As she rides by

story of the unidentified male, black, approx. 25 to 30? Not quite yet, not quite yet.
    I then phoned the state meteorological service, introduced myself as my brother, gave his shield number, which I happened to know, and asked a helpful lady there to please check on the Los Angeles weather for me for the night of March 14th, it was in connection with a serious felony I was investigating.
    “No problem; hang on a tick,” she said. A minute later she said, “Rain throughout the central LA area as a result of low-pressure field moving in from southwest, ceasing early morning. That do you?”
    “Just fine.” I thanked her, and hung up. Then I looked up and called the Diners Club and American Express emergency toll-free numbers. I like calling toll-free numbers, I often do it just for a little chat. In no time at all, thanks to Tony’s credentials, I discovered that Mary Jones was in possession of a valid American Express Card, and that it had not been reported as lost or stolen or disfigured any time during that calendar year, let alone on or about March 14-15-16. Hmm.
    Then I thought a bit. Then I rang the theater. After hanging on for a while, and being treated to a medley of popular show tunes of yesteryear, a pleasant female voice said, “Alameda Theater box office, can I help you?”
    “Well, I certainly hope so, miss,” I said in a dithering fashion. “I just don’t know what to do. We’re supposed to come and see the show tonight, that’s me and Mrs. Bardwell and Hayley, our eldest? I can’t tell you how much we’ve been looking forward to it.”
    “What’s the problem, Mr. Bardwell?”
    “It’s the tickets!” I said. “She’s off visiting Mother in Culver City , and I just don’t know what she’s done about them. She works for IMM, you know, where they have this cheap theater ticket program? She told me how it operates once, but my memory is like a total sieve these days, I think it’s my new medication, frankly. I really do.”
    “How it operates, Mr. Bardwell,” the lady said patiently, “is that we give special rates for group bookings.”
    “Do you!” I said. “Just like the airlines?”
    “Just like the airlines,” she said. “So a large company such as IMM will make a block booking, and pass the savings along to their employees. Sometimes the seats are all booked for one or two specific nights, but often they are spread out at so many per show over an entire month, to give the employees more choice.”
    “I see!” I said. “Of course! But my tickets, miss, or I mean our tickets, where would they actually be?”
    “They would actually be right here,” the lady said. “We do not send out tickets to everyone who books them in advance, we keep them right here until the people who have booked them in advance come by to pick them up.”
    “Well, that makes sense,” I said, “as they have to come by anyway if they want to see the show.”
    “Exactly,” the lady sighed.
    “But who pays?” I said. “Has the company already paid and do we have to pay them? I wonder if they deduct it from my wife’s salary?”
    “You pay,” the lady said firmly. “To the box office. Thirty-two dollars per stall seat, including your company discount. At which time I or my associate will hand you over your tickets. You then present them to the ticket taker. He tears them in half. You take your half and show it to an usher. He or she will usher you to your seat. Shortly thereafter, the houselights will dim, the curtain will rise, and the play will begin. Good-bye. Thank you for your call.” She hung up before I had a chance to remark that shortly thereafter that, if the play had anything remotely to do with guys in sheets who loved their mothers too much, you would find this theatergoer in the nearest bar.
    Next thing I did was to plot on my map the shortest route that would take in Fred’s Deli, the central branch of the DMV, where all their records are kept, and the corner of 8th Street and Berendo. When I had it committed to memory, I alerted King, and off we went. Fred’s was full; I had to wait ten minutes for even a counter seat. At the DMV, I had to wait in line twenty minutes before it was my turn. I handed over eight dollars through the grill, plus a scrap of paper on which was written the names and address of the Joneses, also the name and address of the recording studio. A moment later I got passed back the information that the Joneses owned a Mercedes coupe, which I