THE ADVENTURES OF GABRIEL CASH, PRIVATE INVESTIGATOR

The Adventures of Gabriel Cash, Private Investigator is an ongoing detective serial, set in the region of north-central California that encompasses the Bay Area, Delta, and Central Valley. Readers are encouraged to visit often to see new chapters, characters and story lines added, as I create them. As a work in progress, I may also return to certain sections, to revise and edit, as new layers become evident. Therefore, this project may be continuously evolving. As the author, I invite all visitors and readers to become part of the action by following Gabriel Cash from one episode to the next. Thanks for visiting and reading.

M.W. Ketchel, 2011, All Rights Reserved.

"reads well, very "Mike Hammer." I'll follow along..." Tom Broadbridge, Entertainment Producer, Australia

The sun was fading as I drove the Cherokee north up interstate 5, over the San Joaquin River, the city of Stockton downtown waterfront glistening under the lights of the city and moonlight. One helluva facade, I thought. Freeze-frame right now, and there's no way you finger this town as one of the most crime-plagued cities in America. One helluva facade, that's for sure.

I'm angling off the freeway to head up Pershing. The facade fades away quickly as I pass through the old neighborhoods, on my way to a surveillance job. I've done a lot of these. Usually, if there's a suspicion, there's a reason. At least, that's been my experience. Now, there are exceptions, like when my ex swore I was having a fling with Amanda, my girl Friday. Forget the fact that it wasn't happening and wasn't ever going to. Suspicion reveals an erosion of trust. Either way, you're screwed.

Tonight, I'm heading over to a seedy part of a seedy town, following a few cars behind a ten year old Benz. Mrs. Billips has old money, to go along with her classic movie star looks. She's been suspicious of her husband Joe for a few years now. She figures she's being played for her fifty million. Tough job, but somebody was bound to volunteer for that one. My name got mentioned, discreetly of course. That's how it usually goes. I'm not the kind of guy who advertises in the Penny Saver.

I turn up Rosemarie. Joe's a long way from home. I can already tell you, he didn't step out to buy a gallon of milk. I pass by a sign placed by the Police union that reads "Welcome to Stockton, the 2nd most dangerous city in California! Stop Laying Off Police Officers!"

Gotta' love it. Keep firing the cops and wonder why the cities go straight to hell. I guess Oakland is worse, but not by much.

Joe pulls into the parking lot of an apartment building. Tough neighborhood. Joe gets out, looks around, and that tells me he's guilty about something. We just have to find out out what it is. Mrs. Billips insists on paying me some of that old money; so, I have to deliver. He doesn't notice me, as he makes one more passing scan. He's not just guilty, he's paranoid, too. He walks up to a familiar apartment, knocks and enters. Time to settle in, get the camera ready, roll the windows down, and chill for awhile. Sooner or later, he's going to give me exactly what I need.

This is what I do. I'm Gabriel Cash, PI, a private investigator. You can call me Gabe.

Welcome to my world.

Been sitting here waiting, watching the Sea Breeze apartments, since about 8 P.M. It's after midnight now. Sipping on my iced coffee from my thermos, and finishing off the last half of a Subway foot-long. Hell, I remember my dad having a thermos! A few things a PI doesn't forget to bring. At least I don't forget them: Coffee, or a Rock Star, sometimes both, a snack, my camera, my 1911, and an empty one gallon jug, for those times when a bush or tree can't be found. "Be prepared," as the old scout motto goes. This goes on much longer, that jug will find its use.

There's movement in the shadows near the end of the parking lot. Gabe turns his focus in that direction and sees just a couple of working girls, stepping down out of a big-rig, parked on the street. He watches them for a moment, then turns his attentions back to the Apartment where he first saw Joe enter aprroximatey four hours ago. He's gotta' come out soon.

Suddenly, red tail lights fill his rear view mirror, as a single car pulls out of the lot behind the building, drives off down Rosemarie toward Pacific. That's been about it all night. A few "shadow people" - the drugged out zombies that roam these streets at night, the hookers, Johns, street dealers and pimps. The usual traffic. A few folks with legitimate work, getting off at midnight from nearby bakeries and the port industrial area begin to drive into the apartment lot. One here, one there. They each enter their respective apartments.

Gabe's mind drifts to Mrs. Billips at their first meeting. Stacy Billips, 55 and looking like 40, if that. Sharp lady, classic good looks, tall with long blonde hair, too good for a guy like Joe. But the gal is nuts about the guy. Still, she has the sneaking suspicion that Joe has a candy store on the side. Too many little exits, like this one. Gone for hours. Lame explanations. I'll never understand why it's the schmucks who get the great looking girls. But, she's onto him. Just a matter of time before he slips up. She tells that they were married after a whirlwind romance a few years before (big surprise there). The family (hers, not his) has some very deep pockets. Our boy, Joe, is 10 years her younger. I had him pegged for a gym rat. Figured I'd see him there, messing around; but, the guy is at least smart enough to do whatever, or whoever, he's doing, in private. Can't wait to see who lives in apartment 2-C. In the morning, I'll run the address, you can bank on that.

Going on 1 AM now. Nature calls. Gabe exits the car quietly, plastic jug in hand, leaves the driver's side open, no lights on, acts like he's leaning against the car. From behind him, a throaty low voice teases... "I could hold that for you, honey." Gabe turns and is surprised to see a hooker standing there... somehow she must've been nearby the whole time. Skinny girl, wearing a halter that's barely halting a major fall-out, and short shorts, in cowboy boots. She was obviously very pretty once. Now, she has the lined face of a tweeker. Crystal meth. That and crack are real issues in this town, with heroin running a tight third and gaining. This girl is probably about 40, with a face that makes her look 60, if a day.

"No, baby. I got it all covered; but thanks for the offer," says Gabe. The hooker walks off... "You'll never know what you're missing, honey," she chimes, not looking back. Gabe re-enters his Jeep, closes the door.

He's barely settled back in when the door to apartment 2-C opens. Gabe grabs his camera, looks through the viewfinder, adjusting the digital zoom Cannon to see that the door itself is obscuring the view of who's standing in the doorway.

"Come on...step outside..." Gabe mutters to himself. But, the door closes without another person being seen. Joe crosses to the Benz in the space in front of the building. Joe looks around, again, as if expecting... what? Joe gets into the Benz, starts the car, and backs out.

Here we go. Write it down: Subject leaves apartment 2-C at approximately 1:30 AM. Gabe jots the notes into a spiral journal before starting his vehicle and following .

Driving north up Pacific, following Joe's Mercedes Benz from a safe distance, Gabe realizes there aren't enough cars on the road not to be made, so he takes a chance, figuring Joe is finally headed for home. Gabe turns into the Safeway parking lot and cuts through to Ben Holt Boulevard. Gabe watches Joe drive past, and he pulls into traffic a few cars behind. Yeah, he's headed home.

Home was a big home off Fort Donalson that fronts the river, private gate, and a small, private community. Joe opens and drives through his gate. Gabe, just coming down the block, can see the gate close behind Joe's car. Gabe parks on the street and waits. If there are any fireworks, and the guy leaves again, he tail him again. Maybe he'll head back to the 'hood. Maybe the gym. Right now, it's wait and see. Gabe settles in, leans his seat back, and checks his watch. He jots down in his journal: Followed subject back to home. Subject entered gate at 2:15 AM.

A few moments later, off on the distance, police sirens are telling another story in the city, so it seems. Gabe is startled out of a short semi-nap by the approaching sirens. Suddenly, blue and red flashing lights turn onto Fort Donalson. Gabe sees the private community gate swing open as three Stockton black and whites race up the street past Gabe's parked car, and into the gated community. An ambulance now turns up the street, siren on, lights flashing , and races to the gates. "Oh damn. This is not good," Gabe finds himself saying aloud. Instinctively, he gets out of the car and walks quickly up the sidewalk toward the gate.

By the time he reaches the gate, an unmarked Crown Vic swings in. Detectives rush inside. Gabe reaches the house, only to find two Stockton cops at the door. Gabe asks "What the hell happened? Anyone know?" A CSI van pulls up, two uniformed cops enter with their equipment cases.

"We got a 911 dispatch stating that there'd been a homicide, sir, all available units" responds a young cop. Both cops are young, likely rookies, and they figure Gabe to be a homicide detective. He doesn't offer anything different as he confidently walks past and enters the home.

Inside the home, cops are milling about, one is dusting for prints, and none give Gabe even a glance. "Where's the body?," Gabe asks aloud, to no one in particular. One cop responds "Upstairs bedroom... looks like someone broke in, beat her up, then smashed her skull... a real mess." Gabe stops in his tracks to absorb what he has just heard. "Where's the husband?" A cop responds, "In the kicthen. He found the body and called 911. They're questioning him now."

Gabe bounds up the elegant winding staircase to the upper landing. He sees the master bedroom straight ahead, judging by all the activity. He enters the room, and the first thing that's obvious is the room looks like someone turned it inside out, signs of a real struggle. Turned over vanity, a bloodied, brass lamp on the floor beside Mrs. Billips' lifeless body, a possible murder weapon? Mrs. Billips, dressed only in her nightgown, lay face down in a pool of blood about her head and upper body. Gabe walks as near as he can without interfering. After seeing Mrs. Billips only yesterday, so full of life, so beautiful in that rare way, he could barely look at her bludgeoned corpse...

Nobody deserved to die like this, Gabe thought. Certainly not Mrs. Stacy Billips.

In the background, a gruff voice startles Gabe. "Hey, you!" Gabe turns to see Lt. Detective Nate Chambers crossing to him. He looks like a middle linebacker as he moves toward Cash. He and Cash have some history. Not all good. "Yeah, you, Cash! Who'd you think I was talking to? And I'd like to know why the hell are you here in the bedroom of a high profile murder victim, at 2:30 in the freakin' morning?"

"She was my client, Lieutenant Chambers. Nice to see you, too, by the way."

"Do your clients usually end up dead?"

"Nah... bad for business. You wanna know WHY she was my client, Nate?"

"Stick with "Lieutenant" and don't make me repeat myself."

"She hired me to tail the husband, Mr. Beefcake. She had a feeling he was screwing around, playing her for her money."

"We're questioning the boy-toy downstairs. He claims he was visiting relatives over by the college..."

"Off Rosemarie. SeaBreeze Apartments. 2-C. Yeah. I tailed him there, watched him go inside right after 8. He didn't come out till 1:30."

"That matches up with what he told us. Nice work, Cash. You just gave our prime suspect a great alibi. Now what are the odds that the Coroner places the time of death right smack in the middle of your surveillance?"

The detective studies Gabe's reaction for a moment. Now isn't the time to press; but, Gabe has more explaining to do. Gabe can't take his eyes off of Mrs. Billips' body. CSI folks are now working the room. It's getting crowded.

"Cash. You look kinda' pale. Why don't you get outa' here. Just come by in the morning. We need to go over some details. Go on. Go home and grab a few winks. You shouldn't be here." Lt. Chambers steers Gabe toward the door. Gabe turns one last time to see Stacy Billips' body. Chambers shoves him through the doorway. "Go on, get outa' here."

Walking outside, past the rookies, Gabriel Cash takes a deep breath of the late night delta breeze, and promptly vomits into a nearby bush.

Gabe is wondering, as he walks back to his Jeep, exactly what the hell just happened here. One thing for certain, he's going to find out. Mrs. Billips deserves that.

Gabe never made it to bed. By the time he got back to his house, just off the Miracle Mile, it was pushing 3 AM. As usual, Beau and Avy, his two German Shepherds greeted him with equal, unbounded enthusiasm, dancing in circles till they each coaxed a few Old Roy chew bones from their master. Avy, the retired canine officer, was clearly the boss of her domain. Beau, a few years her senior was a lucky dog that Gabe found on a roadside. He'd been abused and abandoned, and was starving and stumbling along, barely able to walk. That was two years ago. Gabe was compelled to stop. Both will always remember that day. Each approached the other with some reservation. Beau, as Gabe came to call him, was the first to make that irrefutable character judgement call and once Gabe saw that tail wag, just a little, it was a done deal. He let Gabe pick him up and place him in the Jeep, and they'd been best pals ever since. The poor dog had a hundred ticks, some hanging off him like grape clusters. No collar, no chip, a badly infected paw, and a limp from some blunt force trauma, like having been hit by a car, or a bat. A casualty of man's cruelty, and maybe the housing collapse as well. It wasn't long before Avy and Beau became best pals, likewise with Gabe.

Avy's story was no less dramatic. She took a bullet for Gabe three years ago when he was with the Oakland PD as a canine officer. She got between Gabe and a cornered robbery suspect she'd chased into an alley, and took him down even after being hit. With 110 pounds of fangs, fur and muscle, and about 500 pounds per square inch of jaw pressure, "Sergeant Avy" managed to go airborne and both the perp and dog hit the ground tumbling. Over the next 8.5 seconds, the perp refused to give up, punching and flailing; and, as Sgt. Avy went for an arm, the perp squeezed off a shot that sent a .22 slug straight through Avy's shoulder. That only seemed to anger the canine even more, as she saw an opening and lunged in with an angry chomp that caught the perp mid-neck, crunching his larynx and fatally puncturing his carotid artery. The perp managed to fire one more wild shot before bleeding out in that alley behind Zippy Liquors, while Gabe stood over him and watched the perp choke on his own blood. Gabe Cash, in that moment, had zero sympathy for the perp, who, it turned out, was only 18. The guy had brutally pistol whipped the 70 year old Vietnamese-American liquor store owner to within an inch of his life, and shot his 67 year old wife at the register when she couldn't open it fast enough. Luckily, they would both pull through. Crazy, they both survived the Vietnam War but almost couldn't survive Oakland! Gabe knew, had the perp lived, he would have been back on the street to do it again. As the life bled out of the perp that night, Gabe stood over the guy and said "That's what you get for shooting my dog, asshole."

Every time Gabe's hand rubs over that small scar on Avy's shoulder, it takes him back to that night in Oakland. She wasn't trained to attack that way, she'd normally go for the gun hand and arm, but the guy was waving his arms like crazy, punching and kicking, shooting wildly while trying to find an escape. Gabe figures she felt that she went for an arm but hit the neck instead. And that was that. It's a wonder that Internal Affairs didn't interrogate her for a week. They interrogated Gabe instead. Sgt. Avy declined to make a statement.

When the usual protests and complaints started to surface about "excessive force" and police brutality, by "professional" activists, portraying the perp as yet another victim of the Oakland PD, and then came the internal talk about putting Avy down as a public relations gesture, that was it for Gabe. He offered his own resignation instead, which was accepted along with his added condition that he be allowed to "adopt" Sgt. Avy. He switched gears and moved to Stockton, after ten years as a cop in Oakland, taking Sgt. Avy with him. Ten years on the force and Avy was the one, after only two years of service, to leave with a Commendation for Valor, and she deserved it. Avy was his second canine, and their bond was as close as two partners could ever be.

Gabe had always wanted to be a cop; but, that night in that alley, watching the perp bleed out and having no compassion bothered Gabe. He'd seen cops like that. Not only do they get numb to the insane violence around them, as a means of self protection, they seem to lose some of their own humanity in the process. He didn't want to become that.

It was time to leave.

It was great to come home to his dogs. They always comforted him. The same was true at 3 AM this morning, when Gabe opened the door. But, this morning, he found himself wound up tight, as his mind could let go of the night's events and images. So, he grabbed a beer from the fridge, and then another. Not long after, he was sound asleep, sitting up on his old leather sofa, a sleeping German Shepherd on either side of him, the TV on some late night tele-evangelist, who was making lame audience shills walk miraculously, one after another. Gabe, in his snoring slumber, never knew the excitement he was missing.

A mere three and a half hours later, at 6:30 AM, his Bose radio suddenly starts blaring out classic rock. Beau and Avy each awaken, stretch and begin their morning routine of waking Gabe up with a barrage of licks and canine vocals. They don't give a rip that Gabe has only gotten 3 hours sleep. It's time to eat, time to walk, and, yes... it's time for Gabe to get up and make it all happen. All that, and then to get down to the station to give his statement to Detective Chambers, who probably got even less sleep. Gabe wakes up to the dogs demanding his total attention. He looks at his watch, and realizes he'd better get moving. He knows that Chambers wasn't messing around when he said he wanted to see him first thing in the morning.

As Gabe stumbles to the kitchen, grabbing the dogs' dishes, Marvin Gaye's original "I Heard It Through The Grapevine" kicks in on the Bose. Gabe dumps some dry food into each dish, then pours himself some of yesterday's coffee. Realizing it's cold, he sticks the cup in his microwave and nukes it for a minute. The dogs attack their breakfast in the meantime.

The microwave "bell" dings, not only to signal the successful reheating of Gabe's day old French Roast, but also like a ring-bell marking the start of the next round of a boxing match. At least, that's the way Gabe reads it.

The coffee sucks; but, It'll do. He grabs a slice of cold pizza from the fridge, and makes a mental note that his dogs probably have a better diet than he does. Hell, they deserve it, Gabe figured. Dogs are cool. They'll give all the love they have to give, whether you give it back or not. We can learn a lot from dogs.

Gabe was in the Jeep, heading up Tam O' Shanter to the Northside precinct, where Nate Chambers ran the Detective Division. "Tam O' Shanter," in addition to being a Scottish cap, was also the name of a Robert Burns poem, whose main character, Tam O' Shanter, is being chased by the devil after a night of drunken revelry. In this case, the was no revelry, no drunken bash... but today the devil would be waiting for him nonetheless... It was just after 8 AM. Nate Chambers would be there. Gabe pulled into the lot, parked in an "police only" space, just for the hell of it, and went inside.

The inside looked more like the waiting room of a doctor's office. They even had a number dispenser, just like the Department of Motor Vehicles. That always amused Gabe. Already, the waiting area was filling up. Gabe leans against the counter and speaks through the small opening.

"Chambers. He's expecting me. Gabriel Cash."

The font desk woman officer says nothing and slips a sign in sheet through the window. Lt. Nate Chambers enters the waiting area in typical fashion.

"You're late! I said first thing! Get your ass in here." Chambers exits to the inner office, followed by Gabe. "8 AM is about as "first thing" as I get, Lieutenant. Gooood morning to you, too, boss. You got any coffee around here that won't kill me?" Chambers grunts and points to a coffee maker on a table against the wall. "You know where my office is." Chambers walks into his office, slams the door behind him. It isn't that Lt. Chambers doesn't like Gabe. He doesn't much like anyone.

The office interior shows 21 years of police work. Some photos with fellow officers, a few framed commendations, and a big "Sempre Fi Till I Die" wall hanging. That says a lot. Ten years in the Marine Corps, and twenty on the force, and it's still the Corps that matters most. He's seated and going through the Billips case file when Gabe enters, precinct coffee steaming in it's foam cup. "Sit down," the former Master Gunnery Sergeant grunts. Gabe pulls up a chair as told.

Chambers starts. "So let me get this right. The Billips gal... She hired you to get something on her husband... a Joseph Carlucci, goes by Joe."

"Right. She thought he was cheating on her..."

"Good looking lady. A couple hundred million bucks. Now, why you suppose he'd mess around and risk that?"

"That's what I was trying to find out, boss. This coffee... pretty bad, I gotta' tell ya."

"What do you expect? It's yesterday's."

Gabe stares at his coffee. What are the odds? He thinks for a bit.

"Two hundred million? I thought she was worth fifty million."

"Her first husband, Jonah Billips, bought every piece of depressed commercial and industrial property he could get his hands on when the market took a nose dive back in 2007. It's damned amazing what you can find on the internet these days. Since I didn't sleep last night, I started adding up all the holdings from the various Billips' companies, their annuals...I figured it to add up to about two hundred million. No small change."

"Old man Billips keels over a year later, leaving his wife sole heir. Stacy Billips meets Joe Carlucci not long after. They get hitched in 2009. And, two years later, trouble in paradise...."

"Want to guess who gets everything?"

"Carlucci? Figures. She told me there was no pre-nup."

Chambers makes a note. "Don't you think that's strange? For a woman of her social stature?"

"I asked her. She said it was a whirlwind romance. Then something changed. Lieutenant, I think she was scared."

"Turns out she obviously had a reason to be."

"What about prints at the scene?"

"Hell, he lives there. His prints were all over the place. As were the decedent's, yours, the maid, a few others we're still checking."

"How about the lamp, the brass one by Mrs. Billips on the floor."

Chambers leans back in his chair. "Now that's interesting. No prints at all." He pauses deliberately... "Which brings us to your wonderful alibi for Mr. Carlucci... let's see what I wrote..."

Gabe figits a bit. "Save it. It's like I said. I tailed him to the Sea Breeze apartments. He entered apartment 2-C at 8 PM, and he didn't leave until 1:30 AM."

Chambers leans in. "You mean you didn't see him leave till 1:30 AM."

Gabe stands uncomfortably. "What do you mean by that?"

"I'm saying it doesn't add up. The house has a security system like Fort Knox. It was turned off. If she was afraid, why'd she do that?"

"Maybe she didn't."

"Right. Maybe Carlucci does... except..."

"You got it. That's why I said you didn't see him leave that apartment before 1:30."

"You think he did."

"It sure would tie things together for me, Cash. ...And it's the only missing piece to this puzzle that fits." He pauses for a moment to think, and abruptly gets up from the desk, slams the file shut, and grabs his sport coat. "Come on, Cash. Let's go for a ride. Let's go see who lives in that apartment."

Gabe follows. "You're including me?"

Nate Chambers reverts back to the Master Gunnery Sergeant, gets almost nose to nose with Gabe. "Without your alibi, we'd be holding Carlucci."

"You mean you're not holding him?"

"His lawyer showed up ten minutes after you left, advised him to clam up. If I'd tried to hold him, the guy would've gotten a writ. Anyway, they're coming in this afternoon so he can make his statement. But your alibi. Now that really made me think. There could be a big pay-off for cooperation like that, Cash."

"You think I'm an accomplice?! Are you kidding me?!"

"I'll find out, one way or another. In the meantime, I am going to keep you on a very short leash... So, yes, for now, I am including you. Let's go."

Gabe knows he does not have a choice. He's thinking he was heading over to the Sea Breeze Apartments anyway; and, besides, despite Chambers' crusty side, he's a good cop. The two men exit together.

As they got into Chambers' unmarked Ford Crown Victoria, Gabriel Cash glanced up at the nearby intersection street sign. "Tam O' Shanter," Gabe thought. Maybe devils were chasing him after all.

Only a few moments have passed since exiting the Northside precinct. Lt. Chambers drives the brown ford into the Sea Breeze Apartments parking lot, and parks one car space away from where Gabe parked the night before.

Inside the car, big Nate Chambers sits quietly for a moment, scanning the apartment building. "So this is where you parked, right?"

Gabe scans the building and replies "Yeah, next space over, but same view."

"Did anybody make you?"

Gabe thinks a moment... the hooker in cowboy boots comes to mind. "There was a hooker... I'm pretty sure she knew I was on the job. Easy to remember. She wore Cowboy boots."

"That's good. You're going to need an alibi yourself, you know. I need to eliminate you as a suspect as fast as I can before the reporters start sniffing around, for your sake."

"I never knew you cared."

"Save it. If I think you had anything, I mean anything, to do with this, and I will nail you to the cross myself. That's a promise. Open up my glove box, will you? We need a warrant."

Gabe pops open the glove box door, pulls out a search warrant. He reads it. "This isn't the right address... this dated last year. You kidding me?"

Chambers snatches the old warrant out of Cash's hands. "It'll do. Let's go."

A few moments later, a very nervous apartment manager is walking from the office with his pass key in hand, Lt. Chambers and Gabe following. The apartment manager doesn't seem like the kind of fellow who would want any additional scrutiny aimed in his direction. Cash makes a mental note of that.

They reach the door. The apartment manager knocks. No answer. He knocks again. Again, no answer. LT. Chambers holds his hand out. "Key." The apartment manager hesitates... "I'm not supposed to give this key out to just anyone."

Lt. Chambers takes the key out of the manager's hand. "I'm not just anyone..."

Chambers unlocks the door and steps through the doorway, followed by Cash and the apartment manager. Inside the apartment, the three scan the scene. It appears to have been ransacked. Everything is in disarray. Chairs turned over, cabinets opened, drawers on the floor.

Chambers turns to the apartment manager. "And no one saw or heard anything, right?"

The apartment manager is nervous. "I didn't hear nothing, I swear." The three men walk slowly from room to room. Same scene, each room.

"Somebody was looking for something," says Chambers, showing a firm grip on the obvious, Gabe thinks quietly.

Cash plays back a few things they'd learned, and addresses the manager: "So, you said that Carlucci rented this place a year ago?"

"Yeah, that's right," responded the apartment manager.

"Did you ever see anyone else here?" Chambers picks up a thong. "Like maybe a lady? Probably a good looking lady?"

"What makes you think she was good looking?," asks Gabe.

