Free Eats to Die For! by Michael Mallory

come out of the grease. They had to be fresh because they were nearly too hot to pick up.
    The hamburger was equally hot and good, but I actually managed to force myself to leave a bit of it uneaten. It wasn’t easy; in fact, it was so difficult that I wrapped it in a napkin so as not to have to see it, and got up to go get back in line at the counter.
    All right, I’m weak! But it’s a hamburger, not a fix of heroin! It’s my reward for actually saving a piece to sneak out.
    â€œAre you finished with your tray, sir?” I heard a voice ask, and turned to see a kid with a wet wipe rag in one hand, while half-way reaching for my tray with the other.
    â€œNo, I’ll be back,” I said, reaching for the wrapped burger ort as casually as I could and palming it. “Please don’t take the tray away, I’m coming back. You’re food is so good I’m going for seconds.”
    â€œExcellent,” the kid said, grinning, and then moving on.
    I got a single burger this time, which turned out to be as much a masterpiece of hot, juicy goodness as its big brother the Twin Halo. When I was finished, I piled everything onto the tray, except, of course, for the wrapped piece of my first burger, which I could feel was leaking secret sauce through the napkin in my pants pocket, then carried it to the trash bin, and then started to walk out.
    And I made it.
    I made it all the way to through the door, into the patio dining area, which was filled with cement tables and benches and halo-shaped sun umbrellas, and into the parking lot. And then into my car. And then out of the lot and onto the street.
    Nobody tried to stop me, nobody tried to hassle me, nobody said a word.
    So much for the rumor that Burger Heaven would go to any lengths to prevent their food from being taken off the premises. The first time I tried this stunt, only to be stopped by the security guard, who imprinted her image so firmly onto my brain that I see her everywhere now, it must have been a coincidence.
    As I got closer to the 405 freeway, I could not help but notice that the lane for the on-ramp was backed up several blocks. This was not a good sign. Even with recent widening efforts, the 405 could be a nightmare, so I needed to avoid it for a while.
    The answer was simple: since I was not far from the offices of the L.A. Independent Journal , and since I had the piece of evidence I had been charged with obtaining, I decided to drop it off on the way back. Maybe traffic would have lessened by the time I finished.
    And maybe giraffes can fly, hoo hoo hoo! Hugh Herbert said inside my head.
    Okay, then maybe Zareh Zarian would realize that I can accomplish what I set out to do.
    About twenty minutes later I pulled up to the Journal offices, parked and went in, telling the receptionist, “I don’t have an appointment, but I need to see Mr. Zarian. I have something he wants.”
    Zarian popped out of his office a few minutes later and waved me in.
    â€œWhat have you got?” he asked, and I dropped the burger fragment on his desk. “Just like that?”
    â€œJust like that.”
    â€œHot damn! I’ll get it to the lab right away. Sit down, Beauchamp.” I did so. “Did you find anything out regarding Louie?”
    â€œSomeone broke into her apartment, ransacked it, and left a bug in it.”
    â€œA listening device?”
    â€œYes. I found it and flushed it.”
    â€œWhat do you suppose they were hoping to hear?”
    â€œYou’re in a better position to say that. Had she been working on a story other than this Burger Heaven one that might be considered dangerous in some quarters?”
    â€œHer last assignment was looking into a billionaire developer who’s got the building-and-safety supervisor and half the city council eating out of his trough enough to get waivers on everything, and rip down any historic building that gets in his way. But that story went to press, and while