Grit Has a Lot on His Mind...

When I got back to the office - Emma, my part-time gal, informed me that Mayor Russell had called and wanted to meet for lunch. Henry Russell was elected Mayor the year before. I had met the Mayor when we boxed in the Golden Gloves. He won the welterweight title, and I lost in the final of the middleweight division. We worked out at the same gym, and I got to know him as an upstanding guy. I had campaigned for him way back when he was running for City Council. I told Emma to call him and tell him I was too busy right now, but I would set something up soon. My thoughts went back to my meeting with Momma Blue. 

There was something Momma Blue said that really piqued my interest. She said that the Chief’s wife was having an affair, but the Chief didn’t know who it was. My question was…how did he know his wife was having an affair? “Cause he found some hot love letters and photographs,” said Momma Blue. “And he didn’t recognize the guy in the photograph?” “I guess not,” Momma Blue said, shrugging her shoulders. I needed to talk to Mrs. O’Halloran. Maybe Chief O’Halloran’s wife had him bumped off? Maybe her lover did it? The list of possible killers was growing exponentially, but I only had one name on it so far - Maggie O’Halloran. 

I was sitting in my leather-covered swivel-chair, staring out of my office window that looked out on the San Francisco bay. My office was in one of the last older buildings downtown - off of Market Street – that hadn’t been razed for a newer replacement. It was called ‘gentrification,’ and it was a word that I hated. I was born and raised a San Franciscan, and I hated seeing what was happening to my city. Everywhere I looked, there were all these cranes atop new office and apartment buildings, which soared into the sky. My office was on the top floor of a 25-floor building. It had been the tallest building for many years. Now I was dwarfed by these behemoth structures going up all around me. I still enjoyed some amazing views. I could see the Golden Gate Bridge to my left, Angel Island, and Alcatraz directly in front of me, as well as the Bay Bridge to my right. I was lost in the amazing views while imposing thoughts of the Chief’s death interceded.

Emma popped her head back into my office door, “Sam, the Mayor still wants to talk to you.” “Christ, it must be pretty damned important, I grumbled.” I motioned Emma to close my door and reached for the phone. “I have some information you might be interested in,” said the Mayor. We made a luncheon date to meet at my favorite Mexican restaurant, ‘El Farolito’ near 24th and Mission. (to be continued)

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