Chambers tosses Gabe the lacy black thong. "Well, my wife's cheeks wouldn't fit in that. It's a medium. I figure a certain kind of woman wears this, wouldn't you agree?" Gabe holds up the thong, impressed. "So how about it?," again Chambers asks the manager. "You ever see a good looking woman going in or out of here on a regular basis?"

The manager laughs. "You gotta be kidding me! Look at the neighborhood! We have lots of working girls. Some live here. Some hang out night and day. All I know is the guy paid his rent on time, and I never had any problem with him. I don't know about any particular woman. We got too many coming and going. Maybe he was a player."

They continue to go though the apartment. Chambers gets his cell phone out, makes a call. "This is Lt. Chambers. I'm going to need a Crime Scene Unit at the Sea Breeze Apartments on Rosemarie Drive, apartment 2-C. Involves the Billups killing. A-SAP, please."

Gabe studies the apartment. "You think they'll find anything?" Chambers walks into the bedroom and opens a closet to see it emptied. Chambers walks over to the dresser, sees empty drawers thrown about. "Do you see that, other than that thong, somebody cleaned out all the clothes?"

"Yeah. That could mean someone was getting out of here fast," offers Gabe, as he holds up the thong again, and tosses it back to Chambers. "And I doubt if it was Joe Carlucci."

Gabe continues, "He was paying the rent; but, there are no men's clothes here either. So maybe this place was for his mistress? Maybe he was keeping her here? Hard to believe that no one ever saw a woman going in or out."

The apartment manager is nervous and jumpy. "Man, I told you. I didn't see nothing! Hey, my office is around the other side. I don't have time to look at every girl who comes and goes."

Gabe offers, "She wouldn't come and go. She'd be living here, maybe as long as Carlucci was renting the place." Gabe pauses a moment, thinks. "You have a pool near the office, right?"

The manager says nothing. Gabe continues, "She would have been someone who would have likely been a regular. You would've remembered. I doubt if she'd be dressed like a nun, if she wears a thong like that. Ring a bell?"

At this point, the apartment manager isn't even trying. "Like I said, I got no time to pay attention to the girls that come and go. I...I... gotta' get back to work. Okay?" The manager moves toward the door.

Chambers replies to Gabe, "We're not getting anything outa' this clown. That's a rehearsed statement."

"Yeah, I was thinking the same thing," replied Gabe.

The manager is more nervous. "Can I get back to work now?"

Chambers and Gabe share a knowing look. Chambers nods at the manager, who makes a hasty exit. After he leaves, Chambers says, "You get the feeling there's a lot more going on here?" Gabe concurs, "I was thinking the same thing... but, I'm not sure how it falls together, or if it does at all. You know what I mean?"

Chambers looks around. "Yeah. I know. It doesn't add up. Not yet anyway."

Gabe wonders aloud, "How does a classy woman like Mrs. Billips get herself into something like this?"

"Something tells me you're going to try to figure it out. Right?"

"I don't know. My client is dead, remember?"

"Well, if you come up with anything, don't keep it a secret from me. Deal?"

"Yeah, deal, if you'll do the same."

"I'll give you what I can."

"Fair enough."

Minutes later a CSI team would converge on the apartment, and would come up empty. That result showed the place had been scrubbed with a definite purpose. That was disturbing for several reasons: It could mean that Carlucci was mixed up with some bad people. It was evident that whoever the lady was in apartment 2 - C, she may now be in danger, or on the run. Either way, both she and Carlucci were keys to the puzzle.

The next step for Lt. Nate Chambers would be to bring Joe Carlucci in for questioning. The next step for Gabriel Cash would be to get over to his office and see what calls had come in, hoping maybe there was a paying client waiting.

Gabe asks Chambers the obvious, "Carlucci. When is he coming in to make his statement?"

"Four o'clock today. You can sit in, behind the glass. But remember. He already lawyered up. I doubt if we'll get much."

"I appreciate it anyway, boss."

"Cash, I'm including you because you were a cop and you know the drill, and I'm thinking you may be able to give me one extra set of eyes and legs out here. By tonight, this will be on every newscast in the West. There will be a lot of pressure applied from the higher-ups, from the family, from the press..."

"I'll help as much as I can, Lieutenant."

"That's what I wanted to hear.... C'mon, let's get out of here and let these folks work."

They exit the apartment building, and head back over to the car. A few bystanders are wondering what's going on. Shadow people, people who don't want to be identified, people who could be witnesses but who will never testify except under coercion. Both Chambers and Gabe know better than to ask them anything now. Chambers will send a few cops back later to comb the area and go through the motions.

As they drive out of the lot, Nate Chambers offers on last bit of advice to Gabe. "Cash, I was serious about this. I need you to find that girl in the cowboy boots. She places you here last night. I'd like her statement. I don't want to think you had anything to do with any part of this. So far, I think you're clean... You know what I'm saying?"

"I do. For what it's worth, I thought this would be a simple case of proving infidelity, nothing more. I never thought Mrs. Billips would end up dead."

"For what it's worth, Cash, I believe you. But, we have to cover every angle. You know that."

"Understood," replies Gabe. Chambers is tossing out mixed signals. He's a better detective than most, and Gabe realizes he's still being considered as a suspect, and at the very least, an accomplice. Was someone playing him from the start? Was Carlucci or someone setting him up somehow? That would be crazy, wouldn't it. Too little sleep and too much bad coffee was making him paranoid. Still... he'd better watch his own back, he thought, as they headed back to the precinct.

"Quick question, Lieutenant. You think there's something more going on at that apartment complex?"

Chambers doesn't hesitate. "I definitely do. You, too?"

"No doubt about it." Maybe Gabe would catch a nap when he reached his office... Yeah, right.

Gabe drove the short distance past the University of the Pacific, past the old Unitarian “Anything Goes” Church, his favorite Starbucks, and down the Miracle Mile, that legendary stretch that was, for all purposes, the Melrose Avenue of Stockton. Trendy shops and restaurants, a few good bars… What more did a cool old neighborhood need?

Gabe swings the Cherokee around the back of a row of shops and parks behind his favorite Vietnamese spot, aptly named Saigon. Down the line of two story buildings, there’s an entrance that leads upstairs to a grouping of four offices. There’s an accountant with a small bookkeeping and tax service, a personal injury attorney (who sometimes throws a case at Gabe), a good looking therapist, and Gabe’s office. He’s kept a mental tally of the cases he’s picked up from each, and right now, Doc Wendy, the therapist, has a narrow lead. Screwed up people come in, puke their emotions about what’s wrong with their spouse or boyfriend, and Gabe figured he got at least one case every few months from a husband or wife who figured their best therapy would be to catch their cheating better half in the act once and for all. Mort, the tax guy referred a business owner who wanted to find out if his partner was selling product out the back door on the side. Bob, the attorney would get a surveillance case every now and then, as when a guy is being sued for negligence in causing a disabling injury. Gabe has been the guy who would video the plaintiff playing a hard game of basketball. All in all, that little office above the Miracle Mile was one of the best choices he ever made.

Gabe notices Amanda’s little Prius hybrid parked in her familiar space. Good. He can go over the overdue bills with her, before she heads off to her law classes.He heads up to the second floor, and down the short hallway to his door – a solid old door with a deadbolt lock, and a small brass nameplate on the door:Gabriel Cash, Private Investigator.

Gabe enters to see Amanda at her desk, on the computer, hyper-focused. It’s a 15 foot by 15 foot office, large enough for the 2 desks, file cabinets, copier, small refrigerator, and still have enough room for a small sitting area. The windows face Pacific Avenue, and Amanda has the shades open so the place has some light. Gabe’s desk is stacked on each side with files. A stack of fresh mail in the middle.

“So how’s my favorite secretary!Did you make my coffee yet?”

Amanda doesn’t look up. “Bite me. I’m not your secretary and you can make you own coffee.”

“You’re fired.”

Still not looking up, Amanda responds without missing a beat. “Fine. I have a higher offer across the hall."

“Mort, the accountant? You’d be bored to tears.”

“No. Bob, the attorney. I am going to law school, after all.”

“Now that you mention it, you’re right.I would be lost without you. So who called? And by the way, Mrs. Billips was murdered last night.”

“I heard it on my way in…”

“Yeah. Sometime between 11 and midnight, according to the Coroner. I’m thinking the husband, Joe Carlucci, had something to do with it.”

“He called for you, ten minutes ago. He needed to speak with you right away.”

“So when were you going to tell me that?”

“I just did. Oh, I pulled out all the bills, and they’re in that pile on your desk.And my invoice is the envelope on top, just in case you wondered. I also pulled out your checkbook, and that’s next to that stack. I already made out my check. You just need to sign it.I included the dog visits.”

Gabe couldn’t function without the organizational skills of Amanda.Her smart-ass attitude just made the office more fun. Gabe walks over to his desk as Amanda hands him the message slip.

“Carlucci calling me. How about that. ”He reads the number off as he dials.It rings several times before Gabe hears the pick up, but silence on the other end.

“Mr. Carlucci?” Again, there is a moment of silence. Finally, a gruff voice responds. “Who’s this?”

“Cash, the PI your wife hired. You called me?”

“Yeah. I gotta’ talk to you.”

“So talk. I’m listening.”

“Not on the phone. In person.”

“Okay.I’m in my office now. How about…”

“Meet me at On Lock Sam’s in 30 minutes.” Gabe hears a click on the other end.Carlucci is a driver, likes to call the shots, but there was something in his voice. An element of fear, maybe?

“Amanda, lock up when you leave. I have to meet Mr. Carlucci.”

“Okay, so you are meeting with the prime suspect in a murder case. Alone. Can I write down where… so if you don’t come back, at least I can tell the police what dumpsters to look in first?”

“On Lock Sam’s. Old Chinese restaurant on the Southside.”

“Do you think that’s smart?”

“No. But do I think it’s necessary? Yes.”Gabe thinks a moment; then, he dials another number.

Lt. Chambers’ voice comes through with all the charm of an angry pit bull, as usual. “Yeah.What do you want, Cash? I’m busy.”

“Lieutenant, I just got a call from Carlucci. He wants to meet me in 30 minutes... at On Lock Sam’s.”

“Better move it or you’ll be late. I’ll be there as a back-up.”

“Great. Make sure you drive that big Crown Vic, you know, the one with the city plates and small radio antennae? That way no one will make you for a cop.”

“I’ll drive my own car. No one will know.”

“I’ll call you if I need you.”

“I’ll have your back, Cash. Hey. Thank you for letting me in on this.”

“Yeah. Let’s see where it leads.” There’s a click on the other end. Gabe walks toward the door, pauses as he opens the door, looks back at Amanda. “What dumpsters to look in? That’s reassuring, Amanda.”

Amanda stops typing, and looks up with genuine concern. “Just be careful.”

"Always…Go ahead and sign your check. I’ll check in with you later. ”Gabe exits, shutting the door behind him. Amanda watches him leave with an uneasy feeling. Without comparing notes, Gabe has that same uneasiness as he heads off toward his meeting with Joe Carlucci.

The garage door of the Billips home on Fort Donalson opens. Joe Carlucci drives out in his Mercedes. Joe needs to talk to somebody today without his lawyer. He hadn't slept a minute. A thousand thoughts are running through his mind as he drives down his driveway. The private community's gate swings open and Carlucci drives through the gate, and turns onto Fort Donalson, heading for the rendezvous with Gabe Cash. He never notices the work van that pulls out behind him. As he turned onto Ben Holt Drive, he didn't pay any attention to the van slowly inching up alongside.

For the last quarter mile, the two vehicles rode side by side, until both pulled to a stop at the last intersection before the on-ramp to I-5, just past the Marina Market Shopping Center. Joe Carlucci was dialing a number on his smart phone as he stopped and didn't notice the tinted window in the passenger side of the van roll down as he held the mobile phone to his left ear. He didn't see the small silencer on the 9 mm Sig Sauer aimed at his head. No one heard the two shots that followed, two shots that passed easily through the side safety glass of the driver's side window, and penetrated Joe Carlucci's skull, killing him instantly. His mobile phone fell into his lap and his hand fell limp.

A woman's voice could be heard answering the phone. "Joe? Is that you, Joe? Joe?" Joe Carlucci wouldn't be answering.

The white work van pulled away from the intersection, turning up the on-ramp for I-5 South, as Joe Carlucci's lifeless body slumped over the wheel of his Mercedes Benz. A few drivers behind Carlucci impatiently began honking, while most simply drove around, neither caring to see why the car in front of them had stopped, nor wondering why the driver wasn't responding to the incessant honking. It would be a full five minutes before a driver pulled up behind Carlucci's Mercedes, stopped, got out and found Carlucci dead at the scene. By that time, the work van was turning onto the Crosstown Expressway, and passing by On Lock Sam's Chinese Restaurant, down below the freeway.

Gabe drove the Jeep from the Miracle Mile office to the south side in about 10 minutes. Along the way, he heard his news radio station announce that the Chief of Police and City Manager had both resigned over the city council's refusal to raise the chief's salary, something the City Manager had lobbied for. The Chief of Police, in a small city whose crime problem was being compared to Chicago in the 1920's, was earning $204,000, and the City Manager recommended the raise to make up for reductions of certain benefits. The council thought otherwise and that was tantamount to a vote of no confidence, in the eyes of the chief and manager.

"Damn. Two hundred and four thou. Can you believe that?" Gabe said aloud to no one. The news went on to report that the cops were dragging the river behind his house for a missing 23 year old, last seen at a local pub on Pacific. Ah, Stockton. A city out of control, nicknamed by critics as "the armpit of the Bay Area," and "where the Bay Area sends its sewage." And of course, Gabe can't help but think of critics as the guys who sneak down from the hills after the battle, and shoot the wounded. Still, when the two highest paid city officials have just bailed out of the plane, you've got serious problems. Just plain crazy, Gabe is thinking. Passing by the bank on Minor, a few blocks from the classic dive bar and restaurant known as On Lock Sam, Gabe starts glancing around to see if he can spot Lt. Chambers. Not yet. A few hookers, bums and crack dealers, but no Lt. Chambers.

On Lock Sam is one of those iconic places that survives just because it never seems to change. Like Dante's Down The Hatch, in Atlanta, Musso & Frank's in Hollywood, Gionotti's near O'Hare, or Mandina's ("If you can find us") across the river from New Orleans in Algiers, On Lock Sam is a stand-alone Stockton classic. As you are escorted into the cavernous dining room, booths line the back and side walls, with heavy curtains that can be pulled shut, providing complete privacy. Countless business, legal and political deals have been negotiated in the privacy of these booths, and just as many extramarital affairs and dubious conspiracies, during its 113 year history. You can't help but get the feeling that you've stepped back in time inside the restaurant, especially if you occupy one of the private booths. Gabe is a few minutes early, and he asks for one of the booths, of course. Against the back wall, he can see the only way in or out of the place, and he figures Carlucci would want a private booth anyway.

After twenty minutes and two cups of hot Oolong tea, Gabe glances at his watch. Carlucci is late. He didn't sound like the kind of person who would be late, when he called earlier. Just then, he sees Lt. Chambers enter. Chambers glances around, sees Gabe and makes a straight beeline for him like the bull he is. Subtle as a heart attack, as usual.

Gabe is surprised. "Whoa! Aren 't you supposed to be my back-up, just in case I need you? Carlucci sees you, with me, and he'll clam up. Trust me."

Lt. Chambers responds, "Carlucci isn't coming. Someone popped him at a stoplight over on Ben Holt."

Gabe is stunned. "When? When did it happen?"

"About a half hour ago, we figure. C'mon. Let's go. I want you to see something."

Chambers abruptly turns and walks, while Gabe tosses a few bills on the table and follows. A few patrons and the wait staff take note of their hasty exit.

Outside, the two men get into Lt. Chambers' brown official Crown Victoria, parked in the handicapped spot by the front door. Gabe and Chambers' share a look. "Oh, right. Now this doesn't look like a police car."

"So I lied. Sue me." The two men drive off together.

Chambers turns on the flashing lights and siren. In most cities, that would send the street criminals scattering, but this isn't most cities. They know they're not the targets today. Besides, the police station is only a block away. Nothing happens here that the cops don't know about and allow anyway. A few quick turns lead them onto I-5, heading north.

So much for lunch. Gabe was all set to order the lemon chicken with fried asparagus. Chile sauce on the side. He makes a mental note to come back for the dinner special.

With the Billips murder just making the morning news, news of a drive-by shooting on the streets of Stockton wouldn't have carried much weight. So it was a small surprise to find the Channel 10 news truck on the scene as Chambers drove up. Stockton PD had taped off all lanes, forcing a real pain in the ass detour in each direction.

Chambers and Gabe exit the car; and, Gabe spots a familiar face at the news truck. Melinda Garcia is a sharp reporter. If anyone would scoop this story, it would be her. Gabe and Melinda know each other, going back to the time he was on the Oakland PD. Then, she was working the crime beat for the CBS affiliate. In fact, they lived in the same apartment complex. Melinda was cool, a real pro. She spots Gabe and calls out, "Gabe! Is it true the victim is Joseph Carlucci, the husband of Mrs. Stacy Billips who was found murdered early this morning?"

Lt. Chambers stops and answers, not Gabe. "How the hell did you get that information?"

Melinda smiles. "Sources, Lieutenant Chambers."

"You mean leaks," barks Chambers, as he heads over to the car. Melinda isn't fazed. After all, it's her job, and she's very good at it. Gabe walks over to her.

"Melinda! My favorite reporter! How ya' been, beautiful?" They hug, as old friends and neighbors would. "And by the way, how much do you know?"

Melinda laughs.

"Really? Isn't that what I'm supposed to ask you? And then there's the question... Why are you here, Gabe?"

Chambers is at the Mercedes looking through the shattered side glass. Gabe needs to give Melinda something quickly. Why not the truth? Maybe prime the pump a little.

"Okay. Mrs. Billips hired me because she thought her hubby, Joe Carlucci, was cheating on her. So I was tailing him last night. You know he found the body, right?"

"Yes, and he made the 911 call. Give me something I don't know, Gabe."

Gabe gives up a crumb... "Another thing... off the record, for now, okay?"

"Okay, for now."

"So, Carlucci, he called me about an hour ago and wanted to meet me. He sounded nervous. He never showed up. Somebody made sure of that."

Chambers shouts to Gabe, "Cash, over here! Now!" He's annoyed that Gabe isn't right there beside him. Gabe gives Melinda another quick hug, and heads over to Chambers and the Mercedes. Traffic cops are handling the 4 lane detour. A small crowd has gathered at the corner convenience store.

Melinda tosses a bone to Gabe. "Hey! Do you know about the step-son?"

Gabe stops, turning to Melinda. "So far this has gone from an easy surveillance case... to two murders within...oh, about 12 hours... and you're telling me there's a step-son? Whose step-son? Carlucci's?

"Old man Billips has... rather, had... a son, from his first wife. Sort of a black-sheep. Lots of trouble when he was younger. Not the kind of thing the Billips family wanted so they shipped him off... somewhere. So technically, he'd be Stacy Billips' step son. Even though they'd probably be pretty close in age."

"Where is this guy now?"

"No one seems to know. I have a feeling though..."

Again, an impatient Chambers bellows "CASH! NOW!"

"I think he may be hiding in plain sight," Melinda slips in.

"You wanna grab a cup of coffee after your report?"

"Gotta make it a quickie. If this is going to lead at six, I have some editing to do."

Melinda's cameraman steps in... "Melinda, we're live in thirty." Gabe knows his exit cue and he quickly moves away to the victim's car, as Melinda expertly positions herself facing camera with the crime scene behind her.

As Melinda and her cameraman prep for Melinda's exclusive Channel 10 live report about fifty feet away, in the background, Gabe reaches the Mercedes. He sees Carlucci slumped over the center console, a gaping hole in the side of his head.

Chambers turns to Gabe... "Definitely a professional hit - two shots, one right after the other."

Gabe leans over for a better view... "Not a drive-by. Shots were too accurate. The shooter vehicle must have been alongside and they were both stopped. He never saw it coming. How about exit wounds? You see them yet?"

Chambers looks at Gabe, a little surprised. "Yeah, both slugs exited the lower jaw on the right side, they look like hardballs... Why?"

Gabe takes his pen and pokes it through the twin bullet holes in the driver's side window, with a down angle...

"Well looking at Carlucci, the bullets came through this glass from this angle, a little high, pierced the temple area, and came out the lower jaw."

"So?

"So, the shooters' vehicle is either a van or a raised pick-up truck." He demonstates the shooting angle, to Chambers, who does not impress easily.

"I'm impressed. You're pretty damned smart after all, Cash... Did that reporter give you anything?"

"Maybe. I'll let you know... I'm talking with her after her report."

"You do that, Cash."

"Of course. You betcha... Hey, Lieutenant. You play your cards right and you could be the new chief."

"As if I'd want that headache. You see anything else here?"

Gabe thinks a moment, looks around. There's a 24 hour restaurant at one corner, and a 7-11 on the other, diagonally. "Yeah, you might want to check any businesses around the intersection that may have security cameras. Might be a long shot, but maybe the shooter's vehicle was caught on videotape." Chambers looks quickly at each establishment.

Gabe looks over the car again, and sees Carlucci's cell phone still half clutched in one hand, positioned half under his body. "Lieutenant, he's still holding his cell phone. Reason number three why you should never be on your cell phone while driving. You might never see the hit coming."

"No kidding. I can't wait to see whose numbers pop up on that."

"Well, one of them is bound to be mine. He called me, remember?"

Chambers doesn't reach inside yet. He carefully pulls a pair of exam gloves from his pocket, puts them on, one at a time..

Meanwhile, Melinda is in the middle of her report, just steps away...

"Our sources have established that this is indeed the crime scene where Joseph Carlucci, a "person of interest" in last night's murder of his heiress wife, Stacy Billips, has been shot to death in broad daylight. Police are on the scene in addition to Private Investigator Gabriel Cash, who had been surveilling Mr. Carlucci at the request of wife Stacy Billips. Mrs. Billips was the heir to approximately two hundred million dollars; and , as police comb this gruesome crime scene, there are more questions than answers. Stay tuned for a full report at 6 PM. This is Melinda Garcia, with a Channel Ten News Breaking News exclusive."

Chambers glances in the direction of the news truck, then to Gabe. "You just keep me in the loop."

"You have my word, chief..."

" I don't want to hear or see ANYTHING first on the TV news, got it?," That wasn't a request from Chambers.

"Got it. Scout's honor!" He holds up the cub scout hand sign.

"Get the hell outa' here, Cash."

Gabe shrugs, walks quickly toward the news truck. Melinda is just handing her microphone to her cameraman. "Did you hear any of that?" asks Melinda.

"Sounded good. Thanks for the plug."

"Your welcome... and you owe me," chimes Melinda.

They head over to the restaurant and never notice Chambers placing Carlucci's cell phone into his pocket, back at the crime scene.

Inside the restaurant a moment later, they take a seat in a window-facing booth.

Gabe rushes, "So, the step son..."

Melinda gives up what she knows. "Arthur. Everyone called him Artie. Artie Billips. A real low life from what I've heard from some people who have known the family for years. He's in his forties now..."

Gabe leans in. "Really. I guess every family has it's dirty little secrets... So the big question for all the prize-money, and a new car! Where do I find Artie?"

Melinda leans back, shakes her head.

"Nobody is talking on the Billips side. Mind you, I've only had time today to make a few calls. I think he's hiding in plain sight. And I frankly think there are a lot of people who are afraid of him. Nobody I spoke with would agree to go on the record. "

Gabe considers that... "Maybe he changed his name... what kind of stuff was he into?"

Melinda glances about to make sure no one is snooping in on their conversation. "Well, from what I was able to piece together, I gather he's been involved in prostitution, maybe porn... but, it's more than that. Maybe human trafficking... That's what my guts tell me. I think the family knows but nobody is talking."

"Are you going to run with that?"

"Can't. No way. Right now I have no proof. But if you want a motive for the murders... I gather that Artie is next in line for the inheritance. That came from the Billips' family attorney, Chandler Elliott III... He also told me if I ran any story that was damaging to the Billips' family or business interests, his firm would sue me and my station, and make sure I lost both my job and career... How's that for a veiled threat?"

"Not very veiled to me. This Elliott guy has that much power?"

It's obvious to Melinda that Gabe doesn't know Elliott. "More than you know, and not just around here... He's not someone to take lightly."

Gabe not having a clue about who Elliott is, other than the Billips family attorney, and Carlucci's attorney, makes her a little uncomfortable carrying the discussion down this road. Melinda changes the subject. "Gabe, you're not even a cop anymore. Why are you involved? I mean, you were watching Carlucci, but he's dead... So what's it to you at this point?"

Gabe ponders that question for a long moment before responding.

"I actually liked Mrs. Billips. And I do not like to sit back and watch my clients get iced. Frankly, it pisses me off.... and it's bad for business."

