last night. 23 other arrests were made and police are looking for 15 other individuals. The arrests warrants include charges of racketeering, extortion, credit card fraud, money laundering and now kidnapping."

"Is there any tie into the kidnapping of Liz Reilly, Stacy?"

"We're not sure, Ted. On Saturday night, private detective Tom Mullins, the companion of Liz Reilly, was seen talking to a number of Armenian men at another restaurant here in Glendale. We know some of those men were arrested this morning. It isn't known what was discussed at that meeting. Police say that this crackdown was the culmination of a long term investigation and they are not saying if there is any connection to the Liz Reilly kidnapping."

"Thank you, Stacy. Let's go now to Don Redding at LAPD headquarters. Don, update us on the Liz Reilly kidnapping."

"Day three of the Liz Reilly kidnapping and the news blackout from police continues. I'm here at LAPD headquarters where the investigation is centered. Unconfirmed reports are that a ransom demand has been received and negotiations are underway. Police have said this is an ongoing investigation and to respect their request not to speculate on the status of the investigation."

"But, we don't give a fuck and we'll say anything that comes into our heads," I say. Roger laughs.

"We do know that there is a tremendous amount of investigative effort with a task force that includes California State Police, LAPD and FBI."

"Thank you, Don. Let's hope we'll be hearing good news soon. The Liz Reilly kidnapping has taken center stage, not only in the United States, but throughout the world. The popularity has skyrocketed with downloads of her music and videos views reaching unprecedented levels. Justine Franklin reports."

"The kidnapping of Liz Reilly has become a worldwide news event. The headlines of newspapers throughout the world highlight her compelling story and brutal kidnapping at the hands of still unknown assailants." The story then went to a video with shots from the concert and the scene of the kidnapping. The video also included shots of us coming out of the restaurant Thursday. "Liz Reilly's companion private detective Thomas Mullins was injured and spent the night in the hospital following the kidnapping. Mullins has been seen meeting with Mafia figures in what must be his own investigation of the kidnapping. It's thought that he is actively involved in negotiations with kidnappers. Police officials have maintained a strict news blackout around any information."

"You know what we are Roge, the latest shiny object...again!!!"

Chapter 23

"Mr. Mullins," Roger shouts from the next room.

I walk out of the bedroom with a towel wrapped around me into a room of familiar faces. It's just before 7 AM. A pic of a disheveled, tired Liz holding a copy of Sunday's LA Times is on the big TV screen.

Roger says, "You just received an email at the Securacom email address with this attached."

"Fuck me," I moan, looking at the photo of Liz. "She looks terrible."

Wilkins speaks, "She looks fine, Tom, just tired."

Roger then puts the email up. "You will receive an SMS at 10 AM. Go to coordinates. LR dies if money has a GPS or you are followed."

"Where did the email come from?"

"A Hotmail account opened this morning and sent from a computer at a Starbucks in Van Nuys."

"Surveillance camera at Starbucks?"

"Yes, but no one came into the store. Probably sitting in the parking lot," Roger says.

"What does everyone think about the GPS in the bottom of the pails?" I ask.

"Let me show you," a new guy steps forward, with a couple of Home Depot paint pails.

"This is Elliott Hamilton, the man who put the team together for implanting a GPS device in the paint pails," says Wilkins. "He's been working on this flat out. I think he's done a remarkable job."

"Here is a pail with a GPS and one without," Hamilton says, showing them to me. I can see that the bottom of one was slightly different than the other, but you had to know they were different to notice. Even then, for all intents and purposes, they are the same. I take them both outside and let the sun shine through them. The bottom of the one with the GPS is black, when held up to the light. The one without, you can see light.

"Remember, these are going to be filled with money so the kidnappers won't see that difference."

"How else would they know? Can you scan the pails to see if they're giving off a signal?" I ask him.

"It's possible. The thinking is that the cash is going to be inspected for a GPS device and hopefully returned to the pails. As you know, it's been decided putting a GPS device in the money, will jeopardize Ms. Reilly."

"They made that clear. How did you build the device into the bottom of the pail, anyway?" I ask.

"It's a chip set, with some flat watch batteries and an antenna, we molded into the bottom of the pail. This is a one of a kind deal. It's actually not a bad way to carry around a million bucks."

"Put Liz's signature on them and we'll sell them on Rodeo Drive," says Roger.

I ignore him. "How accurate and for how long?"

"You can tell where they are, to within ten feet for 72 hours. After that, I don't know. We just finished them," Hamilton says.

"Everything loaded and ready to go?" I ask the room.

"The car is gassed and the money loaded," says Tonelli.

Joel Thompson speaks for the LAPD, "We've got Air Force UAVs, unmanned aerial vehicles, ready to monitor your car or other vehicles if the money is divided up. We've got six choppers dedicated to this. Two will be in the air from the start, nowhere near you. The UAVs will be doing the monitoring of you and the money. They're small and virtually invisible when they're up there."

I pause, "Okay, give me every scenario you can think of. Start with what you think is going to happen."

Agent Wilkins speaks, "I think they'll probably run you around for a while, to see if you're being followed. Then, you'll be sent to some location and they'll tell you to walk away from the car and leave the keys. Someone comes along and drives the vehicle to somewhere else, maybe some place with indoor covered parking. They switch the money to a different vehicle, take a look at the money and see if there is a GPS device; see there isn't and pack it up and drive it to the final destination. They release Liz and we pounce."

"Okay," I say skeptically. "What if they pull into an enclosed mall and we see the money leave in ten different vehicles?"

"We can monitor all the pails, no problem. If they dump the pails and throw the money into, garbage bags, we're fucked. We have unmarked cars with drivers in civilian clothes who will follow you into any parking lot and park near you. The driver will get out and an observer will stay behind hidden in the vehicle. We can probably get the mall security networks remotely and have contacted security at most of them to let them know there is a security threat and we may be active.

Roger speaks, "When they snatched Liz, they created a diversion. It worked once. You have to be ready for it again."

"Where will you guys be?"

"LAPD Headquarters," says Thompson. He seems to be on top of everything. He's been a good choice for the team.

"That's where you're hanging, Roge?"

"Yup."

"Who is in charge of the whole operation?"

"I am," says Dan Wilkins.

"What is today's objective, Agent Dan?"

"The number one objective is the safe release of Liz Reilly."

"I want you to promise me, that under no circumstances, do you go in blasting away to save her. I don't care if you've got Navy Seals in your back pocket, we are not going to put her in the middle of a firefight."

"We don't know how this is going to go down, Tom. You have my word I'll do everything to get Liz out, safely."

"That's not to say I don't want the first pop at these assholes once Liz is out," I tell him.

"Once Liz is out, you're out too, Tom," Wilkins says sternly.

I understand and take a deep breath. "Agreed," I say reluctantly. I want a pound of flesh for my guys, but I'll let others take care of that. "Let's get Liz, boys."

Chapter 24

With 10 million bucks in paint pails, in the back of a Suburban, I get an SMS with GPS coordinates at 10 AM and I'm off. Three black Suburbans come out of the Hilton together. The paparazzi trail us on motorcycles and a few cars. As planned, the other two Suburbans split off in a different directions. Two motorcycles stay on me. CHP pulls over the bikes within a mile, warning them they're interfering with a police investigation and to fuck off. As I enter the 5 heading South, I'm alone. I have the phone from the kidnappers. I have another phone hooked up through Bluetooth, to the sound system on the vehicle with the connection to police central. Roger on a third phone in my ear. He's sitting with Torley at Police Central.

"You're heading for a strip mall in Long Beach," says Roger.

Ten seconds later the voice of Wilkins comes over the speaker, "Looks like you're heading for strip mall in Long Beach. All eyes are in place, we've got you with the birds." I know there is one above me when I started out, but I can't see it. It's too small and too high.

Roger is a thinker. He can be full of shit, but he's often "on target". I'm his favorite sounding board for "off the wall shit," that wanders through his mind. He tosses out ideas. Since I do have a life, I'll say things like, "hold that thought" or "please shut the fuck up". He doesn't take offense.

He chooses now, to run one past me. "You know what I want to do when we get out of this mess?" I grunt. "Set up a website for people to invent things, collectively. Call it something like WikiInvent, I'm working on the name. People could start a new project, for example 'Build a Better Mousetrap.' Then, through the site, people would contribute to the development of the product as a group, building toward the design and production of the product. The group could solicit funding on the site as details of progress are detailed. Percentage of the ownership would be decided within the group. As the project progresses, the group could decide to close the project to the public or make details by invitation only.

"How do you make money with this?"

"WikiInvent or whatever it's called, retains 10% ownership of all projects."

"I see two problems. How do you determine ownership from the contributors within a project and how do you keep people from scamming the funding money."

"There would be rules for documentation and the amount of any individual's contribution, there would be guidelines for project development. Ideally these project groups would be self-governed with binding arbitration in the case of a disagreement. If the rest of the group wants to throw someone out for instance, or bring a new member in, it would have to be voted on, maybe with WikiInvent as final judge and jury in any dispute."

"I smell litigation."

"EBay did it. Just write the initial agreement to cover it. By the way, you're about 15 minutes out."

"Tom, 15 minutes on ETA," says Thompson.

Roger continues, "Kick it off with the offer of a million bucks of investment money available. I bet there would soon be hundreds of projects people could get involved in. Corporations could sponsor or prefund a project."

"Where are you getting a million bucks?"

"Angel funding, I don't know, we'll get it. Say, you sell a project for a million dollars. WikiInvent gets one hundred thousand off the top."

"Yeah, I know how 10% works."

"You might get hundreds of projects a year to market or sell off. There are a lot of creative people out there."

Driving along, I can't help thinking about what a dump LA is. My distaste for LA was instilled as a child. If you're a Giants fan, you hate the Dodgers and LA. 470 square miles of suburban sprawl, this is a hard place to like. I've partied down here with friends and had some great times. The women can be amazing. They can also be self-absorbed, obnoxious, idiots. It's a culture of shallow, bleach-blonde, faux-everything, new money, it's just...tacky. LA is a disappointment. I hope Liz doesn't want to live here.

I pull into a strip mall and the GPS says, I've arrived. I park in an open area, step out of the car and stretch my legs. I see a coffee shop and debate whether to grab a cup and let 10 million sit in the car unattended and decide to pass. I look up in the sky and can't see a sign of the UAVs. They're up there. A few minutes of standing in the shade and there is an SMS with two new coordinates and I'm off.

Wilkins tells me I'm heading for a park in Santa Ana. I get on the 605 and it's clear sailing, with no traffic for a change. The 605, The 101, The 405, The 5, I wonder why they put "the" in front of every highway? No one does that in the Bay Area. Five and a half hours south and the entire population here does.

"Roge, why do people who live down here say, the 5 or the 101?"

"I don't know." Jesus, Roger doesn't know something? He comes back on after a few minutes, "I think it's just a regional convention. They don't always do it. Some of the natives say "the Ventura" or "the San Diego freeway", whereas transplants say the 101 or the 405. He's back a couple of minutes later, "The best answer I've read is there's a missing road-type designation. "The 101 Highway" or "the 101 Freeway," that naturally clips to "the 101." In the East, many highways work like that: The Major Deegan Expressway becomes "The Major Deegan".

