The D.A. and I agreed to meet at Fort Point. Now, my curiosity was boiling over. Obviously, D.A. Campbell wanted the least amount of people around in order to share something with me, but what? I had no freaking idea. The fact that he wanted to meet at Fort Point - an old military structure built just before the Civil War, which sat beneath the southern end of the Golden Gate Bridge, told me a lot, and at the same time told me zilch.
The death of the Police Chief under any circumstances other than accidental (and at this point, I was clueless) was a big deal! I was leaning against my old Nash Rambler sucking on a Marlboro Light when the D.A. rolled up in his Aston-Martin. Fuck, who did he think he was, James Bond? I almost choked on my cancer stick! He was a dandy when it came to his attire. He was wearing a light gray, pin-striped, double-breasted suit, with the ever-present red carnation in his lapel and sporting two-toned gray and black ultra-shiny Stacy Adams kicks. His ruggedly handsome face was impassive as he approached and stuck out those calloused meat-hooks he called hands.
Lee had begun working in his dad's auto shop from the time he probably started walking. As a matter of fact, I met him in Mission High School's auto shop class. He was actually teaching classes as a student, which I thought was pretty cool at the time. The fact that he decided to attend law school after graduating from S.F. State didn't make his dad very happy. His father had expected Lee to take over the shop eventually.
"Hey, Sam,” said the impassive face, “thanks for coming."