The first rule of the universe says that things are never simple.

And the second rule says that if you think things are simple ... you don't understand the situation.

Back at the office - after grabbing a take-out order from the deli downstairs - I started making a catalog of just how un-simple things were.

While I'd spent the morning at DSS, Ted had made contact with his runaway ... and it was bothering him.

In brief, the runaway was a fifteen-year old girl ... with a "too friendly" stepmother.

"Doesn't make sense," Ted complained. "I mean, if it was her old-man groping her, sure, but her stepmother? Hell, girl's barely past puberty, flat as a board."

"All kinds of perverts around," I reminded him. "You've been around the 'Loin. You've seen the flesh trade. Some pervs like it young, some really young. And some are women who like little girls."

"But she's married ..."

"And she could have married the girl's father because the girl was an added attraction. Look, Ted, sometimes it's not a pretty world. What are you going to do about it?"

"Me? Damn it, boss ..."

"It's your case," I reminded him. "Just don't make it personal. Think about it logically. What's the first step?"

"Find her a place to stay, arrange counseling, contact her father?"

"That's a start," I agreed. "What else?"

"I'd ... I'd like to call the police! Anyone like that should be locked up!"

"Or treated for a psychiatric disorder. But that's not up to you. No, stick to the program. Take care of the girl, contact the father. Let him know she's all right and she's in good hands. And ..?"

"And ..?"

"Don't forget to send a bill." Not that it was really that simple.

But, at least, we could start by using the simplest solutions. The girl could be reporting the exact truth ... or she could be imagining more than there was. Determining that was up to counselors. And, if she wasn't imagining her stepmother's advances, there were channels for handling that problem as well. But it wasn't Ted's problem ... and my problem was to keep it from becoming Ted's problem.

"How'd you leave the arrangements?" I prompted.

"She'll call," Ted mumbled. "This afternoon ... or this evening. I gave her my home number too. What do I tell her?"

"Does she have a place to stay? A safe place?"

"Yeah, sort of. She's hooked up with bunch of other kids. They panhandle and pool their cash for a cheap room."

"Okay, when she calls, tell her you've arranged some funds to help her out. Keep it small - not more than a twenty at a time. Affluence can cause problems too. And talk to Mary Katherine at Sisters of Charity. She'll know who to recommend.

"But, while you're waiting, I've got a more immediate problem." I outlined the morning's - and last night's - events. "So," I concluded, "I need you to make with the legs and get the crew back in here for a conference. I'd like to see all of them at seven. You'll find Jane over at the library, Bill and Terry at the Chronicle and the Post. The others I'll reach either through the Mission or at the Herrington or the Malory.

"And, while you're at it, don't forget your job application. Now, get moving ..." If he needed something to think about besides his runaway, I'd given him a bonus load.

"Okay, okay, I'm gone," Ted heaved his lanky frame out of the chair. "Oh, yeah ..."

"Yes?"

"Package by your desk - I picked up the specials last night."

"Thanks."

* * *

I left messages at both hotels and at the Mission, then turned to other tasks ... like answering some of my waiting messages.

First was returning a call from Lieutenant Waltham - I should have checked with her while I was at the station earlier. No real excuse except that I'd been busy and it had slipped my mind. I mean, last night's attack by the homies was a long time ago.

"Waltham here."

"Afternoon, Carol. Mac here. Sorry to be so long returning your call. Busy day. Got something?"

"Hi, Mac. Nothing serious but we've got a probable for you. Homeboy brought into the clinic over on Washington. Cracked ribs, dislocated shoulder. Doctor saw the bulletin and called us. Might be one of your friends from last night."

"In the hospital?"

"Over at juvie. They patched him up and released him to custody. He's not talking but we've got him on possession."

"What's he holding?"

"Crack. Him and his buddies didn't have enough sense to ditch the goods. One of his buds makes it on prints."

"The butterfly knife?"

