Thomas Kinkade San Francisco Lombard Street painting

Already they had learned that the drama professor—Dr. Jonathan Spetz-Mogg—had organized both of the weekend conferences on acting for which Rolf Reynerd had written checks. They had been granted an appointment with Spetz-, to which they their ass, then they’ll tolerate you.”“You know that Shakespeare quote?” Hazard asked.“There’s more than one.”“About how to make the world a better place—”“Kill all the lawyers.”“Yeah, that one,” Hazard said. “Shakespeare didn’t stop to think who trains all the lawyers.”“University cheese-eaters.”“Yeah. You want to make a better world, go to the source.”The traffic remained relentless and tight. The Expedition kissed paint with a black Mercedes SUV, spared from a bruise to the factory finish by nothing more than the lubricating lip gloss were en route without benefit of emergency flashers or siren.In the process of tracking down Dr. Gerald Fitzmartin, who had organized the three-day weekend became so infuriated with the runaround at which all academic types excelled that he paused in the chase before frustration drove him to smash his department-issued phone to pieces against his own forehead.“All these university cheese-eaters hate cops.”“Until they need you,” Ethan said.“Yeah, then they love us.”“They never love you, but if they need you to save