“Even better. What’s the closest place ideologically to Berkeley in L.A.?”

“Venice.”

“You’ve got it. Want to take a morning stroll with me down the boardwalk to visit Mr. Robles?”

“Marge, we’re talking a long shot. We should at least look up this Mr. Robles on our house computer before we barge in on him.”

“Pete, we don’t have a lot of time. A baby’s at stake. Tandy’s a possible nutcase who could blow any moment. The feds are taking over soon. Worse comes to worst, we wake up some poor schmuck and apologize profusely. I’m going. Are you with me or not?”

“I’ll be waiting outside.”

“Me and my Honda will see you soon.”

33

At six-thirty in the morning, there was plenty of street parking in Venice, allowing Marge to bypass the public lots that would soon fill with vehicles driven by the summer beachgoers. She pulled curbside on Rose Avenue near Speed-way, both she and Decker stretching as they stepped out of her Honda. It was just a short jaunt to the boardwalk.

The parkway was lined on the eastern side by old apartment houses, storefront boutiques, stall shops, and cafés. On the west stood the shoreline receding into an endless stretch of pewter ocean. Cutting through the strand was an asphalt bike path that meandered through the golden sheet of sand like a frayed gray ribbon. Not too many bike riders, skate-boarders, or rollerbladers at this hour. But there were some joggers in all shapes and ages, as well as a number of unleashed dogs out for their morning constitutional.

Decker was surprised to find anyone awake, a reflection on his own need for sleep. He expected his mood to be foul, but there was something rejuvenating about the boardwalk. Maybe it was the freshness of sunrise: The giant star had just popped over the horizon. Yet the air was still cool, a salty breeze drifting over the waves. Too bad he couldn’t enjoy the scenery.

The boutiques were closed, but some of the cafés had opened their doors to the breakfast crowd. Today the patrons were prototypical Venice residents—the elderly, students, old-style hippies and arty types who didn’t work nine to five. And then there were the homeless, with their life possessions stuffed into plastic bags. They dined side-by-side at outdoor tables, drinking coffee and eating Danish or croissants as they read or stared at the rhythm of the sea.