"Right in one. Want to make an ID?"

"No. But I guess I'd better. Meet you there? Half-an-hour?"

"You're on. See you there."

* * *

The kid was easy to spot. Even in the holding pen with a dozen others. Including a couple with matching colors.

"I can give you all three of them," I told Carol. "Kid on the left likes pipes. One behind them's the knife man. One in front thinks he's good with chains."

"Fucking crip," 'Chains' confirmed my identification.

"Given the opportunity and appropriate company, yes," I answered mildly. "Hit them with 'attempted'?" I turned to Carol. "Or just 'aggravated'? I assume they have sheets?"

"Long biographies," Carol assured me. "And, since two of them are just shy of their eighteenth, maybe we can go for adult status. It is an election year and there are a couple of assistants who'd like to make their bones."

"Of course," I ignored the three in the tank, "they might decide to cooperate."

"Fucking pig," this from 'Pipe'. "We get out of here, we're gonna spit you."

"If they rolled over, sure," Carol agreed, ignoring the interruption. "But they're too stupid to do that. Three macho hunks like that? And they can't even handle a one-legged cripple and a girl?"

"Two to five hard time might improve their minds," I suggested.

"Might. Course, they might need tips on makeup and such," Carol considered. "They're young and tender - they'll be popular on the inside. Particularly when word gets around that the three of them can't even handle a cripple. The old timers like their chicken soft and malleable."

"They'll probably enjoy it," I agreed. "Discipline would suit them. And I don't think they're worth the trouble anyway. Let's get out of here. How 'bout a coffee?"

I really didn't figure the homies knew anything worth hearing - certainly nothing worth wasting much time on. And I had plenty of other concerns. These three could stew on their own. Least we'd given them something to think about ... assuming they could think, that is.

Outside, "You really want coffee?" Carol asked.

"Not especially," I admitted. "Just wanted to impress the home boys with their importance. You?"

"I'll pass," she smiled. "I let you know how things develop.

"Good enough. Later, then."

* * *

"So, they blew it. If that leggy bitch hadn't shown up ..."

"Shut up! I wan'ta think. There's got to be a way ..."

* * *

Back at the office, there was a new message waiting - Marilyn Cramer from the Byte Shop. I'd been trying to reach her and I didn't waste any time returning the call. The Byte Shops were scattered all over the bay area but ... most important ... they had an outlet in the North Woods mall ... and computers were a high ticket item - very popular with thieves. And I really needed something that a bunch of thieves couldn't resist ... especially if someone accidentally left it conveniently insecurely stored.

Marilyn was cooperative ... and promised that the manager at the North Woods outlet would - just this once - be forgetful.

"We're pretty heavy on security with high ticket items," she reminded me - as if it would be any surprise considering the work I done helping the plug a few leaks. "But I think we can arrange for an accident. Particularly if you're sure it will all be recovered. Insurance costs are high enough already. Any additional shrinkage and the costs would go through the roof."

I spent a few minutes reassuring her ... and assuring her that their shrinkage rates should go down in the future, not up - and all without telling her why or what. It was a pretty good song and dance act ... or, maybe, it was just the trust of a satisfied client.

Hanging up the phone, I took a moment to review arrangements. It seemed like things were moving pretty fast - at least, fast enough to keep me on the jump - and I was afraid of overlooking something. Hey, part of what I get paid for is worrying ... but it doesn't mean that I enjoy it.

When Ted waltzed in the door, I still hadn't spotted any missing pieces. Everything seemed to be covered ... which worried me. I mean, if you can spot some detail that you've overlooked, that's reassuring, right? But when you can't find anything wrong ... that's when you wonder.

"Bad news, boss," Ted interrupted my thoughts.

"Huh?" I looked up but the kid's stretched mug was grinning, not frowning. "Okay, what's the bad news?" I fed him the straight-line he wanted.

"Bad news is you'll just have to put up with me," his grin spread.

