I had a call at a rundown boxy home near the downtown area of Brisbane. I was met outside by a large, hunched over white haired man wearing a filthy carpenter-type denim onesie. I was trying to park on his concrete front yard area and he tried to guide me by making exaggerated motions and…
“Mr. Mayor, your 3 p.m. is here. John Crocket and Specialty Development Group.” Nash stood, hands clasped at his waist, in front of William Wong’s large desk. The mayor didn’t look up from the document he was reading, but lifted his chin upwards slightly. Over the months he’d worked for the politician, Nash had learned…
“Chester’s not here,” said Maggie, glancing up from the cash register counter towards the wooden entry door, which had clattered open. She was bent at the waist, paging through the latest edition of The SF Lightning Bolt. “Why do you bother reading that rag?” asked John, as he stepped into the store. “It’s a bunch…
“Have you heard of Henrietta Lacks?” Stephanie was slumped in the bean bag chair, staring at the ceiling. The fog from Nash, Justin, and Jordan’s marijuana exhalations was fading as the trio’s huffing at the vaporized herb slowed, and then stopped. “And what up with the popcorn ceiling? I hate that!” “Popcorn, yeah, that’d…
“What can I get you?” asked Justin. “I have a few nice Sativas, but if you’re looking for something soothing I have an Indica. Or maybe a bit of both! I’ve developed my own combination that stipulates the mind and the groin…” He looked toward Stephanie, who was standing in front of a life size…
I had a morning call at a waterfront home in Tiburon. There were six cars parked in the driveway. Three were under covers – two vintage Ferraris and a BMW CSI – three were exposed: a Jaguar convertible, an older Mercedes and a tricked out bright yellow Jeep. I was met by an attractive Middle…
“So, what have we here?” Pete exclaimed. Pete had encountered Justin, trailed by Nash, Stephanie, and Jordan, just inside The Connecticut Yankee’s short corridor entryway, next to a wooden shelving unit that held newspapers and flyers. He bobbed his head, birdlike, as he blocked Justin from moving past him in the narrow passageway. Justin bobbed…
“Geez, I thought these guys might hangout someplace, I dunno, gayer,” said Jordan. He and Stephanie were at the entrance to The Connecticut Yankee, in Potrero Hill. The bar-eatery was packed, two large televisions blared a baseball game. Many of the patrons wore San Francisco Giants’ colors. “I don’t know what you mean by that,”…
“So, what do we got?” asked Stan, as he jabbed at a Surface tablet. He was sitting at the head of a glass conference table, on the fifth floor of a freshly constructed Mission Bay building. Stephanie sat at his left, facing her own tablet. To his right, Jordan was chewing gum and lightly bouncing…
“Oifff,” exclaimed Nash, as he pulled his keys and wallet out of his pocket and dumped them in a bright blue bowl sitting on the bedroom dresser. “Hard day with the mayor, or did you just celebrate your 80th birthday?” asked Justin, who was sitting on the bed, stuffing marijuana into a vaporizer. “Or maybe…
For the past four months the View has published experts from Gold, a serialized tale of politics, capitalism, and corruption in San Francisco. In this issue the first three chapters are reprinted, along with the fourth installment, enabling readers to catchup as the story continues to unfold. One “I told you John, I’m not selling,” said…
Trippy slammed his laptop shut and hurled it against the wall. The two cats didn’t move. Mischief, the asthmatic Siamese, opened his one good eye before falling back asleep. Hemingway, the fat Tabby, didn’t flinch. She’d been on the losing end of another backyard brawl, a two-inch gash on her forehead still oozing. Always a…
This is chapter three of a serialized tale of politics, capitalism, and corruption in San Francisco. Look for the next fiction installment in each new issue of the View. “Mr. Mayor?” Nash gently knocked on the Honorable William E. Wong’s executive office door. The Mayor often did not want to be disturbed. But neither did…
This is chapter two of a serialized tale of politics, capitalism, and corruption in San Francisco. Look for the next fiction installment in each new issue of the View. Chester inherited the property on which he operated the nursery from his father, Angelo. Angelo had fled Cyprus in the early-1960s, when he was just 16…
This is chapter one of a serialized tale of politics, capitalism, and corruption in San Francisco. Look for the next fiction installment in each new issue of the View. “I told you John, I’m not selling,” said Chester, as he sprayed water that’d traveled for hundreds of miles, all the way from Hetch-Hetchy, adjacent to…