Across the street from the bridge, a car pulled up. A car with darkened windows, even the windshield being a smokey grey from the outside, revealing only a vague shadow moving within. Other than the windows, the car was utterly inconspicuous, a light beige Ford sedan of an indeterminate year, with licence plates from the city. Almost identical to a million other cars on the roads. With a soft hum the window closest to the homeless "cardboard city" descended about three inches and stopped. Inside the car it was darker than outside and so nothing could be seen except the shiny glass disc that suddenly appeared in the opening. Again a soft whirring sound as the disc moved, revealing itself to be the business end of a telephoto lens. The camera it was attached to was state-of-the-art digital, and made no sound at all as it recorded image after image - the sound effect of a motor-wind was available, but turned off. The camera lense withdrew back into the vehicle and the window went back up. The car engine started with a gentle roar and the car pulled away and vanished.<br/><br/><br/><br/>"So... My Tasmanian Devil is living in that shit hole under the freeway? Did you manage to find out what she did?" Belle was scowling at the folder on the table in front of her. Ellen sat cornerwise to her friend, client and former lover. She shrugged.<br/><br/>"Court records are sealed. She's a minor until next week, when she turns eighteen. Contacts at the police precinct down on Sunview tell me she was arrested for 'defacing private and public property, vandalism, and assault on an officer'. Apparently her public defender managed to get the assault charge dropped in exchange for a guilty plea to the rest and a public apology to the officer in question, because it was 'purely accidental and a reflexive action'."<br/><br/>Bell snorted. "Hmph, What did she do, kick the guy in the nuts?"<br/><br/>"According to my source she sprayed paint in his face."<br/><br/>"Paint? Oh.... So she was tagging?"<br/><br/>Ellen smirked, fished in her attaché case then pushed a new set of pictures across the table. Belle leafed through them, her expression changing from neutral-bordering-on-disgust to seriously impressed. "Wow. Shit. These are fucking brilliant. The kid has talent. Are these all hers?" Ellen nodded and Belle's face acquired a thoughtful expression. "This isn't graffiti, this is street art. Any idea where she got the paint cans?"<br/><br/>"No evidence, but there were a number of thefts reported from a car parts store a few miles away some months before her arrest. The store never caught the thief, but reported that their stock room had been broken into and a number of boxes of  spray paint taken. It's possible she stole the cans, but I'd say it was more likely someone else broke in and stole them and she ended up with them some how. Like I said there's no evidence one way or another. The police never bothered to ask and she never volunteered."<br/><br/>Belle wasn't really listening. She was gazing in awe at the artwork that was decorating an otherwise boring grey concrete wall. "Fuck.... Fuck fuck fuck...." Ellen coughed and looked at her quizzically. "Uh, yeah, sorry. Just having an idea. She asked me if I could find her a job... I said I'd see if I could get her in to the music business as a stage hand, but... Dayum. She'd be wasted. I know at least one record label who could use a fucking good graphic designer for their album covers. And I reckon, with the right technology, she could do great animations too. See how this tag seems to flow into this one?"<br/><br/>Belle was enthusiastic. She said goodbye to Ellen and then caught a taxi into town and spent the afternoon hobbling around the local thrift shops, buying jeans, sweaters, tee shirts, socks, and a pair of old and worn but still serviceable boots. Finally, she went into the shop she got her own lingerie from. She figured that even though the girl couldn't wear new outer clothes, no one was going to see her underwear - or if they did it would be too late to worry about it being new or old. The girl's mother was not going to be a problem at least, drinking herself into an early grave. The father? The name listed on the birth certificate was Frank Jones, and most likely that was an alias, even if Ms Bauer knew who the father was it was unlikely she's have put his real name. The news that the kid was only seventeen was a bit of a shock. Belle was glad she hadn't done anything more than look. Not that she would. No... Taz was a young, skinny waif, and Belle wouldn't even consider her as a sexual partner. Never mind the fact that Taz would never be attracted to Belle in a million years, Belle would always be worried about snapping the kid in half like a twig!<br/><br/><br/><br/>The sign strung across the top of the bar read "Happy Eighteenth Birthday For The Day After Tomorrow". Arrayed on the bar were the clothes Belle had bought, all wrapped up in wrapping paper and tied with bows. and on the end was a cube wrapped in black and silver paper, that was a cardboard box containing a crash helmet. Belle had the Harley Davidson Fat Boy out on the driveway. The cast was off her leg and she was ready to ride. And she figured she'd give Taz a treat too, on the pillion of the only "boy" ever to get between Belles's thighs! She was waiting impatiently for the kid to arrive, resisting the temptation to go and get her. When she arrived, Belle Greeted her with a straight poker face and then said "There's a real mess in the bar. Could you clear it up before you do anything else?"