Half an hour later, the GPS indicates I've arrived and I get out and stretch again. It is nowhere, just an empty, rundown park. I walk over and sit under a tree. A mother is pushing a baby in a stroller nearby. This is a good spot to see if someone is following me. Five minutes later, I get new coordinates. This time they tell me it's a storage business and it's only ten minutes away. I follow the GPS directions and park out front. The place looks new. There is an office with a note on the door that says "Back at 2 PM".

I get an SMS that reads. "Drive in. Code for gate is 345987. Go to unit 303. Lock is open. Put pails in unit. Lock unit. Drive to new coordinates."

The place looks deserted. I find Unit 303 at the far back of the place. Back up and open the sliding garage door to the empty unit. There is a door inside. It's locked and I open it. It's an empty corridor for inside access. Lock that door, unload the car, pull the door down, lock it and drive away, I'm heading for the new GPS coordinates in five minutes, less 10 million.

Wilkins is on the line immediately, "You're heading for a mall in Corona, Tom. We're on the storage place."

"Sign on the office door says back at 2 PM. Stay away from the place."

"Affirmative. The GPS signals in the paint pails are strong. I'm confident here."

"It's Liz we're after, Wilkins. Don't do anything stupid. We don't want to spook them."

Chapter 25

Fifteen minutes after I got to the Corona Crossings Shopping Mall, another SMS. It reads, "Wait". After a half an hour I walk into Borders, buy a newspaper, a sandwich and a coke and take it back to the car. I listen to the radio and read the paper. An hour later, I go back in and buy a couple of magazines. Read, then lean the seat back and shut my eyes. When I opened my eyes again, it's getting dark. A new SMS arrives.

"It's a park in Mira Loma. You're probably 30 minutes out." I'm glad to be moving again.

I call Roger, "What's going on?"

"They're observing the storage unit, but there is nothing happening. The guy in the office came back around 3. We still don't know who rented the unit and the plan is to just wait it out. Nobody here is doing anything until Liz is released. We know where the money is."

"It's dark now, maybe that's what they're waiting for?" I say.

"We shouldn't have any trouble following the money at night. I don't know why they're still running you around."

At 6:15, I pull into a dark baseball field parking lot. It's in a residential area and there is no one around. I go see if the toilet is open. I start walking toward the field when I hear a woman yell, "Help". It's coming from the field. There's a gate next to the stands. I pull the glock and slowly approach the dugout. There's someone, sitting on the bench.

"Liz?"

"Tommy!"

"I swing around in a shooter's stance. Is there anyone else here?"

"No, I think they left."

I run over to her and hug her. Her leg is tied to the bench with a plastic strap. "How long ago did they drop you off?"

"Maybe 10 minutes ago?"

"Who are they?"

"I have no idea."

"Did they hurt you?"

"No, I'm okay."

I grabbed the phone I'm carrying, the one to Roger. "I've got Liz. Hit the storage unit."

"What storage unit?" Liz asks.

"The one with the ransom in it."

Wilkins comes on the phone, "Situation stable, Tom? Is Elizabeth okay?"

"Apparently, but her leg is strapped to a bench and I have no way to cut it."

"Someone should be there in a minute. What can she tell us anything about the kidnappers?"

"She says she doesn't know anything."

"Does she know what kind of a vehicle they were driving?"

"Do you know what kind of a vehicle they used?"

"I had a pillow case over my head, but I think it was a van."

I could hear Wilkins relaying the information. "SWAT is at the storage place. I'm looking at a feed from the scene."

There's silence and then, "Uh-oh."

Chapter 26

"What is it?" I ask.

Roger comes back on the line, "Looks like empty paint pails, a pile of dirt and a hole in the floor."

"Fuck me."

"What is it?" says Liz.

"They got away with the money."

"How much?"

"Ten million."

"Wow." I hold her. "I thought you were dead, Tom. I feel so bad about Shawn, Ricky and the rest of those guys. I read the paper yesterday. That's how I found out you were alive."

"It's not your fault. I've been worried sick about you, Baby." It's very dark and quiet sitting on the dugout bench, but I can see her face. "Will you marry me, Liz?"

"Okay," she says. We sit there silently holding each other. I'm relieved.

"We'll get these assholes." She starts to cry and leans her head on my shoulder.

I hear a car pull up. A cop with a flashlight and gun drawn comes around the fence. "Police, freeze."

"Put it away officer, it's Tom Mullins and Elizabeth Reilly." He walks up to us.

"Holy shit, it is," he says as he approaches. "Is the area secure?" the CHP officer says as he walks over scanning the field with the flashlight.

"I guess so. Looks like we're the only ones here."

"Are you okay, Ms. Reilly?"

"Yes, I am."

The cop is on the radio, as other units start arriving. The plastic restraint is cut off Liz's leg. She stands and stretches. Ten units are there within minutes. The field lights come on. A couple of flairs are lit around 2nd base and an LAPD helicopter sets down and we climb in. Twenty minutes later, we're downtown. Roger is the first to run up and hug Liz. She picks him up and twirls him around. The scene gets to me. I wipe away tears.

While Liz gets checked out by a doctor, showers and changes her clothes, Roger and I walk into a full room filled with the team. TVs are tuned to news channels. I sit down and everyone wants to know how Liz is and what she knows.

"She's been in the locked bathroom of an industrial building. She's fine. They fed her fast food and she had very little contact with them. I don't think she knows anything that will help us."

"We'll want to sit down and go over the details. She may know more than she thinks she knows," Wilkins says.

I shrugged my shoulders, "Maybe. Where's the money?"

Chief Washington stands and says, "Looks like a number of people were waiting in the storage unit next to the one you left the money in. The individual who rented the unit, also rented the one next to it. As soon as you left, they moved over from the unit next door with equipment and cut a hole in the floor. All the equipment is still there, probably stolen from a construction site. They dug down to a drainage culvert buried directly under the unit. They cut a hole in that, transferred the money out of the pails and crawled out of there."

"To where?"

"We don't know where they came out. We got people in there now."

"Gone?"

The Chief nods his head.

I shake my head, "You've got to be shitting me."

Chapter 27

Back at the Hilton, Roger on the computer, Liz on the phone, I'm watching some poor LAPD mouthpiece try and explain what happened to the ransom money. You got to hand it to the kidnappers, drilling through the floor, right on top of a drainage pipe and dragging the money out from under our noses was brilliant. "That took some planning, Roge. How do you find a storage unit, built over a drainage culvert?"

He stops typing and looks up at me. "Find a drainage culvert and follow it until you find a good place to make a drop. It happened to be a storage unit."

"You think they figured out the paint pails?"

"I think they wanted to look at the money and make sure there wasn't a GPS device in the bills. They changed the money into plastic bags or something to make them easier to drag. They may have just got lucky with the paint pails."

"There's too much luck here, goddamn it," I yell. Liz looks over at me disapprovingly, shushing me as she continues to speak to someone on the phone.

"Liz is back. Isn't that what you said was the only thing that mattered?" Liz blows me a kiss.

She finishes with the call. "Okay, 10 AM tomorrow, press conference at LAPD headquarters. It's up to you, but I would really appreciate it if you guys could stand up there with me." Neither of us say anything. I'm trying to think of a way to get out of that. "Noontime, the band and I go into Paramount studio. I'm going to donate any money from the song that's now playing in my head to the families of the victims on Friday night. The studio isn't far from downtown."

"Let me guess, half an hour? Everything is half an hour away from everything else in this fucking city."

"Tommy, you don't sound like a happy man."

"I'm happy. My girlfriend's back."

"No, your fiancée is back."

Roger immediately looks up, when he hears that.

"Well, no ring yet," she says to him.

"I've been busy."

Liz laughs and jumps on me and starts kissing me. Roger comes over and jumps on top of the both of us.

"Get off my chest!" I scream.

Chapter 28

The LAPD Chief went first at the press conference, talking about the ongoing pursuit of the kidnappers, trying to polish the turd. The kidnappers got away with the money. He introduces Liz, to a round of applause. Liz, looking beautiful, as usual, steps to the microphone, grimaces, gives a slight smile and reads a statement:

"Thank you. I want to first express my appreciation to all the people who were instrumental in my safe return, the Los Angeles Police Department, The Federal Bureau of Investigation and the many others who were involved. Unfortunately, the care they took in seeing that I was safely returned, may have helped the criminals successfully get away with the ransom money.

Five people were killed committing this crime. Shawn Samuelson was my personal body guard and friend. He was a former Ranger who served in Iraq and Afghanistan. He was the consummate professional and one of the nicest people I've ever met. My thoughts go out to his longtime girlfriend, Judith LaSalle, his friends and family. He was 31 years old. Ricky Mapu was my other body guard murdered Friday night. He leaves a wife and two small children. Our driver, Juan Morales, also leaves a wife and young child. My heart goes out to the two UCLA security department officers, Lester Simpson and Oscar Hernandez. Two young men murdered with their whole lives in front of them. My thoughts are with the families of all these brave men today.

Friday night while leaving a concert at UCLA, three men opened fire on us as we came out of the theatre. I saw all three of our people go down including my companion, Tom Mullins. I thought he was dead. The men put a pillowcase over my head and plastic restraints around my hands. We drove a short distance and changed vehicles. We drove for about a half an hour and I was led into a building, somewhere. I have no idea where. I was put in a bathroom that had a mattress on the floor. There was a towel, soap and some magazines. I didn't have any way to tell time. The men would knock on the door, tell me to go into the bathroom stall, open the door and leave a bag of fast food, periodically. I'm through with Big Macs for a while. I didn't talk to them and they didn't talk to me. Sunday, a man came into the room and photographed me holding up the Sunday LA Times. He had a mask on and disguised his voice. It was through reading the Times that I learned that Tom was alive and the others were dead. Yesterday, they told me to put pillowcase over my head, came in and bound my hands again. They put me in the back of a vehicle and drove me around for an hour. They stopped, led me outside, strapped my leg to a bench and told me to leave the pillow case on. They said someone would be along to get me. After the vehicle drove off, I took off the pillowcase and saw I was in the dugout of a dark baseball field. It was very quiet. 15 minutes later, a car drove up. I yelled for help and Tom found me. Police arrived and a helicopter took us to LAPD headquarters. I was checked out by a Doctor and answered questions, as best I could. I'm afraid, I wasn't much help.

There is still a one million dollar reward leading to the capture of these criminals. I plan to give a concert in the next few weeks with all the proceeds going to the families of the victims." She paused and smiled and said, "Do you have any questions for me?"

"What are your immediate plans?"

"I've got some music bouncing around my head. I'm heading for the studio. We're going home to San Francisco in a couple of days."

"Were you intimidated or physically harmed by the kidnappers?"

"No, as I said, I had very little contact with them. I was led around with a hood on and locked in a bathroom for a few days. They were very careful not to give me any clues as to their identities."

"Do you think other celebrities are now in danger as a result of the success of this kidnapping?"

"I hope not. We've discussed it. I hope we don't become a third world country where lawlessness reigns. The laws against kidnapping are strong and the authorities are very good at catching people who do this. I expect these criminals to be caught soon and hope this never happens again. I would hate for us all to be walking around packing heat despite what the NRA says. There are too many guns out there now. I think these kidnappers got lucky and I think their luck will soon run out."

"What was the reunion on that baseball field with Tom Mullins like? What was said?"

"It was very quiet on that dark field. I heard a car roll up and a door open and I called for help. I was surprised and overjoyed that it was Tom. He kissed me. He told me he loved me and then he asked me to marry him." It was like a bomb in the room. "I said, yes." She held out her hand to bring me over. "I don't know how serious he is. I still don't have a ring."

