Water Dictatorship.

by Jay P. Hailey and The Vista City Players 1983: Los Angeles.

Angelo drove out of Hollywood gleefully. He had just presented his case for the 1942 MacPhearson murder. MacPhearson was a movie producer of Hollywood's Golden Age. His murder stumped the police of the 1940's and was one of the favorites of the "Hollywood Detectives".

Angelo was new to the fan club. They spent hours studying the lives and deaths of celebrities. Of course, critical evidence was now lost to time, but Angelo was certain that his scenario was likely. His compatriots in the Hollywood Detectives felt the same way.

Angelo drove back home happily aware of the approval of his friends. It was neat.

Angelo was doing well in UCLA's advanced physics course. His parents were mystified but glad that he was happy.

Best of all Angelo was on his way to propose to his true love. Randi was a fellow student at UCLA. Her major was computer science. Angelo loved her bubbly enthusiasm. He was especially happy that she didn't seem especially interested in his family's money. Too many women were very attracted to him once they discovered that he was from a wealthy family. Randi seemed to like him just for himself.

Angelo drove up to her apartment and parked his old Impala. That was part of what mystified Angelo's parents. Although they were rich and Angelo, in his course would inherit a sizable fortune, He insisted on working and earning what he could on his own. The old beater was a symptom of this. Angelo earned it through his own efforts. It really meant something to him. Mummy and Daddy might buy him a much newer, more reliable car with more extras and luxuries in it, but it wouldn't really be real. Angelo wasn't totally obsessed on this point. He didn't turn down a chance to go to UCLA, but he chose science as a career rather than economics or business management.

Angelo bounced up the stairs. His joy made the Earth's gravity seem lighter. It felt as though he could take the whole staircase in a single bound. He rang the doorbell. It sounded cheery.

There was no answer for a bit. Angelo listened carefully. He could hear feet padding across the floor of Randi's apartment. He rang the doorbell again. It made a cheery little ding dong noise. Angelo knew for a fact that the doorbell was cheap and annoying. His mind was seriously warped by the pleasant emotions that flooded it. Angelo took a deep breath and enjoyed it.

Randi's eye covered the peep hole. Angelo waved at her, beaming. She was home from her math tutoring. That was part of how Randi earned her way through school.

The door opened to show Randi. Angelo said "Hi," sheepishly. Randi was disheveled and wearing her bathrobe. Angelo eyed her figure under the robe. Even right out of a nap, she looked wonderful. Angelo couldn't stop grinning.

"Angelo." Randi said. "Good to see you. C'mon in."

Angelo bounced into Randi's apartment. "I know you weren't expecting me tonight, but I just had to talk to you."

"I wanted to talk to you, too." Randi said.

"Really? Then it's a good thing that I decided to drop by." Angelo grinned.

Angelo's grin fell off his face when Biff Simmons came out of Randi's bedroom. Biff was wearing a towel and not much else. Angelo could see his expensive tan, his health club muscles and his first cla.s.s pedicure.

"What going on?" Angelo said weakly.

"I've been meaning to tell you..." Randi said softly. She was trying to think of a way to soften the blow, but it was far too late. "I've been seeing other people."

"But, but..." Angelo said. He felt like someone had hit him in the chest with a baseball bat. Biff Simmons was a prime example of the type of self satisfied rich boys that Angelo despised. All through grade school and prep school, Angelo had to fight to distance himself from the company of morons like Biff. That was another thing that his wealthy parents didn't understand.

"Angelo, look. I like you. You're nice. But nice just isn't enough." Randi explained.

"What?" Angelo couldn't believe his ears.

"Look at you Angelo. You drive old wrecks. You poke around in old dusty records as your hobby, and you're a straight nuclear science major. Do you know what physicists make?" Randi explained.

"What does that have to do with anything?" Angelo asked.

"Angelo, honey, you're not going anywhere. A girl needs to think about her future. We had fun, but I don't see any future for us."

"And you think you have a future with him?" Angelo pointed at Biff's chest. Biff smirked at him. There were winners and losers. Today, Biff was the winner.

"Maybe with him or maybe on my own, but I'm going to have a bright future, Angelo. A comfortable little life at a small university stagnating does not appeal to me." Randi said.

"You're dumping me for Biff?" Angelo cried.

"No, not exactly, it's just that, well I don't think that a relationship is in the cards for us Angelo." She delivered the coup de gras. "I hope we can still be friends."

Angelo turned and left Randi's apartment.

1997: Vista City

Angelo looked at the report with sense of far away sadness. It blinked idly on his computer, of no real consequence. He was a cop in Vista City now. L.A. hadn't been his beat for a couple of years.

He had his net-mail daemon set to search for any mention of Randi Aiken. Now she was Randi Aiken-Marlowe, wife of the richest electronics entrepreneur in Southern California, just like she said she wanted.

Except that the newest report had her as the late Mrs. Randi Aiken-Marlowe. Tragically deceased in a traffic accident in the canyons north of the city, survived by her grieving husband.

Angelo knew that this should be the end of it. He should be free now. He wasn't. He had to go and see in person. Then he would be free.

Angelo got up from his desk and walked into Scott Ashby's office. Scott was his supervisor in the Vista City Police Department. He had white hair that used to be blond and frivolous taste in ties.

"Scott? Can I have some time off?" Angelo asked.

"Why?" Scott asked.

"An old friend died. I'd like to look into it and see if there's any way I can help."

Scott thought about it. "We have the movie up here to film in a couple of weeks. I'd like you back in time to help us with the security on that. And take your cell phone in case an emergency comes up."

Angelo rolled his eyes. "Security on a movie set? I'm a homicide detective! Let them hire security guards."

"Sorry. That's why we're the Special Squad. I have the operational freedom to let you wander off for a couple of weeks here and there, but we have to pull the tedious details." Scott explained. "Call it paying your dues."

"Yeah, right." Angelo turned to leave. "I'll be back on time."

"Thanks, Angelo. I'm sorry about your friend."

"Me, too." Angelo said.

Angelo never got used to the fact that it took longer to drive to the airport in San Francisco than to fly from San Francisco to Los Angeles.

LAX was the usual madhouse. It always seemed worse than he remembered. Eventually he picked up his rental sedan and drove out to the crash site up in the canyons north of Hollywood.

The wreck was right where the report said it was. A red Masarati sports car lay wadded up at the bottom of the cliff as though it had been discarded by some giant child.

A plain-wrapped police sedan was there. Two people were poking around the wreck near the bottom of the hill. Angelo climbed down the embankment on the narrow path that wound up and down the cliff. It looked like a goat path, except that there were no surviving goats loose in L.A. County any more. The path was cut by people hiking up and down the canyon for their own reasons.

At the bottom of the path, Angelo met the two people who were poking around.

One was a man slightly taller than Angelo, with brown hair, brown eyes and a deep tan. He had a rectangular kindly face. The other person was a blond woman with a graceful dancer's body.