The press was everywhere, along with the LAPD, 0 course, and even some police brass,and he'd had to parl about a quarter of a mile away That was fine with him - safer,smarter. A minute or so later, he joined in with fans amother lookyloos making thepilgrimage to the shrine where poor Antonia had checked out of the rat race this morning.

“I can't believe she's dead,” a young couple was saying as they walked arm in arm, headsbowed as if they'd lost a real loved one. What was with some people? Could anybody bethis nuts?

I can believe she's dead, he wanted to tell them. First, I put one in her head; then I hackedher face until her own mother wouldn't recognize her Believe it or not, there's even amethod to my madness. There is a grand plan, and it's a beauty.

But he didn't speak to the creepy bereaved, just made his way to the pearly gates of theSchifman house. He stood there respectfully with the others - probably a couple ofhundred mourners. The Beverly Hills sideshow was just getting started, just gettingwarmed-up.

Man, this was some huge story and guess what? Not oneof these reporters had the real story Not about Antonia - and not about her murder.

Only he did - he was the only person in L.A. who knewwhat had happened, where it was going, and it felt prettygood to be in the know“Hey, howya doin'?” he heard. The Storyteller froze, thenturned slowly to see who was talking to him.

He recognized the guy's face but not exactly who the hellit was. Where do I know this jerk from?

“Jeez, I was just passin' by Heard what had happened on the radio. So I stopped to paymy respects, or whatever this is. What a shame, some tragedy, huh? This crazy world outhere, you just never kno” said the Storyteller, realizing he was babbling a little bit. Theother guy said, "No, you never do. Who the hell would want to kill Antonia Schifman?

What kind of maniac? What kind of complete lunatic?"