"Then what's the good news?"

"Viscount's not hiring. Says they have a waiting list and subs on call. Said I could fill out an application and they'd keep me in mind but nothing immediate."

"And that's good?"

"Man, I hate doin' windows - Linux is lots better."

A computer joke, I assumed. "Find out anything worthwhile?"

"Not really," Ted admitted. "Told me a lot about pay schedules and benefits. Said they didn't have a lot of turnover. Said I'd have to be bonded to be a regular. Stuff like that."

"Let it go for now," I decided. "The DSS job's more important. More immediate, anyway."

"And they're the paying customers," Ted pointed out. "This other business might be nothing anyway."

"A bomb and a mugging is hardly nothing," I remind him. "And you weren't the one mugged."

"Bomb could've been a joke," Ted suggested.

"And the mugging?"

"Hey, I didn't say it was a funny joke."

"What joke?" a voice addressed us from the door. "How 'bout a hand?"

Marilyn Cramer - from the Byte Shops - was barely visible behind the large carton filling the doorway. At least, a pair of gray eyes and the top of her expensively coiffured honey-blonde head were visible above and, below, the hem of an expensive skirt and a pair of shapely legs. What was hidden from sight but not memory was a muscular but well-shaped body and a face which at near fifty was mature without losing it's attractions.

"Ted - Ms Marilyn Cramer, give her a hand. Okay?"

The Ms was deliberately ambiguous - Marilyn preferred it that way. As she'd confided one evening after we'd spent a long day checking security systems at a half-dozen stores: "No way I'm announcing my marital status every time I'm introduced. Business is business, personal is personal" On the personal side, Marilyn was happily married, monogamous and I'd known her since when I'd been with the department. She'd also been one of my first customers when I'd gone private. And she was a friend.

"Jeeze," Ted came off the corner of the desk like someone had goosed him with a hot poker. "An Indigo Prime?" That was the logo written large across the sides of the carton. "For real? L'me help with that. You know what these things can do?" He crossed the room as fast as he'd come off the desk.

I couldn't see his face when he reached Marilyn and hefted the box ... and realized it was empty ... but his plaintive cry: "Now that's a bum joke!" was pure misery.

"Sorry, Ted," I apologized. "Just a prop for tonight. You didn't have to deliver, Marilyn. I figured you'd send someone."

"What's the matter, Mac," she let Ted take the empty carton. "Don't cha' want me to have any fun? I wanted to see your booby trap before you crated it up. Besides, got to have someone you trust make sure it gets to the right place, right?"

"Can't argue," I agreed. "Coffee?"

"Coffee'd out," she declined. "Let's see the gizmo."

"Haven't looked at it myself," I admitted, reaching for the package which had spent the day sitting by my desk.

Inside - after removing the brown paper wrappings - the largest piece was a plain metal box. Eighteen inches on a side, rough corners, no paint, galvanized finish, pop-rivets ... and dozens of holes on every side. Peering through the holes, a rough mesh was visible but nothing else. A short black antenna protruded from one side.

The smaller package - about the size of a pocket pager - was equally nondescript but, instead of metal, was gray plastic adorned with a single slide switch, a dark red LED poked though a hole in the plastic and a small push button.

A separate laser-printed note read:

Mark VII Stupendous C

Directions:

1.

Slide switch

2.

Wait for red light

3.

Press button

Range: ~1000 yards (or meters)

"Instruction manual," I commented, laying the sheet on the desk.

"Doesn't look like much," Ted ventured.

"Sounds easy. But don't guess we can test it," Marilyn considered.

"Strictly a one-shot," I sympathized. "Pack it up, Ted. Then you can give Ms Cramer a hand returning the carton."

"There's a bunch of plastic inserts inside," Marilyn offered. "Doesn't look like it weighs much. Maybe you'd better add some phone books or something. If they think it's empty, they might not heist it."

"Ted?"