With that, Gabe smiles. And so does Melinda, who glances at her watch, gets up in a hurry.

"I have to go. You be careful, Gabe. Nice to see you again. "

"Always! Good to see you again, girl. Give my best to Mike."

Melinda hugs him quickly, then, "I mean it. There's something really sinister. Like I think we've just scratched the surface, you know? So be careful. ...And please don't use my name at all if you speak to Elliott. This isn't an easy time to be job hunting."

As Melinda leaves the restaurant, Gabriel Cash considers her words very seriously. As he plays the tape of the previous 24 hours, it's hard for him to believe that his world had spun out of his control to this degree. He didn't like it. And that only made him more pissed, and more determined. Next stop, the law offices of Chandler Elliott III seemed a good place to visit, if for no other reason than to rattle his tree. On second thought, maybe it would be a good idea to stop by his office and get that little Ruger semi-auto .380 six shot pistol and his ankle holster. Nice back-up to his classic Springfield Armory 1911 .45 semi-automatic that goes with him everywhere.

Not that he was planning to shoot a lawyer... hmmm. Maybe he should be wearing a strand of garlic, too.

Gabe leaves the restaurant thinking that he should have grabbed a sandwich. Instinctively, he glances about the parking lot for his Jeep. Damn. It's still at On Lock Sam. He needs a ride back. He approaches Chambers at the crime scene once more.

"Hey, Lieutenant! I left my car at On Lock Sam! Can you give me a ride back?"

"I'll get you a black and white."

And so, Gabe got the chauffeur treatment, riding in the back of a Stockton PD squad car, back to On Lock Sam. Car still there. Should have left the keys in it.

After picking up his trusted Jeep, Gabe made his way across town back to the office. He called Amanda to ask her to see what she could find out about Chandler Elliott III. Seems that Amanda nearly fell out of her chair laughing at that one.

Incredulously, of course, she replied, after regaining her composure... "Are you serious? He's only like THE heaviest of the heavyweight attorneys in Stockton, everybody knows that... Everybody, except you, that is. Oh that is just too hilarious."

Gabe couldn't help but think, just for a moment, "Maybe I could shoot her, and then fire her." Instead, he reasons with Miss Smart-ass. "Tell you what. How about just getting me some highlights, like cases and clients... and then see what you can find out about the Billips family holdings. All their companies. Whatever is in the public record. I'll be there in about ten minutes."

"I'll be heading for class. I'll print out some basics now, so you won't be a total nerd, and the rest tomorrow?"

"Sure. Thanks. Hey, I got a small plug on a breaking news segment on Carlucci. Did we get any calls?"

Amanda could be heard laughing again. "Oh yeah! There was an older lady who lives off Bristol, said she wanted to hire you to help find her missing dog, ...a Bichon named "Fluffy."

"Did you tell her to call Ace Ventura?"

"Of course not. I took her number and said you'd be glad to call her back when you got it... Hey, I'd better get started on this, if you're wanting something by the time you get here... Ace."

"Very funny."

"I know," And that was that. A quick hang-up. All Gabe could do was smile. He knew that, in ten minutes, she have a more complete dossier prepped and ready than most intelligence agencies could muster. Today, he would need it.

Minutes later, he parked behind his building and quickly climbed the flight of stairs to his office. Just as she had said she be, Amanda was gone, off to one of her law classes. But she left a print-out of both Google and Wikipedia results, and a listing of any corporations connected to the Billips family members. She was good. There is a true gift to knowing where to look and Amanda was the best researcher he'd ever seen. No wonder she'd graduated college with honors. It was exactly he needed. He'd read it while he drove to Elliott's office, located in the Billips Building, downtown, of course. Now to his desk, where he found his small .380 semi-auto 6, loaded the clip, and strapped the ankle holster on.

He knew he was taking a chance, not calling for an appointment; but, Gabe wanted to catch Elliott off guard. Elliott's offices were right across from the courthouse, in the hub of the downtown business district, ten stories up, with a million dollar view. As the tastefully elegant offices of Elliott and his staff of attorneys, Gabe was met by a receptionist, as well as a plain-clothed security guard.

"I'd like to know if Mr. Elliott can see me. Gabe Cash, PI... working on the Billips case.

The receptionist quietly buzzes into the main office and tells Chandler Elliott that a Mr. Cash is asking that he be allowed to see him. She nods at the guard who immediately approaches with an electronic wand. Gabe steps back.

"Standard procedure, Sir. No guns inside Mr. Elliott's office," states the muscle, without emotion, "...Just doing my job, sir. Please spread legs and arms." He wands Gabe and right away finds the 1911. Without arguement, Gabe withdraws the piece and hands it to the plain clothes guard. He looks at the gun and smiles.

"A little old school, isn't it, I mean, for a young guy like you? Me, I like my Sig." The guard opens his black suit coat to reveal a 9mm Sig-Sauer, a German semi auto with a great reputation.

"Guess I'm used to it, that's all." Gabe senses something familiar about his demeanor. "PD or Military?"

"Both. Marines, ten years MP. Baltimore PD ten." He brings the wand down one leg and then over to the other from the floor up, where he finds the .380. He motions to hand it over.

"Why'd you leave?" Gabe kneels down and unstraps the ankle holster and hands both gun and holster over.

"Same reasons you did. Got tired of the bullshit. Besides, this pays better" Gabe is surprised. They've never met before. "How did you know I was a cop?"

The guard smiles. "For a smart PI, you sure ask some dumbass questions... So are you ready to meet Mr. Elliott?" The guard motions to the big double doors. "I'll have your iron out here when you leave."

"Thanks." Gabe enters the expansive and understated office. The inside has the feel of old money, and a very large English partners' desk occupies a prominent spot. A young clerk sits at one side of the desk, legal pad in hand. Behind the desk, facing out the window, stands Chandler Elliott III. Dignified, pinstriped English suit, silver hair, and in total and complete control of his world, as well as the worlds of others. As he views the city skyline, one can't help but assume that Elliott is playing the part of a king, scanning his kingdom. Still not turning around yet...

"Mr. Cash. Welcome. How may I be of assistance?

"Mr. Elliott, thank you for seeing me without an appointment. I just have a few questions about the deaths of Mrs. Billips and her husband Joseph Carlucci."

Chandler Elliott continues to stare out the window. A long moment passes. Elliott glances toward the young law clerk... "Leave us alone for a few minutes, please. We'll pick up where I left off, I'll page you."

The law clerk exits quickly, without a word, closing the door behind him. It's just Cash and Elliott now.

"Questions? This investigation is being handled by the Stockton Police, is it not?

"Yes. It is," replied Gabe.

"Then why are you investigating these cases?"

"Don't you mean "case?" As in a single case?"

"Do I? One was a break-in and robbery attempt gone bad; while, the other was a senseless act of random gang violence. Two distinctly different... and separate cases."

"You've gotta' be kidding me!"

Elliott III slowly turns to face Gabe, "I assure you, Mr. Cash. That is how the police will be regarding the matter... So there really is no case for you to work on, unless you wish to run the risk of being charged with obstruction of justice and interfering with a criminal investigation, convictions in either or both of which could cost you your license."

"Are you threatening me, Mr. Elliott?"

Elliott smiles and expertly diffuses the tension, like a fisherman loosening up the drag on a reel when a big fish takes the bait and tries to run. The fact remains, the fish is still hooked.

"Relax, Mr. Cash. It's more of an observation from over thirty years in the law."

Cash is feeling emboldened, even if it's fleeting. "And what exactly is your area of expertise in the law, Mr. Elliott?"

Elliott smiles again. While he's agreeing to along for the moment, the thought of answering Cash's questions strikes a raw nerve, although he's doing well to conceal his disdain.

"My expertise is in whatever my client needs, whether protecting a family name from unwarranted tarnish, or seeing to it that a client's tax exposure is minimized, helping the client navigate the many facets of international maritime law. Offshore banking. Holding companies. Trusts and estate law. We cast a very wide net here. Our clients come to us for a variety of reasons. And when an entity like the Billips family, with their extensive business interests both here and abroad, experiences tragedy, and then becomes the target of rumors and innuendo that likely stands to be played out in the media... well, I have to step in and stop the damage, before it gains traction that could affect certain sensitive business relationships. I'm sure you understand."

"Tell me about the son, Artie."

Elliott moves to his desk... "By your tax returns, it appears that you cleared just a little less than about fifty thousand last year, after expenses. Correct?"

"How did you...?"

Elliott cuts him off. "Get your tax returns? Please, Mr. Cash, go along for a moment." Elliott pulls an envelope from the desk and slides it over close to Gabe. "Inside the envelope, you will find a check made out to you from our firm. It is rounded off to ten times your net earnings."

"Half a million? Are you serious? For what?"

"To let it go. To walk away and just let it go. The family would like to put all this behind them as soon as possible. Think of this payment as a show of thanks and good will."

"Half a million, just like that..."

"Pretty much. Go on, look at it."

Gabe slow picks up the envelope, opens it and stares at the amount. He is genuinely moved and disturbed at the same time. Elliott continues. "That would change your life, wouldn't it, Mr. Cash?"

After a moment in which Gabe simply continues to stand there looking at the check, he replies: "I'm reminded of the old bible quote... It goes something like "What good is it to gain the world, if you lose your soul?"

Elliott sneers "I never had much use for bible, or religion, for that matter... A crutch for the weak. Wouldn't you agree?"

Gabe does not answer his question directly. "So, how much time do I have to think about this?"

"Not much, Mr. Cash. It is a one time offer. You simply walk away, and forget the Billips name. I could go further and make sure that our firm provides a steady flow of clients to you. You might even consider opening an office in this very building. I believe there in a nice corner suite that just came available on the fifth floor. That would certainly beat the little shit-hole you rent on the Mile."

"I couldn't afford this."

"On the contrary, say yes to my offer and the rent and office expenses will have been paid for the next five years. By that time, you will have made enough to retire and live very well, spending the rest of your days fishing fishing in the delta."

Cash knows he's being bought and every fiber in his being tells him it goes right to his very soul. He puts the envelope down on the desk. He doubts that he'd likely ever get the chance to spend it. Sizing up Elliott as being far more dangerous than he'd expected, Gabe just wants to buy a little time.

"I appreciate the offer, Mr. Elliott. It is most generous. May I give you my decision tomorrow?"

Elliott is growing tired of the game this has become. "Mr. Cash, this is a one time, now or never offer. When you leave, it will be either with or without five hundred thousand dollars. Are we clear on that point?"

Gabe nods. "Then please don't take this as an insult... but the answer is no thanks."

Elliott withdraws the envelope, tears it in half, and drops it in his trash can. "Very well then." He pushes a small button on his desk, and the large, suited security guard, "William," enters and approaches the two men. "Yes, Sir?"

"William, it seems that Mr.Cash has refused our offer. Why not escort him down to the lobby, and please use the service elevator at the fifth floor. No need to draw attention."

"That's okay, Mr. Elliott. I can find my way out" offers Gabe. "I do have a few more questions that I need to ask you..."

Elliott dismisses Gabe, and that's that. "Thank you for coming in, Mr. Cash. Good day. William will show you out."

Elliott watches, with a smirk, as William places a tight grip on Cash's arm, steering him toward the door with a nod. Gabe realizes this may not turn out very good for him. He doesn't like William's big paw on him, but decides not to resist, at least not here. They exit the office into the reception area, as the door closes behind them. Gabe is scanning the immediate area to see if his guns are in view. No. That means William probably has them on his person. "You know, you should've taken the offer." William steers Gabe to the service elevator. The receptionist is gone.

"So, when do I get my sidearms back, or is that another dumb-ass question?" Gabe asks. The answer come swiftly in the form of a quick punch in the solar-plexus that takes the wind right out of Gabe, who slumps over immediately. William catches him. "Funny how things can change in an instant, eh, Mr. Cash?" The elevator door opens and Gabe finds himself being shoved into the elevator hard enough to bounce off the inside wall. He hits the floor hard as William enters and towers over him. The elevator door closes as Williams fires his steel toed service oxford straight into Gabe's ribcage. That hurt. Gabe doesn't have much of a plan now except to survive. He remembers that he has an ink pen in his sport coat pocket, and he quickly grabs it, concealling it from view, as William reaches down to lift Gabe up. "Now you aren't going to give me any trouble, right? 'Cause I hate it when I have to really get rough." Gabe goes along, weakly nodding. "Okay... So why the fifth floor?," Gabe manages to ask.

William smiles and pull Gabe close. "we're doing some renovation work, so the floor is vacant right now. It's sort of dangerous to be snooping around there. See, there's this service elevator. Seems the door motor went out, so it doesn't close, just an open doorway leading to the elevator shaft. The shaft goes down to the basement parking garage two floors below the lobby... So when you slip and fall down that elevator shaft, you'll be falling about seventy feet, asshole." He shoves Gabe hard against the wall of the elevator, dropping Gabe to the floor, just as the elevator stops. "Well here we are."

At the 5th floor, the elevator stops and the door opens. The fifth floor is indeed vacant and the look is skeletal, with steel framing, ducts and conduit exposed. Plastic sheeting everywhere, covering floors. Sheet rock panels are stacked. The only things missing are witnesses. The taped off open elevator shaft is only a few feet away from the elevator where William can be seen reaching down to grab Gabe, and lift him up to drag him out.

Gabe figures it's now or never, as William is dragging him up to his feet with both hands grabbing him by his sport-coat. William laughs as he lifts Gabe's dead weight. "Ever been on that ride at Disneyland called Tower of Terror? It's going to be just like that." Gabe is acting groggy at this point, not helping William. "Shit, this guy is a beast," Gabe is thinking. He notices William straining a little to lift and drag him at the same time. Now!

Gabe Suddenly lunges up with a fast strike that finds its mark, burrying the pen deep into William's cheek, to William's shock. Grabbing at the pen embedded in his face, the big man staggers back. Gabe then sends a side-kick to the outside of the big man's left knee, sending him collapsing down, just as Gabe grabs both sides of the guard's head and snaps it forward to meet an upthrust from his right knee straight into the face, smashing the man's nose and most of his facial bones. All in all, Gabe's counter attack took less than ten seconds.

Gabe looks down at the crumbled heap. One very hard kick into William's ribcage, tit for tat. William can only barely utter a pained groan. Gabe reaches down and drags William back to the same elevator they just exited. With all the strength he can muster, he heaves the big man into the elevator car, slamming him against the far wall. William crumbles into a heap.

Gabe collects his guns, pockets the .380 and holsters the .45. He then opens William's coat and takes his 9 mm Sig, puts it into his other pocket. William is semi-conscious. Gabe stands over him. "What the hell should I do with you? Send you back up to Elliott so you can tell him I got away? I'm sure he'll be real happy with you. Or maybe I drag your ass to the cops and we run a ballistic on your gun. Maybe it matches up with the bullets that killed Joe Carlucci. And maybe we find your prints match up with prints found at Mrs. Billips murder. Whaddaya say, pal? You ready to sing soprano in the prison shower? How long to you think you live when Elliott finds out you talked to the cops?"

Yes, William is semi-conscious. But that does not mean unconscious. Hard to say which is the stronger motivator, either explaining to Elliott that he had allowed Gabe to escape, or Elliott finding out that Gabe dragged him to the police for questioning. Either way, he's toast. Even semi-conscious, with a broken jaw and cheekbone, William regains his wits enough to grab Gabe's leg and pull him off balance quickly. William rises and delivers a hard shot to Gabe's already damaged ribs. They tumble out of the elevator, onto the floor. William, despite his battered face, has decided that failure is not an option. He goes after Gabe with another body shot that doubles him over. Gabe counters with a hard punch to the face, again smashing William's already broken nose, followed by a hard knee to the groin which doubles William over. William sees and grabs a loose three foot piece of steel framing, and swings it at Gabe like a baseball bat. Gabe ducks just in time. As William follows through on his swing, he is slightly off balance and Gabe takes advantage with a hard side-kick into William's ribs that sends the big goon spinning and careening toward that open service shaft. Gabe didn't plan it this way; but, when William regains enough balance to again lunge at him with the steel framing, Gabe knows it is the moment to finish this. Gabe meets William's lunge with an expertly placed sidekick into the man's upper torso, again causing William to stagger back toward the open shaft. Before William could recover, he was slipping backwards into the abyss. There is a stunned look on William's bloodied face, eyes wide open as he realizes he has stepped into nothingness.

There is no scream like in the movies. What's the point. From William's perspective, the light from the open door that he fell from fades as he falls backward in the few seconds that follow. William is fully conscious as he falls down the shaft. Except for that first moment of terror, realizing he'd fallen, the fall itself is oddly peaceful, as if time was standing still. Then, seconds later, IMPACT, as the sound of a fallen 270 pound weight hitting the floor of the service elevator in the basement can be heard up the shaft... all the way past the fifth floor.

Gabe heard the impact below and walks to the door of the open elevator shaft. Looking down, he sees William's lifeless body, a pool of blood expanding from his head like an odd crimson halo. In a sick momentary lapse of good taste, Gabe hears the old Jim Croce lyrics playing in his mind: "Ol' Leroy looked like a jig-saw puzzle with a couple of pieces gone..."

"Goodbye, William. It was nice to meet you." On that note, it was time to leave.

Stepping into the working elevator, he realizes he looks like hell. Instead of risking being seen, he steps out and finds a stairwell. Moments later, he exits to a side street.

Meanwhile, on the tenth floor, Chandler Elliott III is impatient. He glances at his watch. William should have been back by now. He takes out his cell phone and speed-dials.

At the bottom of the service elevator shaft, William's cell phone rings... and rings.

Back in his office, Elliott listens to the ringing phone, and hangs up as he hears the message recording kick in. He puts his phone away and exits his office.

A few moments later, Elliott emerges from the elevator on the fifth floor with a .38 detective special in his hand. There is blood smeared on plastic sheeting and signs of struggle. Most glaring was the caution tape that was taped over the open service elevator door opening was torn away. Elliott leans into the opening and sees the dead body down below. He withdraws, holsters the snub-nose revolver, and makes a hasty cell phone call.

A gruff voice answers. "Yes, sir?"

Elliott is all business. "I need a cleaning crew at my building ASAP. There's been an accident in the service elevator shaft, Sergeant, seems that Mr. Conner mad a fatal misstep. Come in through the garage. I'll buzz you in when you're at the gate. I am going to require a disposal and scrub."

The other voice: "Cash?" Elliott responds, "No. One of mine. Cash is out there and he's a threat. That threat must be neutralized... but only when I say so."

"Roger that."

Both parties hang up simultaneously. Elliott looks down at his battered guard one last time.

"Never underestimate your enemy, William."

Meanwhile, Gabe drives away from the downtown building, ribs aching, and heads back toward his office. What started out as a cheating husband surveillance job has turned into a double murder, and almost a third - his. What the hell was the Billips family involved in?

One thing was certain: Gabe now knows he's a dead man unless he can bring down Chandler Elliott III, and everyone involved. Something that Melinda said. And she was scared. Something about the brother Artie "hiding in plain sight." His wheels are turning. It all started out at the Sea Breeze Apartments on Rosemarie Lane. What the hell was Carlucci doing there? Who was the girl, if there even was one? The apartment manager was a frightened and nervous guy. He was scared, too. Maybe a tweeker, or maybe something else. As Gabe drove north, his thoughts drifted back to William. He remembered that William hadn't screamed when he tumbled down the shaft. Unusual. Guess not everything plays out the way it does on TV. He began to wonder how long it would take for Elliott to discover the body, and what he'd do next. In any case, Gabe realizes that he'll have to be one step ahead, instead of one step behind, from this point forward.

Gabe parks behind his building along the Miracle Mile. He looks at the Jeep Cherokee and thinks maybe it's time to switch vehicles. Maybe later. As he walks, he winces a little with each step, thinking "That bastard busted my ribs." Two, to be exact. Not much one can do besides lay low for a few days and rest. Not an option. Gabe limps up the flight of stairs, holding his side and thinking his next office will have an elevator.

As he nears his office, he hears some movement inside, footsteps on the hardwood floor. Knowing that Amanda is in law class, Gabe silently pulls out his .45, walks away from the door about fifteen feet and pulls back the slide, loading a round, as quietly as the 1911 will allow.

One thing about guns such as a pump shotgun, or a semi-auto pistol. The sound of loading the chamber is unmistakable. Gabe is betting his life that the person in his office didn't hear it, as he slips close again and listens, gun held ready. Footsteps again. He reaches for the door knob, silently turns it. Not locked. Good. With one motion, he swings the door open hard, and steps in with gun aimed high, and comes face to face with a startled Amanda, his assistant, who allows a small yelp, dropping a small stack of papers.

"You could just fire me, you know... You don't have to scare the crap out of me!"

"You're supposed to be in class!" He holsters his gun, grunting in a little pain as he twists his torso.

"I cut. It's okay. I'll make it up later. Something told me that maybe I should really dig into the Billips family holdlings. Are you okay?"

"Yeah. One of Elliott's goons decided to get persuasive with me. Elliott wanted me to take five hundred thousand bucks to walk away..."

"You didn't take it?" Amanda stoops down to pick up her papers.

Gabe shake his head. "I guess people don't resist Elliott's offers very often."

"I'm impressed. You really are an idealist."

As he answers, he takes out the .380 Ruger from his sport coat pocket, still holstered, and straps it back on just above the right ankle. "An idealist with a cracked rib. So what did you find?"

She hands him the file she just picked up. "It's all here. Billips has a lot of real estate holdings under several companies, which are probably shell corporations, and there are a few held by foreign companies, concealed ownership. Lots of apartment buildings, in Stockton, Modesto, Sac, even a few in Oakland

Gabe looks at Amanda, then at the file with focused interest. He opens the file folder and reads quickly. He flips that page. Nothing is jumping out at him on the next page either. He flips to the next page, and glances down. There it is. "Sea Breeze Apartments! This is one of those with a foreign corporation listed? Cayman Islands? Is that right?"

"Yup. That's one of about twenty apartment buildings lumped under one company. Arbil International Group, Limited. That name keeps popping up."

Gabe thinks about that name aloud... "Arbil, Ar-Bil. How much do you want to bet that Arbil International Group is Artie Billips?"

"Okay... And then if you look further, there's Arbil Shipping. Also based in the Caymans?

"No, that one is... wait a minute... Panama! That's it. Oh, their ships, those are Liberian registry."

Gabe leafs through the file. "How the hell do you remember all of this?

Amanda smiles. "I am very smart. It's why you hired me, remember? Do you want me to keep digging?"

Gabe heads for the door. He stops, and takes out William's Sig-Suaer 9 mm. He puts it on the desk. "I'm gonna have Lt. Chambers drop by and pick this up."

"Do you want to tell me anything more?"

"Not really. Be careful. It's loaded. If anyone other than Chambers comes by, use it."

"What?!"

"Just kidding." He carries the file to the door.

"I take it you're going over to the Sea Breeze Apartments?"

Gabe just smiles and exits. He dials Chambers on his way down the steps, still in pain.

Chambers picks up in his office. "Yeah?" Cash? Is that you?"

"No it's the tooth fairy and I'm about to leave you a gift. Drop by my office and pick up a 9 mm Sig Sauer from my assistant Amanda. I uh... removed it from one of Elliott's hired guns. I'd like you to run ballistics and compare it with the slugs that came out of Carlucci. I have a feeling we may have a match."

"So how did you go about removing it from him? Or should I ask?"

"It's a long story. Suffice to say that Elliott is in this thing up to his eyeballs. Whatever is going on with the Billips family businesses, Elliott will do anything to protect."

Chambers thinks for a moment, then, "Cash. Where are you now? I think you may be in real danger. You need to come in."

"I have a few little errands to run. I'll let you know. Just get over to my office and get that Sig analyzed ASAP. "

"Damn it, Cash! Listen..." Chambers hears the disconnect. "Damn it!" He gets up axits his office quickly, grabbing his sport coat as he goes out.

Gabe looks around as he approaches his Jeep. He also looks under the driver's side where a bomb would be placed. All clear. Gabe is thinking that it will genuinely suck for him to have to worry about looking over his shoulder and under his vehicles... as long as Elliott is alive. Time to switch vehicles. He drives up Pacific into that small neighborhood off Bianchi where he has a small 3 bedroom house in an old middle class neighborhood. Less than five minutes from the office, Gabe turns into his driveway and parks off to one side. He opens the automatic garage door to reveal two other vehicles under covers. He pulls off a cover to reveal a dark tinted, all black, Crown Victoria police interceptor - a mean looking V-8 powered vehicle that Gabe bought for about $3,000 and then supercharged, even adding a cold air intake, with dual headers and Magna-flows. This was a four hundred horsepower rocket sled on wheels. Gabe might need it. He pulled the Vic out onto the street, then replaced the Jeep in it's spot inside the garage. The other car under wraps is a light blue '65 T-Bird, his "baby." That one does not go out on missions or cases.

