Traffic hadn’t moved in fifteen minutes. This wasn’t my scene. I wasn’t used to it. I knew better to be on the road in L.A. at this time. It was a never-ending nightmare.

I re-ran the conversation in my head. I needed to recognize the exact combination of words that were used to drive me into this quilt of cars so I could avoid them in the future.

“Hey Jimmy, it’s Frank. Frank Moedel. I’m back and have I got a story for you! Pirates. Sex-trafficking. Torture. This is going to be a guaranteed hit, I can feel it. I’ve been writing for the last ten days straight. I ran out of paper and have been writing on anything that will take ink- including my skin. I just need you to pick me up. I’m at a dock south of San Pedro Bay.”

Goddamn three-time best-seller Frank Moedel had disappeared on his little sail boat after the IRS had come after him for failing to pay his taxes. Now he was back. I sighed and leaned on the horn. The guy in front of me gave me the finger without looking.

This had better be worth it.