Saturday, April 30^th

Steve Burgess was never much of a cop when he was on the force. But he was cop enough to keep track of Trent Marshall’s movements, albeit with the help of another ex-cop in New Orleans who was also owed his ex-cop status to Marshall.

Burgess knew Trent left the Crescent City en route to San Francisco a few days ago. He knew Marshall had visited San Francisco several times in the last year. He found out that Marshall stayed with the Anderson woman when he was in the city. It took a while but he finally discovered her address.

It was late morning. Burgess was still hung over from the night before. He’d started the day with a shot of gin. That made him feel a little better. It also made him a lot meaner.

He was on the sidewalk in front of Darcey Anderson’s condominium building. Her condo was on the 15^th floor. A secure floor. This was a reconnaissance mission. Burgess noted the security guard stationed at the entrance to the underground parking garage. He was a scruffy-looking man who looked to be around 40. He had a patch over one eye. Maybe a disabled vet.

He assumed there would be another security guard inside. Both would be unarmed. Both easy to take down if it came to that. Burgess wasn’t smart but he knew enough to avoid confrontation with security. That would mean other people would be involved. Police. Burgess didn’t do well with other people. Especially police officers. Especially now that he wasn’t one.

He nodded to the guard as he passed. The guard nodded in return, watching the shabbily dressed man with his one eye. Burgess revised his opinion. This guy might be a disabled vet, he thought, but he was a vet. He looked like he might know what he was doing. When he came up with a plan for dealing with Marshall he would try to avoid this guy.

He kept walking. As he passed the glass front of the building he noticed a woman sitting at a desk to the left of the elevators. He took a few more steps, stopped and backed up. The name plate was gold with black lettering. It was large enough that he could read the name. Alexis Brandt. Burgess smiled. The woman ignored him.

He looked back at the security guard. He was watching Burgess. He looked serious. Burgess grinned and made motions with his hands indicating ‘a well-built woman.’ That brought a small smile from the guard. Not a friendly smile. Just the kind of smile shared between men admiring a well-built woman. Burgess was certain it wasn’t the first time a passing man had admired the woman sitting at the desk. The guard probably wouldn’t remember him. At least Burgess hoped the guard wouldn’t remember him.

The ex-cop was definitely feeling better. The woman might be calling herself Alexis Brandt now. But when he knew her in New Orleans she went by Piper Hodgins. Stripper. Hooker. Druggie. When Burgess came up with his plan for Marshall, Alexis or Piper or whatever name she wanted to use would be helpful.

He was absolutely cheerful now. It was almost noon. He decided to find a bar. He thought he would celebrate the morning’s discovery with a martini.