Gabe then enters his house to find "Sgt" Avy waiting with her favorite toy in her teeth. And Beau is on the couch, on his back, wagging his tail. Re-runs of Lassie on the tube. Great dogs, Gabe thinks. No time to play now however. Things to do. The dogs tail behind his every move through the house. Gabe hits the bathroom, splashes some water on his face, realizing how lucky he was that William didn't connect with that steel bar. He notices blood on his shirt - had to be William's. A quick change, an extra clip for the .45 (that now makes 3), a sap in the back pocket, shooting gloves to protect his knuckles. As ready as he'll ever be. When Avy sees the preparation, she starts to pace excitedly thinking this is a canine operation. A few chew bones changes her focus however. A couple of quick pup kisses, and he's out the door and into the "Darth Vader" car. The modified V-8 rumbles as he drives off.

Time to pay a certain apartment manager a visit.

When a "cleaning and disposal" team is requested, the "contractor" understands this is a request for the discreet removal of a body from a premises, drawing no attention from the public who may be on or near the location. The team will scrub the area clean of any trace evidence that can be linked to the victim, or material parties to the crime. Thaty means fingerprints and any bodily fluids from which blood type and DNA can be determined; and, due to adavances in forsensic science, clothing fibers, foreign fibers of any kind, hair, human tissue, a matchbook, cigarette butt, weapons, etc., basically anything that might lead investigators to an identity of either victim, or perpertrators, or both.

Years ago, there was a case in Los Angeles that stumped the cops for weeks. Someone found a severed arm without fingers. A day or so later, out in the San Fernando Valley, a lower leg was found. The cops really didn’t have a clue. A blood-test showed a match on the DNA, and now the police knew they had an unidentified victim, they had the DNA, but big parts of the puzzle were missing. Then, a call came in from a downtown ritzy hotel. It seems that someone had slid a king-sized bed over a huge blood-stain. For the first few days after the bed had been moved the cleaning crew was oblivious… until a smell began to emanate from under the bed. The police, to their surprise, discovered a match on the DNA found with the severed body parts, and the blood-soaked carpet. Now they were getting somewhere. Going back through the register, and the time of check-in, the cops found a hotel clerk who remembered checking in a fellow with a thick Russian accent who seemed a little nervous. A few hours after he checked in, several guys, also with thick accents asked for him at the desk. To make a long story short, it turned out to be a drug deal gone bad, involving the Russian mob. Not long after, the victim was identified, and suspect descriptions were obtained. The point is, this was not a good clean-up. It was sloppy. There was no way the pieces (pardon the pun) wouldn’t fall together, eventually, given the mess that was left behind.

Elliott was far more thorough, and far more discreet. A plain white panel van pulled up to the loading dock of Billips Building. Elliott’s staff had cordoned off the lower basement, as well as the service elevator, so no one would stumble upon the fallen guard’s body. When the “cleaners” entered the service entrance, they pushed in 2 large linen carts. Four men, all clean-cut, and all in blue service uniforms made their way to the lower basement. Pulling out a body bag, and a plastic drop sheet, the cleaners laid down the drop sheet, and placed the body bag at the center. William’s body was picked up by one man holding onto each limb. Without a word, they carried the body to the center of the plastic drop sheet and laid into the body bag, which was then zipped up. They all picked up William’s large body, and placed the body bag into one of the carts. They rolled up the drop sheet and tossed it in, covering the bag. The rest of the team’s time in the building would be spent literally scrubbing and wiping the service elevator clean of the now coagulated blood, and mingled synovial fluid, before moving to the fifth floor elevator landing area to wipe that area clean. Conservation minded campers have a motto for how to leave a campsite when breaking camp: “Leave no trace.” These guys deserved a merit badge for how they left the Billips Building, clean as a whistle, exactly 45 minutes after their arrival.

Elliott would expect to receive a call on his cell phone, in a short time, with a message that the area had been cleaned and debris had been removed. That’s all he needed or wanted to know. He didn’t care that William, his loyal hired gun, was being hauled out like yesterday’s garbage. He didn’t need to know that his body would be disposed of in an obscure part of the Delta, never to be found. William’s final disposal was an unceremonious ending to a warrior’s life, a life that had lost its commitment to honor a long time ago, therefore fitting. "Honor" didn't drive William. He tossed that out the window when he went to work for Elliott.

Now, Elliott could focus on business at hand, and that would include Cash. When the call came, however, the message wasn't exactly as Elliott had anticipated. He clicked his receive key and listened. "The area has been scrubbed, sir. Only one thing... we did not find his piece." Elliott could fill in the blanks without any additional questions. It would be stupid of him to ask if they had searched thoroughly. His response was measured and to the point, as always. "I see. Very well, then. Thank you for that update." No more needed to be said. But, as he tucked his phone into the pocket of his tailored suit, his mind was analyzing the implications of William's weapon being in Cash's possession. So Cash now had a face card to use. Maybe not an ace, but a face card nonetheless. Elliott couldn't help but allow a small smile, realizing that Cash and he would likely soon meet again. He looked out over the city, his city, and whispered "Well done, Mr. Cash."

Gabe had pulled into the back parking lot of the Sea Breeze Apartments and stopped there for a moment. Even in the afternoon, one could see several working girls hanging out by the building and on the nearby sidewalk, all trying to make a few extra bucks “on the day shift.” Most would be out at night as well. Hell of a life, Gabe thought as he watched, his mind drifting to an old song by Rod Seeger, “You watch them come and them go. They got one thing in common. They got that fire down below…” Someone here knows something, that much Gabe is sure of, maybe everyone except him… and he knows exactly where he plans to start shaking that tree.

His car was about as subtle a black and white with flashing lights in the middle of the night. But this was broad daylight. A look at is watch tells him it’s past four already. Damn, the day had slipped away fast. The prostitutes glance toward Gabe’s black police interceptor and make him for a cop immediately. Good. That works for what Gabe is about to do. Gabe checks his .45, and exits the car, moving quickly around to the front of the building. As soon as he starts to move away from his car, a few of the girls started dialing on their cell phones. Yeah, Gabe figured to upset a few folks in the next few minutes. Might as well start now.

At the leasing office, the door was marked “Closed. Will be back in 30 Minutes.” The only problem was the sign was moving from side to side, as if just hung. So, it was no surprise to find the nervous apartment manager backed up against the wall when Gabe busted in the door with a strong kick.

“Goddammit, man! Can’t you see we’re closed?” shouts the manager.

Gabe crosses fast to the manager, pulling his .45, and pinning him against the wall with his forearm. “Now that I have your attention, you and I going to have a little

Q & A. I’m going to ask you a questions and you are going to answer. Understood?”

“I know my rights! I don’t have to tell you shit!”

Gabe jams the gun into the manager’s cheek. “I’ll pretend you said, Sure! Anything I can do to help! Now, who’s your boss, the guy you report to?”

“Screw you, I don’t have to talk to you!” screams Jimmy.

Gabe whacks the manager hard across the bridge of his nose with the barrel of his Springfield 1911.

The manager yelps. “Owwww. You can’t do that!” He struggles, trying to break Gable’s hold. “Lemme go, cop!” Gabe grabs the skinny tweeker tighter, and whacks him again, same spot, sending a slight flow of blood down both sides of the manager’s bruised nose. Gabe cuts this short…

“Listen to me, pal, I need you to get this. I am not a cop. And, you will answer my questions or it’s going to get a lot messier than a bloody nose. I promise you.”

The manager nods nervously, now that he understands Gabe isn’t a cop. Cops have certain rules. But he was with Chambers this morning. Maybe he can learn something too.

Gabe tries a different tack: “Your name. You got one?” Gabe releases his hold a little.

The manager, a skinny guy who looks to be in his fifties, balding, tattoos on both arms, and around his neck, he’s actually a lot tougher than he looks. At this point, if he had a shiv, it’d be 6 inches up Gabe’s midsection. He could wait for an opening, if he got one. In the meantime, he holds the hanky over his bleeding nose.

“Jimmy.”

Gabe smiles. “Jimmy. That’s good. You ever do time, Jimmy?”

“Nothin’ serious.”

“Like…”

“B&E, and a drug rap…but that was a long time ago, man.”

“So you’re a two strike felon. So who’s your boss? I need a name.”

“Artie B.”

“Good. And who runs the prostitution operation?”

“Artie.”

“So what else is Artie into, Jimmy?”

“I’m dead if they know I spoke to you, man!”

“They won’t. Now keep talking.”

Jimmy is back to being nervous now. Gabe reads it, and presses closer. Jimmy backs up against his desk, and leans back. As he braces himself, he fumbles behind his back until he finds a pair of scissors. Gabe is looking straight into Jimmy’s eyes…

“Now, Jimmy. Artie’s into more than prostitution. Come on.”

“Okay! He does some porn movies with the girls. Big on the internet, you know?”

“More.”

“Look, man. There are more powerful dudes above Artie B. I don’t need no heat, you dig, man?”

“Like who?”

“I don’t know names. I only saw them once. They all had a meet here.”

“When?”

“A few weeks ago.”

“Where?”

“In that same apartment, 2-C, the one you went in today.”

“So who was in the meeting, Jimmy?”

“Okay. There was Artie B, then this tall grey haired guy. I never saw him before.”

Gabe is thinking it was probably Elliott.

“We’re getting somewhere now. So tell me about Carlucci.”

“I already told you everything when you were here with Chambers.”

Gabe makes a note. Chambers never identified himself. “He didn’t mention his name. How did you know that his name was Chambers?” On that note, Jimmy swings up hard with the scissors, going for Gabe’s solar plexus, and if he was lucky, his heart…right up his middle, just like he was thinking. “Screw you, bitch!” Jimmy shouts, as he thrusts up the scissors hard. Gabe reacts enough to deflect the blow; but, Jimmy still catches Gabe in his ribs, in the same area where William had hit him. Gabe winces, lets go of Jimmy and staggers back a little, scissors imbedded in his side, luckily outside his ribcage. An inch inside would’ve meant a punctured lung.

Jimmy grabs for his desk drawer, pulling out a .38 Colt Detective Special, turns on Gabe, bringing the gun up to fire. Gabe, though shocked by the stab wound, still has enough awareness to see Jimmy. He shoots Jimmy in his right side before he can squeeze off a shot. He was going for what he’d been trained for – a kill shot; but, he was unsteady. The impact of the .45 hollow-point, smashing through Jimmy's rib, spins his around and drops him hard. Gabe pulls out the scissors, holds his bleeding side with his left hand while he continues to hold his .45 on Jimmy, who is moaning on the floor.

Jimmy gripping his wound, "You shot me, asshole!” Gabe leans over to pick up y.38 Special.

“You stabbed me, asshole, and you would’ve shot me. Now I can let you bleed out, or I can get you to a hospital, so tell me what I want to know. Now, tell me about Carlucci.”

“Carlucci? You don’t know, do you?

“Carlucci. Artie. They’re the same!”

“What?!” Gabe’s mind is spinning now. This is turning into one twisted story. Mrs. Billips was married to the elder Mr. Billips. His son Artie was into all kinds of illegal affairs. Old man Billips dies, and not long after Joe Carlucci sweeps Stacy Billips off her feet. So now that Artie/Carlucci has hit mits into the Billips legitimate fortune again, he wants to flex his financial muscle, but for some reason he has to answer to Chandler Elliott III. Could Stacie have found out anything that could have made her a target? But she was suspicious of something… It’s coming together. The question now would he live long enough to see it through. At this rate, doubtful.

“Did you hear me? I said Artie B is Joe Carlucci, now get me to a hospital.”

“You were going to kill me, Jimmy.”

“Aw man…”

“One last thing, Jimmy. There was this lady in 2-C. A name.”

“God damn you.”

Gabe grinds his heel into Jimmy’s wound, causing Jimmy to shout in pain.

“Traci… Traci Cornell... no wait... Cromwell. That's it. Cromwell. Some rich bitch. Come on man! I’m bleeding here!”

“I feel your pain, Jimmy... Who is she? What role does she play?”

“She hangs with Artie or Carlucci, whatever you want to call him. That’s all I know, man.”

Did you know what happened to Artie B today?”

“What happened?”

“You mean to tell me you didn’t know that Carlucci was knocked off while he sat at a traffic light?”

This is the first time Jimmy is hearing it. “Holy shit, man.”

“Yeah. It was a hit. Now who do you think might have wanted to off Artie B?”

“Artie was a bad dude, man. Coulda’ been lots of people.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet. You ever see anyone else hanging around Artie and this older guy?”

“Come on, man!”

Gabe jabs his heel into the bullet wound. Again, Jimmy howls, and then sings. “Chambers, the cop who was here today! I thought you and him…”

“Are you sure? Are you sure it was Chambers?”

“Yeah, man! I swear.”

Gabe grabs the phone off the desk and drops it on Jimmy’s chest. “What the hell was that for?” screams Jimmy.

Gabe steps over him. “That’s so you can call for an ambulance. And don’t mention my name.” Gabe exits the office and quickly makes it to his car, while a few hookers watch.

As he drives off, his thought go to Amanda, who is alone and expecting Chambers to drop by to pick up a certain Sig Sauer that may lead back to at least Elliott. He dials his office. No answer, and then the answering machine kicks in. “Damn it!” It’ll take him about 5 minutes to get there. He speeds off toward his office. He calls Amanda’s cell phone and it goes straight to voice-mail, “Hi, you’ve reached Amanda’s cell phone…” He hangs up and floors the Interceptor.

Not as many hookers outside as there were before. The few that are outside are eyeballing Gabe as he drives off.

The word "acceleration" is defined as a change in velocity. Suddenly, within the span of about an hour, Gabe found that, whether he liked it or not, the action surrounding him, and the evident criminal conspiracy he'd found himself neck-deep in, was definitely accelerating. He was begining to realize there wasn't much of a chance to avoid another violent confrontation with Elliott, and now, if Jimmy was telling the truth, he had Chambers to contained with as well. But right now, in this moment, his priorities were all focused on Amanda and her safety.

Gabe darts in and out of traffic, down Pacific Avenue and past the university. He's only a few minutes away from his office. If Chambers had already gotten there, Amanda was certainly in harm's way. Why hadn't he figured Chambers as being part of the conspiracy? It wasn't like Gabe not to see a pattern, even if obscure. If the Billips family was heavily invested in the world's oldest profession, at multiple locations such as the Sea Breeze Apartments, it made sense that there has to be some level of police "assistance," and the higher the level, the better. Chambers was a Lieutenant, with a solid track record. His precinct covered that area. It made sense to a degree; but, was he one of the kingpins as Jimmy had implied, or was he just a cop with a "sweet tooth"? Was the extent of his involvement to deflect attention and scrutiny from the operation, in exchange for being able to sample the candy store anytime he wanted? Or was he in it all the way with Elliott? Gabe knew he'd find out soon. If Jimmy had indeed seen Elliott, Artie, and Chambers together, gabe knew that fell ito the category of "if it looks like a duck, and walks like a duck..."

The fact that Carlucci was really Arthur "Artie" Billips, the long-lost black sheep of the Billips family opened the door to all sorts of Shakesspearean plots and subplots. Was old man Billips' death by natural causes? The Billips family had owned a lot of downtown Stockton commercial property. They were among the Valley's biggest power brokers. So did Artie launch the family businesses into prostitution, or as it his father? What else were they all involved in? Gabe figured if murder was part of their repertoire, pretty much anything else could be also.

By the time he pulls into his parking lot behind his building, his white knuckle driving had produced a fair amount of perspiration.He had never asked Amanda to do anything that could endanger her, nor would he.She was a good kid, Gabe thought, and quite a lady.If Chambers even thought the Sig Sauer could be the murder weapon that was used on Artie/Carlucci, Amanda would be in danger.Her car was there.No sign of Chambers.

Gabe, taking no chances, draws his .45 and races inside, upstairs to his office.The door is wide open, as Gabe rushes inside, gun drawn.No sign of Amanda, and nothing out of place.Looking around quickly, he also does not see the Sig Sauer semi-auto either.

“Damn it.” Gabe finds the words just tumbling out.He moves to the windows that face PacificAvenue’s “Miracle Mile,” and scans the street below.Chambers’ car isn’t parked down there either.Where the hell was Amanda?

“Hey you,” Amanda’s voice calls out.Gabe didn’t notice Amanda entering the office.He spins around suddenly, gun in hand.

“Whoa! Will you stop doing that? Jeeze, are you okay?"

“Where were you?I tried calling.I didn’t get an answer.Has Chambers come by?”

“Oh crap.I hadn’t called him yet.I’m sorry.”She crosses to her desk and unlocks it.Carefully, she takes a pencil and lifts it with the pencil stuck into the barrel.She lays the Sig down on the desk.“I was about to, but Mort next door asked me to help him with a letter, so I’ve been over there the past twenty…”

“Why didn’t you answer your phone?”

“My battery died.Are you alright?”

“Yeah.No.Maybe.”

“Pick one, boss.It makes my life easier.”

“Chambers.He’s dirty.How dirty, I don’t know yet.I have to figure that he knows that I know.And there’s something else.I found out that Artie Billips was really Joe Carlucci, and vice-versa.”

Amanda sits at her desk, ever the analytical mind, even if wrapped in a tight skirt.

“Well that explains about as much as it confuses.Oh, and I wiped the gun.”

“You did what?”

“Wiped, as in with a cloth towel.Remember I’m taking Evidence this term.It was obvious that your prints were all over it when you handed it to me.I figured if it was a murder weapon, you didn’t need that complication, right?”

Gabe holsters the 1911, and lets out a long sigh of relief.“So you hadn’t called Chambers yet?

“I was about to…”

Gabe paces the floor, thinking.“Okay.Good.Ah, okay.Amanda, this is about to get really dicey.Forget about Chambers.I’ll handle it.You should leave now.I want you away from here.”

“I’ll take my lap-top over to Starbucks.”

“Okay…I want you to research a lady named Traci Cromwell. She's somebody of interest."

Amanda gathers her things. "Oh another thing. The landlord tured off your water. She said you needed to pay the rent."

"Uggh." As if Gabe had time to think about that now. "Can you grab the checkbook and drop one off? There's enough to cover... But go on. Get outa' here."

Amanda grabs her stuff and heads for the door. "You know, this is a little scary now."

Gabe walks her to the door. "I'll figure it out. But don't come back up here until you here from me. I'll be fine. Go." She exits hurredly. Gabe closes the door, paces back to his desk and sits.

He wouldn't be waiting long.

Gabe looked down at the Sig-Sauer 9 mm semi-auto in front of him.Hell of a quality firearm, he thought.Gabe wondered how long it would take for Elliott to send another “persuader.”And then he thought it might have been damned lucky that his gal Friday had flaked on his request to contact Chambers.And if the Sig on the desk in front of him had indeed been the murder weapon that iced Artie, aka Joe Carlucci, then that murder could be tied to Elliott… or could it?No.For Elliott to go down for murder, you’d have to find him standing over a body with a smoking gun in his hand; and, even then you’d have to give the guy better than even odds to beat it.Elliott would not go down easy.But he would go down, that much Gabe knew as sure as he was breathing.He also knew if Elliott had a clue regarding his resolve, he would be a lethal enemy.

Then, he thought about Stacy Billips, what a lovely lady she had been.Did she know that Carlucci, the guy she was crazy about, was really her step-son? And if she did know, what kind of sick Pandora’s Box would that be?

Gabe was feeling like a blind man, alone on a high wire, without a safety net.It didn’t feel good.So why not continue to turn up the heat?Gabe pulls out his mobile phone and dials a familiar number.

And to think he could be looking for some rich lady’s Shitzu for a quick grand…

Chambers took the call in his office, but closed the door to make sure no one would be eavesdropping.“Cash!Where are you?”He listens to Gabe for a moment.“Stay put.I’ll be right there.We have to talk!”

Gabe hung up and checked his watch.It was nearing 5 PM, over sixteen hours since he drove up to the Billips home and found the murder scene.In that sixteen hours, Gabe’s life had radically and forever changed.He knew that when Chambers walked through his door, it was going to take a turn for the worse or for the better.Nothing in between.What the hell, Gabe thought, the neutral zone was for pussies anyway.In a game of life and death, you’re either all in or you’re out.Gabe was pushing all of his chips into the center of the table.

It took nine minutes and thirty nine seconds for Chambers to drive his unmarked unit over to Gabe’s office.

Inside the office, as Gabe heard heavy footsteps coming up the stairs, approaching.Those old wooden steps were better than a motion sensor.They creaked with every step, nomatter if the “visitor” was wearing lug boots or Connies.Anyone coming up the steps was announced in advance of arrival. Had Gabe heard multiple steps, instead of one, he would have had plenty of time to prepare for a firefight or an escape out his second story window.It all depended on how many sets of footsteps he could discern.The heavy stomp told Gabe it was Nate Chambers.Still, he pulled out his Springfield and flicked off the safety.He knew he had one in the chamber already.Hopefully, he would not have to use it.

There was no knock.Nate Chambers entered with purpose, and shut the door behind him.

“Do you have any idea of the mountain of shit you have stirred up?”

“Have I pissed off a few people?”

“A few?You could say that.Where the hell do you figure you can rough up a private citizen and squeeze him like that!You had to figure he’d lawyer up!”

“And his lawyer is Elliott, right?”

“His firm, yes.”

“Big surprise.”

“Listen, Cash.Do you have any idea how long I have been trying to get inside Elliott’s operations?”

“You?You’re investigating Elliott?”

“For two years now.And that’s between you and me, got it?”

“How deep have you gotten?”

“In the past six months, I’ve been part of Elliott’s inner circle.Trouble is, you’re stirring the shit and all it’s doing is making everything stink more.Let me be very clear here.You do not want Elliott for an enemy, Cash.He’s connected to a lot more than brothels in Stockton.He’s smart.Damned smart.Runs everything out of small cells.You think you’re getting somewhere and the trails go cold.” Chambers sees the Springfield and the Sig on the desk.“What were you expecting – the shootout at the O.K. Corral?”

“Gotta’ be ready for anything Lieutenant.”Gabe figures he might as well toss out a teaser…“After all, “tweaker Jimmy” fingered you to be part of Elliott’s operation.He said he’d seen you there before, at the apartments.”

“In that case, I’m glad you slapped him around.But, I have to tell you, Cash, if you keep pissing off Elliott, I may not be able to protect you.”

Gabe slips his .45 back into his belt holster.The Sig Sauer is still on the desk.He looks up with surprise.“Protect me?Where were you when that son of a bitch tried to have me taken out today!?”

“If you’re still breathing, it seems to me you came out okay.”

“I got lucky.”

“I agree. Now, Cash.Why do you think he did that?”

“I went to see him.He offered me a cool five hundred grand to walk away with a case of amnesia.”

Chambers leans over the desk, and Gabe.“And you didn’t take it, did you, because you’re such a self-righteous, honorable man, right?”

“To be honest with you… If I took it, I didn’t think I’d be around long enough to spend it.I think he’d have done the same thing, regardless.”

“Maybe.Maybe not… But now he knows you can’t be bought.”

“I never said I couldn’t be bought,” Gabe countered. "Just not by him."

“So you've set subjective standards to your corruption. I’ll remember that…" Chambers points to the Sig Sauer. "So what’s with the Sig? I thought you liked American.”

Gabe slides it over.“Evidence… maybe.I thought, since it’s a 9 mil, you might want to run a ballistic check to see if the bullets match up with the ones you pulled out of Artie’s skull.”

“Artie?How the hell…?”

“Jimmy told me.Carlucci was Artie Billips. And you didn't tell me.”

"That's right. I'm neck deep in an investigation, and you stand to blow it up. So, no, I didn't tell you." Chambers paces in front of Gabe’s desk.“Does Elliott know that you know about Artie?”

“I don’t think so.Not unless Jimmy told him."

“Well if he tells Elliott he told you anything, he'll be swimming in the delta with cinder blocks for a life jacket. How did you get this?”Chambers, referring to the Sig, has a look of concern.

“I took it from Elliott’s goon…Big guy he called William. You know him?”

“Billy Ortiz, Elliott’s head of security? You just... took his gun?

"I guess you could say that... I think Elliott is gonna’ be putting a help wanted ad on Craigslist.”

Chambers scratches his head, rubs his neck.“Holy Mother of Jesus, Cash. What? Do you enjoy kicking hornet nests?

“Hey.I said no to Elliott’s offer, and next thing I know this guy is beating the shit out of me, and dragging toward an empty elevator shaft.”

“Where did this happen?”

"In the Billips Building, Elliott’s office.”

“How’d you get away? And, do I even want to know?”

“Let’s just say he slipped and fell, about six stories down the service elevator shaft.”

“Damn.Maybe it’ll work in your favor, Cash.Elliott’s going to realize you’re a tough SOB.” “So what?He sends three or four instead of one next time?”

