Book 1 in the Maltese Cat Book Series entitled Escheatment continues with Chapter 3 and Chapter 4. Read the first two chapters of the book here.
San Francisco District Attorney’s Office
Sheryl Fenner, San Francisco’s District Attorney, had built her career upon indicting drug pushers and putting them behind bars. On a personal level, she had moderated her stance over the years, as had California’s voters, and she had accepted that the populace condoned the use of certain drugs for their own recreation. But she was a bulldog when it came to trafficking in illegal substances. She had started out as a fresh law school graduate directly in the District Attorney’s office. She gained more trial experience by working as a prosecutor, and then was elected to her present post by grateful San Franciscans who had seen their city’s crime rate drop. She worked well with the police department, taking time to prep them and advise them, and she, in turn, had their support. Now she was preparing to move on a new cartel that was trying to invade the City’s wealthy high-tech culture and make it their own marketplace.
The drug cartel originated from Mexico, but so far the police had not been able to make inroads into the organization.
The drug dealers were acquiring more territory within the San Francisco Bay Area and Sheryl wanted to be the one that brought them down. Several unsolved murders were attributed to their recent activities, and Sheryl knew that her career was at stake. Just like a football team’s coach, in her business, you were only as good as last season’s success story. One bad year and you were out of a job. Sheryl had no intention of that letting that happen without a fight.
This morning she received a tip about a dealer in the Mission district. There was a possibility that he could be connected to the Mexican cartel. The police were now already in place and she kept open communications with them.
Polo Club in Menlo Park
“The fellow’s an arrogant twit,” said Jimmy.
The Maltese Cat just nodded.
They were both sitting on foldable director’s chairs alongside the polo field located in Menlo Park, watching the game as it developed. Menlo Park was a wealthy suburb south of San Francisco, known for housing the headquarters of Facebook as well as being situated next to Stanford University.
The man in question, wearing a blue jersey, raced with his pony in a direct line towards the man with the ball. With no concern for the safety of his opponent’s pony or his own, he crashed through directly in front of his opponent and scooped up the ball. A dangerous foul by any standard. The umpire’s whistle blew. The player in blue protested vituperatively. To him, no one on the field mattered. He was lost in his own world.
The surrounding players looked on in amazement. The blue player worked himself into a choleric frenzy.
“Playing polo exhibits one’s true character. Even more so than golf,” observed the Cat.
Jimmy Donnegan was convinced that his best friend knew what he was talking about. The Maltese Cat understood this game, through and through. He had been a student of the game since his youth, and he was always learning more.
The player in the blue jersey raced back to the pony line and dismounted. His groom, a demure, middle-aged
Guatemalan, was ready to take the pony. The player shouted a tirade at the groom, and stomped away, throwing his stick and helmet to the ground, slashing the air with his whip. As he turned, one could see that the player was James Van Houten.
Both the Cat and Jimmy observed this paroxysm from a distance. The players and guests alike kept their distance from James as he ranted. The first chukker had just had concluded. It was going to be a long day.
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