I spoke into the microphone, "Yes, no ring, I'm a little low on cash, my money all went down the drain."

"Excuses," she says smiling and elbowing me.

"Could you speak a little about your role in this, Tom?"

"The authorities asked me not to get into specifics, but I was initially contacted about the ransom. They asked for $20 million dollars. We made a counteroffer. They said Liz would be returned in pieces and negotiations were over at 10 million. I was told to keep law enforcement out of this, but they were involved from the beginning. Yesterday, I was given GPS coordinates and drove to a number of places until directed to the storage unit. I left the money that was in 10 gallon paint pails in the storage unit and directed to other locations, until finally finding Liz at the baseball field."

"Will you continue to be involved in the search for the kidnappers?"

"No, at this point, the investigation is completely in the hands of law enforcement."

"What was Roger Goody's role in this?"

I looked over at him and he shakes his head at me. "No comment."

Liz, other than your concert for the victims, do you plan on touring?"

She steps back to the mic, "I do, but there is nothing to announce at this point. We may have an announcement in the next few days. I'm pretty homesick, at the moment."

"Are you aware that your celebrity status has skyrocketed as a result of this crime?"

"As Tom says, we're this week's shiny object. I want to thank everyone for all the prayers and support. They say, what doesn't kill you makes you stronger. I don't want to get any stronger at this point. It was a terrible experience, but I'm not going to let the bastards get me down. To the kidnappers, spend your blood money, as fast as you can." She looks directly into the camera and points her finger at it, "They're going to get you." She stands back, hugs and kisses me. We stand smiling for photos. She grabs Roger and pulls him to her other side. He hugs her. "My boys," she says.

Chapter 29

We drove over to the recording studio for an emotional reunion with her band and management people. After a while, Liz sits down at the piano and says, "I've been playing this in my head for three days."

Never saw the wave that came crashing in on me

Don't know how I came up swimming in the sea

Water, water everywhere and not a drop to drink

I'm so tired I can't even think

Chorus

Swimming in a god forsaken sea

Hoping that somebody will save me

Save me

I'm sure my children are asking about me

And my man is searching frantically

Could this be my final day

Don't think I can go on much longer this way

Chorus

There's a place where I can go

They're not going to find me, no one will know

Just how much I wanted to live

And how much more I had to give

Chorus

At the end she trails off after pleading to be saved, a three chord progression building in intensity till suddenly she just stops. It's incredibly powerful. Everyone is clapping. I think you they could have recorded it just as she played it. Seemed like a perfect solo song, just her and the piano. What do I know? The producer and musicians begin working on the arrangement of the song.

Roger and I are sitting in the back of the engineering booth. Roger is plugging away on the computer. As happy as I am that Liz is back, I'm angry those fuckers took us.

He looks at me and says, "I want to go see the Russian again."

"What do you think you're going to get out of him?"

"The connection to the Nazi Low Riders."

"Why?"

"No one else is going to ask him."

"No sign of that Russian arms dealer?"

"No, lying low. He probably found out about the bust and headed for the hills."

"Where is the FBI with the weapons bust?" I ask.

"I don't know. Why don't you ask them?" Roger grabs his phone, punches the number and hands it to me, "Dan Saunders."

The call goes through. "Saunders."

"Hey Dan, this is Tom Mullins."

"Tom, congrats on getting Liz back safely."

"Thanks Dan, I just wanted to follow up on the Chechens. No show on the sale, huh?"

"Yeah, we're keeping this low key, see what else we may be able to come with. The prisoners are on their way out of the country for further interrogation."

"What about Siderov?"

"There is an APB out, but he's probably long gone."

"Any follow up on the NLR?"

"We don't have anything, except what the shithead at the weapons bust told us. It's an open investigation. We're not going to drop it."

"Okay." I've heard that kind of thing too many times to not know what that really means. We'll look into it, when we get around to it. "I was thinking of dropping over and speaking with old my buddy, Aleksey. See if he had any insight into this. Correct me if I'm wrong, but stolen weapons sales is not Mullova's style."

"He's always very careful and legal from what we've seen. We don't see any connection between Siderov and Mullova, but who knows? We also don't have a connection between the kidnapping and the NLR."

"Yeah, I know. We're probably grasping at straws, but it doesn't hurt to ask. Maybe, Mullova will give us something. He undoubtedly knows who Siderov is."

"Hit it! Let me know how it goes and if you need any support, just holler."

I passed the phone back to Roger. "I wouldn't mind seeing Mullova's girlfriend's ass again, anyway."

"I can see you'll be taking your marriage vows very seriously," Roger says.

"It's purely for academic and cultural reasons. I believe that little bubble butt may be the finest ass in North America."

"I'll let Liz know you think her ass is second rate."

Chapter 30

We get the usual invasive pat down at Mullova's crib. It looks like more muscle around since our last visit. We're shown to the pool, where Mullova sits reading the Wall Street Journal with a plate of fruit. He stands, welcomes us and we sit down. No girl in the pool, damn it.

"Congratulations are in order, gentlemen, on the safe return of Liz, oh, and your engagement, Tom."

"Thanks, Aleksey. It didn't turn out the way we were hoping for, with the ransom money gone and no one to answer for the murders, but she's back."

"As you've said, they've been lucky. I think it's just a matter of time." Mullova looks over at Roger, "How are you today?"

"Okay, I'm happy Liz is back and frustrated we don't know who did it."

"Take what you got. Man is fond of counting his troubles, but he doesn't count his joys. If he counted them up as he ought to, he would see that every lot has enough happiness provided for it."

"Dostoevsky," says Roger.

Mullova looks at me. "How does he do that?"

"Beats the shit out of me."

"I was abused as a child, my mother is a literary professor."

"You know Dostoevsky?"

"I've read _Crime and Punishment, The Idiot_ and _The Brothers Karamazov,_ not exactly light reading. He's often acknowledged as one of the great psychologists in world literature. I'm a fan. He will suck you in with God, evil, the suffering of innocent people, brooding, tortured characters and great dramatic scenes. He was a powerful writer."

"He's Russia's greatest writer," says Mullova, "thought to be a prophet in some circles."

"Vladimir Nobokov said he was a rather mediocre writer who produced wastelands of literary platitudes."

Mullova laughs, "Sometimes he wrote just for the money. He had a difficult life. He spent years in Siberia as a prisoner."

"He was also anti-Semitic and addicted to gambling."

"We all have our poisons. What are your poisons, Roger?"

"Masturbation," I say. He gives me a dirty look as Mullova and I laugh. "I've seen the way you look at Emi. Emi is Roger's little Vietnamese girlfriend," I explained to Mullova.

"She's my friend, not my girlfriend," Roger quickly adds.

"Oh, you like the Asian girls? Say the word Roger and I'll have an Asian wet dream up here, in a half an hour for you," Mullova says. "Guaranteed to put hair on your chest."

"I don't want hair on my chest."

"Or his balls," I say. Roger starts to blush. We're laughing at him.

"So, to what do I owe this pleasant literary discussion today, gentlemen?"

"Well Aleksey, we were hoping you might be able to shed some light on the whereabouts of a Russian by the name of Siderov."

Mullova hesitates for a moment and quietly asks, "Why are you looking for that animal?"

"He may be able to shed some light on an arms deal that the Feds broke up the other night, with a group that may have been involved in Liz's kidnapping."

"What group?"

"The Nazi Low Riders, heard of them?"

Mullova stares at me with a blank expression. He finally says, "I don't know anything about an arms deal." No one says anything, but there is tension is in the air. Mullova gestures with his head for us to follow him. We walk out to the far edge of the pool. He stands there staring out at the downtown LA skyline. "Don't bother looking for Siderov. It would have been insanity to sell anything to those NLR animals."

"Siderov set it up," I say.

"That's why he's gone."

"Gone in the sense of no longer breathing?"

Mullova shrugs his shoulders, "Don't waste your time looking for him."

"A little trouble in the family?" Mullova stares back at me and says nothing.

As we're standing there next to him, Mullova's head explodes in front of our eyes. It's just no longer there. The torso remains upright for a second and then collapses. Roger and I are frozen. I finally get my shit together enough to grab him and jump into the pool. When we came up I say, "Keep your head down" and swim to the other side of the pool. Mullova's people pour out of the house with heavy weapons, pointing them at us. "Out there," I say, pointing at the hills.

Holy shit, we got to get out of LA.

Chapter 31

Men are running all over Mullova's house. I see loads of weapons and computers go out the door. We sit soaking wet on a couch with a guy holding a gun on us. I can see the headless body of the boss of the Russian mafia lying out by the pool. Roger is crying. I stare at the guy with the gun. "Stop pointing that gun at me or I'll shove it up your ass." He puts it on the couch next to him. One of the men speaks to the guy on the couch in Russian. He leaves. "Who did it?" I ask the guy.

He shrugs his shoulders. "He had many enemies. I don't know."

"Siderov?"

He thought about it, "Maybe." He walks out the front door and I watch him get into the back seat of a big black BMW and drive off. I walk out to my car where I left my phone and make the call.

Four hours later, I'm putting the key into the hotel room door, when it's pulled open by Liz. "What the fuck?" she says.

"Good question."

"Are you guys okay?"

"Nothing that bleaching my eyeballs and erasing my memory won't cure."

"What is it with you? You were gone an hour. What happened?"

Joel Thompson is sitting on the other side of the room, "Hey Joel."

"Hey Tom, how's it going?"

"Oh, couldn't be better," I laugh. Joel could you give us a few minutes?"

"Oh sure," He leaves. I get up and grab a Heineken for myself and a Diet Coke for Roger.

"You want anything, Baby?"

"An explanation?"

I sit down and took a long pull on the beer.

Roger says, "When we were looking for you, we went to see this guy, Aleksey Mullova."

"Yes, the head of the Russian mafia," Liz says.

"Well, we went to see him previously and he gave us some information. It didn't turn out to be helpful, but we had a couple of follow up questions we wanted to ask. While he was standing by his pool talking to us, someone shot him with a large caliber rifle. It took his head off."

"Oh my God!" I drained my beer and got up to get another one. "While you were standing next to him?"

"Yeah," says Roger. "Big mess. Mr. Mullins pulled me into the pool. Mullova's people all left and we called the police."

"Did you see who fired the gun?"

"Nope, never even heard it. You can shoot someone from a half a mile away with one of those rifles. The police and the FBI and the press and the helicopters arrived. We've been talking to the police for the last few hours."

"Your mother is freaking out. I talked to her," Liz says to Roger.

"Mr. Mullins and I both talked to her about 15 minutes ago. She's cool."

"Always let Roger talk to his mother," I say to her. "He knows what to say. He never loses an argument with her."

"The argument about, why is my son consistently in the middle of murder and mayhem? You mean that argument?"

Roger laughs, "She says "mayhem", doesn't she?"

"Yes Roger, fucking mayhem. You guys are walking mayhem."

"Wouldn't that be, driving mayhem? We are in LA." I point out.

"That's hilarious, Tommy," she says as she paces the floor. She throws up her hands, "We've got to get out of LA. This is nuts. Can't you guys take a day off? Do you have to be front page news every day?"

"Yeah Roger, why did you make me go there, anyway?"

"Don't throw him under the bus," Liz says. "I know you two."

"Yeah, don't throw me under the bus," Roger says offhandedly with his nose in his computer.

