I looked down at her long flowing blonde hair and her lovely if reconstructed face and waited for Condolezza Schwartz to answer the string of questions I had rattled off from the top of my admittedly turbulent thoughts. Her attitude, dismissive and self-centered, suddenly shifted and softened. And tears began to form up in her large green eyes.

"Mr. Madison, you may be doing your job entirely too well," she remarked, fumbling in her guitar case for a patchouli-scented tissue. "And you are asking me things that I cannot answer right now. You deservebetter, but I cannot help you. All I can suggest is that you learn as much as you can about two men."

"Huh? What two men?"

"Enrico Rogers. And Sharpir "Image" Roberts. "

"Well, who are they?"

"I can't tell you anymore, Blake. I'm sorry. They work for the Pepsi Cola corporation. Now, please leave!!"

She turned away and I took the hint. It was clear to me she was pushing the envelope just telling me that much. I knew I had some work to do.

As I crossed the park heading back to the street corner where Lucky had retreated to watch, I saw a battered-looking purple pickup, circa 1964, cruising the street along the north side of the park, and suddenly pulling to a stop at the curb.

The smell of trouble came rushing back into my fancy as I joined up with Lucky. She was out of direct view, pressed back against the building, watching and she pulled me in next to her.

"Look!!! That's Logos' truck!!" she whispered urgently.

I watched, pressed up against her enticing side, as Theet Logos climbed down from the pickup and started toward the spot where Condolezza Scwartz was sitting fiddling tunelessy with her guitar strings.