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HOLLYWOOD

By Bob Rider © All Rights Reserved

Beverly Hills Police picked up Sandy Dupree for weaving, two o'clock in the morning, driving 15 miles an hour in a thirty mile per hour zone, crossing the center line and having a broken license plate light.

"Get that fucking flashlight out of my eyes," Sandy's voice harsh, her words slurred.

The officer standing beside the car door; his flashlight shinning on the attractive blonde inside the Cadillac Seville, and asking if she'd been drinking.

"What right do you got asking me a question like that, you miserable piece of shit?

The officer now politely asking her to step out of the car, she loudly telling him to drop dead, and asking to see an attorney. Then while Sandy was at the police station being fingerprinted and booked on a charge of driving under the influence, Cotton Davis was earning his salary as a beat reporter and phoning the story to the Los Angles Sun Tribune. And that same morning everyone, who wasn't already aware, discovered Sandy Dupree was doing [censored], which in Hollywood was normal ...

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