"You guys think this is funny, don't you? Well, it's not," she yells. She sits down, stands up, paces the room and sits back down again.

"I need another day in the studio," she finally says. "I think you guys should go home tonight."

"We'll go home, together," I say. She sits looking at the both of us. Stands, walks into the bedroom and slams the door.

"That went better than I thought," I say to Roger.

"I still can't believe Mullova's head exploding," he says. One second we're talking to the guy and then "thunk," his head's gone, vaporized!"

I finished my beer. "Yeah," thinking about it, "I liked the guy."

"He was intelligent and personable," Roger says looking up from his computer. "Ultimately, just a crook. Went for a bridge too far. Tried to stay at the top, have it his way, the legitimate business man. He should have taken the money and run. How wealthy do you need to be?" He goes back to typing and then looks up. "You know, I bet he had at least 50 million bucks. Do you know what the interest is on 50 Million? Four mil a year. 335,000 a month. Why was he here? Where can't you live for 335k a month?" He pauses, "And why are we here? We have things to do at home."

"We're protecting Liz."

"No, we're not! She's got half a dozen body guards and the LAPD protecting her. We're in the way."

"We're looking for 10 million bucks and I want to be where she is."

He threw the computer on the couch and stood up. "I think the Liz kidnapping is the financing behind a plan for domestic terrorism by these NLR creeps. Missile launchers? Fucking, missile launchers?" He sits back down exasperated.

"Please don't use the f word around me." We stare at each other.

"We have to find these assholes or it's going to come back to haunt us," he says.

I think about Liz, exploding heads, the network trucks, the crowds of people. I'm afraid to turn on the TV. The hotel has been under siege for days. "See what the surf report is for Ocean Beach."

I opened a mini bottle of brandy and order some fried calamari.

Chapter 32

Tonelli and Roger caught an 8 AM flight up to SFO. Tonelli dropped Roger off at SAI. Roger punched in the security code and walked in to the office. When the receptionist saw him she screamed, ran over and hugged him. He was soon surrounded by the entire staff, boosted up on shoulders and paraded around the cheering office. When they finally put him down, he told the story of what happened and answered questions. He thanked everyone for their support and went off to get some work done.

An hour later, he had someone drive him home where his parents were waiting for him for the tearful reunion. He retold the story of the kidnapping, carefully glossing over some of the hairier parts.

Ed Tonelli called Roger, "Can you get away for a couple of hours?"

"What's up?"

"I'm not sure. The warden at San Quentin wants us to talk to us."

An hour later they were sitting in front of him. "Thanks for coming over, gentlemen. I know you've been involved in the investigation of the kidnapping, did you just get back?"

"Yes, this morning," Tonelli says.

"I'm glad you got Liz back in one piece."

"You got something for us, warden?"

"Maybe. You know more about what's going on down there, than we do. With that weapons bust, the FBI has been questioning NLR inmates. They're dangling sentence reduction, but the NLR is a tight lipped organization and we don't usually get much out of them. One of their senior members is William Rolph, aka Stomper."

"What's he got to say?" asks Roger.

"We wouldn't waste our time on him, but he has a prison wife, Steven Coolidge, who asked to speak to me alone.

"Prison wife?" asks Roger.

"A homosexual relationship," the warden tells Roger. "He says he can give us the entire NLR organization, including the weapons bust and Liz Reilly's kidnappers."

"Bingo," says Roger.

"What's he want?" asks Tonelli.

"He wants to walk with time served and the witness protection program. He's served three years on an 8 year manslaughter conviction."

"Can you get him that?" asks Tonelli.

"They should be able to. He also wants the million dollar reward money."

"We can do that, if he's willing to testify," says Roger.

"He said he would only speak to Tom Mullins. I told him he wasn't available, but has agreed to speak to you guys."

"Is he full of shit?" asks Tonelli.

"I don't know. He's never said a word to us before. His record here is clean. I think you should listen to what he has to say. By the way, this guy is toast when it gets out, he's talking to us. He's been up here for a few hours now which is past the point of no return to the general population."

The warden makes some calls and they walk to an interview room. The warden introduces Roger and Tonelli to Coolidge.

Coolidge stands, offers his hand and says, "A pleasure to meet you. I'm a fan."

Tonelli and Roger shake his hand and look Coolidge over. He looks anything but a hardened criminal and gang member. He's young, tall and thin with shoulder length blond hair and looks somewhat effeminate. He doesn't have any apparent tattoos or scars. "I understand you would like to speak to us, Steven," says Tonelli. "Would you prefer we call you Steve?"

"Better than what they call me in here," says Coolidge.

"What do they call you?" Roger asks.

"Stephanie."

Roger and Tonelli look at each other. "Okay, Steve," says Tonelli. Coolidge is amused by their reaction.

The warden says, "We've agreed to your terms, Steven, but you must agree to testify against everyone involved in these crimes. You must be completely honest with us at all times. If we find you're being evasive or lying at any point, the deal is off."

"You have my word, Warden."

"What have you got, Steve?" asks Tonelli.

He begins, "I'm from Visalia. With the exception of getting caught stealing a can of beer, from a 7/11 when I was 14, I'd never been in trouble before the accident. I was going to college and working. I was nineteen when it happened. I was a normal kid with a girlfriend back then. I loved cars and liked to race them. I'd rebuilt a Mustang Mach 1 and it was the fastest car in town. One night I pulled up to a stop light and a Vet pulled up next to me and wanted to go. When I hit second gear the drive shaft blew. I lost control and slammed into an oncoming car. The couple in the other car was killed. I was found guilty of vehicular manslaughter and received an eight year sentence. It didn't take long to learn, that I was not going to survive prison. I was getting beaten up and raped on a regular basis and there was nothing I could do about it, except find someone to protect me. That's how I became the prison wife of Stomper. William Rolph is the meanest son of a bitch in here and he wanted me. I've been living with him for three years."

"Stomper runs the NLR in here?" Tonelli asks.

"He runs the NLR period. When we first got together, he was part of a group of senior members who ran it. Being around him, I picked up on how the NLR was run. It was basically a mess with weak leadership outside of prison. They pulled in a lot of money, mostly from meth, but they're all fuckups. They can't stay out of prison. Most of them barely have a grade school education. They're violent, ignorant, racist, drug addicts who shouldn't be in society. They needed strong leadership and discipline. Governing by committee from inside of prison was getting them nowhere. I worked on Stomper. I suggested ways to make the NLR stronger and it worked. Stomper's influence grew to the point where he eventually took over."

"So you're an intricate part of running the NLR?" Tonelli asks.

"No, I make suggestions. I never say anything in front of other people, but when Stomper and I are alone, we talk. I know everything that's going on. My relationship with Stomper gives me a unique status. No one can touch me, except that ugly son of a bitch. He's in love with me."

"And you?" asks Tonelli.

"Every day in this shithole, living with that monster, is hell. I do what I have to do to survive.

"So, what can you tell us?"

"The NLR pulled off the kidnapping of Liz O'Reilly. I can give you the kidnappers and maybe the money back. I'll give you the entire organization on a platter." He paused and looked Tonelli in the eye. "I need a ticket out of here and the reward money. I want my life back."

"Why kidnap Liz?" asks Roger.

"They needed cash to finance drugs and some bad ass weapons to wipe out the competition. They came up with the kidnapping. I didn't know the details, but I knew it was happening. I didn't know they were going to kill the guards, another example of how stupid these guys are. I told Stomper, they didn't need the kind of heat that killing Liz would get them."

Roger is puzzled, "Missiles?"

Coolidge smiled. "That was icing on the cake. I pushed for a heavy weapons purchase and suggested stinger missiles. I knew it would get the Feds excited. I sent an anonymous email to the FBI with the information on the weapons deal, before it went down. You can't give these animals stinger missiles, God help us."

Roger turned to Tonelli, "How did the cops know about the Glendale weapons deal?"

"Beats the shit out of me," says Tonelli.

"Check it out; I signed the email Zorro, from a Gmail account," says Coolidge. Tonelli gets up and walks out of the room. He says to Roger, "I was hoping you guys would need some help with this one." Roger just stares back at him.

Tonelli comes back into the room. "The tip was from an email sent on a Gmail account and signed by Zorro."

Coolidge continues, "The plan was to take over all drug distribution starting with Southern California. They already dominate the meth market. Cocaine and heroin were the next targets. The plan was to eliminate all competition and corner the market. They wanted to be the one stop shop."

"When was this all going to happen?" Tonelli asks.

"It's going down now. They started with the Russian mob boss, more scheduled in the next few weeks."

"Five innocent people killed to finance a drug empire," says Roger shaking his head.

"And you're going to give us the NLR?" asks Tonelli.

"For the reward and a ticket out of here, I'll give you every one of them," says Coolidge.

Tonelli turns to Roger, "Let's talk about this." They return to the warden's office.

"Well?" says the warden.

"I think he's the real deal," says Tonelli.

Roger pulls out his phone and makes a call.

Chapter 33

"Darling," Liz stands beside the bed. I painfully raise my head off the pillow. "I'm going to the studio."

"I'll drive you," and start to get up.

"No stay here. I'm all set."

"We're flying home tonight, I chartered a jet."

I grunt.

"Ed and Roger left an hour ago."

"Okay."

"Sorry I yelled at you last night."

She comes over and kisses me. "Oh, you stink, empty the minibar last night?" as she heads for the door. I slowly lay my head back on the pillow.

"Tommy?" she says.

"Yeah?"

"Stay in the hotel?"

I give her a "yes dear" and go back to sleep. Around noon, I get up and order some lunch. I take a call from Roger lounging beside the pool.

"I'm here with Ed and the warden from San Quentin." He's got me on speakerphone.

"I thought you were going home?"

"The Warden asked us to come in and talk to someone. There is a prisoner here who is the wife of a guy, he says, is the leader of the NLR."

"The prisoner's wife, is he cute?"

"He says the kidnapping was to finance the takeover of the drug trade down there."

"Is he full of shit?"

"We don't think so. We verified that he tipped the FBI about the Glendale weapons bust. He says he can give us the kidnapers."

"Cool, what's the issue?"

"He may have been more involved in the planning than he says he was."

"What do you think, Ed?"

"It's the break we've been looking for."

"There are five people dead and this guy walks with a million bucks?" asks Roger.

"Oh, I see, the moral conundrum," I say.

"He says he had nothing to do with the killings. The details were left to the guys on the street," says Tonelli.

"Roger, I can't tell you how many assholes, we've let walk to get to bigger assholes. It's the way it goes sometimes."

"It's wrong," he says.

"I'd rather have the shooters and the money. Who is this NLR boss with the ungrateful wife?"

"A guy by the name of William Rolph who goes by the name Stomper," says the Warden. We knew he was NLR. That's obvious. We didn't know he was running the show."

"Warden, can we get this queen out of there and lock down Stomper?"

"Yes."

"Can you do it immediately? I'd hate for anything to happen to this guy before he gets on the stand."

"Yes."

"Good, we need him in one piece. I want him in court testifying."

Chapter 34

I call Ted Saunders.

"Tom, you're on my list of people to check in with, but I got my hands full with this Mullova killing."

"Ted, Ed Tonelli and Roger are talking to a snitch up at San Quentin. He's dropping the dime on the NLR boss."

"What guy?"

"His name is Rolph, goes by the name of Stomper. The snitch says he's running the NLR. He says the man on the street here is a guy named Daniel Hendricks."