"Yeah, I got the cinderblocks like you said. They're in the front, under the table. How many?"

"Should be about 40 pounds," Marilyn suggested. "Hey, what if the plastic catches fire?"

"Shouldn't. I specified cold smokes, not sparklers. And the mesh layers are like spark arrestors, supposed to keep any flame or sparks from escaping. That's why the box is as big as it is."

"Long as it doesn't go off in the store."

"That'd be a blast," Ted laughed. "Really give the mall rats a chuckle."

Instead of answering, I tucked the transmitter in my jacket pocket - after glancing at it to make sure the red light was off.

"I'll drop it off just before closing," Marilyn advised me. "And I'll hang around while they lock up to make sure everything's set up. No point in making it hard on our perps."

"We do want to make sure that they take the bait," I agreed.

"Not cheese," Ted was hefting a pair of cinderblocks. "An Indigo Pro is pure limburger. If I was going to rip something ..."

"That's the general idea," Marilyn nodded. "Only the best bait. You know what these are going for?"

"Tell him," Ted groaned. "I can't even afford to dream."

"No chance they'd grab the wrong package?"

"Naw. Everything else will be stored securely. And the only one's like this are in the main store on Market anyway. Mall shop's strictly for hobbyists and home office, you're talking serious silicon for commercial accounts."

* * *

"And I'm tellin' you I saw that kid hanging with Mr. Snoopy. He didn't come here for no job. We've got to do somethin' 'fore th' bastards queer everything."

"What's he going to find? Everything's fixed. All we've got to do now is wait. Just chill out, 'kay?"

"No way, sister. That man's dissed me and I'm taking Mr. Snoopy out my way. Tonight. No fancy gimmicks and no homeboys ..."

* * *

I was on the phone when Marilyn left with Ted carrying the packaged bait. Tom Baker had called with a report on the list of names I'd left with him.

"I assume these are some of your irregulars?" Tom asked. "Don't see any problems. A couple of parking tickets and a misdemeanor camping - nothing that'll set off any flags. You want the details?"

"Not as long as they're clean," I replied. "But you can expect to field background checks from a security agency on them."

"No problem. Undercover?"

"That's right."

"Any flack coming back to the department on this?"

"Come on, Tom. You know me better than that. Anything turns up, I'll be calling you first - well, calling Matheson anyway." The Captain had expressed a personal interest. Besides, it was the truth - some PIs may think they're independent law enforcement but that's not only a good way to lose your license but also a great way to get hurt ... or dead ... or jailed.

"Okay, now, about your second list ..."

"Anything interesting?"

"A couple," Tom admitted. "Your Martha Simes?"

"Oh?"

"Had her license lifted two years ago. Repeated DUIs. Clean since. No current vehicle registration, no arrests, no warrants."

"Okay. What else?"

"Mich Jorgenson - a couple of traffic tickets, several parking tickets, mostly in the 'Loin'. Clean otherwise."

"Well, I guess we know what he does for entertainment. That it?"

"No, not exactly. We've got a Tami Anderson in the files but, aside from a few parking tickets, she's down as a complainant on a couple of B&Es. Looks like she's speculating in real estate. That help any?"

"Residential?"

"Looks commercial," Tom countered. "One fire inspection beef. Nothing serious."

"What about Thea Chen?" I asked. "Wasn't she with the department at one time?"

"That's right," Tom agreed. "Left about the same time you were injured."

"What was the reason?" Silence. "Come on, Tom." I prompted. "You've got your finger on every scrap of dirt in the department. Give."

"Scotch verdict," Tom admitted - meaning 'not proven'. "Chen was working undercover, Narcotics. Seems some evidence went missing - buy money and a good quantity of snow. I imagine you had other things on your mind at the time. Investigation was dropped for lack of evidence but Chen resigned shortly after. Other than that, she's clean - not even a parking ticket."

"Snow White?"