"Cash, despite what you may think, I genuinely like you.Right now, I’m closer to figuring out Elliott’s operations than ever before.He trusts me.I’ll do my best to get him to leave you alone; but, you have to lay low.You get anything, you give it to me.Got it?"

Gabe sits quietly now, absorbing Chambers’ words, studying his nervous body language.

“Who killed Stacy Billips, chief?Something tells me it wasn’t Artie, aka our pal Joe Carlucci.”

“Leave it alone, Gabriel.For your own good, leave it alone.”

Now, Gabe rises and meets up with Chambers in front of the desk.“And Jimmy said the lady who Artie was with in apartment 2-C has a name… Traci Cromwell… He said you knew her, and saw her with Artie, you, and Elliott there.”

“I’m telling you to leave it alone, Cash.Lay low and leave it alone.There’s a lot more to this than meets the eye.”

“There usually is, Lieutenant.Is that all you wanted to tell me?”

“Remember what I said.The more you stir this, the more it stinks.I’ll do what I can to have Elliott leave you alone… But, if he thinks you’re a threat, you’re on your own.”

“I’m all in, Lieutenant.”

“That what I was afraid of.I’ll run a check on the Sig and let you know what I find.You need to keep a very low profile right now.Trust me, Cash.Take my advice.”

Gabe leads Chambers to his door and holds it open.“Thanks for coming over, Nate.”

“Just remember what I said.”

With that, Lieutenant Nate Chambers leaves.Now alone in the office, Gabe considers all that just went down.He walks over to the small bathroom with the intention of splashing water on his face, only to realize the water is still off.That means the toilet won’t flush either.

It’s just been that kind of day, so far, Gabe realizes, staring at the sink.The optimist in him tells him it has to get better.Maybe a cup of Pikes down at Starbucks will give him a needed boost.That, and maybe go take the mutts for a walk.

The Starbucks on the north end of the Miracle Mile perhaps wasn’t as trendy and collegiate as the old Empire Theatre coffee house a few blocks away, but it’s where the neighborhood eclectics and eccentrics gather and this neighborhood is loaded with both.Very much like the customer makeup in the Haight-Ashbury minus the drugged out casualties of the 1960’s that still prevails there.

Gabe needed some air, and figured the walk would do him good.Not once did he get that feeling that he was being followed and observed, which meant that Elliott’s people were pros.A parked car across the street from his building on Pacific with only a single observer, dressed casually and parked in a space by a small book shop.Nothing out of the ordinary.No one notices binoculars raise up and follow Gabe up the block.The surveillance car, a non-descript late model Chevy, pulls out and swings a u-turn to get a little closer to Gabe and the Miracle Mile Starbucks.

Gabe enters the Starbucks to see Amanda at a far back table with her lap-top.She looks up for a moment, spots him and waves.Gabe orders his usual, a “regular Pike’s.”It throws the newbies who are trained to call a cup of Joe silly names like “grande,” “tall,” and “vente.”What the hell ever happened to “small, medium, and large?”Back east, a guy goes into a diner and orders a cup of coffee, and guess what they bring him?A cup of coffee.Could it be that a “grande” fetches two bills, while a cup of coffee is still a buck?This goes through Gabe’s mind way too often.The girls at this Starbucks know his routine and humor him.His regular Pike’s is a “tall” Pike’s Place blend.After jazzing it, he joins Amanda.

“Wow.Do you owe me!” There was that adorable smugness, again.

“What did you find out?”

“Traci Cromwell.She’s big on the Stockton social scene, and very beautiful.Here’s a photo taken last year at a benefit something or other she hosted.”

Amanda manipulates the screen image as Gabe sips his coffee.When she spins the laptop back around, the image fills the screen.Traci Cromwell, flanked by none other than Chandler Elliott III, and a few other Stockton “power elite.”

“That’s her in the middle?She’s tall.Like a model.And lookie here.Mr. Chandler Elliott III right next to her."

“The others include a State Senator and his wife, and the former Chief of Police.”

“Wow… So she has connections, too.So is that what you found?”

“Yes.And I got you on the guest list for her next benefit party… tomorrow night.”

Gabe is blown away by Amanda “How did you…”

Amanda leans back, smiles and points to the wall behind her.There, on the wall is the usual Starbucks community bulletin board, and on the board is a poster for the annual Children’s Hospital Bash.Gabe can’t believe it.The only thing all day he’s had a reason to smile about.Amanda smugly announces, “It’s business casual, but some will dress to impress, and I got you two tickets… on your credit card. A hundred bucks. And feel free to thank me with a raise.”

“You’re good, Amanda.”

“I am better than good, and you know it. And besides, I’ve never been to one of these.”

“You?”

“Yes. I’m your date.You have a problem with that?”Amanda closes her laptop, and waits for an answer. Gabe can only laugh and go along.

”No. No problem at all. Maybe you can keep me out of trouble.”

“As always.” Amanda slips her laptop into its case and she stands to leave. “Okay, I have to get to class. I’ll change at the office and you can pick me up at seven. And don’t be late.”

“How about this. You change at the office and meet me at my house. Before seven.”

"And you'll be ready?" Damn, he's thinking. She knows him too well.

"I promise." Gabe holds up his right hand, as she walks away. “Hey, kid!”

Amanda stops at the door and turns back.

“I do owe you. Thanks. See you tomorrow.”

Amanda smiles, knowing that Gabe sincerely appreciates her efforts. She could work in a drab attorney’s office for a few more dollars, but the way she sees it, the work she’s doing for Gabe is similar enough to actually apply to her law studies, and, at least this time, there’s just enough danger to be a bonus. At least, she thinks of it as a bonus thus far. Gabe watches her leave, smiling and his eyes pan back up to the charity benefit poster. There will be a lot of influence present at that party, and it’ll be peddled with deft expertise.How it all ties in with Stacy Billips’ and Artie’s murder, the Billips family “business interests,” and Elliot will remain to be seen. One thing is clear to Gabe: Just showing is bound to rattle some cages.

The address is on Bristol, one of the big estates further down the street.After he savors his well deserved break, sipping his favorite cup of coffee, Gabe figures he’ll drive down Bristol and get a look at where he’ll be going tomorrow. It’s been a hell of a day. Maybe Chambers was right. Just lay low for a while. Sure, why not.

The guy who’s tailing Gabe isn’t going to have anything to report tonight. That would not mean Jack-shit to Chandler Elliott III, however, especially since William did not have his gun on or near him when the cleaning crew “scrubbed the scene” and disposed of the body. Elliott, from this point forward, will be following every move Cash makes.

Gabe, sitting alone at the Miracle Mile Starbucks, wonders how much time he has before Elliott makes his move. There isn't any doubt in Gabe's mind that Elliott will ultimately will make that move. While Gabe enjoys the moment, listening to a soft jazz sax from the latest CD on sale, sipping his coffee. But, all the while, he knows that the only way for him to stay alive will be to take Elliott down, on his terms. As he sips down the last of his Pike's Place Blend, he knows that Elliott is likely thinking the same thing about him.

Gabe drove back to his house to be greeted by Sgt. Avy and Beau at the door. There was always something comforting in the way the Shepherds accepted their master without fail, without puking about how hard their day was, without resenting the fact they’d been left alone for a time. The pups, Gabe knew, could always amuse themselves. There was always a bird landing in the yard that they could chase.Gabe once observed, with amusement, a particularly aggressive Blue Jay making its kamikaze runs at each dog, driving each literally nuts.Funny thing was… the pups loved it.It was almost as if the three animals, all predators to some degree, and certainly more so the Shepherds, had made a game of it. No, he never had to worry about if the pups could amuse themselves.

And, of course, the highlight of their day would be if some strung out junkie decided the house was easy pickings and launched himself over the fence before he realized that Beau and Sgt. Avy were definitely on duty, even if they were snoozing.That would all change the moment his perp’s feet touched the ground.

It had happened once before, not long after Gabe had moved in. A ridiculously stupid perp decided to hop Gabe’s back fence, while Gabe was catching a rare early evening nap prior to a night surveillance detail. With his cars in the garage, and the lights down, the home appeared empty. After all, it was Stockton, the 2^nd most dangerous city in California. Every type of crime was on the rise. On that particular evening, both sentries had joined their master in the living room, sacked out on the floor as Gabe claimed the distressed leather sofa. And the moment, the exact moment the perp’s feet hit the ground, four ears straightened. As the perp snuck around to the sliding glass door, which he had seen to be opened by about a foot or so. Easy, he was thinking…until he came face to face with Sgt. Avy and Beau. The perp froze in his tracks, as he stared at the two German Shepherds, and for a moment in time, the pups stared back. Then came that low growl from Sgt. Avy, and then he saw both tails wag. In his drugged out state, the perp didn’t realize that he was about to become their new tuggie-toy. A moment later, the pups each had him in their grips. Had Gabe not been there, it might have gotten very ugly, and messy, very quickly. The commotion awakened Gabe in time to call off the attack before the pups got carried away.

The perp was grateful to have Gabe place cable-tie “cuffs” on him and keep the pups away. Avy and Beau were disappointed they’d lost their new play toy. But at least they did give him a second to try to run away.

Today, the pups had no such entertainment. But as soon as they saw Gabe reach into the nearby closet and grab their leashes, and walking collars, they knew what was coming: A walk through the neighborhood, or along the Stanislaus River, or both.

They danced in circles as Gabe kicked off his shoes, and put on a well-worn pair of Docksiders. A moment later, Gabe and the dogs were walking toward the end of their street where the levy trail waited.Moments like these were therapeutic for Gabe, especially today.Just to get away for a few moments, to walk along the river, gave him a mental rest he needed badly.

Once on the paved trail, off came the leashes, and the dogs went running, down the levy toward the water and bounding back, watching their master in the event that he might pick up an old stick to toss. Gabe thoroughly enjoyed his furry comrades. They never tired of him, nor he of them; and, that was more than he could say for most people.

As he watched the happy dogs chase each other along the river, he wondered about Elliott. Would he just let him walk away after taking out Ortiz? Well, if he took out Mrs. Billips, and that seemed likely, and then arranged for the hit on Artie, which also seemed likely, it was doubtful. So it wasn’t a matter of “if,” but “when” Elliott would make his move.

Gabe looked around. Walking on the levee trail, Gabe realized that he was a clear target from every direction. If today was the day, then this was the perfect spot. On the other hand, the fact that Elliott had to deal with removing his goon from the bottom of the service elevator shaft probably threw him off balance for a few hours. Elliott, he was sure, would definitely make a move, unless Gabe made one first.

There was no doubt in Gabe’s mind that Elliott was a lethal adversary, especially now. He figured he’d better enjoy the momentary respite. Avy and Beau were having a great time. Why shouldn’t he? He found a large stick and threw it as far as he could. Both dogs ran as hard as they could, reaching the stick almost in unison and tugging all the way back. This continued down one side of the river, and back again on the side that fronts the university’s main campus.All the while, they were followed by a scope, positioned in a repair van parked at the Pacific Avenue bridge levee access road. The orders from Elliott were to simply observe and report – and get his routine down.

By the time they returned home, the canines were pleasantly exhausted – a satisfactory pay-off for watching the homestead all day. While the dogs relaxed by their water bowls, Gabe popped the top on a beer and sat down on the back patio to watch the sun fade. Gabe could sense that the enemy was planning his next move.

Across town, being driven home in his town car, Elliott was contemplative. He was not in a hurry to make any move against Gabe, not just yet. He’d figure that Gabe would continue to press the investigation, and dig deeper. So he’d have to be stopped, sooner than later. One thing for certain, he would not underestimate Gabe again. Enough of Gabe Cash for today, Elliott thought. He was being watched. That would be enough, for now.

Gabe made a glance of his fridge and either nothing, or too much effort. He smirked as he thought, “If only I could get Amanda to cook for me…What am I thinking? She’d probably poison me.” No, this was a night for take-out. Besides, it would give him a chance to see how thorough, or paranoid, Elliott was. Sure enough, there was the repair van parked a half block up the street.“What the hell,” Gabe thought, “Why not have some fun?” He hopped into his jeep; but, he then stopped and got out just as fast. He popped the hood, looked inside. Then, under the vehicle. Nothing. Not tonight. Gabe gets back into the jeep and pulls out into the street. He can’t resist what comes next as he pulls up right beside the repair van. Figures – darkened windows. He lowers his window and motions for those inside to do the same. A moment passes, and slowly the van’s side window lowers. No one is visible inside. That’s fine by Gabe. He figures a team of two.

“Hey guys! I’m heading over to the Thai Garden. Their pad Thai noodles are the best! You want me to order you some? It’s gonna’ be a long night. Whaddaya say?”

From inside the van, a heavy male voice responded a moment later: “Sure, thanks.”

“I didn’t say it was my treat. I said I’ll order you some. Gimme’ ten bucks. I’ll even get you two forks.”

A few seconds pass and a ten-spot is being handed out the window. Gabe takes it.

“Don’t worry. I won’t tell your boss….Hey, you know you don’t have to follow me - I’ll be back in ten, maybe fifteen minutes.”

From inside the van, the same voice replies: “No can do, boss.You know the drill.”

“Okay then. Follow me.”

Gabe heads toward Pacific Avenue, and the van pulls out behind him. Since Gabe made them, they’re not trying to hang back anymore. At least they seemed like stand-up guys, whoever they were. Would they be the same guys who Elliott would eventually give the order to eliminate him? Nah. A hitter would work solo.

Gabe made good time to the restaurant. The Thai Garden was right across from the Sav-Mart, and Gabe had called in ahead, so it was ready when he got there. Gabe paid the tab for both, each order in separate bags. After being handed the change, Gabe held up both bags and asked “Which one is the extra hot one?” The guys at the counter smiles and points to the one in his left hand.“ You ask to make very hot! Maybe too hot” the front counter guy says. Gabe merely smiles and bows in gratitude, and exits.

Gabe handed that bag to Elliott's surveillance team in the parked van, along with some change. And proceeded back to his place with the tail vehicle closely behind.

Back inside his home, Gabe fed his canines, turned on ESPN again and sat down with his noodles, chopsticks, and a beer. As flavorful as always, Gabe thought, as he enjoyed his take-out dinner. With just enough kick, the tastes of freshly chopped basil and mint mingled with a hint of Thai chili, and a delicate sauce over the rich tasting noodles with melt-in-your mouth chicken pieces with select vegetables, Gabe savored every bite. Meanwhile, a hundred yards down the street, the guys in the surveillance van were tasting something altogether different. It is amazing what the addition of a dozen diced up Thai chili peppers can do to any dish. A passer-by walking his dog was startled to hear “SON OF A BITCH!” loudly escape the cab of the repair van.

The next day, Gabe decided to lay low and not kick any wasp nests, if that was even possible. He was going to focus his energies on the charity event at Traci Cromwell’s home.

His morning coffee was spent glancing at the Stockton Record, and scarfing down a few donuts, a breakfast of champions. No need to try to sleep in, the pups made sure of that. When a few hundred pounds of fangs and fur pounce on you at 0600, it's time to get up, like it or not. So what did today's headlines reveal? SHOOTING AT BURGER JOINT LEAVES 2 DEAD. The photo reveals a grandfather crouching by the covered body of his grandson, a reputed gang member, while a group of cops stand nearby. The reporter interviewed a family member at the scene who said her cousin just fell in the wrong crowd. Another person interviewed from the neighborhood spoke of gunfire and police sirens all night long. The gang wars have been raging for nearly six months and the death toll was rivaling the NY mob wars decades earlier. But the difference was the NY mob versus street gangs. One involved high profile hits that made the evening news. This was just a street gang grudge shooting that killed a street gang member in Stockton, and a bystander. Another killing, another day. Turn the page. Big Five has a sale. A Mosberg 12 gauge pump for only $199 - now that's a deal. Great home defender, Gabe thought. Must be selling like hotcakes.

After being thoroughly uplifted by the morning news, Gabe drove to the office. It was a Jeep day today, and that reminded Gabe that he had to pay the registration this month. Damn. You had to love living in California. Since the state was broke, fees on everything had increased, even doubled in some cases. The surveillance detail was still on the street as he passed by.

During the morning hours, he had time to go over the books and realize that his money situation sucked. In fact, it sucked so badly that he might have to give up his office if things didn’t turn around. Amanda was at her early law classes today, so he was alone in the office, alone to think. He couldn’t help but think about the five hundred thousand dollar offer he had refused.Wouldn’t that have solved everything? No, not really. He’d be letting a killer walk. It just wasn’t in his nature to turn his back on something like that. Besides, he really liked Mrs. Billips.

After thinking about every angle on why taking or not taking the money was the right thing, he again settled on the fact that he just wouldn’t be able to live with himself. And again, he figured that Elliott wasn’t the type to leave loose ends of any kind, so what good was the money if he was dead in a few weeks or months? So that was that. And he was okay with it. What the hell, he had to be. Like it or not, it was the way it was.

Sort of like the inflated real estate values in the area a few years before.In an instant, good, decent, hard-working people lost 50, 60, even 70+ % of their home values, and all of their “equity,” if they were financed at all.All that equity just vanished overnight, as if it was never real in the first place.Well, it wasn’t. Even Gabe lost a home when it went upside down to the point it just made no sense anymore. All that equity was like a vapor. Same with Elliott’s money offer - Just vapor in the Delta breeze.

Gabe nervously paces. It’s the waiting that’s driving him crazy right now. Not if. When. It keeps going through his mind. Back to the immediate. The bills.

He had that small advance from Mrs. Billips; and, that was paid out quickly. Where were the usual calls? At least a few every day: The cheating spouse, the embezzling executive (those were fun actually), the insurance scammers, missing persons… where were they? Not even a process service. Nothing in the past few days? Come on, the world didn’t suddenly decide to fly right in the past 48 hours. But, then again, it’s not like he hadn’t been pre-occupied just a bit.

Gabe stops… Wait a minute. Missing persons.Missing… pet! Where was that lady’s name with the missing Shitzu?

Gabe walked over to Amanda’s call tablet and goes down the list.Bill, bill, late on this, late on that, Melody Reeves has missing dog.That’s the one.Gabe tears the call note and dials.

“Hello, Mrs. Reeves? This is Gabriel Cash, I’m a private detective. You called my office about a missing dog?” Welcome to my world… “AceVentura, freakin’ pet detective,” Gabe thought to himself.

On the other end of the line, Mrs. Reeves was happily chattering up a storm non-stop; but, during the 5 minute conversation that followed, she did manage to spit out an address on Bristol.And, as it would turn out, Mrs. Melody Reeves lived only a few doors down from Miss Traci Cromwell.

"Mrs. Reeves, would you mind if I came right over and we could sit down and go over a few things, Maybe I could get a photo or two. I can be there in about ten minutes or less."

"Wonderful!" replied Mrs. Reeves. "I'll put a pot of coffee on."

Gabe politely finishes the call, grabs his 1911 and shoves it into the back of his belt. The sport-coat goes on as he exits. He locks up and heads quickly downstairs to the parking lot.

Once outside, he spots the surveillance van parked about a hundred yards away, at the far end of the lot, along the street.

Gabe wonders how those chili peppers settled with the boys last night. He waves. Out from the side window, a clenched fist and "pop!" - out flips the middle finger, a very deliberate "bird"... which told Gabe all he needed to know about last night's "blue plate special."

Maybe he'd better check under the vehicle. Down on all fours, he checks for any new wires or explosives. Nothing. He gets into his Jeep realizing that Elliott probably wouldn't handle him that way, nothing so loud or attention-grabbing. Elliott was a subtle predator. And he'd make sure his own tracks were covered, unless... Unless Gabe struck at his ego. Just a thought worth digesting a bit more. It would come to him.

A few minutes later, Gabe turned left onto Bristol from Pacific, again passing the Unitarian–universalist “I’m okay-You’re okay” church of self worship. "Well, hell, you couldn’t have a university nowadays that didn’t have at least one whack-job new age church nearby," Gabe thought.UoP was no different.Gabe couldn’t help but smirk as he drove past the church and its rainbow banner.“Maybe I need to get my ass back into a church,” Gabe found himself muttering to himself.“Bless me father, for I am in over my head.”

Diving west on Bristol, small but upscale cottages on large manicured lotsgave way to larger, more upscale, homes on larger manicured lots further down the street.More “old money, and some nouveau riche folks who swept in after the old money overleveraged and lost a few of those big old homes. This street, and those around it, looked more like a Princeton, New Jersey neighborhood than something one would expect to see in Stockton, California. A lovely, old neighborhood, where the folks who lived here had enough money and influence to host big charity events... or hire a professional P.I. to find their missing Shutzu, the latter being Gabe's main focus just night now.

Bills had to be paid, even if it meant finding "Fluffy."

Gabe pulled into a circular driveway fronting a Georgian 2 story, columns and all. The doorbell was answered by an excited Melody Reeves, a lovely woman in her seventies, by Gabe's best guess. Gabe couldn't help but notice that she took good care of herself, and looked downright fetching in her Adidas warm up, and matching running shoes. He personality was open, refreshing, even charming. He hadn't even said "hello," when she chimed right in as she swung the door wide open.

"You must be Mr. Cash! Come in, come in!" She didn't wait, but rather turned quickly and walked inside leaving Gabe to either stand there, looking stupid, or follow. Gabe smiled, entered, and shut the door behind him. He followed Mrs. Reeves into the front living room where a tray of coffee and pastries awaited. "I didn't know what you take in your coffee so I have several creamers, Mr. Cash."

She reached the sofa first sat down quickly and motioned for Gabe to take a seat right next to her, patting the sofa cushion as if he were the mutt that she was about to hire to find.

This is going to be interesting, thought Gabe. He sat where he was told to. Melody Reeves, he had decided, was a very vivacious woman who liked men. He had already figured out that she liked him. She smiled at him as he sat, as this an act of obedience on Gabe's part, as they were both well aware. She continued to take charge, and Gabe did not mind.

"I assume you're Mrs. Reeves," said Gabe with a smile.

"Call me Melody, please. And your first name is Gabriel?

Gabe nods "Call me Gabe."

"Gabe. Very well, Gabe. I am so glad you came. You're the only private detective who has taken me seriously... Here. Let me pour your cup."

Melody Reeves pours Gabe a cup of coffee.

"Well...Melody. I have two dogs myself. I know how special that bond can be. Just a little cream please."

"I knew there was something special about you!" She hands him his cup, made perfectly.

"Thank you, Melody.... You said you had some photos of "Fluffy?"

"Oh my, yes!" She reaches down and pulls up a photo album, not what Gabe was expecting. She places the album on her lap and open it, "Fluffy" is in every photo. Gabe can't help but smile. Melody Reeves may be eccentric, but in a charming way.

"I just need a good shot, a close up if you have one."

Mrs. Reeves turns page after page, and sees one that fits. She pulls it from it's sleeve and hands it to Gabe. There's "Fluffy" - a white Shitzu - groomed perfectly of course, and professionally photographed... of course.

"He's a cute one."

"He's a little shit. But I love him. My back gate was open and he darted down the alley chasing a stray cat. I haven't seen him since.

"Does he do this often?"

"Only every chance he gets! But the little bastard usually drifts back within thirty minutes. It's been more than twenty four hours now. I'm very worried, Gabe."

"I understand. May I have this photo? I'll get it back to you, I promise."

"Oh, it's alright. Keep it. I have more... as you can see. He's a show winner, you know, but he's proven as trainable as a brick. You know Gabe, I've manage to train three husbands and outlive all three, and can't train that little bastard."

"About the husbands... I have no doubt they were trained very well indeed, Melody."

"I like you, Gabe Cash. You're a good man... Now I imagine we should discuss your fees..."

Gabe really likes Mrs. Reeves. She gets to the point, knows what she wants. Admirable qualities. "I charge five hundred as a retainer, against which I bill two hundred per hour plus any expenses."

Melody Reeves will have it her way. "Tell you what, Gabe. I will write you a check right now for one thousand dollars, and if you... no. When you find Fluffy, I will pay you five thousand more, plus any expenses you incur. Does that work for you?"

Gabe wasn't expecting that. "Melody, you really don't have to..."

Melody interrupts "Gabe, I make about twenty thousand a year on his stud fees. Believe me, it's worth it for me to pay you well to find him."

Gabe is again surprised. "Twenty thousand a year?"

"Now how would you like to be a dog and get paid to get laid?"

"Lucky dog!" Gabe slips the portrait into his pocket.

"As I said, it's worth it for me to get him back, and I do love him. He's just such a little..."

"Shit?"

"Exactly. Now be a darling and wait here while I fetch my purse."

With that, Melody Reeves springs to her feet, before Gabe can stand, and makes a quick exit, leaving Gabe to enjoy his surroundings. Melody was like a breath of fresh air that begged to be breathed in. Her home was stately and eclectic. Original art graced the walls. Understated elegance, much like it's owner. Gabe is munching a cookie and finishing his coffee, as Melody Reeves re-enters with her purse, and small squeeky-toy.

