The Nightmare Factor [antikvár]

1It was the kind of November night that Sergeant Frank Borelli liked besta wet one. Not only was the rain good for the farmers, it chased the muggers off the street and kept the pimps and hookers penned up in their hotel rooms.He thought about the evening ahead with pleasure, shifting to a more comfortable position so his belly could push back against his seat belt. A night like tonight, he wouldn't even bitch about being CSTF Crime Specific Task Force. Unlike other patrols, they weren't restricted to any one district; they could roam the city at will. Well, rank has its privileges, he thought.The rain was sheeting so heavily now that their headlights penetrated it by little moi-e than a man's length. The traffic, lighter than usual, moved at a crawl. Later in the evening, he promised himself, they'd patrol in the avenues and spend a few minutes watching the breakers pound seal rock just below the Cliff House. Come midnight, he'd let Kolbaum talk him into taking their dinner break at Hamburger Mary's in the Mission. There was a good barbecue rib and chicken spot in the Fillmore, but the silent resentment of the blacks always ruined his appetite.He concentrated on the radio for a minute. Nothing but collisions. Things were relatively quiet now. The Sixth Street on-ramp swam into view and he nudged Kolbaum in the ribs. "Take the freeway over to Eighteenth, and we'll give the district the once-over and then hit the avenues."