"More like the ice maiden," Tom suggested. "Met her a couple of times. No sense of humor. Don't know which way she swings. Or if. Supposed to have been a good cop otherwise."

"Okay. Oh, anything on Irene Zappa?"

"Couple of tickets - paid, no contest. One automotive accident, three years ago, no personal injuries, no citation issued. A few parking - mostly financial district, different locations - one outstanding but it's only two weeks old. Jane Average good citizen. And that's the bag, crumbs and all," he concluded.

"So I owe you a steak and lobster," I thanked him. "Anytime you'd like."

"Abalone steak," Tom countered. "At the Wharf some evening."

"It's yours," I agreed. "And I'll let you know how things shape." I knew Tom's curiosity - it was one of his best features - and he'd appreciate an update as much as he would the abalone. Maybe more.

I hung up the phone and looked at Ted. He was back from carrying the carton, leaning against the door frame with his hands balled into fists and punched down in his pockets.

In lieu of asking, I cocked an eyebrow.

"You know what those things cost?" he complained.

"More than either of us can afford."

"Well, you should have warned me ... Not fair ..."

"Couldn't since I didn't know what Marilyn was bringing. Sorry but I've warned you about jumping to conclusions. Bad habit in this business."

"Jeeze! Could have given me a heart attack!"

"You get a hold of Jane, Bill and Terry?" I changed the subject to a more immediate topic.

"Talked to Jane and Terry. Terry said he'd hunt up Bill. They'll be here at seven."

"Okay," I glanced at my watch. Nearly six. "Call downstairs and order sandwiches and drinks for the group. Oh, and order box lunches for everyone for later. May as well have some munchies while we're waiting for the pigeons to bite."

"Uh, sure. Okay if I add an extra?"

"Allison?" I exercised my deductive skills. "I thought you said she didn't swing your way?" I reminded him of his original assessment.

Watching Ted blush could make a chameleon jealous. "Okay, I was wrong," he mumbled. "Anyway, we kind of had a date and I thought ..."

"You thought a stakeout would be a good time to do a little necking?"

Ted turned two shades darker. "Not that," he protested. "I told Allie I'd show her what being a PI was like. I, uh, ..."

"Okay, include her in," I relented. "But, remember, it's business - not lover's lane. Speaking of which, what about your runaway? Has she called again?"

"Not yet. You said something about a cell phone?"

"Cheaper than an Indigo Prime," I smiled. "I called Phones Plus. They might have it ready this evening if you want to check."

"Make things easier," Ted smiled. "I'll hit the deli and order dinner. Catch my calls?"

"Don't forget my extra pickles." I returned his grin and reached for my own phone. Some days I felt like I needed a telephone implant ... and other days, it seemed like two of them would be better.

* * *

"... and that's the situation," I concluded. "One man's already been killed. It may not be connected but there's a good chance that it is. So, if any of you want to back out ..."

For a moment, none of my irregulars said anything.

"You told us there'd be risks," Gary reminded me. "There's risks sleeping on the street. Least this way I get to eat regular." He punctuated his statement with another bite of his sandwich..

"Said I was in." That was Vera Chambers, the ex-marine.

"Freedom's just another word for nothing left to lose," Bill offered a line from a once-popular song ... slightly off-key. "Long as it pays."

I didn't mention the fact that I'd already decided to double the pay scale - I wasn't interested in bribing them. If anyone wanted out, they were free to leave ... And, next time I needed help, I'd give them preference. Not wanting to get shot isn't cowardice - it's just plain sensible.

"No way I'm passing up a job," Jane protested.

The rest of the crew either nodded, shrugged or said, "I'm in."

"Medical coverage include funeral expenses?" Pietro asked. "Better 'cause I can't afford to be buried otherwise."

"Don't worry about it," Vera assured him. "You'll get the best triple-ply cardboard we can scrounge.

"We can do better that that," Jane considered. "I know where we can get some champagne crates. A very good vintage."

