The Fan Club [antikvár]

It was not long after daybreak this early June morning-ten minutes after seven o'clock, according to his wristwatch-and the sun was continuing to rise, slowly warming the vast sprawl of buildings and the long stretch of Southern California country. He and his friend were there again, the two of them flattened on their stomachs in the scrubby growth at the edge of the cliff, concealed by a high hedge of bushes from anyone living in the nearby houses or entering this dead-end street called Stone Canyon Road on a hilltop in exclusive Bel Air. Both of them held binoculars to their eyes, still waiting. Tilting the glasses higher, peering beyond the object of his surveillance, he could clearly see Stone Canyon Reservoir, with the miniatűré figures of several earlyrising sightseers promenading along the artificial lake. Lowering the glasses slightly, he could follow the ribbon of Stone Canyon Road where it wound up toward this high elevation in Bel Air. Then his glasses moved to catch a glimpse of a narrow, steep side street-that would be Levico Way-which he knew led to a culde -sac where stood the security gate that guarded entry to her well-photographed estate. Now, once more, his binoculars were probing inside her estate, focusing down on the secluded asphalt road far below, the driveway that led from the locked gate between clusters of heavy trees and an orchard to the palatial mansion standing on a gradual rise beyond. For him, it was as impressive as ever. In other times and other places, only kings and queens lived in such splendor. In this time and this place, the great houses