They'd left San Francisco just after 7:30am, with a quick pitstop at Mario's sandwich shack up by the Fillmore for some hearty breakfast. Traffic was light due to the holiday earlier in the week and they'd made good time getting out of the Bay Area.

As soon as the sun rose, Mike had busied himself reading the Telegraph, mostly the sports section thereof. As if dealing with the situation in their own unique terms, both detectives kept to themselves throughout the drive, the foreboding worry about what they might find up north dampening their spirits.

Steve managed to convince Mike to stop by the office of the Intrepid first. According to their voicemail message, somebody should be there to answer the door by the time they'd reach Saint Helena. It was a long shot, but he had to find out where they were getting their information from.

Quietly pondering away, Steve let his eyes drift over the traffic ahead, looking for gaps in between cars to navigate the Galaxy out of the current crowd of slow pokes and left-laners.

When he finally saw his gap, he sped up the tan sedan significantly, cutting off the firebird in the right hand lane that had been sitting in his blind spot for the past five miles, causing an orchestra of horns.

Racing past the '68 Buick that had been blocking the left lane since south of Sausalito and getting in front of it, Steve settled the Galaxy back down at eight miles an hour above the speed limit, enough to pull away from the crowd of slow traffic and not having to worry about getting pulled over by another cop.

"You…ehm…in some sort of hurry to get back home?"

Mike never looked up from his paper when he said that. Instead, his eyes remained fixated on the sports page, a faint smile on his lips.

Grinning overconfidently, but never taking his eyes off the road, Steve shook his head.

"Just wanted to see if you're paying attention, Lieutenant."

"Oh, believe me, I am…", Mike said and turned the page undisturbed, "So did the guy who flipped you off."

Chucking, Steve noted the sign for the Saint Helena exit 2 miles out and faded back into the right-hand lane.

"They say respect for law enforcement is at an all-time low.", he continued to push, only to watch Mike fold the Telegraph back up with a sigh, before throwing it on the backseat.

"If they drive like you, I can see why…", he grunted facetiously and pointed toward the south, "Before we stop at this…this publishing office, I want to pick up a newer copy of Intrepid, get a feel for how these people tick, so let's stop at the next gas station."

"Why? I told you, it's more of a…a contemporary magazine…"

"You is why."

"I is why? Why is that?"

"Because…you never refer to anything as contemporary.", Mike argued facetiously and tapped his shoulder with a broad smile, "Something tells me you're taking us straight to the nuthouse. And I want to be ready for it."

"Aw, come on now…no….no I didn't mean it that way."

Unable to resist a wide grin when his partner read him like a book once again, Steve turned east off the exit.

"Oh, yes you did, Smiley, you sure did.", Mike's cheery voice became somewhat subdued when he pointed at the gas station along the crossroad ahead, "And wouldn't you know it, there's a Union 76."