“Gosh! Daddy’s always said you were too wild, but I always thought it was because you were such a feminist. He hates libbers. I didn’t know you were a street punk when you were little.”

I smiled at her. “Why do you think I’m a PI? I couldn’t take all the rules and regs in the Public Defender’s Office. And they couldn’t take me, either. Arnie Coleman, the judge who was hanging around Harvey Krumas at your fundraiser, he was the head of the criminal PD unit when I worked there. He gave me one bad performance review after another, mostly because I wouldn’t play the county game.”

She’d started to open her door but she paused when I said that. “What county game?”

“It’s all politics over there at Twenty-sixth and California. It’s not about justice or trying to get the best deal for your client, not if your client is an ordinary street criminal. As soon as there’s a whiff of politics about a case—whether it’s police brutality or a connected guy’s kid who’s been arrested or someone trying to move up the ladder—cases get decided to help careers. Arnie was probably the most skilled mover in that cesspool I ever saw and he got his reward: he’s an appellate judge now and hanging with your candidate’s daddy. If Brian gets into the Senate, Arnie will get a federal judgeship.”

“Vic!” Her face flushed. “Brian isn’t like that! Why do you have to be so negative and cynical?”

“I’m not,” I said. “Just when I think about Arnie and some of his cuter tricks … Mind your step, we’ve got company.”

I’d been watching a cluster of young men in my rearview mirror. They’d been milling around the north end of the block, trading insults and cat-calling passing women while they ostensibly worked on a rusted-out Dodge pickup. A boom-box belting out rap was on the sidewalk. I shouldn’t have spent so much time reminiscing. They’d started our way while I was lost in memories of my childhood.

The gang looked in the Mustang’s windows, saw that we were both women and that Petra was young, and began rocking the car. “Wha choo doing here?” the one nearest me shouted.

I put all my weight on my right side, shifted, and flung open my door so fast that it caught him in the chin. I got out quickly. Blood was oozing from his lower lip.

“Bitch!” he screamed. “Why you do that?”

I ignored him and looked at his friends. “Hello, boys. Why don’t you go back to your own car. I think those little kids up there are messing with your stereo.”