Gabe stands. She reaches Gabe and slips a folded stack of bills into his hand. "I do expect that you accept cash, Mr. Cash? " She chuckles a bit at her phrasing.

"Of course, Mrs... I mean Melody." She continues to hold his hand as she leads him now to the door, the meeting apparently concluded.

As they walk slowly to the door, Melody continues "Now don't call me for small talk. I just want to know when you find him." She stops and realizes she has the toy. "Oh, and this is his favorite toy. He just loves it." Gabe pockets the squeeky toy, a plastic bone. Melody Reeves can't resist... and does a great may West: "Hey big boy, is that a banana in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?"

Gabe replies "Mrs. Robinson, are you trying to seduce me?"

"Hah! Touche' my dear boy."

They reach the door, and Gabe stops. "Melody, it has been a pleasure. I'll do my best to find Fluffy... May I ask you a question, on a different level?"

"Well that all depends on what the question is, my dear."

"There's a big charity event going on tonight, I guess just a few houses down... Do you know Traci Cromwell?"

Melody Reeves studies Gabe a moment. "What do you want to know?"

What Gabe wants to know, he feels like he can't say, so instead, he offers little.

"I was planning to attend that charity fundraiser for the children's hospital, I knew that she was hosting it. I figured I should rub elbows with the neighborhood maybe help me gain some clients..."

"You know I can smell bullshit, Gabe Cash. When you're straight with me, I'll be straight with you."

She opens the door for Gabe's exit. Gabe stops, reconsiders and makes an instant decision to fully trust Melody Reeves, win or lose. "Stacy Billups. She hired me before she was murdered."

"Stacy? I knew Stacy. What does Traci Cromwell have to do with Stacy Billips? Is your being here about Stacy Billips and her murder?"

"No. It's just coincidental. But I am working on her murder, and somewhere Traci Cromwell's name came up."

"How?" Melody closes the door.

"She was seen with Mrs. Billips' husband Joe... but Joe wasn't his real name.

"Excuse me?"

"Joe Carlucci was apparently Arthur Billips, the son Stacy's husband from an earlier marriage.

"Oh, my God!"

"Yeah, and that makes for a real family mess. But there's more. The Billips family businesses may be involved in some very shady dealings, and so far there are three dead bodies in the past few days; and, there are some folks who would like to see me gone, by any means necessary. As far as Traci Cromwell goes, let's say that she may well be neck deep in all this, but I really don't know how deep yet. She may have been Carlucci's mistress. Now, I was already planning to attend that charity event; but, it's a coincidence that it's going to be two doors down."

"I believe you, Gabe. I do not believe in coincidences. I do, however, believe in fate. I was a friend of Stacy Billips, friends enough to know that she would never be involved with anything illegal. So if you're trying to find out who did it, I want to help you. So there, Gabe Cash, I'm on your team. What do you want to know?"

"Anything you can tell me about Traci Cromwell." Gabe didn't expect this either. Melody Reeves was proving to be full of surprises.

"All I know is that there are some rumors..."

"Like?"

"Like, she runs a professional escort service for high rollers. Very high rollers. I must say that I never saw Stacy's husband there at her house, not that I just sit here and stare but everyone knows everyone's business in this neighborhood. She seems to be very well connected... as you will see tonight. Tell me, are you going alone?"

"As a matter of fact, I'm taking my assistant."

"A pity. You could have been my date, and we'd have had the entire town talking." Melody Reeves lets out a hearty laugh.

"Well, Melody. Maybe you can still point out the movers and shakers for me. Maybe we'll still get the neighborhood talking. By the way, are you familiar with a guy named Chandler Elliott III?"

"Elliott? The attorney? He's as trustworthy as a rattlesnake and twice as dangerous. Don't tell me you're on his shit list."

Gabe just smiles sheepishly.

"Figures. Well, then, I'll see you tonight, Gabe Cash. You've brought a little excitement into my life today... and more to come, I have a feeling."

She open the door, and offers her hand, suddenly very business-like. Full of surprises. Gabe shakes her hand and exits to his car. Melody Reeves got more than she bargained for as well. She retreats inside as the door closes.

Gabe starts up the Jeep and drives back toward his office, passing the surveillance van. At least he can pay a few bills; and, after just a sampling of Melody Reeves' charming and disarming personality, he promised himself that he would make a concerted effort to find Fluffy, even if he was a "little shit." Melody Reeves could prove to be a priceless ally.

First thing, he'd get fliers posted and distributed in a 1 mile radius. He could get kids to help for a few bucks, maybe even get some kids to help him search. Post fliers on neighborhood light poles and telephone poles. Hit the malls nearby, and the two nearby campuses. For his part, it came down to hitting the street, much the same as he would for a missing person. He'd better get busy. No, this wasn't the kind of job he'd normally take; but, for six grand plus expenses, it's "Ace Ventura, pet detective, at your service."

There wasn't enough time to focus on finding Fluffy today, although Gabe did post ads on Craigslist and in the Stockton Ledger. If someone picked him up, they'd probably wait for a reward notice to be posted anyway. Such was the state of things today. With economic hard times hitting so many in the Central Valley, pet snatching had become a viable business. It was usually the small dogs left in the car while the owner went into the grocery store or salon. If the windows were opened enough to slip a hand in, and if the dog wasn't vicious, it was an easy caper to pull off. Then the "dog-napper" would sit back and wait till a missing pet notice was posted, usually with the words "Reward - No Questions Asked." Frustrating for law enforcement because, with a gang war going on unabated, they had better things to do than to track down missing pooches, or their captors. So, Melody Reeves likely did the right thing in getting a P.I. to do the job.

Tonight was going to come fast. Something told Gabe tonight was going to be a turning point of some sort. He just didn't know what it would be.

Gabe knew he needed to get himself ready. He showered and took out his dress-to-impress best business suit, an Italian lightweight wool navy blue pinstripe, with a starched white shirt, and rep tie. Upscale and conservative, looking prosperous - that was the look he wanted. Again, he placed the small .380 Ruger on his lower leg, and the 1911 in the small of his back. Glancing at his watch, he saw the time was now approaching 6:30 P.M.

Amanda, his "date" for the night's affair, would be arriving in a few minutes. When she did arrive, the dogs let him know it without her knocking. They had gotten used to the sound of her car, and that sound of the door closing let them know their "nanny" was here. Whenever Gabe had to leave town, Amanda would look after the pups. So, she was like a surrogate mom to them. In any case, they were whining and dancing in circles as Amanda opened the door with her key. She also gave them far too many chew bones for snacks while she was there.

Gabe knew it was Amanda, because the dogs would never allow entry to a stranger, key or no key. As he was straightening his tie in the mirror, Amanda called out.

"Are you decent?"

"As decent as I can afford to be," replied Gabe. She walked down his hallway, just as he walked out of the bedroom. Both were surprised. Gabe saw that Amanda was in a black evening dress that she appeared to have been poured into.

"Whoa, you look good," Gabe found himself saying.

Amanda sizes up Gabe's suit, and she has never seen him in a suit before today. "Back at ya, bossman."

"Okay, then. Let's hit it. And Amanda?"

"Yeah?" she replies, as they both head toward the front door together.

"I don't know what to expect tonight, so stick close to me, please."

"Don't worry. I figure my job is to keep you out of trouble, like you said. You've had enough these past few days."

"Oh yeah, I didn't tell you. I took that missing pet assignment after all."

"So you are Ace Ventura, after all."

As the reach the front door, Gabe smiles. "Amanda, for six thousand bucks, I'll be the freakin' tooth fairy."

He locks the door behind him and they walk toward the garage. Amanda is slightly perplexed.

"Okay. You'd be the tooth fairy for six grand, but you walked away from five hundred grand?"

He hits the garage door opener, and the door rolls up to reveal the old T-Bird. "There's a big difference, Amanda. Fluffy's owner isn't asking me to walk away from a murder. Now, get in."

Amanda waits for the door to be opened. Gabe obliges. A moment later, the old T-Bird, with it's big 390 V-8, is heading of toward the social event of the year, at the Cromwell residence. A different work van followed amateurishly close behind, and Gabe smirked a bit as he glanced up at his rear view. Without skipping a beat, Amanda chimed in, "You must be looking at the van that's tailing us. Not very good, are they? I spotted them when I drove up."

"Yeah, well they're a pair of professional numb-nuts Elliott hired... just to watch. They know that I know, so there's no use in playing cat and mouse, I guess they figured."

The T-Bird made its way down Bristol and showed well cruising under the treed canopy that arched over the road. A few blocks down, and the Cromwell home stood out right away. A line of cars waiting for the next valet extended about a quarter way down the block. Bimmers, Benzes, Caddies, a few exotics, all the vehicles that illustrated success. There was even a TV News van with its satellite antenna extended into the night sky. One by one, as the owners got out of their vehicles, Gabe knew this was right where he needed to be.

Stockton Police presence was there in decent numbers as well. That seemed a bit unusual. Hard to imagine the city sparing extra cops for a social event, not with one arrest every 39 minutes last year. Anyway, that's what a new billboard said down by the new arena. No. They had to be moonlighting. Easier money than they'd be making trying to bust up the gang war that's been giving the city a black eye for months now.

Soon, they were pulling up to the valet. Gabe slipped the kid, a moonlighting U o P grad student, a twenty dollar bill to keep the T-Bird out front. "No problem, sir. Nice ride. Why not park it right there. Keep the keys. It'll be right here when you're ready to bail."

Gabe helps Amanda from the car, and they make their way into the stately home of Stockton's most successful madame, handing their tickets to a well put together woman in her 40's dressed to the nines in a form flattering Saint John's knitted suit. Nordstrom's all the way, and not the Rack. "Welcome to our party, Mr. Cash... and you must be Mrs. Cash?"

"Hardly," Amanda flings back. "He pays me by the hour."

The lady is taken aback, Gabe extends his hand, and she accepts with slight hesitation.

"Gabriel Cash, and this is my assistant Amanda... And would you be Ms. Cromwell?"

The woman at the door smiles shyly. "Oh, no. I'm Jane. Just helping out. Miss Cromwell is inside. You can't miss her. .. Enjoy your evening, Mr. Cash."

"Gabe. Call me Gabe." Gabe takes her hand, and Jane likes him enough to ignore the other guests who are waiting to enter, for a moment.

"Very well... Gabe. Well, as I said, I hope you enjoy yourself."

"It's already started out good, Jane. Thanks." Gabe and Jane exchange a friendly smile, and both he and Amanda enter. Amanda leans in and whispers "You are such a slut."

Gabe whispers back "It's called charm, Amanda." Gabe looks down at Amanda's feet, and she see him looking.

"What are you looking at?" she chirps.

"Well, since you grew up on a dairy farm in Tracy, I was just checking to see if you wore shoes tonight," Gabe replied with smirk.

Amanda's elbow, as if on some sort of spring-loaded auto-response, strikes Gabe in the ribs, right about where big Willilam Ortiz had kicked him. He lets out a muffled groan through a tight grimmace.

"Oh, what that my elbow?"

Inside the large open home, anyone who is anyone on the Stockton area social scene was here, at least a few hundred guests, including those gathered in the back yard. Tasteful art on the walls. Everything first class. Soft jazz from a quartet, w an old stand-up base, fills the air. The sound reminds Gabe of the Paul Mitchell trio, from his Atlanta days. An easy sound. How could someone not feel good around that? The ladies were all decked out to outdo each other, so it seemed. Lots of glitz and serious bling. Gabe couldn't help but think a team of jewel thieves could make a big score here. Both he and Amanda are looking around, taking it all in, when Melody Reeves, looking both radiant and stunning in a long sequined evening gown spots them and greets Gabe. "Gabriel Cash! Hello, darling, so glad you came tonight!" She gives him a peck on the cheek. She then looks over Amanda. "And who is this lovely girl, your niece, daughter, girl du jour?"

Amanda can't help but laugh, holding her hand out. Melody shakes her hand, and doesn't let go. "None of the above, I'm afraid, but I am Amanda, his assistant. My job is to keep him out of trouble tonight."

"I think it's too late for that, my dear." Then, to Gabe, she says "I don't suppose you found Fluffy yet? Of course not. Silly of me. But I now you'll find him."

Amanda realizes this is the Mrs. Reeves she spoke with. "You're Mrs. Reeves, the lady with the missing dog?"

"Call me Melody, please, girl."

A waiter passes with a tray of champagne flutes, Gabe grabs three awkwardly, then hands one each to the ladies.

"Well, how lucky can a guy get? Two beautiful ladies at my side," and then, to Melody, he says "Is this enough to get them talking?"

"Oh my dear, more than enough. I'll bet the gossip hounds are already howling." Melody was enjoying this. And why not? Gabe was an attractive man, and mysterious, and that was always good for Melody's image, and ego.

Gabe realized she was right. In this very tight little circle of socialites and wannabes, there were already a few heads turning in their direction. A quick look and then whispers. Gabe noticed, but naturally, he would notice something like that. He'd seen it before at charity events in the Oakland Hills, and back East. Some folks are just plain nosy - "who's that with so and so?" - stuff like that. There are some other glances that ask more poignant questions, such as one's breeding, worth, schools graduated from, fraternities and such. All in an attempt to determine if one "belonged" there or not. Such was the sport of those with far too little to do. It never bothered Gabe one way or another. He was always okay within his own skin. Someone who wasn't okay in their own skin would not swim well in this fish bowl. Gabe never liked the idea of being part of the food chain anyway.

They strolled together, Amanda and Melody on either side of Gabe, toward the quartet.

"So, darling, when did you wish to meet Traci Cromwell?," Melody asked quietly.

Gabe smiles, knowing that Melody will enjoy this. "A little later, perhaps. But do point her out to me, if you can. " Gabe glances about and spots someone he recognizes.

"Is that the mayor over there?, Gabe asks.

"Yes, it is, and he's with his wife and several council members, and their wives," Melody explains. "As for our Miss Cromwell..." Melody then nods off to her left. Off to the left side of the room, Gabe spots a small group. Traci Cromwell is speaking with a small group of power players. Standing nearly 6 feet tall, in her heels, she looked very much like a Vogue model, yet very understated for her beauty. That was obviously a choice that she'd made, and reflected an unusual quality, Gabe decided. More so than a sexy type that he was expecting, she was, instead, the brainy beauty that the boys all probably passed over in school, but who were kicking themselves today if they ever saw her now and compared her present look with the old yearbook photos. And it was obvious, from her small circle of admirers, she held their attention quite easily. She was, in fact, stunning. She smiled and laughed easily. And then, as a good hostess, she moved on to greet other guests.

"Keep staring, and you'll go blind," whispered Amanda.

"That obvious?," replied Gabe. "Well, she's not what I expected."

Melody laughs. "What were you expecting? A floozy?"

"I don't know what I was expecting," admitted Gabe, honestly. "How about introducing us in about an hour? I want to walk around, watch who comes and goes for awhile."

"Very well, Gabriel. I shall be back soon. Don't start any scandals without me." She kisses his cheek and starts to turn away, but then turns back. "Oh, yes... I'm sure you saw the TV news van outside."

"I did. Why?"

"I heard there is going to be some kind of announcement tonight, something to do with the city. Must be a big deal. Ciao."

Melody smiles and walks off to join a few friends, who all begin to grill her on Gabe, "that mystery man." Glances and stares follow Gabe and Amanda as they walk across the room, but no more than they follow anyone who wasn't part of this clique or that country club. A moment later, the glances pass to someone else, as Gabe and Amanda find a spot near the quartet. As the band plays "Misty," with a lead singer sounding a lot like old New York jazz legend Bobby Short, Gabe smiles. The base player and drummer both smile back. Jazz is that kind of language.

Gabe does not notice Chandler Elliott conversing with a small group of attorneys and bankers outside on the patio. All that separates the two men is a wall and a set of french doors.

Amanda excuses herself for a few minutes, heading for the rest room, and a refill, leaving Gabe alone to enjoy the quartet, which is fine by him. He leans against the wall and soaks in the tune, the beat, everything. He closes his eyes for a moment.

"Don't fall asleep now. The party hasn't even started yet." A woman's voice startles him and he opens his eyes to see Traci Cromwell in front of him. "Hi. I'm Traci Cromwell. And you're?"

"Gabriel Cash. Sorry, I wasn't napping - I was just enjoying the music. "

Gabe has decided that Traci Comwell's smile could melt the polar ice caps, and her dazzling blue eyes only made things worse. They shake hands.

"A pleasure to meet you, Miss Cromwell."

"I see you like jazz."

"Always have, especially this kind. Takes me to a special feeling, a special place" Gabe offers.

Traci Cromwell smiles. "I often feel the same way, Mr. Cash. Well, I'm glad you're enjoying yourself."

Sensing her coming exit, Gabe replies "Perhaps we'll have a chance to chat a bit later," with a smile. "And, please. Call me Gabe."

"Gabe. Very well, then. Call me Traci. And thank you your support tonight."

She offers a handshake once again, very politely, and Gabe watches as she moves off to greet nearby guests, a proper hostess, and a heck of a lady. This was the premier madame among the Central Valley elite? There was obviously a lot more to Traci Cromwell than he'd originally thought. In fact, he didn't, at this point, know what to think.

Off his shoulder, Amanda whispers, "It's okay to roll your tongue all the way back in now."

"That obvious?," Gabe replies as he regains his focus.

Amanda smiles and hands him a coke. "Here. No more of the bubbly for you. You need to be thinking clearly tonight. Guess who's here?"

"Let's see... Chandler Elliott III maybe?"

"Aw, you're no fun. And he's with that police captain friend of yours."

"You mean Lieutenant Chambers?"

"You can say lieutenant, but he's in his dress blues and he's sporting two bars. That's captain, right?"

"Wow. Things are sure happening fast around here. Where did you see them?"

Amanda motions toward the patio, and through the windows, Gabe can see Elliott with Chambers, indeed sporting new captain's bars on his dress blues, and they're shaking hands all around with some of Stockton's elite. Gabe's mind is spinning. He pulls Amanda away from the window gently and moves to the opposite side of the room.

"Come on. I don't want Elliott to see me just yet."

A podium has been set up and it's obvious that the TV crew is prepping for a news conference of some kind. His friend Melinda Garcia, the Channel 23 reporter he's known for years, is checking her sound. Gabe decides to let her finish prepping. Whatever is going to happen is going to happen fairly quickly. Gabe figures he can wait ... but then again, maybe not. Gabe walks over to Melinda, who is surprised to see him here.

"Gabe! What are you doing here?"

"Working the Billips murder," Gabe replies in a whisper, knowing that would peek Melinda's interests.

"The police said it was a burglary gone bad."

"Uh huh. And they said Joe Carlucci's death was an act of gang violence. And did you know that Carlucci was really Artie Billips? And that he was the long, lost son?"

"What!?"

"Yup, and I have been beat up and almost thrown down an elevator shaft because I said no to Elliott trying to buy me off."

Melinda studies Gabe. He's not one to exaggerate.

"I told you he was dangerous. Gabe, you know I can't do anything with what you just said."

"I know. I'm just telling you what's gone down in the past few days. So what's going on here tonight that brings you out?"

"Well, we always cover this anyway; but, tonight, the city leaders are announcing the new interim Chief of Police."

"Let me guess. Chambers?" Melinda nods, with a smile. "Okay, maybe we can talk after?"

Melinda is uncomfortable. "No, not here. This is already dangerous for me. Better skoot. I have to do a live remote in a few minutes. just call me..."

Traci Cromwell enters the scene. "Are you set up and ready?" Melinda nods, microphone in hand. Traci then notices Gabe. "Mr. Cash. So we meet again."

"What can I say? It's a small room," Gabe replies to Traci. Then he offers to Melinda, "Well thanks for the advice. I'll follow up on that."

He walks away from Melinda, with Traci near him. "Mr. Cash. What is it exactly that you do?"

Before he can answer, members of the city council and Stockton elite enter from the patio with Captain Chambers. Elliott is in the background. He doesn't yet notice Gabe. The TV News crew lights the podium area. Traci Cromwell leaves Gabe's side.

With a quick glance back at Gabe, she says "Perhaps we'll have that chat after all the media leaves."

"I'd like that," Gabe replies. He slips into the crowd where he finds Amanda.

"She likes you. And if you ask me..."

"I didn't..." Gabe interjected quickly.

City Council members, the Mayor, Elliott and Chambers all gather at the podium. Traci Cromwell, looking elegant, meets them there. The quartet stops playing as Traci addresses the crowd:

"Before we get into the auction tonight, I want to thank you all for coming and showing your support for the children's hospital and free clinic. Without you, continuing would not be possible."

Polite applause.

"Tonight is important for two reasons. Tonight we have most of the city council, the mayor and civic leaders with us for an important announcement that will impact our great city. I'd like to turn the podium over to my good friend Mr. Chandler Elliott III."

Again, polite applause. Elliott steps up next to Traci and kisses her on the cheek. Gabe notices that Traci barely reacts, offering only a small, forced smile.

So much for staying in the background, Gabe figures. Elliott stands at the podium as the applause fades, and leans into the microphone. "Thank you Traci. How you do this every year amazes me." More applause.

Eliott reaches into his suit pocket and pulls out an envelope. "Now, before I introduce our mayor, who has an important announcement, I wanted to take this opportunity, Traci, to present to you a check from our firm in the amount of $100,000 for the children's hospital and free clinic. Traci, our gift... thank you for your hard work." Traci Cromwell is genuinely surprised as she accepts the envelope. The room erupts in cheers and applause all around.

Gabe is watching Elliott bask in the applause and can't help but be impressed with this guy's style. Everyone thinks this sociopath walks on water tonight, which seems to be exactly what Elliott wants them all to think. He wonders if Traci Cromwell feels that way, as he studies her. To Gabe, she seems a mass of contradictions. We can see her mouth the words "thank you" to Elliott. He pulls her close for a two-shot as a press photographer snaps off a few photos.

Elliott then turns his focus back to the room, and microphone. "And now, I'd like to introduce Mayor Jim Turner, who has an announcement of great importance... Mr. Mayor."

The Mayor steps up and taps the mic. "As you all know, our city recently lost our Chief of Police over a pay dispute. And, as you know, Stockton is a city in a crisis. We're in a budget crisis, and housing crisis, a jobs crisis, a drug crisis, and a gang crises. What we need is a continuity of leadership in our police department. That is why we are honored today to announce that, effective immediately, long-time Stockton police department veteran officer, a respected career lawman with a stellar record, Captain Nate Chambers is taking over as the interim Chief of Police. Chief Chambers..."

Applause all around as the new Chief takes center stage. "I just want to say, I am honored to serve in this capacity, and I will do my best to bring law and order back to the streets of Stockton as your Chief of Police. Thank you."

That was it for Chambers' speech: two sentences, take it or leave it. You had to admire the guy for his way with words. Polite applause followed. Gabe watched from a distance, for a moment, as well wishers crowded around the new chief. "What the hell," Gabe thought, "Now looks to be as good of a time as any."

Amanda tugged on his sleeve as he made his way toward the podium. "What are you doing? Are you crazy? Elliott is up there," she said, as he turned to her for a moment.

Gabe smiled. "I know. So are Miss Cromwell and Chief Chambers. It's time to turn up the heat a little. Stay here.

Amanda does as asked, not liking Gabe's timing at all. Gabe works his way through the crowd to see a surprised Chief Chambers suddenly spotting him. "Cash! What the hell are you doing here?"

Gabe extends a hand with a big smile and the two shake hands as photographers snap photos. Big smiles all around.

"Just here to congratulate my favorite Chief of Police. Now how do you think this came about? Jeeze, I wanna say Lieutenant, but I see Captain's bars? Did that happen today, too? Hell, by the end of the night, you might be president."

"No. Yesterday. Call it a "battlefield commission." Look, I can't talk now, Cash, but I damned sure don't need any trouble here, you got it?" Through it all, it looks like two old friends smiling and talking. Chambers gives Gabe a hug and whispers... "Elliott wants your ass dead and I'm probably the only friend you've got who can keep that from happening. Do you know what I'm saying?"

Gabe smiles and nods as the two break, and another well wisher steps up and takes Gabe's place. More smiles, handshakes, and photo-ops. Gabe steps back and turns to walk away, and finds himself face to face with Chandler Elliott.

"Mr. Cash, so we meet again." Cash offers his hand but Gabe doesn't accept. Instead, he reacts with a show of anger, "show" being the operative word... "So you think you can stick your boy into the Chief's slot and run the police department, too?" Elliott leans in and puts a firm grip on Gabe's arm. He whispers "You are a dead man, Mr. Cash. It's just a question of when." Elliott smiles, and Gabe smiles back, whispering "And you're a coward, Elliott. I'll be ready for you. Will you be ready for me?" Elliott is doing all he can to control himself for a moment. But, he smiles, and moves past Gabe to join the entourage surrounding Chambers.

