True-Life Adventure

over. I wanted about half a dozen more cheap thrills before I went back to my humdrum life.
    So I kept going past the Hall and turned into the little street at its side. From my days as a police reporter, I knew it would lead to something really terrific— an entrance to the Hall’s underground garage, where cops and public officials parked. Maybe the dark car would chase me around in there, all around between rows of black-and-whites; maybe we’d even crash into a few and I’d get my first demolition derby all rolled up with my first high-speed chase.
    You may wonder how I could be calm— playful even— with a homicidal maniac on my tail. Two reasons, I think.
    One was that I really did feel safe knowing there were cops all over the block. Another was that I sort of felt I was on the offensive, which I’d never been before with this particular maniac.
    Anyway, I turned into that little street, planning to turn again into the underground garage. But a patrol wagon was bearing down on me, more on my side than his and I mean this was a little street. I was a split second from a head-on collision.
    The cop in the wagon hit his horn, but I don’t know what good he thought that would do. There was no time to back up, and anyway, the dark car was right behind me.
    I guess he was just letting off steam, because thank God, he climbed the curb on his side and hit the sidewalk. I did the same on mine, whipped past him, hurtled past the guard at the garage entrance, and sailed into the garage, all triumphant.
    The only problem was, my follower didn’t follow. He whipped around the wagon the same as I did, but he had enough sense not to trap himself in a cul-de-sac. He kept going, while about half the San Francisco police force converged on me. When I shake a tail, I do it with panache.
    I’d like to have gotten out of my car and bowed with a flourish, but under the circumstances, there was nothing to do but stick-’em-up like a common societal menace. Because the converging cops all had their guns drawn. The next few minutes went something like this:
    “Fellows, somebody’s been trying to kill me and there was this guy tailing me and…”
    “Who?”
    “Well, ,at least I think it was a guy. I suppose it could have been a woman, but…”
    “What kind of car?”
    “Medium. Dark, and…”
    “How much have you had to drink, buddy?”
    “Uh, nothing, honest…”
    “It’s probably kind of dumb to ask if you got the license number, but just in case…”
    “Well, no, I didn’t.”
    “Do you have a history of mental illness?”
    “Uh…”
    “Drugs?”
    “Listen, now. I work for the Chronicle. There’s somebody trying to kill me, really.”
    “Press card?”
    “Umm, well. I haven’t been working there much lately and…”
    “Uh-huh.”
    “Look, my name’s Paul Mcdonald and…”
    “Yeah, yeah, we got your driver’s license. Move along now.”
    I moved along into the elevator that comes down to the underground garage to take prisoners to jail. Bet you didn’t know about that, did you? That’s why you never see anyone in handcuffs walking up the steps and standing around waiting for the lobby elevator. This way it’s ever so much more discreet. And a good thing, too, because I was currently in handcuffs.
    “Like I was saying, my name’s Paul Mcdonald, and if you’d just mention it to…”
    “Yeah, the mayor. Maybe the D. A. Now that we know it wouldn’t be name-dropping, we’ll say hello to all your friends in high places.”
    “…to Inspector Howard Blick.”
    Silence.
    “Homicide Inspector Howard Blick.”
    “You one of Blick’s guys?”
    “Something like that.”
    It seems they thought I was a murderer. Great little attention-getter.
    They threw me in a cell for a while, and then they came and got me and let me out with a couple of moving violations, which I suppose I deserved.
    “You talked to Blick?” I said.
    “Yeah.” The old cop letting me out was in a lousy mood.
    “And he sent his love?”
    “He said it was gonna be his misfortune to deal with you later, but if we didn’t get you off these premises before he had to come in again, he was gonna personally bomb the building, just because he was sure you were in it.”
    “He’s like a father to me.”
    Clang went the jail door behind me. It was a sweet sound.

CHAPTER 20
    Sardis was sweet, too. It was nearly ten o’clock by the time I got home, and I hadn’t had a chance to call her, but she didn’t seem at all