The police lot had a spectacular view of the Bay Bridge and San Francisco, one of those postcard views that lured millions of suckers to the Golden State, then bogged them down in gridlock while the Lefties taxed them to death. The cops seemed edgy. Maybe they knew who I worked for and they were worried about making a procedural error that would screw up the bust. Who knows? One way or another, they had to handle me with kid gloves because this was California and my lawyer could charge them with harassment if they didn't say "please" and "thank you." They helped me out of the squad car, nice and polite, then they walked me into the station and started to book me on the G.T.A., but they didn't get very far in the process. I was a hot item, I guess. The minute we got there, a couple suits walked up, flashed their badges and started arguing with the cops and the sergeant sitting behind the front desk. The suits looked like feds, but I was too wasted to care anymore.