"Hey, we'll do you proud," Daniel spoke in his clear rounded voice. "You got a choice. How about Hamlet's soliloquy for your eulogy? Or you prefer Anthony's speech from Julius Caesar?"

Definitely graveyard humor ... but I laughed along with the rest of them anyway.

Later, we got down to making arrangements for the evening's stakeout.

* * *

Problem with the PI business is the hours - either there aren't any or there are too many. This was the second time in a week that I was pulling an 'all-nighter' after being up all day. And tomorrow was only Thursday - not even a chance to sleep in.

On Saturday's stakeout, the action had come around two-thirty. If that was their regular schedule, then maybe I could figure on getting in by four or five. Maybe I could figure on getting a few hours of sleep ... if I was lucky.

Hey, if I got really lucky, maybe they'd move the schedule up tonight.

Except I wasn't going to count on that any more than I was going to count on them sticking to the 2:30 time slot. If you could depend on crooks keeping to a schedule, the PI business would be a piece of cake. About the only thing you could depend on was crooks being greedy ... and even that had surprises sometimes.

At any rate, tonight I wasn't depending on anything ... not even on them using the same exit as before. For that matter, I was just hoping they'd be making a haul. So I was depending on their greed. But even that could prove to be a mistake. Still, all I could do was try.

The Mall closed at nine. At ten, we took up positions with Daniel filling Tinker Belle's position and Vera covering Cannonball's ... which left Space Cadet's slot open. Since Saturday's coverage had been overkill anyway, I didn't worry about the gap. We could have covered everything with as few as four anyway. Still, I felt better having the whole crew involved - esprit de corps and all that.

The original Cannonball, Space Cadet and Tinker Belle I'd dropped from consideration when it had become a matter of inside positions. All three had alcohol problems - nothing I could do about it and the odds were that they were still on a toot on Saturday's paychecks - but they weren't people I could trust - for their own sakes - in this kind of gig.

Like last time, the stakeout was an exercise in boredom. On the CB, 29 was quiet again and, by eleven, I decided we could break radio silence, figuring a little chit-chat was the best anodyne to terminal boredom.

Herring - Daniel - took the opportunity to do a little radio theatre, concocting a performance involving three homeless people who'd been locked in a warehouse filled with the most improbable contents ... including an African shipment destined for a zoo.

When the impromptu playlet ended with the three 'actors' - distinguishable by their voices and speech patterns - riding an elephant and charging the doors to escape - with a variegated assortment of 'loot' as their cargo - I thought the crash of the doors meant that Daniel had gotten carried away and smashed the radio.

Then his normal voice concluded: "Of course, riding an elephant down the Embarcadero thoroughly enraged the elephant seals living around Fisherman's Wharf ... and, if it hadn't been for the lions following them ... but that, dear listeners, as they say, is another story for another time."

The mixture of shouted/radioed applause/catcalls, I'm sure, was music to Daniel's ears but it wasn't ideal for a stakeout.

"Okay, children," I tried to break in. "Keep it down. You're suppose to be undercover." It took several transmissions to get the reminder through to everyone but I was more pleased than annoyed. Like I said, esprit is priceless.

Besides, I had two gigglers with me in the van.

"Look," I addressed Ted as much as Allison, "it isn't always like this."

"Never like this," Ted agreed. "You got to keep that guy around."

"Time for rounds," I suggested. "Start on the north side and pass out the box lunches and see who needs a break. Sorry," I forestalled a second exit. "Allison, you'll have to stay here. In this case, two's a crowd."

"I could work the south and east sides," she offered. "I know the mall - used to hang here. Best friend used to live about a mile from here. Great place for blades."

"The idea's to stay out of sight," I reminded her. "Not to go bombing the ramps."

"Didn't mean that," she protested. "No blades anyway. Just meant like I know the turf. Hey, gets a break sooner for everyone. Okay?"