"I got to be honest, I don't know anything about Stomper or Hendricks," the agent says.

"The snitch says Hendricks ran the Liz kidnapping."

"What the fuck?" There was silence. "Is the Bureau involved?"

"Apparently, they were busy."

"Busy? Have you talked to Dan Wilkins?"

"Not yet. You were my first call."

"I'll get back to you."

Chapter 35

I didn't hear anything for the rest of the afternoon. Roger walks into the hotel room at five. "What are you doing here?" The kid gets around.

"I just flew in and boy are my arms tired."

"Why didn't you call me back?"

He throws his stuff on the couch and mutters to himself, "Why didn't you call me back?" Then he yells, "Turn on your goddamn phone!"

"Hey, language," as I glance at my phone to see 14 calls and the ringer off. What can I say? I'm a fuck up. "So, what's going on?"

"What's going on is Daniel Hendricks." He puts his finger up in the air to pause me and pulls out his phone and takes the call. He hands it to me. "Wilkins."

"Agent Wilkins!"

"Daniel Hendricks," he says.

"Yes."

"We're going to pay him a visit, you want in?"

"Yeah, sure."

"Be out on the service dock in five minutes. Hendricks lives in Long Beach. We're going in with a team.

As we head south. My cell rings, it's Liz. "Hey Baby, how's the recording going?"

"We're on a roll. I'm very happy with it, Tommy. There is magic happening. I'm going to be tied up for a little longer, so I've pushed back our flight. Is that okay?"

I would have thought she'd be sick of being tied up at this point. Oh yeah, we're supposed to be going home tonight. "Sure, no sweat, take your time."

"Where are you anyway?"

This is why I don't answer the phone. "Roger is here. We're going out for ice cream."

"Roger? What's he doing there? I thought he went home with Ed this morning?"

"I don't know, I guess he missed me."

There is silence at the other end. "Tom what are you up to?"

"Just waiting on you, Sweetie." I'm a pathetic liar.

"I have to go. Tommy, are you bullshitting me?"

"Baby!"

"You're going out for ice cream with Roger?"

"Well, that's the plan. We've got a couple of details to clean up first."

"You're a lying sack of shit, Thomas Mullins. Let the cops take care of whatever you're up to. Stay out of it. You're done."

"Yes, mom, I mean mam."

"I gotta go."

"I love you, Sweetheart."

"I love you too, you lying sack of shit. Stay out of it," and she hangs up.

Wilkins and Roger are both looking at me. I finally say, "What?"

"That marriage is doomed," Roger says with disgust. Shaking his head, "Ice cream," he mutters.

"Shut up! Dan, stop and let him out on the side of the freeway."

We park in a working class, suburban, tract neighborhood facing a house down the street. Wilkins is on the radio, "Everyone in place?" Three people check in. "Okay, Eduardo. Remember, no heroes here. You see anything you don't like, get out." A car pulls up in front of the house and a casually dressed guy gets out and walks to the door and rings the doorbell. After a minute a woman comes to the door. Wilkins turns up the volume on his radio.

"Yes," the woman says from behind the screen door.

"Mrs. Hendricks?"

"Yes."

"I'm Eduardo Alvarez, Daniel's Parole Officer."

Wilkins says to us, "He's an Agent."

"He's not here."

"Where is he, Mrs. Hendricks?"

"He's at work."

"I would like to come in and look, Mrs. Hendricks. I have that right."

"This is my house you're not coming in."

"You're living with a man on parole. It's my job to inspect his place of residence," and opens the screen door. He pushes his way past her and out of sight from us.

The next thing we hear are three shots. Wilkins into the radio, "Shots fired. Go!" A large van pulls up on the lawn and a SWAT team piles out."

"Stand down. The place is secure. She pulled a gun and I shot her," says the voice of Alvarez.

Wilkins pulls the car to the front of the house and says to me, "Let's go, Roger stay in the car".

"Roger, if you get out of the car, I'll shoot you," I tell him. He looks away from me.

From the trunk, Wilkins pulls out booties, gloves and hands me an FBI baseball hat. The SWAT team is leaving as we go in. The body of a woman lies in a pool of blood as we walk up to Alvarez.

"She pulled a gun and I shot her. She fired first. I don't know how she missed." g

"Get these children out of here," Wilkins yells. "Let's look around," he says to me. We walk to the back of the house and start in the master bedroom. Under the bed we find two loaded assault rifles. In a closet we find 50 ammunition clips, enough for an extended siege. The children's bedroom is clean. One of the rooms is an office. Wilkins uses his radio, "Langer, get in here and get into this computer."

A large safe stands in the closet. Wilkins starts looking through the desk. The top drawer is locked. He uses his radio, "Higgins, get me some tools, a crowbar." On the first try and the draw splinters and opens. Sitting on top is the instruction manual for the safe with the combination. "Idiot," says Wilkins. He walks over to the safe and opens it. Inside is cash, lots of it and what looks to be a white bag of something. Wilkins picks up a couple of wrapped bundles of hundred dollar bills. "Look familiar?" he says to me. He takes out his phone. "Doris, grab the list of the serial numbers from the ransom." He then read the serial numbers off of a few bills. "Okay," and hangs up. "This is it," he says to me. He starts counting bundles. "A million two hundred thousand".

"I'd like to have a talk with Mr. Hendricks," I say.

Agent Saunders walks into the room, acknowledges me and says, "What do you got?"

"One point two million from the O'Reilly kidnapping, Boss."

"Fucking A, where's Hendricks?"

"The wife said he was at work before she pulled a gun on Alvarez and he had to shot her."

"You checked to see if he's at the job?"

"There is no job. Phone number he gave to his parole officer is bogus."

"You check the wife's cell?"

"Not yet."

Saunders walks out into the living room and says, "Anyone see the woman's cell phone?"

"There is one in the kitchen."

"Thank you. I'm sorry, but I need everyone out of here except FBI. Thank you for your help."

Wilkins takes me aside and says, "Not you. I don't want the info about the money to get out." We walk into the kitchen and Wilkins starts going through the cell phone. He takes out his phone and gives the person at the other end the number of the cell and three phone numbers, "I need account history and location right now, priority one." Wilkins says to two agents standing by him, "I need you to go over this place with a fine tooth comb. We're looking for weapons, drugs and money. Check under the house, backyard, the wife's car, everything. Use every agent. If a wall looks suspicious, tear it down. Get pictures of Hendricks distributed, set up a neighborhood perimeter. He could come home at any moment. Agent Dodd," Wilkins yells out. He gets a "Yes sir" from the other room. Go talk to the neighbors. Find out what kind of car Hendricks is driving and anything else they know."

"Fuck," he says to me. "It looks like a circus out there."

I look out and see the crowd that's gathered in front of the house. I can see Roger still sitting in the back of Wilkins' car. I watch him reach out from in the car and open the mailbox and take the mail out. I laugh, at least he didn't get out of the car.

Ten minutes later Wilkins gets a call. No luck on the cell phones, all off. Agent Dodd reports back, Hendricks is often accompanied by a tall man who drives a black late model SUV. He's here frequently.

The neighbors say the Hendricks keep strictly to themselves. The family was thought to be a little weird and have not made any friends here. The initial search of the house doesn't turn up anything else, but they're still at it.

Wilkins and I sit down at the dining room table with Saunders who is on the phone. He's briefing someone else. Saunders hangs up and says, "I think we'll go with an APB on Hendricks. I don't want to, but I don't know what else to do. We're two hours away from the Mexican border.

"What about the computer?" I ask.

"It looks like mostly games for the kids. No email use, but he's still at it back there."

"Pick-up every NLR shithead out there and squeeze them?" I suggest.

"It would take days," says Saunders.

"Mr. Mullins, Roger Goody would like to see you," an agent says to me.

"Send him in," says Saunders.

Roger walks in and says hello. "Mr. Mullins, this was in the mailbox," and shows us a letter.

"Tampering with the mail is a federal offense," I say.

"I was trying to help."

"Stop helping. What is it?"

"It's a past due invoice for rent on a building."

Saunders holds out his hand, "Let me see it."

"It's in an industrial park south of here, a one story, with a fence around it. You want to see it?" Roger opens his computer and brings up the satellite view. We gathered around and take a look.

"Could be where they stashed Liz," I say.

"Get the SWAT team," says Saunders. "Send a chopper over and see what's going on there. Nice work, Roger." Roger sticks his tongue out at me.

"Get a warrant," says Saunders.

Chapter 36

We park a couple hundred yards from the building. There aren't any cars in the lot and the gate is chained. The place looks deserted.

"They could have vehicles parked inside. Coming in the front leaves us too exposed. Have the team cut through the fence in back and blow the rear door," says Saunders. "Seal off all traffic coming into the park. Warn all the people in the buildings in the immediate vicinity to stay inside."

It takes ten minutes to set it all up, before the SWAT team goes in. We hear an explosion and the SWAT team is in. "Secure," comes over the radio. A moment later, "Two stiffs in here."

The gate lock is cut and we drive around back. We enter a mostly empty building, with an old pickup parked inside. The SWAT team Captain motions us over to the warehouse office.

Two dead bodies on the floor, both shot in the head. They're tatted up with swastikas. Doesn't take a genius to see these guys are NLR.

"What's with the tattoos that say, 88?" I ask.

"H is the eighth letter of the alphabet. HH as in Heil Hitler."

I leave the office, never could take the smell of a dead body for long. Take a few breaths and spot the restrooms and walk over. Open the Ladies room door, turn on the light and see the mattress on the floor. I go back and tell the agents this was where they held Liz.

"What's with these bodies? Hendricks cleaning up loose ends?" Saunders asks. He gets on his cell and orders the APB on Hendricks. Wilkins is looking at some supplies stacked in a corner. They get into them and find assault rifles, ammo, body armor, packaged food and water.

Saunders takes a call listens and says, "Include him in the APB. Let's get their faces out there. Armed and highly dangerous, proceed with maximum caution." He says to us, "The other guy is Hans Klocker. His picture was identified by a neighbor." Saunders shakes his head. "They're gone. They aren't coming back here. They're out there."

Roger says, "Steven Coolidge, up at San Quentin, told us about a place they call the compound, but he doesn't know where it is."

"Lots of options with nine million bucks," I say. We stand there looking at each other for a minute.

"No ice cream for you, Roge, we're going home."

Chapter 37

We fly back to the Bay Area in a charted jet. I'm frustrated, I thought we had them. Tonelli, bodyguards and the SFPD are waiting when we arrive. Rolling with the Liz is getting to be an event.

As we're about to walk into the house, Tonelli whispers to me, "It's a party, don't pull your gun."

"Oh no, just shoot me."

We walk in and 20 friends shout, "Surprise!" There is a banner that says, "Congratulations Welcome Back". Liz loves it, hugs and kisses all around. I'm trying to keep a smile on my face. The champagne flows and people toast the newly engaged couple. Everyone wants to hear about the kidnapping.

My Uncle Billy, takes me aside, "You don't look very happy, Tom."

"We got close today, Billy, no cigar."

"Don't worry about it. They'll find them. Their mugs are all over the news. Let the cops find them. You've done enough."

"It doesn't feel that way. We lost five people. It was my responsibility."

"You had a crime committed against you. Get on with your life. This thing is over. They're someone else's responsibility now. You did all you could, everything else is just Monday morning quarterbacking."