Gabe felt like he'd just covered a lot of ground. Chambers revealed himself to be an ally, and confirmed what Gabe already felt about Elliott, and then Elliott tipped his hand as well. Not accepting Elliott's handshake in public was a calculated move. Gabe knew that anything he could do to insult Elliott's ego could make him react. And if Chandler Elliott got angry enough, he was bound to make a mistake. That might be the difference between life and death.

As Gabe walked off, in the background, Melinda was doing her stand-up report on what had just happened, and the politicos, Chambers, and Elliott were still gathered for that all-important TV News op.

As Gabe was almost back by Amanda's side. Traci Cromwell intercepted him. "Who are you, Mr. Cash?," she asked, this time with an edge and sense of urgency evident in her voice.

"Where can we talk?"

Just then, Melody Reeves swept in. "Well, I see you two have met already. Traci, what do you think of our Mr. Cash?"

"Oh I'm not sure I know what to think, Melody. Everyone seems to know Mr. Cash but me."

"He's a detective. A private detective. He's helping me find my little fluffy," Melody says.

Amanda is nearby enough to hear all, and see all. For once, she observes.

Traci tilts her head "Wait. Back up. Why are you here then, Mr. Cash? Do you think Fluffy is hiding somewhere here?"

Gabe leans in and just lets it fall where it falls. "No, Traci. I'm also working on the murder of Mrs. Stacy Billips. She had hired me because she suspected that her husband Joe Carlucci was having an affair... Now, they're both dead. Somewhere in the mix, your name had come up. I figured this would be a good place to meet you."

Traci Cromwell suddenly appeared very fragile, as if in an instant, all the polish and veneers had been stripped away, revealing raw, open wounds. Traci finds a nearby chair and sits. Melody goes to her side. "I'll be alright, Melody. Would you give Mr. Cash and I some time please."

Gabe nods to Amanda, who also backs away. In the meantime, the quartet has started back up and guests are milling about, not paying them a bit of attention, a few drinks into the evening each. Drinks and hors d'oeuvres are being served by the staff. A surreal atmosphere prevails, as Gabe and Traci occupy a solitary corner of their galaxy.

Gabe sits next to Traci. "This isn't the right place or time, Traci. I didn't mean to upset you. I'm just not buying the so called official story. Can we talk? Tomorrow maybe?" Traci looks into his eyes, and she knows she can trust him. "No. Tonight. Just find a reason to stick around. After the auction, people usually clear out pretty fast. It'll just be the cleaning crew then. Stay."

"Alright. I'll be here," Gabe responds, with heartfelt and obvious concern. Traci stands up, and simply touches Gabe's cheek with her smooth, soft hand. "We'll talk later," she says, with a smile, and then turns away to blend again into the crowd, her veneer perfectly back in place.

Amanda strolls up and sits down next to Gabe. She hands him a scotch with ice. "Here. I changed my mind. I think you're gonna' need this. It's a single malt scotch I couldn't pronounce - began with an "A."

"Auchentoshan?"

"Something like that."

"You're right. I do need this."

He takes a sip, leans back in the chair, and closes his eyes listening to the soft jazz.

"So, boss. I watched Elliott almost blow a gasket a minute ago. What did you say to him?"

"Nothing much. Just yanked on his balls a little." Gabe takes another sip. "Thank you for the Scotch. It's one of my old favorites. Listen, will you be okay to drive the T-Bird back to my place, and stick her in the garage? I may not be coming back till late. Miss Cromwell will give me a ride."

"I bet she will."

"Hey. Knock it off. We're going to talk after everyone's gone, smart-ass, she's reaching out, and I think, no, I know, she's scared."

"Keys." Amanda holds her hand out. Gabe obliges by digging his car keys from his suit coat pocket. He drops them into Amanda's hand. "Well, I'll hang out for awhile just to be sure I'm not missing anything else. I know. I'll grab a plate and bring it back for you. You can't drink on an empty stomach."

"Thanks. For your info, this is my one and only. But yes. Grab a plate full of whatever they're handing out, will ya?"

I'll be right back." Amanda leaves and he enjoys the jazz as he tunes out the entire room, except for Traci Cromwell's disarming smile, her eyes, and her delicate fragility that he caught a glimpse of so briefly only a moment before. He closes his eyes with another sip, drinks in her imagery as the quartet slips into another number, a jazzy rendition of "Somewhere Over The Rainbow" sung in that very unique way by the raspy tenor, with a tenor sax blowing softly in the background.

Across the room, Melinda is packing up equipment with her crew. Elliott glances over and sees Gabe on the other side of the room, and motions for two of his aides to come over. For assistants, these guys, too, have a hardened look of professional mercenaries. Had Gabe been looking their way, he might have noticed a quick conference Elliott had with both and then watched the two men exit through the patio door. But he didn't, as they slipped out unnoticed.

Outside the Comwell home, Elliott's men walked around to the front of the house where they found the U o P grad student standing along alone at the valet stand. Gabe's car is parked about 20 feet away. One of Elliott's men approaches the valet, while the other walks toward Gabe's car obviously admiring it. The aide greets the valet.

"Nice night, eh, kid?"

"Yes sir. It is that."

"You're a student?"

"Uh, yes. I'm a grad student at U o P. "

"What's your name, kid?"

"Brad... Brad Stevens, sir."

The aide pulls out a C note and slips it into Brad's breast pocket.

"Well, Mr. Stevens, this is a small gift from Mr. Chandler Elliott. He told me to tell you that he'd like to have a word with you about your future."

Brad, the valet, pulls out the folded bill and sees that it's a hundred. "Whoa, a hundred bucks? "

The aide continues, "Mr. Elliott thinks you're doing a great job tonight... If I were you, Mr. Stevens, I'd take a moment right now to visit with Mr. Elliott."

Brad doesn't need to be hit over the head, but... "You know, I'm supposed to stay out here..."

The aide pats Brad on the back, and offers "Don't worry Brad. We'll be glad to cover for you. Go on."

Brad thinks about it for a nano-second. "Okay! Thanks, guys. If anybody asks for their car, just tell them I'll be right back. "

The aide smiles, "Don't worry. We've got you covered."

With that, the grad student exits into the house looking for Chandler Elliott. The aide says to his partner by the car.

"Is five minutes enough?" The aide asks. His partner pops the T-Bird's hood, and looks out for a second, replying "One minute is all I need."

Inside, the young valet was shaking hands with Mr. Elliott, who would spend the next five minutes or so bullshitting the grad student into thinking he might have a position open at his firm, and the conversation lasted until Elliott saw one if his two aides return through the patio door. A nod in his direction told him the job had been done. At that point, Elliott quickly excused himself from any further discussion with Brad Stevens, or listening to the kid's resume recitation, ending abruptly with "Pardon me, Brad. But there is a business matter I must attend to. Just contact my office, please, and, great job tonight." Elliott turned away from Brad like he'd just turned off a light switch. For a moment, as he watched Elliott cross the room, Brad Stevens just stood there, not knowing what to do. Then, realizing he needed to get back to his post, he quietly exited the house.

Outside, Elliott's other aide was true to his word. Seeing Brad come out of the house, he smiled and said "So, how did it go, Mr. Stevens?"

Brad walked up, scratched his head, replying "I'm not really sure. I didn't get to say very much."

"That's alright, Brad. Mr. Elliott liked you, that I can promise you." The aide pats Brad on the back again and leaves him. "I'd better get back now myself. Good luck, kid."

"Thanks."

As the aide walk around the side of the house to enter through the patio, the valet is thinking this has got to be one of the luckiest days of his life.

Back inside the home, guests are milling about, socializing, networking, gossiping.

The silent auction items are laid out against a wall, all provided professionally by a memorabilia firm with something for nearly everyone. Lots of Giants, Raiders and 49ers signed items, big framed photos, balls, bats. A NASCAR signed helmet. Some signed musical instruments. A Babe Ruth signed baseball. A portrait of the Rat Pack, all signed. Lots of fun stuff. And then there were the really impressive vacations, such as a Paris getaway for two, a romantic Bali vacation, skiing in Park City during the Sundance Film Festival, a Broadway vacation, a trip to China. Cases of regional wines. All of those items were donated by the wealthy, and some by corporate sponsors. Traci would raise another cool $100,000 from the silent auction if all went well.

Gabe and Amanda were now strolling along the display tables, each noshing on small plates of fingers foods, window shopping the auction items.

"Hey, Gabe. how about the Bali vacation? That would make a nice wedding present, you know."

Gabe smiles and glances at the auction sheet. "Sure. Why not? I'll be the next bidder. If I win, it's yours." He hands her his plate, and jots in his bid. Amanda glances at it. "$199.99?, Oh you are such a big spender."

"Hey. The opening bid was $150. Don't worry. We'll come back and see where it is. And who knows? Maybe I win it at $199.99. Now me? I'd prefer the trip to Paris for two."

Traci Cromwell has just walked near, by chance, and overhears Gabe. "Funny. That would be my favorite, too."

Amanda can't hide her eyes rolling. But, Gabe turns and sees Traci, and her smile. He melts on the spot. Traci is commandeered by one of the staff, taking her attention away suddenly as they head off in another direction.

Gabe turns back to Amanda, who is smiling at him. "Don't say a word, Amanda."

Amanda only smiles, miming zipping her lips. Gabe adds, "Good, I didn't want to have to duct tape your mouth shut... Well, I might as well bid on the trip to Paris. You never know."

Gabe jots down his entry. And they walk along.

"You don't even have a girlfriend. Who are you going to take, your two dogs?"

"Did you ever hear the story about the fellow who bought a birdcage?," Gabe asked.

"I have a feeling that you feel compelled to tell me..." chimed Amanda.

"I do. See there was this fellow who wanted a bird, so he went out and bought this ornate birdcage. His friends who see the cage and ask, "Where's the bird?" And he'd reply "It's coming." And this went on for quite a while. Finally one day one of his friends got so frustrated with seeing the empty cage, that he went out and bought his friend a bird! Do you get it?"

Amanda thinks for a bit. "I think so. You're saying that if you win the trip for two to Paris, that one of your friends will buy you a hooker to bring along?"

"Cute, Amanda. No it's about the power of positive thought. We can attract that which we want to us."

"No comment, boss."

Again, that annoying and knowing smile from Amanda. Gabe and Amanda walk along, taking in all of the auction items. Guests are busy doing the same, filling in bids. All very classy.

Gabe glances around and sees, off in the distance, Elliott, flanked by his aides, conversing with Traci. Elliott ends the conversation with a kiss on her cheek, and a good night wish. Elliott turms to leave and sees Gabe watching him. For a moment, Elliott's glare is as piercing as a dagger, then a thin smile, as he tuns to exit the Cromwell home.

Amanda saw that look also. "Elliott has it in for you, doesn't he." It's more or a statement than a question.

Gabe watches Elliott leave. "It's gonna' be him or me."

"You are not going to try to go after Elliott alone, are you?"

"It all depends."

"It all depends on if you've lost your mind, have a death wish... did I say if you've lost your mind? Yes. I did."

"We'll see. He gets to make the next move. Then, I'll see just how well I pushed his buttons tonight."

Amanda doesn't respond, but she is genuinely concerned nonetheless. They stroll the remainder of the auction items, the lightness of a few minutes ago now gone. One of Elliott's aides re-enters and swiftly approaches the auction table, near Gabe and Amanda. Gabe sees the aide approaching purposefully and instinctively starts to reach into the small of his back for the 1911. The aide notices and responds with a smile.

"Relax, Cash. Nothing is going to happen here." The two men stare each other down, less than a foot apart, looking more like a prizefighting weigh-in. Gabe isn't blinking, or flinching. "Mr. Elliott just sent me back to pick up an auction item he won, excuse me." With that, the mercenary reaches past Gabe. The aide picks up the Babe Ruth signed ball, in its case, shows it to Gabe.

"Babe Ruth. Mr. Elliott always liked babe Ruth."

He slips it into his pocket, and exits with a smile. Gabe looks down at the bids, and there are about a dozen names listed, with the bids up to $7,500. Elliott's name isn't among them.

Gabe looks at Amanda. "I guess when you give a hundred grand, you get to pick what you want?" Amanda says, incredulously. "Looks that way," replied Gabe. Gabe was digesting what just went down. That Elliott would send his aide in to take that signed piece, and he'd pull it off just because he was Chandler Elliott III. Gabe was sure that Elliott's pride and ego would force him to make a critical mistake. He was reminded in that moment of the biblical passage that reads "Pride goes before the fall." He was going to enjoy watching Elliott fall.

"Amanda, you said the Billips family was involved in shipping?"

"Among other things," Amanda replied.

"Do they own or lease any warehouse space near the Port of Stockton, Oakland, or San Francisco?"

"I'm pretty sure they have some warehouses near the Port of Stockton. I don't know about anywhere else. But I'll find out."

"Good. Can you hit it in the morning?"

"Sure. Maybe I'll stay up late and do a little research tonight, at your place, if that's okay. Why? Are you on to something here?"

"A hunch," was all that Gabe would offer. "Is Chambers still around?"

Amanda glances about. "No. I think he left right after the news conference."

Gabe studies the room. About a third of the attendees have left, leaving about 150 for the silent auction, still a nice crowd.

Amanda thinks this might be a good time to leave as well. "Maybe I'd better leave now, if I'm going to get any work done... since I have a feeling you'll be in good hands, nyuk, nyuk, between Traci and Melody, and half of their friends. Just watch out for the mushrooms."

"Very good, Amanda. Clint Eastwood in "The Beguiled." No mushrooms, not a bad idea. Drive safe. Driving the T-Bird is a lot different from pedaling that suppository on wheels that you drive."

"Bite me," she chirps endearingly, as she turns to leave. "Oh, and remember Bali, for my wedding gift?"

"Right. Your wedding gift. We'll see how high the bidding goes. Drive safely. Got it? And call me when you reach my place, okay."

"Got it." She turns back and whispers to Gabe, "Try to think with the head that's on your shoulders, boss."

Gabe smiles "Got it."

He watches his assistant leave. He also thinks about what she just said. That would be sound advice on any playing field, and especially this one. About that time, Melody is approaching with several of her girlfriends to meet the "mystery man" of the party. They are all very attractive, and let's just say their assets are considerable. It's a tough job sometimes. Someone has to do it. He puts on his best smile as they surround him.

Traci Cromwell is now well aware of Gabriel Cash, and every few minutes, she glances over in his direction. Is this really the man she can trust? God knows, she needs to trust someone.

Meanwhile, Amanda has driven away in the baby blue classic T-Bird, its big motor sucking gas as she enjoys the acceleration and power. As luck would have it, she hit the green light at Pacific and Alpine, near the SavMart, and accelerated up Pacific, again hitting the green light passing by U o P. It wasn't very often that Amanda got to experience the T-Bird, and it was always a thrill. She'd enjoyed a few admiring drivers, glancing at both the classic, and her dressed to match. It was about 10 PM as she rolled over the Stanislaus River, gunning to 60 MPH with more to go. She thinks, in that moment, she could still easily slow down and stop up ahead, but when Amanda let up on the accelerator, the engine kept racing. Amanda pushed down on the brake pedal hard, and it went quickly all the way to the floor. At this instant, without knowing if she could or couldn't do anything, she did what most people would do, she froze.

Taking it all in, a red light ahead, and the brake lights from cars in both northbound lanes was coming up fast. There are seconds where a person's life, can and will change forever to act. This was one of those times, and Amanda knew he had to act. A few more slams against the floor told Amanda that she wasn't stopping or slowing down. There was a turning lane on the right, and there was no way she was going to make a 45 degree turn at 60 MPH, but she might just swerve onto the neighborhood access road. In about a second she'd have no choice but to try. She swerved into the turning lane and attempted to accelerate through a small opening that led onto a parallel side street. She would have made it through the intersection but for the guy heading South on Pacific who decided to try to beating the turning light that had just gone yellow as he swung his pick-up truck through that same intersection.

The T-Bird's front left corner connected with the 7,000 pound, accelerating F-150's right front, the impact sending the T-Bird bouncing off on its two right front and rear tires, and flipping as it plowed into an Oak tree, its rear wheels still spinning, and the engine racing. The F-150 spun around to the left, it's front end demolished. An elderly man is slumped over the steering wheel, air bags deployed.

Amanda lays trapped, twisted, upside down and unconscious in the now smoldering wreckage of the classic T-Bird. There were no airbags in the 1960's. Nor was there much in the way of accident energy absorption and diffusion. Thankfully, bystanders wasted no time in coming to assistance of both drivers. Cars are stopped in all directions of this busy intersection. The tower bells chime the time - there wouldn't be anyway anyone with hearing would not be able to pinpoint the time of the accident

A group of three men raced to the T-bird, while several more went to the F-150. The old man was groggy, and obviously disoriented, as he was pulled out of the vehicle and helped off and disoriented.

Amanda was bleeding from a visible head wound, and a middle aged man was attempting to free her from the old lap belt. "I can't get it loose!" A small fire had started in the engine area. Fuel was leaking on the blacktop from both vehicles. Another man lunges down onto broken glass and reaches in with a pocket knife, quickly cutting the seat belt, which causes Amanda to collapse onto the headliner. Someone nearby yells out "Hurry, it's on fire! Get her out!" Now, two men reach inside and grab Amanda as best they can and pull her from the wreckage. In the background, someone screams "Hurry!"

As they pull Amanda from the wreckage, unconscious, flames are rising from the engine compartment.

Several more bystanders rush to help carry Amanda a safe distance from the crash site. A moment later, with a score of bystanders watching, the T-Bird's gas tank ignites and explodes, sending a ball of flames skyward. Amanda is laid on a lawn, and then on a blanket as about a hundred 911 calls are made simultaneously. A neighbor checks her vital signs. "I'm a nurse. Okay. She's alive, so far. Did someone call 911?" A few bystanders concur. Sirens are heard approaching. "We need another blanket. She's going into shock... hurry." A blanket from someone's car appears a moment later. The nurse covers Amanda's body, and applies hand pressure to the gash on her head. "I need a towel, anything..."

In the moments that follow, as if in a tunnel, Amanda hears the voices echoing around her, people who are trying to save her life. They fade in and out, and then suddenly a light of being seems to fill her and she is suddenly watching the crowd of people gathered around her, watching the nurse from the house nearby, kneeling beside her, trying to stop the bleeding from the head wound. It's the oddest thing, hearing the voices, seeing the flames nearby, and then seeing herself lying there, bloody and unconscious.

Paramedics arrived and quickly stabilized Amanda's spine and neck. He eyes fluttered open for just long enough to see two EMTs loading her into the ambulance. "Is she going to make it?," asked one to another. She passed out again before hearing a response. There was none, only the other EMT quietly shaking his head.

More sirens filled the air as police and fire departments rushed to the scene. Two Black & Whites arrived just as the ambulance was pulling away, and another ambulance pulled up.

Back at the Cromwell residence, the sirens could be heard. The police officers who were at the house all heard the dispatch that there had been a major injury accident at the corner of Pacific and Bianchi. Moonlighting or not, the officers all raced for their cars and took off from the Bristol Street address with sirens blaring. All the guests inside stopped and took notice. Whatever pulled the cops away must have been a big deal. Some were guessing a fire, others guessed a gang confrontation. No one guessed it was Gabe Cash's twenty-two year old assistant Amanda, not even Gabe.

Gabe thought for a moment, checked his watch and then quickly pulled out his cell phone. A speed-dial later, and the phone just kicked in with Amanda's standard message: "Hi, this is Amanda. I can't come to the phone, likely because I'm neck deep in law books, but leave a message and I'll call you back. Bye now." The familiar, universal "beep" followed...

Gabe leaves his message: "Hey kid. I thought you were going to call me right when you got back to my place. Don't forget. Call me, okay?" He finishes the call, and notes additional sirens heading up Pacific, in the background. Years in the military and as a cop has given Gabe an odd sixth sense that usually proved to be right. It was a feeling, an ominous feeling, just like the one he was getting now...

Across the room, Traci Cromwell was mingling with a small group of guests, with an eye on Gabe as he crossed the room to her, He must have been wearing his emotions on his sleeve as Traci picked up on his body language right away.

"Something wrong, Mr. Cash?"

"I'm not sure. Amanda, my assistant, left in my car. She was supposed to check in when she got back to my place..."

"And she didn't?"

Gabe shakes his head, "Not yet..." Gabe suddenly changes gears. "Do you have a car I can borrow? I know it sounds strange...but..."

"You're really worried, aren't you?"

"I guess. Yes. I'm worried. I just want to make sure she's okay, after what I've been through these past few days. You understand, don't you?"

Traci studies Gabe for a moment, and decides to take a big leap of faith with this interesting man... "I'll drive you. Come on." She literally takes him by the hand though the house. This certainly doesn't go unnoticed by some of the guests. More rumors undoubtedly by morning, guaranteed.

A few moments later, Gabe and Traci are turning North onto Pacific in Traci Cromwell's late model Maserati Quattroporte Coupe. Gabe can't help but think if crime pays, then vice pays even more. While a little uncomfortable not driving, he notices that Traci isn't wasting a second. As they approach the university, up ahead they can see the glow of emergency blue and red lights just over the Stanislaus River bridge. Gabe tenses as he sees the glow ahead.

"Hurry, please," comes from Gabe as more of a plea than a command. Traci accelerates over the bridge and the intersection of Bianchi and Pacific comes fully into view. Two fire trucks with crews, putting out what looks like the remains of a car fire. From this distance of about a quarter mile away and closing, neither Gabe nor Traci can make out the full details yet. Four Stockton PD Black and whites are positioned at all points, officers diverting traffic around the wreck. As Gabe and Traci near, Gabe can see the familiar back end of his T-Bird and can tell that it's upside down. "Oh, hell."

They are waved to a stop by a young officer, who is directing Northbound traffic on Pacific. Traci sees that it was one of the cops who was at the party. The cop leans in as he recognizes Traci. "Miss Cromwell, I'm sorry we had to leave, but we all got the call..."

Traci smiles "It alright. Duty calls..."

Gabe leans over, and asks the officer "What happened?"

The officer gives as much as he can. "Well, sir. Apparently the driver of the car couldn't stop and swerved to get around stopped traffic. But a guy was trying to beat the light turning onto Bianchi at the same time. It was pretty bad..."

Gabe doesn't wait for the rest of the story as he exits the car and runs through emergency personnel to get as close as he can. He is finally blocked by a large cop, who grabs him about twenty feet from the wreckage. "Whoa, sir. I can't let you get closer. It's not safe."

Gabe is insistent. "That's my car! Tell me about the girl that was driving. How is she?"

The officer starts to move Gabe back away from the wreckage, saying "Look sir. I don't know anything except that both drivers were taken from the scene by ambulance. Now please. You have to step back."

The neighbor who had given first aid to Amanda approaches Gabe. "Excuse me. Are you a relative?"

Gabe repsonds "No. She works for me, and she was driving my car back to my house. Did you see what happened?"

The neighbor, a nurse, takes Gabe by the hand. "I'm a nurse, and I gave the girl basic first aid until the ambulance came. She was unconscious but alive."

"Where'd they take her?" Gabe asks.

The officer, still standing nearby, responds "I think they took them both to San Joaquin General."

"That makes sense. It's the closest facility that still has an ER and trauma center," adds the nurse.

"Thank you," Gabe responds, then adds to the officer "You guys need to treat this as a crime scene. Impound the car and have your CSI people check the brake lines and throttle control. I have good reason to believe the car was tampered with."

"I'll see to it, sir," the cop replies.

Gabe turns and jogs back to Traci's car, but to the driver's side where he asks "They took her to General. Mind if I drive?" Traci gets out without a word and gets into the passenger side as Gabe guns the engine. Traci straps in, closes the door, and gets sucked into the seat as Gabe punches it, laying rubber as he fishtails away, on a mission to get to General in record time. For the next ten minutes, Michael Schumacher would have been proud of Gabe's grand prix driving. Traci Cromwell, meanwhile, can't help but share in the anxious adrenalin rush of the moment, as she attempts to hold on to anything she can while Gabe pushes her car to the limit.

"Mr. Cash. We need to get there alive."

"Don't worry, just hang on."

With the cops already stretched thin around Stockton, Gabe's driving by his own rules, running lights, drifting through turns, at speeds between 70 and 90 mph. Then, out of nowhere, Gabe asks Traci "Just how well do you know Elliott?"

"Enough to be afraid of him," she responds, as she holds on for dear life.

"You, Carlucci, and Elliott were partners in the prostitution operation?"

Traci continues to stare out the window. "I prefer to say that I'm in the commodities business. I simply supply something certain people want and are willing to pay for. Mr. Elliott is a regular client of mine; but, we he is not a partner in my business."

"Really? So how come you, Carlucci, and Elliott were seen together at the Sea Breeze Apartments? Isn't that property really a brothel operation?"

"My, my, Mr. Cash. You've done your homework. Joe had something going with Elliott. I'm pretty sure Elliott supplied girls for Joe."