"Okay, but keep it cool. Right?"

"Chill city, man," she assured me. "I'll make like a ghost."

* * *

While Ted and Allison were making the rounds, delivering the box lunches and providing relief breaks, my beeper started vibrating.

I used my pen flash to check the display. It was my answering service with a message reading "Urgent. Contact ASAP."

Wonderful!

But - whatever it was - it would have to wait.

* * *

I was still wondering what the emergency was - until the present operation was finished, I didn't want to know ... and wasn't going to call to find out - when the CB squawked: "Big Daddy? Alley Opp filling in for Kojak. Action on spot five."

The voice was Allison's. Spot five mean the loading docks on the south where the mall's rough U-shape made a cul-de-sac of sorts. It was barely one o'clock - they were early. Or, Saturday, they'd been late.

"Alley Opp? Big Daddy. You know what to look for?" Meaning the Indigo Prime carton - that was the one important item in this operation.

"Baby's in a stroller," Allison's voice came back. "Just waiting for pickup."

I took that for confirmation and to mean that she had the carton in sight. Nice to know I could depend on greed.

"Wagon train in sight, coming in on west." The speaker didn't identify himself but it sounded like Bill.

"Okay, attention please. You know the drill. Wait for the all clear and then go home. Grab a cab if you like - you're on expense account - but get a receipt. I'll see you tomorrow. Ted, if you're clear, break off and get to your car. Be ready to follow me and, if I'm spotted, we'll leap frog. Alley Opp? Look for the van on the street. If it's safe, you can join me. Otherwise, you're on your own. Got it?"

"No sweat, Big Daddy. Wagon's in place and loading. Just drive by slow and I'll hop aboard. I'm at the street already. In the shrubbery by the Colmar entrance."

I pulled out and circled two blocks to put the passenger side toward the mall, then shut my lights down while making a slow pass.

As I approached the Colmar entrance, Allison opened the passenger door and popped into the seat. "Got to hand it to Ted," she kept her voice low, conspiratorial. "Really knows how to show a girl a good time. A real blast. What's next?"

"Next," I took the corner quietly and circled to a position where I could watch both the Colmar entrance and the two west entrances, "we wait for them to finish loading."

I reached for the CB mike and passed our position to Ted. "Circle wide and come in dark," I suggested. "I have your maid errant with me. When they leave, give me a two block lead. I'll give you route instructions as we go."

* * *

We didn't have long to wait. Ted had been in position less than five minutes when the van - the same one we'd photo'd on Saturday - pulled out and turned east.

A minute or two later, we were east bound in light traffic on Clipper. "Ted, go ahead and pass us and take a forward tail. Try to keep a two block lead. I'll call the cross streets as they reach them."

I didn't think they'd spotted us - they looked too confident of themselves, driving at a reasonable speed, not too fast, not too slow. Still, if they did make us, with Ted in a forward tail, he could always slow up and let them pass him and then pick up the tail while we took another route. Or, if we looked like going a ways, we could simply switch off before they got suspicious.

Give them two - three miles, I decided, then switch. Let Ted fall back and I'd pass to take the lead position. Alternately, if it looked like they were headed for the 101 or the 280, that would be the time to switch, with both of us in the tail position on the freeway but Ted in the lead and me behind. A sudden exit from the freeway is a great way to spot - or lose - a tail. And a certain one if it's a forward tail.

When the 280 started looking likely, I had Ted fall back, waited until he was in position, then fell further back myself.

Naturally, all guesses were wrong and the van passed the 101 entrance to take the Bayshore south, paralleling the freeway. Then, a mile later, turning again on Oakdale and heading for the south warehouse district between India and South Basins.

Two blocks later, the van pulled up outside an older warehouse. Ted reported the street number as he passed while I pulled up short of the target. "Make a loop," I suggested over the radio. "Let's make sure this isn't a feint."