The party breaks up in a couple of hours. Liz goes off to bed pleading exhaustion. I tell her, I'll join her in a few minutes. I grab a brandy and sit in the living room. Roger comes up the backstairs and sits across from me. "Your parents are happy you're back."

"Mom worries too much," he says. He opens his computer, "We've got a lot of work to do, starting with a meeting at noon tomorrow at the office."

"Jesus, how do I get my head back into business?" Roger types away as I sip the brandy. "What are you doing?"

"Working on a To Do list for you."

"Great," shaking my head. "Number one, put a bullet in Hendricks."

"That's not on the list. You've got to prioritize."

"It's number one on my list."

"Forget about it. That's someone else's job now."

"You been talking to Uncle Billy?"

"No, why?"

"He said the same thing to me."

"Sage advice, Mr. Mullins, we've got other things to do. There is a business to run, but I think the most important thing, right now, is Liz's security."

"What about Liz?"

"Liz is one of the biggest celebrity in the world. Her music, the kidnapping, she's famous, you're famous, I'm famous. You guys can't live here anymore. It isn't safe. She should be in a bunker with a shark infested moat around it."

"What a wonderful life."

"No, it sucks, but that's the way it is."

I thought about it as I poured another brandy. "So where do I find a bunker?"

"You want to live in the city? I don't think that's going to work anymore. It should at least be a gated community somewhere, Marin? Ever been to Blackhawk in the East Bay? Professional ball players live there."

"Maybe Napa or Sonoma, up in wine country?"

"Long commute to work."

"Shit, I like living here at the beach."

"That was then and this is now."

While I'm thinking about it, the old Bowie song comes into my head. I sing, "Ch-ch-ch-Changes."

Chapter 38

I roll out of bed the next morning, kiss Liz, who is on the phone, walk across the street and look at the surf. It's a go. I suit up and grab the board. An hour later, I'm back and Liz is still on the phone. I shower and come out and sit with her.

"I gotta go to the office."

"I know, I have to go to my house. I'm out of clothes."

"We need to talk about security."

"What's wrong with the guys I got now? There are enough of them."

"We need a house with better security. Neither of our homes work anymore for what you've become."

She looks at me, "What I've become?"

"Yeah, a superstar."

"Oh, that," she scoffs.

"Sweetie, I gotta go."

She sits down in my lap. "What about my engagement ring?"

"I've got a diamond ring I can give you."

"I've got the one Tony gave me, do you want me wear that?"

"Ummm, no."

"I don't want one you gave to someone else. You want to sell it and get me another one?"

"Sure."

"Give it to me, I'll take care of it."

"Perfect!" I get the ring and give it to her.

"Oh, this is nice. You like the emerald cut?"

"I don't care what cut it is, as long as you like it."

"You're such a guy."

"Sweetheart, the cut of the diamond just isn't big on my radar at the moment."

"What is big on your radar at the moment?"

"Your ass?"

"My ass is big on your radar? You mean like a B52? Are you saying I have a big ass?" She cocks her fist to throw a punch. I throw up my hands to block, "I love your ass and it's not big!"

I stand up. "I gotta go. You be careful out there. You got body guards and SFPD help for a few days. They've blocked off your street, only residents are getting down there."

"Give me a kiss." I kiss her. "And you be careful out there, Mr. Mullins."

"Yes, Dear."

Chapter 39

I got a briefing from Roger about the company coming in for a meeting during the ride to work. To have their CEO and CTO coming to us was unusual, but it was the only way a meeting was going to work. We couldn't meet at a restaurant and they didn't want their people to know, they might be outsourcing their security. A private meeting at our place was the way to go. They probably wanted to meet us after all the publicity.

I pulled up in front of the office and grabbed my computer off the back seat as I get out of the car. I fumbled the keys and drop them on the ground. As I bend down to pick them up, the front windshield of the Porsche explodes. I stay down.

"Are you alright Roger?"

"Yeah, but I'm covered in glass."

I look up while I'm lying on my back and see the pillar that holds the windshield is no longer there. That's was a 50 caliber shell. Fuck, now I'm on the list.

"Stay down." There is another car parked next to us. I crawl between the two cars and take a look in the direction of where the shot had to have come from, the roof of a building a few hundred yards away. I don't see anything. I get up, open the trunk of the Porsche, grab my gun and take off after the shooter. I yell back, "Roger, get inside and stay there."

I run towards the building. It backs up to a grove of trees. It has a vacancy sign out front and a locked gate. I go over the fence and peek around the end of the building. There is a built in service ladder. The rear of the yard is fenced in. The shooter had to have gone out that way. The fence has razor wire on top and I stand there trying to figuring out how to get over it, when I see where the fence is cut and pushed back. I go through. He can't be that far ahead of me. I run up an incline through the trees. I'm winded when I get to the top. There he is, hustling down carrying a gun case. He doesn't see me. I run to 25 yards in back of him. Took a shooters stance, yell at him to stop or I'll shoot. He didn't. I did. Put a cap in his ass. He tries to go to a gun on his ankle; I shoot him in the shoulder. I can see a small Nazi tattoo on his neck. I recognize him from the picture I saw yesterday. It's Hans Klocker.

I walk up to him, "How you doing, Hans?" Search him and came up with nothing. He tries to spit at me. I kick him in the balls. "That had to hurt," and do it again. He's rolling around in pain. "You want me to put you out of your misery, Hans? I got a question and you're going to tell me the answer or I'm going to shoot you again."

"Fuck you," he says. Wait a second, I've heard that before.

"You tasered me at the kidnapping, didn't you, Hans? I drop to my knee beside him and punched him as hard as I can in the chest. "That taser really, really hurt, Hans."

Klocker is writhing on the ground beside me. "Where is Hendricks, Hans?"

"Fuck you."

I press the barrel of the gun into his wounded shoulder. I've seen the effectiveness of this tactic just recently. "You think Hendricks gives a fuck about you? He killed two of his own at the warehouse in Long Beach. FBI says the bullets are from the gun Hendricks' wife had. Hendricks killed those two guys."

He looks at me and his expression changes, "That was my brother. He said you killed them and his wife."

"You're the only man I've fired a gun at in the last year. By the way, that last guy is dead. You're next."

"I want a deal."

"You're not serious? What kind of a deal did you give my people? What kind of a deal did you give Mullova?

"I don't know anything about Mullova."

"Just coincidence you tried to use the same gun on me? Where is Hendricks?"

"At the compound."

"Where is the compound, dipshit?" I fire a shot into the ground an inch from his head then dig the hot barrel of the gun into his ear.

He talks. What a pussy.

Chapter 40

Liz is pissed. "Is this our life? When does the violence stop?"

"Sweetheart, the man was trying to kill me. This is one of the guys who killed Shawn and the rest of our people."

"So why do you have to be the one to go after him? Are you addicted to this stuff? I can't take anymore, Tommy."

I'm talking to her on a phone, in a government jet, heading back down to Southern California for a raid on the NLR compound. It's in the sticks of Riverside County. The authorities have it locked down. The compound looks to be manned by at least a dozen people. They're going in heavy against them.

"Darling, you're the one who said we were going to get these guys. The end is in sight. We got 'em now."

"When I said we, I didn't mean you!"

"Roger and I are strictly observers on this one."

"I don't believe you. I know you're going to be leading the charge."

"Nope, not this time. We're just along for the ride."

"Tommy?"

"Yes?"

"You're a lying sack of shit."

"Darling, I'm just trying to see this through. I'm telling you, it's over. I can feel it."

"There is no reason to be involved anymore. Let the cops handle it."

"I'll be home later and I promise to stay out of it. I've had enough shots taken at me today."

"And this is it, right?"

"My right hand to the Virgin Mary."

"Be careful and call me, as soon as it's over."

"I will, I promise. Liz?"

"What?"

"I love you."

"Shutup," she says and hangs up.

Roger sitting across from me, "Liz a little upset?"

"She's fine."

"I'm looking at this compound on Google Earth. It looks like a good defensive position. The main building backs up to a hillside. "This is going to be Waco all over again. They should send in a cruise missile and be done with it," Roger says.

"Yeah, I'd hate to see any of our side get it, trying to take out these pieces of shit. I think my car is totaled; the slug took out the pillar holding up the roof. You can't just bondo that kind of thing back in; it's a structural part of the car."

"You and cars, get something that doesn't use fossil fuel. Save some for my generation."

"I don't give a shit about your generation."

"I don't think this is going to end well," he says.

"Fossil fuel or Nazi Low Riders?"

"Both."

"How did the meeting go after I went after Klocker?"

"Great! We're drawing up a contract. They loved being part of the action."

"Excellent."

"I wish you could have made an appearance."

"What difference does it make? You got the business."

"It just would have made it more professional."

"How so?"

"Well, we wouldn't have had to bring down their website."

"You brought down their website?"

"For two minutes of gay porn."

"Dick sucking?"

"Worse." I stare at him. "Okay, no gay porn, but we did show them how we could have taken down their website."

"You don't really need me there, do you?"

"What are you talking about? You're the CEO."

"I suck at it. I'm much better at being a rock star's boyfriend."

"You're pathetic at that. At least as the CEO, you show up, occasionally."

"But I don't do anything!"

"None of them do! Look, all you have to do is show up."

"Any more potential customer meetings lined up?"

"Will you show up, if I set them up?"

"Every one."

"You're a lying sack of shit."

"I've heard that and please don't use language around me."

"Shit. Shit. Shit," he says.

"You're a little shit."

"And you're a poor excuse for a boyfriend." He might have me there. "Did you get her a diamond yet?"

"In my fucking spare time? I gave her the ring Mary gave back to me."

"Oh that's brilliant! She must have loved that."

"She did, so go fuck yourself." He gets out his cell and starts to call. "Who are you calling?"

"Liz. I want to see if she loves her new engagement ring."

"Hang up." He continues the call. I grab the phone from him and throw it over my shoulder.

He unbuckles his seat belt and goes after the phone. Looks at it and starts talking. "Sorry Liz, How are you?" He listens. "Yeah, I just wanted to see if you like your new engagement ring."

"I'm going to fucking kill you," I yell.

"Really? He gave you the one he gave to Mary? Oh, that sucks." I sit there exasperated. "I know, every time you look, it's going to hurt a little bit, won't it?" I get out of my seat and have my hand cocked to slap the shit out of him, when he shows me the phone and says, "No connection!"

At that point the cabin door opens and the pilot comes out and looks at us. I put my hand down and he says, "Can you children take your seats? We're about to land."

Chapter 41

The jet taxis up next to a helicopter. We get into the chopper and John Smith, the spook, is sitting there waiting for us.

"Howdy, Smith or whatever your name is," I say as I sit down across from him.

Smith smiles, looks over his shoulder at the pilot and spins a finger in the air signaling the chopper pilot to go. "Welcome back, gentlemen. I'm helping out with the coordination of the assault team on this one. I'm here to brief you," he says, as we lift off.

"Who the fuck are you, Mr. 'consultant' Smith?" I don't trust this guy. He's impeccably dressed in what has to be a $5000 suit and $1000 shoes, movie star good looks and a great haircut. I should start getting decent haircuts. I've been getting the same haircut, from the same guy, for 20 years.

"I'd like to be briefed," says Roger.

"I want to know who you work for."

He ignores me, "As soon as we got your information about the compound, we sealed all the roads leading in and out. By the way, running down Klocker was a gutsy move, Tom."

"CIA? DEA? MSG?" I ask him.

