CHAPTER SIXIt was raining in Oakland and the air was cold and damp, but the blue Volvo 544 started without hesitation. Lindsey paid the parking fee and hopped onto the freeway. As he passed the Oakland Coliseum he switched on the radio and punched the pre-set for KJAZ. Marvia had helped him cultivate a taste for both classical music and jazz, just two of the many reasons he had to be grateful to her.
Instead of the piano of McCoy Tyner or the horn of Sonny Rollins or the voice of Billie Holiday, Lindsey’s ears were assaulted by the last notes of a wild salsa tune followed by a commercial in rapid-fire Spanish. He didn’t understand the language but he recognized the brand of tires every time it was mentioned.
He hit the preset for a classical station. Maybe some Mozart or Haydn would get