"I thought you and Joe were an item," Gabe tosses out.

"We were. He said he was going to ask for a divorce..."

Gabe is intrigued. "So how did you and Joe run your operation?"

"Simple. I handled the high end clientele, with my girls. Joe handled his own operation with Elliott with the street prostitutes and porn sites."

"And you're okay with all that?" asks Gabe.

Traci turns to him. "I supply high end clients with very sophisticated escorts, both male and female. And I get paid very well for that. I'm not involved with Elliott and Joe's deals, and I don't want to be."

"I'm pretty sure Elliott had Joe killed. My guess is that he was tired of being in the shadows and wanted a bigger piece of the Billips' pie, maybe get rid of Elliott.

Traci again looks at Gabe. "What about Mrs. Billips?"

Gabe is guessing, but it fits. "I figure that he and Mrs. Billips had a falling out of sorts. Maybe she wanted him out. Maybe she wanted to take over the family businesses personally. I don't think she was the type to go along with what Elliott and Joe were into."

Traci looks at Gabe incredulously. "Are you kidding me? Stacey Billips and I were friends because I introduced her to Bertrand Billips ten years ago! Mr. Cash. Stacey Billips had a Business degree, was a grad student at the university, smart and gorgeous, when I arranged for Mr. Billips to have a date with her. Stacey Billips was one of my girls, and Mr. Billips was one of my best clients."

Gabe is floored. "Son of a bitch. You gotta be kidding me."

Traci continues, "What can I say? They fell in love, or he did. At eighty years old, she gave him a few amazing years..."

"Died with a smile on his face, right? So I'm sure the family went bonkers over that marriage."

"Not really. Everything is wrapped up in trusts. Other than Joe, who didn't come forward, there was really nobody to make a fuss."

"And Joe, or Artie? Why go after Stacey Billips."

"I don't know. Maybe some sick way of getting back at his father."

"That's pretty sick....hold on!" Gabe announces, as a car has sped through a stop light and Gabe literally skids the Maseratti coupe around the speeding car to avoid a wreck.

Gabe continues, "What else is Elliott into? Do you have any idea?"

Traci replies "I have plenty of ideas, Mr. Cash. I think he's into human trafficking and using the Billips shipping lines."

"That makes sense. Where are the girls coming in from?"

"He and Joe used to discuss the Russian Federation a lot. I think they have contacts there."

"So they're tied in with the Russian mob. Anything more I should know about Elliott?" asks Gabe.

"He has some serious connections in Washington from what I've heard. Look, Gabe, what I've told you so far could get me killed.Just being with you right now can get me killed," replies Traci Cromwell.

"So why then? Why are you here?" asks Gabe.

"I want out. I don't want to end up like Stacey, or Joe. I just want out."

"Okay. I'll help you, if you'll help me," Gabe replies.

"Do I have a choice?" Traci asks.

"We always have choices Traci," Gabe responds. "But, I will help you. And you help me bring down Elliott."

Traci stares out the window, nodding slowly, and realizing that this is a clear turning point in her life story - and a chance she has to take. Gabe realizes that Traci probably knows a lot more than she's owning up to, by the fear she's showing at this moment. He drives on through the night, closing in on the hospital.

Moments later, Gabe drives into the San Joaquin General Hospital ER parking lot, and pulls up to the entrance. He jumps out fast, as he jogs to the big double automatic doors calling out to Traci "Go ahead and park it, then meet me inside!"

He is cut off by an alert guard who has seen one too many crazies come charging in here late at night. His job is to stop the crazies; and, right now he doesn't know if Gabe is crazy or not.

"Whoa, man. Stop right there. Where do you think you're headed?"

Gabe sees the guard's right hand is on his holstered sidearm, which looks to Gabe to be a Glock 9 mm auto. Gabe cools his jets for a moment.

"A girl was brought in here a little while ago, accident victim, maybe a Jane Doe. I have her information. She's my assistant. Who do I need to see?"

That was all the guard needed to hear. He assesses immediately that Gabe is one of the good guys. The Guard turns and heads up the hallway at a brisk walk. "Follow me." In the center of the corridor, they come upon the ER/Trauma nursing and monitoring station.

The guard grabs everyone's attention "Hello, my ladies of the night! This man has info on that female car accident victim we admitted from the car accident a little while ago..."

Gabe initerjects, "Twenty-two years old, dark hair." A second Nurse comes across to the station. The Charge Nurse asks Gabe, "And you are?"

"She works for me, Amanda Padino, how is she?"

"Amanda Padino," as she types, glancing down at her keyboard. "And you know I can't share with anyone except family. Does she have anyone locally?" The Nurse understands the rules, and so does Gabe.

Gabe presses. "Listen, I can give you the details, she's my assistant."

No information unless immediate family, and the Nurse looks Gabe over, and decides she'll toss him a bone. "She is very lucky so far... so far we've established she has some broken ribs, a broken arm, and we have head trauma... She's in an induced coma, so far I'd say she was lucky so far..."

Gabe picked up on every word, "What do you mean, so far?

"I didn't get you're name, Mister...?"

"Gabe Cash."

The Carge Nurse glances at Amanda's notes: "Well, Mr. Cash, if we can keep her brain from swelling... she might just make it. Do you know any next of kin?"

"Her parents, they live in Tracy. They'll be here."

"Good, then I won't have to ask for information, from you and then ask it again. Is there anything else like allergies, drugs she may be taking..." Gabe shakes his head, which she makes a note of as she taps the keyboard while Traci stands in the background. Gabe continues to stand at the desk, as if standing there will prompt a sudden announcement. It doesn't come, save for the Charge Nurse staring up at him. "Right now, Mr. Cash, why don't you both wait in the sitting area. Now, get over there, and let us do to our jobs."

He took the cue, and holds up his hands in mock surrender. Gabe escorts Traci to the small lobby. Meanwhile a mobile ringer starts buzzing from Traci's bag. Traci obviously stiffens at the familiar signal. She lags behind Gabe, as he plops into a seat never meant for comfort. Traci pulls her phone from her bag, and simply holds the phone to her ear without speaking. For once, Gabe hasn't even noticed Traci's back stiffen on that first ring, a ring that would not belong to anyone else. He didn't pay attention to the hesitation with which Traci reached for the phone.

In Gabe Cash's mind, in this moment, he's thinking about a young lady who likely had a near fatal accident, likely intended for him as well as Amanda. As much he was readying for meeting Amanda's parents, under these circumstances, there would be nothing that could calm a parent upon learning that their child is fighting for her life.

it was clear the stakes had just been raised. He looked up to see Traci on a call. Did he even hear Traci's phone ring, he wondered. Guess not, he realized...

In a fashionable, stately home in the Brook Saddle Estates, the armed guards don't appear out of the ordinary... for those who possess power and money to insulate themselves from the distasteful of humanity. One of the aides at the party was now standing sentry at the door, while the other aide from Traci's gathering was currently walking the two acre grounds, the two taking turns every few hours. In the estate house, there would be a third guard monitoring all security cameras, in a basement security wing. With a knowledgeable glance at the security system and personnel on hand, one might seem to feel that Chandlers Elliott III had all his bases covered. And any trained eye could tell that Elliott was prepared for a lot more trouble than Stockton punk gangs could muster. He had only just begun to bring on the second guard, ever since he decided that Gabe Cash would be a problem. Elliott lived in a world where problems disappear, or so it seemed.

There was a subdued glow from the main floor, from off the vestibule at the entrance. Elliott duplicated the ambiance that exuded that same raw power in his private study as was visible in his office. A single office lamp cast shadows about the room, and it was here, in the shadows where Chambers preferred to do bus

Elliott was still dressed in his suit from the evening's party. He held his cell phone to his ear. And very slowly, very deliberately, he speaks.

"Well, Traci, is there anything you need to tell me."

"I uh, can't speak..." Traci quietly responds back.

Elliott injects with that same soft but sinister tone. "Then allow me to tell you. You left your party very suddenly."

Traci is a good actress, as she plays it's one of her girlfriend guests. "Thank you, it was a wonderful fundraiser, and I am so sorry we missed our goodbyes dear! Well, I had to rush a dear friend to the hospital. Very sudden. Of course, we'll get together."

"And you are with Mr. Cash?"

After a beat, "Of course, yes dear. I promise."

"Just understand that I'm going to need to be debriefed, in full. Understood? No, don't answer. Simply listen. Knowing that you left with Mr. Cash disturbs me, Traci. It would be good for you to not be near Mr. Cash... You might do well to not anywhere close to Mr. Cash. One never knows when something like a... car accident can happen."

On the end of the line, Traci is stunned silent.

"And I am going to ask you leave whatever love-nest you've hidden off to... Mr. Cash would not be safe to be around, especially if he drives."

Traci realizes he doesn't know. "Elliott. We didn't take Cash's car. His assistant took his car... are you saying that you caused that girl - she's in the hospital. She's critical. That was meant for Cash? And likely that girl?"

Elliott, even in this subdued light, has turned red with anger. In a moment, he regains his composure. But, he must understand this misstep, and there will be a cost here. A dear cost. "Cash didn't drive his car?" Elliott repeats the painfully obvious. "He didn't drive his car?"

Traci, also has no choice but to answer him, at least she knows that, but this... "That's exactly what I'm saying."

Elliott is angry, angry at himself for alloying amateurs to botch the simplest plans. There will be indeed a cost. "Traci, remember, he, this Cash fellow, he aims to destroy me and of course, he won't, he can't. But you, I am very concerned for you, Traci. He has been asking about the apartment buildings. Everything you've built, we built together, one wrong move can ruin you. There was no accident that he was there. Be careful. Tomorrow, we'll get together and work out the details. I'll call you, my dear."

Chambers Elliott II flips his phone onto the ornate desk, modeled after the famed White House desk.

He steps behind the desk to the matching credenza where his favorite decanter of 1939 Macallan rests. Now, for a drink, and then to detail every loose end, and there are many indeed. Every loose end will be taken of. No amateurs, no mistakes. It is amazing in the end, Elliott, as he pours a crystal shot glass of $10,000 per bottle of Scotch whiskey, and he ponders the great motivations. Is it power? Lust? Money? He dares not consider love or other virtues, as worthy motives, as they are merely means to his ends. Useful, as long as they prove useful. Yes. Which of these is greater? Power. Power to reign, power to conquest. And, it becomes useful to lust, and to use money to further one's power. Simplifying. As he sips in the moment, framed by silhouettes and shadows, the answer matters not. He holds up the glass to the light, its amber glow. Yes. Indeed. Why not power?

Elliott enjoys this. But enough. A quick glance at his watch tells him that if anything was predictable, it would always be the timing of his immediate visitor. Elliott depressed his intercom, and addresses his Security Ops HQ and staff: "Elliott here. Are we ready?"

"Perimeter is at gate. Ready. Entrance, ready. All surveillance, all clear." The HQ Leader has his cadenced simplicity down to a science.

Elliott found ex-military were grateful, and he liked to have a seasoned team on hand at all times And there was William. His carelessness cost him his life, fair enough. Elliott had decided, had his guard lived through his unfortunate confrontation with Mr. Cash, he would have taken care of William in any case. Failures and complacency were not to be to tolerated.

Elliott gave a thoughtful final notice. "Oh, by the way, Sgt. Avery, I just learned that our Mr. Cash was not affected by the accident his car was involved in a little while ago."

Avery offered "Sir, we handled the car... no way he would have walked away."

Elliott took a deep breath, his patience wearing thin. "His assistant drove the car. He's at the Hospital."

Sgt. Avery did not want to be involved in another screw up, not now. "We can take him out now, sir."

Elliott had planted the seed, but now wasn't the time. "No. Not now. Let's allow him time to think about it. We have bigger matters to deal with tonight." Elliott clicks off.

His new HQ Leader, Avery was a 4 time tour in the Iraq theater, and a half dozen God forsaken human shit-holes no one would ever forget, and were the rest of the world would never remember. He was in Iraq, stationed with the USMC 1st Expeditionary Forces. Being in the military, Avery got to see the meaning of FUBAR nearly daily. He and his men were "imperial grunts" carrying out the will of Washington, and increasingly, the UN, and often without seeing the light of reason.

First Sgt. Avery experienced what he saw as criminal as the US forces were on the verge of one of the great military victories in US history, tactically out-flanking on two fronts, despite being outnumbered, and routed the Taliban, as well as imported insurgents, into to a killing trap in a small quadrant in Fallujah, pinned against the Tigris River. What happened next baffled every man on the ground and in the air, and he has played this over in his mind again and again: The US stood down, on orders from above. Staff Sgt Avery, same as every man in his unit, felt betrayed by the politics of the season. For Avery, after seeing a war whose US victory was within its grasp, given away to the enemy, was bordering on criminal, and going the same dirty path as Vietnam, a generation ago, despite claims to the opposite. After coming back to the states, Making the jump to the more lucrative private sector was a no-brainer as his time to re-up.

Elliott had among a number of contacts in hiring security consultants, and his team was been highly recommended. The perimeter watch was handled by First Sgt. Hans Blakemann, US Army Special Forces Recon. His story was similar to Avery's. Somewhere along the way, he'd come home between tours to find his wife shacking up with a used car salesman not far from his Fort Benning base. Deciding to stay stationed stateside or jump back into a simpler life where in the action was, and when given his duty options he chose to lend his services to a special ops unit operating, off the books, in Columbia, dealing with al-Qaeda infiltrators from Venezuela as well as the Columbian drug cartels with, criminals and terrorists who by 2005 had been suspected of teaming up South of our borders. That seemed the right ticket, but not before that car salesmen would find chance meeting a dark alley near his favorite watering hole. He wouldn't see who broke his legs with a baseball bat, knocked him unconscious with a blow that would have killed him had he not moved on that swing. The car salesman was lucky he was alive, even if they did lift his wallet and his car, at least that's what the police said. The Columbus, Georgia police felt that this was a particularly violent robbery/car-jacking, as there were other gang related muggings, yet there were no arrests by the time Sgt. Bkakemann was on a civilian aircraft bound for Bogota. He wondered how his wife would manage her love life, seeing how the car salesman would be be in dual casts for 6 months. Sgt. Blakemann slept almost the entire trip down to Colombia.

For the next two years, Blakemann ran a six man recon team along the Northern border, and occasionally into the interior on both sides of the border. But, since they were off the books, there's was a recon-search & destroy sanction. He took a pride in his recon team, and provided enough headaches for the cartels and al-Qaeda operatives to either infiltrate and collaborate that his unit had a five million dollar price on their heads by year two. It's hard to say who put up the bounty. Sgt. Blakemann team had an intel lead that there was to be a high level meeting in a small village two hours north of Medellin. His team was already in place, when the principals began arriving, some by SUV, and a party by chopper from the Northeast border, likely Venezuelan origin.

Blakemann found the location disturbing. Only one way in and out, the rest mountains and jungle. There would be no easy exit routes, maybe except by air, and they had no use of air support. They had been radio-silent; and, if the shit hit the fan, there'd be no one to extract them. What Blakemann black ops team didn't know was that they were being trailed by a likewise professional team, sealing off their exit North.

It never felt right; and, by the time the ambush came, as they neared the town, it was a planned execution. The team realized the only way to face death or capture, and they were in the killing zone no matter which way they turned, except for the soccer field where that chopper had landed. Blakemann and his men knew that being taken prisoner was out of the question. The last man the Policia Nacionale sent to this village, had been tortured and decapitated. The policeman's body was never found, except Colombian authorities found his severed head on a small dirt soccer field. Apparently, it been used as a soccer ball. Blakemann saw the chopper as their only way out.

In his official report, he lost three soldiers on the ground, and one mortally wounded providing cover in the chopper. Two of his unit survived, as Blakemann flew the bullet-riddled US made Huey safely with a clean through shot through his right thigh. One of his men tied his leg and Blakemann stayed together for the duration of the trip to a safe zone. Blakeman's report noted that the ambush was a military operation, but damned sure not solely Colombian. And of course, except for eyes only, there was nothing to be recorded. Three good soldiers were listed as MIA in Afghanistan, while a fourth was killed during a training exercise. Blakemann and his two surviving recon team were instructed to remember, "regarding this mission, it didn't exist." After that, it was over for Blakemann. When the phone contact, it came from a voice in California who had his entire jacket in fron of him. Next thing, Sgt. Blackmann was on Elliott's payroll.

At the front door, Elliot chose, among his close team, 1st Sgt Ike Redmond, like William Conner, former Marine who flipped over to civilian duty as a cop with a half hour from Baltimore, in Washington, D.C. The Washington police was more protocol and bullshit that served, in his opinion, more to derail law enforcement than not. And there was politics. Sgt. Redmond was the team's solo African-American and he was as tight with his team as he'd ever been in the Corps. It helped that a few guys were Marines here, even if Stockton wasn't his ideal duty assignment. Besides, his pay was triple his cop salary plus room and board, and it beat anything that a private service firm could offer, and that would put him back in Iraq or Afghanistan. It's been a cushy gig, so far. If everything went this way over the next five years, he'd likely to bag enough to set himself for life.

That was the idea. It was damned good duty working for Elliot, as each of his key security team felt the same way and regarded their jobs with all seriousness. There wasn't any room for any of the team to screw up. And somehow, the team knew William screwed that up. As far as the security team was concerned, no one would get away with taking down one of their own.

A black Lincoln Town Car drove down the quiet street, on schedule, approaching the Elliott estate. There was no commercial plate, nor was there a permit number. This limousine wasn't all that uncommon in a community as this; however, this would not be ferrying rich brats to their Junior Proms and cotillions. The Lincoln turned into Elliott's estate, and held there at the electronic gate, while two remote cameras registered to the security team, and Elliott Chandlers III, that their planned arrival was on property.

It was just midnight San Joaquin Hospital, the waiting area had become populated

Gabe checked his watch, it was a Timex, albeit a modern Iron-Man classic, as trusty as his Springfield 1911. Amanda's parents, were accompanied by an entourage: two men, about the same age as the parent's, and enough of a family resemblance to figure these must uncles. And, two young men, 22-23 and late-20's, and Gabe assumed these were the boy friend, and by the family resemblance, again, this would be the brother who helped with the family farm. They all looked too preoccupied to think he might be the guy who gave Amanda that lovely job in that seedy P.I. office. Gabe watched and studied. The men in this family were visibly tough from a life on the farm. Not very large, or tall, but these were the kind of Portuguese men who didn't crack under pressure, even her brother. He figured Mrs. Padino to be cut of the same cloth. Maybe no one in this group was playing center for the Golden State Warriors, but with the five good men right in front of him, they might help him even the odds. And it would come down to that, Gabe thought. Like so many mental notes locked away over the years, he files away his observations, as he slowly rises, thinking it as well be now as never.

He approached the family, as they walked, reaching them together at the ER desk. Gabe caught them off guard. "Excuse me, you're Amanda's family?" They turned focus toward Gabe immediately.

Mr. Padino turned to Gabe. "Who are you?"

"Gabriel Cash. Amanda works for me." Gabe offers his hand... but Mr. Padino doesn't acknowledge the hand-shake; but, it's Mrs. Padino who steps forward and accepts.

"Mr. Cash, Amanda told me about you, a little... Why are you here, Mr. Cash? It's after midnight."

Mr. Padino injects, "Amanda works for this guy? I thought she was going to law school."

Gabe starts to speak, but thinks better. Mrs. Padino lays it out plainly. "She is going to law school, papa, she was just doing some work on side to make some extra money. She told me all about it."

Mr. Padino is now irritated. "So how come I'm the last to find out? Always the last, you know?" He turns his attentions to Gabe. "So what does Amanda do for you?"

When in doubt, tell the truth, so..."I'm a P.I., private investigator. I have Amanda coming in to keep me organized, answer phones, research..."

Mr. Padino cuts in. "So like my wife said, what are you doing here?"

There's no way to simply blurt out "she's was driving my car after a party." So, that is exactly what he did. Mr. and Mrs. Padino stare and Gabe incredulously. And at that point there are many more questions that are popping like rapid-fire synapses. Before either Gabe can offer any more, and before the Padinos can ask for more, the Charge Nurse speaks up.

"Excuse me, you must be the Padino family, I assume you are Mr. and Mrs Padino. Please come along with me. I'll come back and the rest a few at a time." She nods to mom, and motions to follow. Gabe sees that the Charge Nurse is Lae Lannie by her name tag. He just liked the manner in which the nurse took complete control of the situation. Nurses, like Lae Lanni in E.R., have to be able to exert a sense of control over that which is inherently unstable.

Mr. Padino shoots a quick glance Gabe... Oh, there’s no question, that there will be more questions, Gabe figures. The Padinos disappear around a barrier. The rest of the family, especially the Padino uncles, take up where Amanda's father left off, regarding Gabe with some degree of suspicion.

"So, how about that Portuguese Soccer Team?" Gabe offers... But the two Uncle's offer nothing back beyond a stare, save for the older, Michael, who says only with a delivery that could rival Clint Eastwood, "It's Football." Traci senses the tension from the exchange, and rises in the background and joins Gabe and the Padino clan.

Traci is about to demonstrate a unique trait that has served her well in a myriad of tight spots, and awkward situations, which is a gift for being able to read a situation, and diffuse the tension, as she will soon do. She steps right into the mix, introducing herself.

"Hello, you must be Amanda's family." She extend her right hand, to Michael, the soccer critic, and with a smile, he melts as he shakes her hand. One down. "I'm Traci, Mr. Cash's friend. We arrived at the accident scene not long after the ambulance left..."

Gabe inserts quickly, "We got here as soon as we could."

Traci extends her hand to the other brother, Romero. Again, her smile would disarm a hooded executioner. Traci adds as she shakes hands with Romero, "And you are?"

"Romero Padino, and this is my older brother Michael," as he shakes hands with Traci, and Gabe.

Michael Padino now includes his nephew, Nico, who also shake hands with Traci and Gabe. Two and three down.

And not being family, the boyfriend, Robert, is on his own, he steps up with his own intro. "I'm Robert, Amanda and I are

"I know," replied Gabe, "Amanda has mentioned you... Nice to meet you." All four down.

As Lae Lanne walks them into the ward, she has no choice but to pass by several urban casualties, and there are cries and moans of those who can’t do anything else. The nurse moves Mr. and Mrs. Padino quickly past to Amanda’s pulled curtain. Lae Lanne stops before entering Amanda’s curtained area, to warn her parents…

“Now, Amanda is sedated, she’s in we call an induced coma, which isn’t unusual for this kind of head injury.”

“What kind of injury is that?” fires back Mr. Padino.

“She has a slight fracture in her…forehead region, and a concussion, and contusions, several broken ribs, as well as a broken radius…” She motions to her own lower arm. Mrs. Padino antennae focused on the skull fracture:

“You said a slight skull fracture? I’m sorry, I never heard of a slight skull fracture.”

Lae Lanne sighs, “It happens, especially in vehicle accident, and it was an older car without shoulder belts. She’s lucky to be alive, but be aware there is some swelling…”

The E.R. nurse opens the curtain… and Mr. and Mrs. Padino see their 22 year old daughter, except there would not be any way that either parent would recognize their daughter in this condition. Her head is unwrapped, but there are facial lacerations, and the making of dual black eyes due to the sub-dermal contusions caused by the impact her face with either the hard dash,steering wheel, or both. Her left arm is in a wrap, and in traction. The intravenous units, the oxygen, the heart monitor, it’s all a sudden shock to the Padinos. This was the daughter who'd walked out of their home only hours ago. Mrs. Padino absorbs all she can, and with a deep breath, she collapses.

Out in the waiting area, a "Code Blue" gets the front desk staff moving, another nurse double-times it into ER-ICU. Gabe and Traci notice the commotion ensuing, as do Amanda's entourage.

The visitor who had arrived promptly at midnight has joined Elliott in the study. The visitor stood taller than Chandler Elliott, not necessarily by measures of a ruler; but, the visitor possessed advantages of the measurements of the intangible. Surely, Elliott sought power and all it could bring him. The visitor, on the other hand, needed not to seek power or the trappings that were its ornaments. There was clearly a difference, and it made Elliott uncomfortable, and in some ways, transparently inadequate.

In the awkward silence, the stranger was aware of his effect upon Elliott, and others, and purposely underplayed the obvious, which made Elliott painfully aware of his position, which prompts him to pour another Scotch. Elliott knows better than to offer his guest.

"Well, everything is on track..." Elliott allowed the words to tumble out of his face, realizing how inane his verbal efforts were, even as he knew "he who speaks first loses." Both sides knew that.

The visitor leveled a steel glance at Elliott, and ever his controlled voice... "Mr. Elliott, it seems you... have been having some problems... And, I am concerned."

Elliott replies with a defensive tone. "Some... personal issues. That's all. It's about to be rectified."

"Is there anything that can interfere with... our plans... in any way?" The visitor knows exactly the meaning of his words, as does Elliott.

TO BE CONTUED