He blows me off and continues, "We had the CHP put up a road block on all the roads leading to this compound. The first car that came along had two NLR in it. They had automatic weapons, drugs and money. After questioning and a little persuasion, we've learned there is something like 15 people in there. They call it the compound, but it's a ranch. There are at least three children and a couple of women. They don't have anything heavy, but they are well armed. We think they have approximately ten shooters. We've assembled an assault team of 120, snipers are in place, multiple assault vehicles and two Apache gunships."

"Checkmate," says Roger. "This should be over in five minutes."

"Do they know you're there?" I ask.

"A car leaving the place saw the CHP, turned around and went back before we could stop them. They know. We want this to go down as quietly as possible. End it with a whimper, not a bang. We'll give them a chance to come out, but we're afraid there is a siege mentality in there."

"Then, send in the Apaches and level the place," says Roger. "They tried to kill us this afternoon. Incinerate the place, crispy critters!"

"You're an animal," I say to him. "What happened to your morals? There are women and children in there, asshole." I'm leaning in the same direction, but I like to give him shit.

"Oh, excuse me Father Mullins. When did you get religion? These assholes murdered five people, fuck 'em!"

"I point my finger at him and yell, "Stop it."

Smith says, "It may come to that. Look, I want to talk to you about something else. We'd like SAI to work with us. We're looking for a security firm for special assignments."

I look at Roger, "What the fuck is he talking about?"

"I assume you're talking about the NSA," says Roger. Smith shrugs his shoulders. "We don't have any government contracts now, why us?" asks Roger.

"We need good people. You could help us. You'll get access into places we may not. Your computer security company could prove to be a big asset for us. You'll be graduating to the big time."

"You're throwing us a bone?" I ask.

"We want SRI working with us. We know you've got good, competent people."

"I'm not going to have anything to do with you, till you tell me who you work for."

"What difference does it make? I'm not authorized to tell you. We want to work with you."

"When you get authorization, call me." I shrug my shoulders, "It's up to you. I'm sick of the games."

It looks like a rock concert from the air flying in with crowds of onlookers, press, law enforcement and a long line of traffic. We're escorted to the command trailer. We walk in and I see a dozen familiar faces. It's all the people we've been working with on the kidnapping. They stand and applaud us as we sit down. It feels good. These people have worked hard. "Excellent work Tom, chasing down the shooter this afternoon. We've got them pinned down and you broke it. You're going to be the one who gets the credit."

I laugh, "Dan, that's the last thing in the world I want. Let's just get this over with, hang the bastards and let's go surfing."

"Okay, we're ready to go. If they don't come out, we're going to pour in stun grenades and smoke them out. We've got assault teams in armored vehicles in back of the main assault vehicle. We've got two Apache gunships ready to level the place, if it comes to that. We're not going to lose people here."

I nod, "Sounds like a plan."

"Tom, would you like to ride shotgun in the assault vehicle and try and talk them out? You were very persuasive with Klocker this afternoon. That big vehicle out there is basically impregnable. You'll be safe."

Roger can't help himself, "Mr. Mullins would be perfect for that!"

I sigh.

Chapter 42

"Hello, Sweetheart."

"Tommy, what's going on?"

"They've got the place surrounded and they're about to go in and ask them to come out or they're going to blast them out. There are women and children in there, so they're going to try and get everyone to surrender."

"You're not involved?"

"Roger and I are observers."

"From a safe distance?"

"Yes, a safe distance."

There was a lull in the conversation when she says, "Let me speak to Roger."

I grimace and call him over. I hold the phone away and whispered into his ear, "Don't say anything about me going in." I hand him the phone.

"Hi Liz."

"Roger, what's going on there?"

"Mr. Mullins is going to talk the people into coming out."

I take off my FBI baseball hat off and start beating Roger with it. "Tell her I'm riding in a fucking tank, dickhead." I walk off to the assault vehicle and yell back, "And tell her I love her."

"Liz wants to talk to you, Mr. Mullins," he calls after me. I ignored him, put a helmet on and climb into the enormous six wheel vehicle. I shake hands with the soldiers inside as I walk past them to the front, take a seat and strap in next to the driver.

"What is this?" I ask.

"It's known as a Buffalo, Sir," says the driver. He's a grizzled Marine Corp Sargent, an instructor now at Camp Pendleton and a specialist with this vehicle. "It's a mine resistant, ambush protected vehicle, an MRAP. It's capable of absorbing any kind of blast from an RPG, mine or an IED. It's bulletproof and the men can safely shoot out from the window gun ports. I'm going to drive up to the front door and you're going to get on the horn and ask them to please come out or we're going to light them up. I'm a big fan of Liz, by the way."

"She's not a big fan of mine at the moment. Let's roll."

The Sargent drives up to the front gate of the compound, "Skeeter, camera on top of the pole." The video camera explodes. The shot was loud in the vehicle. This fucking thing is going to rock, if we're in a firefight. The front gate is next. The Buffalo goes through it, like a knife through butter. We drive along the driveway leading to a big house and stop about 200 yards away. Two Apache gunships come screaming in at ground level. They lay down fire on a line up to the front door and fly off.

"Wow, cool!" I yell.

The Sargent says, "That was to get their attention. Lock and load gentlemen," he yells back at his men. We take some fire that bounces off the Buffalo as we drive to 25 yards from the front door and the Sargent says to me, "You're up."

I pick up the mic, "It's over Hendricks. Come on out."

Automatic rifle fire erupts from a half dozen places onto the vehicle. I duck as the bullets hit the windshield and ricochet off; not a scratch.

"Don't be stupid, we're here for Hendricks. If the rest of you want to die, send the women and children out."

"Come and get us, asshole," we hear over the internal speaker system. I guess you wouldn't want to roll down the window to ask directions in a combat situation.

"Wait," says the Sargent. He drives closer to the front door, stops and uses the hydraulic arm on the front of the Buffalo, that's used for picking up IEDs. He punches through the front door, obliterating it. More automatic fire rains on us. We back off and are parallel with the front of the building with our guns trained on the place.

"Hendricks, this is Tom Mullins."

Automatic fire rakes the Buffalo. "You killed my wife, motherfucker," we hear.

"No, when she opened fire on him, an FBI agent let her have it. Don't worry, we'll take good care of your kids. They're about to become orphans." More fire across the vehicle. "I had a nice chat this afternoon with your buddy Hans Klocker. In fact, he was the one who told me where you to find you."

"Bullshit."

"No really, he started talking when he heard that it wasn't us who killed his brother and his buddy at the Santa Ana building. Why did you kill your own guys, anyway?"

Again with the automatic fire, "Bullshit!"

"Do all you people really want to die for someone who shoots his own men? Come on, send the women and children out, this isn't their fight. Don't die for the wrong reason. Give yourselves up and live to fight another day."

More shooting, mostly from a single shooter, from an upstairs window. The Sargent barks, "Skeeter, next time that dick upstairs opens up, take him out."

"Yes, Sargent."

I've got nothing. I try, "Hey Dan, Klocker told me, you love to suck cock."

When the gun opens up again from the upstairs window, Skeeter puts half a dozen rounds into the spot. Moments later a woman runs out the front door carrying a baby, then two more women and children follow.

"Keep walking, ladies," I say. In another minute, men with their hands up start walking out. After a dozen, I say to the last one in line, "How many left?"

He shrugs his shoulders, "Hendricks."

The Sargent is talking on the radio and says, "Let's go, secure the area. Stay in the vehicle please, Mr. Mullins." He really didn't have to ask. The other assault vehicles pull up. Prisoners are on the ground. The Sargent comes out of the house and motions for me to come in. I head upstairs. In a front room, he shows me a body. A bullet in the head and one in the chest, it's Hendricks. Two suitcases filled with money are in a closet.

Game.

Chapter 43

Agent Wilkins drives me back to the staging area, he wants me to say a few words to the press. "Talk them through it, thank the LAPD and the FBI and say you're happy with the outcome with the minimal amount of casualties."

I'm mobbed by the press as soon as I step out of the vehicle. I parrot what Wilkins told me to say and that I'm looking forward to getting home to Liz and grateful that it's finally over. An hour later, Roger and I are in the air.

"It was a setup," Roger says.

"What do you mean?"

"They wanted a hero."

"Hey, how about a little credit for the silver tongue devil?"

"They had overwhelming strength. Nothing was going to touch that Buffalo. They handed it to you, with frosting on it."

"It was pretty easy."

"You think?" he says. "It was a slam dunk. They gave it to you."

"That was nice of them."

"It's not about being nice."

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about the increased militarization of police departments, since 9/11."

"Oh Christ, what does that have to do with it?"

"They're getting sensitive to the criticism. They put you out front, as the centerpiece to divert attention. There's been a big push toward the mingling of domestic policing with military operations. The problem is that the two institutions have different missions. The military's job is to fight a foreign enemy. Cops are charged with keeping the peace and protecting the constitutional rights of American citizens. They're now pushing toward combining the two. The problem is soldiers are trained to kill, not Mirandize. This is why the U.S. passed the Posse Comitatus Act 130 years ago, a law that explicitly forbids the use of military troops in domestic policing. It's being ignored. Police departments are getting tanks! Law enforcement is starting to come under criticism for it."

I don't know. I don't care. He's probably right. He usually is. An FBI Agent comes back and says to me, "The President would like to speak to you. You can take the call at the front of the plane."

I look at Roger, "You want to handle this?"

"No," he says sarcastically. "He's calling you."

"What should I say?"

"What's wrong with you?" he says. "Go talk to him!"

We get up and move to a desk with a phone.

"Hello?"

"Hey Tom, how are you doing?"

"I couldn't be better, Mr. President."

"Look, I wanted to pass on kudos for a job well done. Taking down of that shooter earlier today was the key to the quick resolution of this business."

"That was a close one, thank you sir. It's been one of those days."

"It's one of those days, Tom, that's made you a hero."

"I don't know about that, Sir, I'm just glad it's over."

"Tom, I'd like you to come to Washington and meet with me, as soon as possible."

"Sir, I don't know Liz's schedule," and laugh. He laughs, too. I'm glad he knows I'm kidding.

"I would love to meet Liz. The whole family are fans, but I'd like to meet you, have a ceremony, show our appreciation."

I didn't want to do this, but I say, "I'd be honored to meet with you."

"Excellent, we have some other projects in mind that I would like to discuss with you. I understand you've been speaking to John Smith about working with us."

I gulp. This is who John Smith works for. "Yes, Mr. President, I spoke to John earlier. I'd be happy to discuss working with you." I don't like the sounds of this, but what else am I going to say? "Roger Goody is here, sir. He's been instrumental in all of this, can he come?"

"Definitely, I know all about Roger's role. I want the both of you here."

"Would you like to speak to him, sir? I know he'd love to speak to you."

"You bet, put him on."

"I handed the phone to Roger. President wants to speak to you."

Roger grabs the phone. "Hello, Mr. President." He has a big smile on his face as he listens. "That would be incredible," he says. "Yes, and I look forward to meeting you also, sir."

I thought he was about to hand the phone back to me when he says, "Mr. President, can I speak to you about something?" I look at him questioningly.

"It's about cybersecurity, sir."

Oh, no. "What the fuck," I whisper to him. He ignores me.

"Mr. President, Securacom, the firm where Mr. Mullins is CEO, works with some of the nation's largest corporations. Sir, the national cybersecurity policy is a confusing mess."

