It was a beautiful early autumn day. It was on a day like this that I had bought this motorcycle. My pride and joy, of the non human species. I hadn’t had a chance to ride it very much. This was a delayed christening.
It was the middle of harvesttime for grapes. I could see the pickers in the fields. In a couple of years I’d be drinking wine made from these grapes.
I stopped at the Foxen Winery tasting room and bought a bottle of pinot noir. I stashed it in my saddlebag, along with some cheese and bread I’d brought from home.
I doubled back partway, then headed up Figueroa Mountain Road, cruising high into the Los Padres National Forest, catching the Happy Canyon cutoff to where it ended. I got off the bike, grabbed the wine, cheese, bread, a corkscrew, and a crystal Riedel wineglass wrapped in a dishtowel. It’s a special glass, for special occasions. I hiked a couple of hundred yards up the foot trail, until I came to a good viewpoint.
The entire valley was laid out below me. I could see forever, all the way to the ocean. I unfolded the towel, laid the bread and cheese on it, uncorked the bottle, and poured myself a glass.
Sometimes simple pleasures are the best. I cut off a hunk of cheese, ripped a handful of bread from the loaf, and ate them with the wine—a lunch fit for a king.
High above, a red-tailed hawk was circling in the wind. Birds catch the hot thermals in these low mountains and ride them for hours without ever once having to flap their wings. I tracked it as it drifted southward, growing smaller in the distance. It looked, from down below where I was watching, to be completely free.
That’s how I felt. I work in a profession where people do bad things, get into trouble, hurt each other, sometimes even kill each other, and men and women like me have to clean up afterward. I don’t mind being the guy with the broom trailing the circus. It’s the job I’ve chosen, and I get plenty of rewards from it.
But sometimes I like to lead the parade. Standing here in the warm sun, my wineglass in hand, I knew that right now, this moment, I was. I could eat and drink and lie down for a nap to sleep it off, and then I could go home. My son would jump into my arms, my wife would kiss me on the lips, we’d make love. And if I was lucky, when I fell asleep in her arms, all my dreams would be sweet.
O
NE CAN’T WRITE A
book this multifaceted and complex without the help of many knowledgeable people, all of whom generously gave me their time and expert advice.
Special Agent Sharon Carter of the U.S. Drug Enforcement Administration was particularly generous assisting me as regards DEA procedures and methodology. In those instances where she was unable to convey specific information, because of departmental policy (or any other reason), I used the best data available. Any mistakes or misrepresentations are the author’s, not hers.
Terry Cannon, J. D., of the San Diego District Attorney’s office, formerly with the Santa Barbara County District Attorney’s office, read the manuscript several times and advised me in all the phases of the workings of a D.A.’s office, including the protocols regarding a state special prosecutor. Terrence L. Lammers, J.D., and Robert L. Monk, J.D., helped in answering questions I had about other legal matters. Rick Dodge of Dodge City Gunshop, Santa Barbara, assisted me in weapons research.
Louise Burke, my publisher at NAL, did a wonderful job of shepherding this book through publication; her efforts on my behalf were invaluable. Bob Lescher, my agent, was very supportive and helpful, as he has been on all of my books. Al Silverman, my former editor (now retired, but still a part of my creative life), also read the manuscript and weighed in with his usual astute observations.
J. F. Freedman is the
New York Times
bestselling author of
Against the Wind
,
The Disappearance
,
House of Smoke
, and
In My Dark Dreams
, among other titles. He is also an award-winning film and television director, writer, and producer. He lives in California.
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2000 by J. F. Freedman
Cover design by Angela Goddard
978-1-4804-2397-8
This edition published in 2013 by Open Road Integrated Media
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