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it, no matter how it's wrapped. You know what I'm saying?
    We pull into Neptune's Net, get served by the capable staff, thank you God, and Sid settles in with a dish of fresh steamed peel 'n' eat shrimp. There are a few crusty old cruiser-riders in evidence, Viet Nam vintage, and they treat us with respect meaning they don't bat an eye at the cripple with the helper monkey scarfing shrimp at a picnic table.
    My call to Cinda goes to voicemail—she must be with a customer—so there's nothing to do but kick back and watch the sea on the other side of the highway. It's a million-dollar view from here. The property this old shanty sits on must be worth a fortune. Sid gives me a toothy grin as he dips a pink shrimp in cocktail sauce. Life is good.
    ***
    I arrive on the red-eye to LAX, ready for golden rays on my pasty face. Instead, I get June gloom as Angelenos call it—grey skies that hold the smog close over the city.
    A fully furnished place was waiting for me at The Waves Corporate Housing in Marina del Rey. All-handicap access with daily maid service, front-desk staff, 24-hour security and maintenance crew a few blocks from the beach. All I had to do was roll in, plug in the laptop and I was made. Yep, made in the shade.
    They sure do like cripples in LA. Door-to-door wheelchair van service from LAX to The Waves and my new corporate concierge and staff took it from there. I even had a gas fireplace in the wall and a balcony overlooking the pool for fifteen hundred a month. Try getting deal like that on the east coast. Starlets took in the sun out by the pool and soaked in the Jacuzzi by moonlight. Too bad none of it interested me.
    One night I was sitting out on my balcony, late, probably past midnight. A woman was walking through the pool area which my balcony overlooked. She was headed to the underground parking, long layered brunette hair swinging with a white trench coat, the belt undone and a short skirt underneath. Her legs were long, her shoes looked high enough to hurt and she walked with loose-limbed fatigue, like she'd worked hard and the night was finally over. An oversized bag dangled from one shoulder. She could have been an actress or... she could have been something else.
    She felt my eyes on her and looked up at me ten feet above. Swinging the bag off her shoulder like it was heavy, she stopped, waiting for me to speak, but I didn't. She cocked her head. "Is that a wheelchair you're sitting in?"
    "If that's what it looks like, it probably is."
    She smiled, slow and slightly amused. "Want me to come up?"
    I was pretty sure then, that she wasn't an actress. "Okay by me," I said.
    And that's how I met Cinda.
    ***
    She drives us back to my place and I can tell by the set of her mouth that she's bothered. "You did it again," she says.
    "You know what I do. Of course I did it again."
    "Oh don't give me that shit. You weren't planning this. You just took off all of a sudden. While cops are all out looking." She looks askance at Sid. "Make him get in the back. He smells like a garbage can."
    I ease Sid off my lap. He was pretty carefree back at Neptune's Net, dribbling shrimp juice and cocktail sauce all over himself. I hadn't bothered with napkins, but to be fair, the bikers weren't bothering either. But I don't think Cinda will accept that explanation, so I stay quiet.
    "What is this now, a binge you're on?"
    "No. Just opportunity knocking."
    "And you didn't even bother to tell me first?"
    "Do you call me up when you're going to work?"
    There's a pregnant pause and she lets out a sigh. "Guess not."
    While we peck at each other twilight befalls the glittering shore of Santa Monica. Ahead, the Ferris wheel at the Pier twirls in the air and a thousand lights twinkle into the distance.
    "It's too beautiful a night not to talk," I try.
    She turns her head and gives a sad little smile. "I think you're right. I just hate feeling like if you get picked up, I'll have no way of knowing."
    "The police let people make calls