"Doubling back," Ted reported, then "They've got a door open. ... Bingo, looks like they're unloading."

"Confirmed," I answered. "Calling in the troops." I put the CB down and reached for my cell phone, to punch a 911 call, then thought better of it. Caller ID works on cell phones as well as regular phones.

"There's a pay phone on the corner, Allison. How about reporting a fire?" I repeated the address before adding: "Don't worry, we'll hold the fireworks till you're back. Just tell them lots of smoke."

"Sounds good to me," she agreed, slipping out of the van.

* * *

A long minute later, Allison was back, arm in arm with Ted. "Told 'em I was Daisy Clover," she reported. "Made it sound really horrible. Said I heard screams and everything. Purely hysterical."

Somewhere in the distance, I thought I could hear sirens ... but then San Francisco has a lot of sirens.

"When's the show start?" Ted asked, half - or more - of his attention bent to nuzzing Allison's ear.

"Give them a minute," I suggested, offering the radio trigger. Now, the sirens were definitely headed our way.

"Now?" Ted pulled his attentions back to the task at hand.

"Go ahead," I agreed.

The red light came on steady. "Would you like to do the honors," Ted held the box out to Allison. "Just push the button."

She did.

The light blinked twice, then went out.

We all looked toward the warehouse expectantly.

"Nothing's happening," Allison sounded disappointed.

"Give it a second," I counseled. Inside, I could hear voices and a beginning note of excitement.

A moment later, the first wisps of smoke appeared through the open door. Brilliant orange smoke.

"I think it's time we left," I suggested. The sirens were getting closer - San Francisco's Fire Department has always been diligent in their arrivals ... ever since the entire city burned to the ground a century or so past. "I'll see you tomorrow. Have fun." I didn't doubt that they would.

For myself, I was more interested in sleep.

* * *

Maneuvering my way out of the warehouse district, I used the cell phone to call Mrs. Zappa's message service. This time, I was her brother, Simon, calling to cancel a dinner date. That would tell her to expect an uproar ... where the fire department went, the police would be close behind ... as would the arson investigators ... and the absence of any documentation or bills of lading for the warehouse contents - together with the 'bomb' - would only broaden the investigation.

Plus, Mrs. Zappa already had Saturday's photos and, together with Captain Matheson collusion, tomorrow, DSS would be needing several new employees ...

Luckily, they had applicants waiting ...

And someone else was going to need a new fence ...

But, being a nice guy, I'd try to help them out as well ...

* * *

I was nearly home when I remembered the beeper message.

I waited until I hit the exit ramp, then pulled over to the curb to dial.

"MacPherson, here," I announced when the service answered.

"Mr. MacPherson. We have an urgent message for you. Please call Captain Downs at the Harrison Street Station immediately. I have the number here ..."

"Harrison Street Station?" I interrupted. "There's no police station on Harrison."

"I believe Captain Downs is with the Fire Department," the voice suggested. "Would you like the number?"

The Fire Department? The message had come in a good hour or more before we'd set off the smokes or called in the alarm. How in ... "Uh, yes, give me the number."

I dialed carefully, feeling very confused.

"Fire Department," a voice answered. "Is this an emergency?"

"James MacPherson," I advised. "Returning a call from Captain Downs. Is this the correct number?"

"One moment, I'll see if Captain Downs is available."

A minute later, a new voice answered. "Mr. MacPherson? Captain Downs, San Francisco Fire Department."

"Yes? What can I do for you?"

"You have an office on Folsom?" He added the address. It was mine.

"That's right," I agreed. "Is this about the failed bomb last week?"

"Perhaps," Captain Downs agreed. "But there was a fire at your office this evening. Would it be convenient for you to meet me there? If it would be a problem, I could have someone pick you up."

It sounded more like an order than a request. "Fifteen minutes," I decided. "I'll meet you there." I broke the connection.

Somewhere, I decided, somewhere there was a god with a really malicious sense of humor.