I feverishly ran my finger across my throat indicating he should cut it, but he's on a roll, "The Federal government needs a coordinated effort to fight this war, but former national security officials are preventing this. They now work as executives and consultants selling solutions for a small group of large corporations. It's become a turf war for government contracts. The competitive environment results in a cloak of secrecy and no coordination when it comes to threats. Instead of working with the government, Securacom has to work around the federal government, because of the lack of cooperation. SAI is on the front line in the cybersecurity war and we feel we're fighting this battle alone. We try and protect our customers in spite of the federal government. The cybersecurity industrial complex is creating an environment of secrecy which is making things easier for the hackers. SAI would like nothing better than to work with the federal government. We're fighting the same enemy here and because of any lack of coordination, we're losing."

He listens as the President speaks to him, smiles and says, "Thank you and I look forward to meeting you too," and hangs up.

I stare at him in disbelief. I finally say, "You have got to be shitting me. You couldn't just say hello?"

"He's going to set up a meeting to discuss our concerns, when we're there. How often do you get a chance to speak to someone who can make a difference?"

Oh, my Buddha.

Chapter 44

Liz is the sexiest woman I've ever known. I haven't looked at another woman since we've been together. She's funny with an endearing way of poking fun at herself. Before she even became "The Liz" she would light up a room, when she walked in. Everyone loves her. She is genuinely interested in others. She is incredibly creative and talented. She's now filthy rich and could care less. I love Liz. She's awesome. We're going get married and have a family and I'm going to spend the rest of my life with her.

One thing about Liz though, she doesn't take any shit, especially from me. Liz is standing by a limo as the government jet taxis to a stop in a remote part of SFO. I don't think I'm getting a hero's welcome by the look on her face.

Roger sizes up the situation. He's a pain in the ass, but Roger will step up to the plate when he has to. He has my back when he's not busting my balls. He runs up to Liz and gives her a big hug. He's chattering on about how exciting the day was. As we get in the car, Liz is obviously, not happy. I go to kiss her and she turns her head and I get a cheek instead of lips. "The returning heroes," she says with a sarcastic tone. I roll my eyes to Roger and sit down next to her. "I'm surprised you guys weren't in on the Bin Laden mission!"

"Oh geez," I sigh.

"Oh geez is right," she screams. "I told you, I can't take it anymore! Why can't you idiots stay out of the shit?" Then, she bursts into tears.

I put my arms around her and hold her. I'm thinking I could use a drink about now. We drive for a few minutes in silence when Roger says, "Liz do you know the story of the scorpion and the frog?"

"No," she sniffles in my shoulder.

"It's an Aesop Fable."

"He looks at me and says, "Aesop was a writer in ancient Greece credited with writing insightful stories, with a lesson."

I yell, "I know Aesop's Fables, dickhead."

Roger tells the story:

"One day a scorpion looks around at the mountain, where he lives and decides he needs a change. He sets out on a journey through the forests and hills until reaching a river.

The river is wide and fast and the scorpion stops and reconsiders the situation. He can't see any way across. He runs upriver and then checks downriver. He's thinking that he might have to turn back.

Suddenly, he sees a frog sitting by the bank. He decides to ask the frog for help getting across the stream.

'Hello Mr. Frog,' says the scorpion, 'would you be so kind as to give me a ride across the river on your back?'

'Mr. Scorpion, how do I know that if I help you, you won't kill me?'

'Because, if I kill you, then I would die too, I can't swim!'

Now, this seemed to make sense to the frog. He asks, 'What about when I get close to the bank? You could still try to kill me and get back to the shore.'

"That's true,' agrees the scorpion, 'But then I wouldn't be able to get to the other side of the river!'

'Okay...how do I know you won't just wait till we get to the other side and THEN kill me?' says the frog.

'Ahh...,' says the scorpion, 'Because you see, once you've taken me to the other side of this river, I will be so grateful for your help, that it won't be fair to reward you with death, now would it?'

So the frog agrees to take the scorpion across the river. He swims over to the bank to pick up his passenger. The scorpion crawls onto the frog's back, his claws dig into the frog's back, and the frog starts to swim across the river. The frog stays near the surface so the scorpion won't drown.

Halfway across the river, the frog suddenly feels a sharp sting and out of the corner of his eye, sees the scorpion remove his stinger from his back. Numbness begins to creep into his limbs.

'You fool,' croaks the frog, 'Now we both die! Why would you do that?'

The scorpion shrugs, and does a little jig on the drowning frog's back.

'I couldn't help myself. It's my nature.'

They sink into the water of the fast flowing river."

Liz and I just stare at the kid, speechless.

Liz finally says to me, "You're right, sometimes he is an idiot."

"No, no, no, Liz," says Roger. "You knew, we were scorpions."

"Oh my God," she says. "And I'm crazy for letting you self-destructive assholes ride on my back?"

"Wait, I didn't mean that," pleads Roger.

I fall off the seat laughing. Liz looks down at me. She's not amused. "Don't look at me. I'm just a scorpion, it's my nature." She cracks a smile.

We'll be okay.

Chapter 45

Six months later, Liz is still at the top of the charts. Her second album is bigger than the first. She toured for three months, all over the world, filling stadiums. She's huge.

We saw the President. Roger and I met with the national cybersecurity team and some changes were made. It's still a mess. We got medals. It was a big fucking deal.

SAI is prospering. My role has changed. I'm now Chairman of the Board, which allows me to do fuck all. Roger still runs the show. We could sell the company and make some serious coin, but we're hanging onto it, for the time being. We'll see what happens. We've got a number of government projects that I can't talk about.

We bought a 60 acre winery, with a mansion, up north in remote wine country. We'll be married soon. I've got the life.

One hot afternoon, I'm running some errands in the small town we live near and before heading back, I decide to have a cold one at the local watering hole. They knows me here. I'm sitting at the bar, watching the Giants, when a guy with a shaved head sits down next to me and says hello. "You've got tight security around your winery. You can't just drive in and say hi."

I laugh, "No, you can't. We've had some security issues, you may have heard about." I thinking this guy is a little strange.

"I heard you come in here sometimes. I've been hoping to meet you."

Uh oh, I look at him, "Why?"

"I wanted to thank you."

"Thank me?"

"I'm Steven Coolidge."

"How you doing, Steve," and shake his hand. "Why do you want to thank me?"

He smiles, sips his beer and says, "For saving my life."

I don't know what he's talking about.

He whispers, "I gave you Daniel Hendricks and the NLR."

I nod, "That Steven Coolidge, huh?" I knew he got out of prison and was paid the reward money, but this is the last person in the world, I thought I'd be running into. "Let's step outside."

My two Labs, in the back of the pickup, start barking and crying when they see me. I remember, we had some questions about Coolidge's role in the kidnapping, but that's blood under the bridge at this point. We walk over to a picnic bench in the shade, "Aren't you in witness protection or something?"

"I could be, but decided a name change, shaving my head and staying away from them, would be good enough."

"Well, best of luck, I think there might be a number of those assholes looking to decapitate you."

"The oath, yeah, I'm not worried about it. This isn't the mafia. It's a small gang of fuck-ups. I doubt anyone is looking for me. I wouldn't last five minutes back in the joint, but they're weak on the outside. They don't have the organization or the brains."

"How about your old buddy, Stomper?"

"We're not exactly pen pals. Last I heard, he was in isolation. I doubt he sees the light of day, much. He's in deep shit for letting his bitch take the NLR down. I'm surprised he's lasted this long."

He's wearing motorcycle chaps and the only bike in the lot is a big BMW touring model. "Yours?" I ask.

"Yeah, it's the K1600, 160 horse power, 750 pounds, an incredible bike. Thanks for buying it for me."

I chuckle. "Is that what you're doing, touring around?"

"For the summer, anyway. I'm going back to school in September. I'm going to study computer engineering."

I nod, "Sounds like a plan."

"I've been wanting to talk to you. I know this is going to sound hollow, but I want to apologize."

"For?"

"Liz's kidnapping."

"I should be thanking you for wrapping it up."

"No, you don't understand."

"Understand what?"

"I planned it."

I can't believe what he's just told me. "There were five people killed committing that crime and you're responsible?"

"That's something I have to live with. It's not the way I drew it up, it's the way those animals do things."

"You knew them; you should have seen it coming. We're lucky Liz got out alive."

"The way I planned it, no one was going to get killed. Killing is the way those animals improvise."

"I'll pass your apology on to the families. I'm sure it will be comforting."

He's silent for a minute before he says, "I had a dream one night when I was in prison. I dreamed you saved me. I decided you were my key out of there. It was a long shot, but it worked."

"Your key? If you had stuck it out and taken your medicine, five innocent people would be alive today."

He thinks that over for a minute. "I know and I'll live with that the rest of my life."

I get in the truck and start it. Coolidge says to me, "Pray that you never wind up in prison as Stomper's bitch, Mr. Mullins."

The sun is going down as I drive up the driveway up to our winery. The dogs in back start barking when they see Liz. She spoils them. They jump out before the truck stops and run up to her sitting on the front porch. I give her a tired wave. It's been a long hot day. I walk up the steps, give her a kiss and give her little baby bump a pat. The housekeeper, Marie, comes out with a cold one for me. I stretch out in the chair next to her. "How you doing, Sweetie?"

She is glowing, pregnancy becomes her. "Oh Tom, the studio is going to be so cool." She's building a studio, working with a designer, while I toil in the vines. The dogs are noisily playing in front of us, chewing on each other. I pick up a tennis ball, peg it into the pond and off they go.

Roger and Emi, his little Vietnamese, fellow genius, girlfriend come out and sit down. "Been playing farmer, Mr. Mullins?"

I ignore him. "Hi Emi, you guys been having fun?"

"Big fun, Mr. Mullins, we made love this afternoon."

"Excuse me?"

She repeats herself, "Roger and I made love."

Roger glances at me while playing a racing game, steering the iPad. I look at Liz. She shrugs her shoulders and shakes her head.

I stand up and say, "Well that's not cool. You're thirteen! We're responsible for you."

"I told you not to say anything," says Roger to Emi.

"I'm pissed. We trust you to make good decisions. You're way too young and it's just not right."

"Tom, go take a shower. I'll speak to them."

I point my finger at Roger, "You're an asshole." He briefly glances up and continues to drive. I snatch the iPad away from him and toss it out over the railing.

"Hey," he says.

"Tom," Liz yells at me, "Go take a shower and cool off."

I point at Roger, "Asshole," and walk off.

Before I enter the house, Emi says, "Don't blame him, it was my idea."

I stop and turn, "Why?" I ask her.

"We love each other and I was curious."

I'm speechless. They're children for Chrissakes!

Then the three of them start laughing.

I look down and the dog has retrieved the iPad and wants me to throw it again. The other one is trying to get it from him.

I fail to see the humor, walk inside, slamming the door in back of me. I stand there with my hands on my hips. I don't know who I'm more pissed off at, Crawford or Roger. Marie comes out of the kitchen, headed for the porch with a plate of quesadillas. She stops and looks at me. We stare at each other for a moment. She turns around and goes back into the kitchen. I should work on that look.

I go upstairs, get in the shower and let the cold water pour down on me. What did Dostoevsky say? We don't count our joys. Take what you got.

I got Liz and a baby on the way. I got everything.

The End

Pete Bowen lives in Phuket Thailand. He enjoys hearing from his readers at petebowen@outlook.com

