As she rides by

drive on Saturdays.”
    “Why?”
    “Tell you tomorrow,” I said. “Now, about that kid.”
    “I know the kid next door,” she said.
    “How old is he?”
    “It’s a she,” she said. “Her name’s Katy and she’s in junior high.”
    “She bright?”
    “Brighter than you.”
    “Kid must be a genius,” I said. “Square it with her parents, will you? Think of something. Say I’ll contribute ten bucks for Katy’s college fund.”
    “That’ll be a big help,” Sara said. I settled the details of where and when with her, all being well, and went back to the ballgame.
    It was eleven-thirty the following morn. Benny’s old Ford was parked on Alondra Boulevard , in that part of Los Angeles called Norwalk . Benny was behind the wheel, Sara beside him, and I was in the backseat with King next to me and Katy next to him. Our picnic lunch was in the trunk, along with a six-pack of Corona beer for emergencies. Katy was a very pretty young miss who was wearing shorts, sneakers, a baggy sweatsuit top, and a Giants baseball cap, her only flaw. Benny, too, was in casual attire, as were we all, in fact.
    Sure enough, just as Tom had mentioned the one and only time I’d visited Tex ’s studio, which was just around the corner up a no-name alley, shortly after twelve Tex ’s big Merc, with Tex driving, made its appearance. It turned away from us up Alondra, and, with us following at a discreet distance, headed for the on-ramp of the Santa Ana freeway. “And away we go!” I said.
    “Yeah, like where, Vic?” Sara said. “Come on, you promised.”
    “Ah yes, Sara, but did someone not once say that promises, like pie crusts, were made to be broken? However, not in this case, I assure you.” I took out the list of the twenty-seven names, addresses, and P.O. box numbers Frank had printed up for me and handed it to her. “Here. Cast your peepers on this. Benny, keep your peepers on the road, please.”
    “Can I see it too?” Katy asked.
    “Sure.” Sara passed it back to her. “What does it mean?”
    “Tell you what I think it means,” I said. “I think it means a lady called Mary Jones, with the full knowledge and, indeed, complicity, of her hubby Tex , has been and still is scamming the pension fund of the company she works for out of a whole lot of dinero.”
    “No kidding!” Katy said excitedly, squirming in her seat. King, who had his head in her lap, gave her a sour look.
    “No kidding. And we’re soon going to find out for sure, kids, and I include you in that, Benny, as you are but a child to me.” He grinned at me in the mirror. We were proceeding at just under the legal limit southeast on the Santa Ana freeway, tucked in about six cars behind the Merc, which was easy to keep track of because you don’t see that many blue Mercedes coupes on the road and also, for obvious reason, ol’ Tex was keeping inside the speed limit.
    “According to this handy Rand McNally I had the foresight to bring along,” I said, opening it up, “let’s see... if we switch off to the Riverside freeway in a few minutes, bet you our first stop will be Atwood, according to the list, I hope, I hope.” And, indeed, a few minutes later, the Riverside it was, and a while after that, Atwood it was, and lo and behold—the Atwood post office ‘twas! Not that I was afraid it wouldn’t be, not that I thought they were really in Atwood visiting a sick aunt. As Tex was double-parking outside the post office up ahead of us, Benny, following my suggestion, slowed down enough so that Sara, following my suggestion, could hop out and follow Mrs. Jones, as it turned out, into the building. As she was doing so, we drove on past Tex , me well slouched down in the backseat, but he didn’t pay us no nevermind anyway. We pulled in way up the street, and waited. After a minute, out came Sara. Benny gave her a little toot, to catch her attention, and she headed blithely toward us. After another minute out came Mary. Into the Merc got Mary, and off drove Mary and Tex. As soon as the twerp had rejoined us, off we went, heading back to the freeway.
    “I walked right by her ‘n’ she didn’t even twig I was there,” the twerp said.
    “What was she doing?” Katy said.
    “Opening a post office box, what else?” Sara said.
    “Don’t suppose you got the number,” I said. “I thought you’d wait till she left, then check it out.”
    “Didn’t have to, stoopid,” she said. “There’s eight rows of boxes, twenty-five in