Dark Rivers of the Heart

newspaper-vending machines. He needed a special newspaper.
        Interestingly, in two widely separated neighborhoods, he passed what he knew to be surveylance operations.
        The first was being conducted out of a tricked-up van with an extended wheelbase and chrome-plated wire wheels. The side of the vehicle had been decorated with an airbrush mural of palm trees, waves breaking on a beach, and a red sunset. Two surfboards were strapped to the luggage rack on the roof. To the uninitiated, it might appear to belong to a surf Gypsy who'd won the lottery.
        The clues to the van's real purpose were apparent to Roy. All glass on the vehicle, including the windshield, was heavily tinted, but two large windows on the side, around which the mural wrapped, were so black that they had to be two-way mirrors disguised with a layer of tinted film on the exterior, making it impossible to see inside, but providing agents in the van-and their video cameras-a clear view of the world beyond.
        Four spotlights were side by side on the roof, above the windshield; none was lit, but each bulb was seated in a cone-shaped fixture, like a small megaphone, which might have been a reflector that focused the beam forward-although, in fact, it was no such thing. One cone would be the antenna for a microwave transceiver linked to computers inside the van, allowing high volumes of encoded data to be received and sent from-or to-more than one communicant at a time. The remaining three cones were collection dishes for directional microphones.
        One unlit spotlight was turned not toward the front of the van, as it should have been and as the other three were, but toward a busy sandwich shop-Submarine Dive-across the street. The agents were recording the jumble of conversations among the eight or ten people socializing on the sidewalk in front of the place. Later, a computer would analyze the host of voices: It would isolate each speaker, identify him with a number, associate one number to another based on word flow and inflection, delete most background noise such as traffic and wind, and record each conversation as a separate track.
        The second surveillance operation was a mile from the first, on a cross street. It was being run out of a van disguised as a commercial vehicle that supposedly belonged to a glass-and-mirror company called Jerry's Glass Magic. Two-way mirrors were featured boldly on the side, incorporated into the fictitious company's logo.
        Roy was always gladdened to see surveillance teams, especially superhigh-tech units, because they were likely to be federal rather than local.
        Their discreet presence indicated that somebody cared about social stability and peace in the streets.
        When he saw them, he usually felt safer-and less alone.
        Tonight, however, his spirits were not lifted. Tonight, he was caught In a whirlpool of negative emotions. Tonight, he could not find solace in the surveillance teams, in the good work he was doing for Thomas Suinnierton, or in anything else that this world had to offer.
        He needed to locate his center, open the door in his soul, and stand face-to-face with the cosmic.
        Before he spotted a 7-Eleven or any other convenience store, Roy saw a post office, which had what he needed. In front of it were ten or twelve battered newspaper-vending machines.
        He parked at a red curb, left the car, and checked the machines.
        He wasn't interested in the Times or the Daily News. What he required could be found only in the alternative press. Most such publications sold sex: focusing on swinging singles, mate-swapping couples, gays-or on adult entertainment and services. He ignored the salacious tabloids.
        Sex would never suffice when the soul sought transcendence.
        Many large cities supported a weekly New Age newspaper that reported on natural foods, holistic healing, and spiritual matters ranging from reincarnation therapy to spirit channeling.
        Los Angeles had three.
        Roy bought them all and returned to the car.
        By the dim glow of the ceiling light, he flipped through each publication, scanning only the space ads and classifieds. Gurus, swamis, psychics, Tarot-card readers, acupuncturists, herbalists to movie stars, channelers, aura interpreters, palm readers, chaos-theory dice counselors, past-life guides, high-colonic therapists, and other specialists offered their