Marcia Clark

“What can I do for you, Detective?' he said cheerily, smiling and nodding at Bailey.What was I, chopped liver? I had a badge too. Maybe I should've shown it to him. Maybe I should've shown him my gun too.”

“Think Pickelman's our guy?''Maybe. Or maybe he knows who is. Or maybe he's guilty of something else.''Glad you could narrow it down,' Bailey replied. 'Always here for ya.”

“I had to admit, my little Accord hadn't looked all that great next to the Benzes and Rolls in that garage to begin with, but now that it'd been turned into a mobile tribute to the artistic rendering of Lil' Loco, it stuck out like a Cracker Jack ring in a a Tiffany display.”

“What? What's your issue now?' I asked, annoyed. 'Jus' wonderin' what's it like for Droopy. This place is intense and he's jus' a lil' guy, you know?'Of all the bangers in the world, I had to get Mr. Sensitive. Droopy, I assumed, was Hector Amaya's gang moniker. I wondered why they were always so unflattering. Me, I would've at least picked something like Foxy or Jet. Which, I supposed, explained in part why I wasn't gang material.”

“This steak wouldn't have tasted nearly as good if I'd been lying dead at the bottom of a ravine. I lifted my martini and drank to that.”