Joe Beaulieu flicked the cigarette butt out the window of the 2014 Dodge Charger.  The wind raced through his hair. It was relaxing and calming. The unmarked police interceptor raced along Van Ness Ave heading north. Sam Rhyu, his partner sat in the passenger seat taking in the sights. Sammy always picked out the beautiful young women walking along the sidewalk on a mild San Francisco afternoon.<br/><br/>"You catch the Niners yesterday?" Joe asked his partner blindly.<br/><br/>"Nah, I heard they got beat again," Sam responded without looking at his partner.<br/><br/>A brief seven second pause was interrupted by a Joe Beaulieu grunt. "Yup. Johnny football's Browns cleaned their clock. It was pathetic."<br/><br/>"Definitely miss Montana," Sammy shot out.<br/><br/>Joe gave a cross look at his younger partner, "how old were you, Montana's last year in San Franciso? five? maybe?"<br/><br/>"I didn't have to be alive to  know he was the best Quarterback ever in the history of football. He's a legend in the city. Everyone knows Montana. Besides, Kaepernick blows."<br/><br/>"Sure, sure sure. Kaepernick is toxic," Joe Beaulieu spat out. "But the way you say it, it sounds like you were there. Hell, I was only seven the last year Montana played for the Niners."<br/><br/>The radio in their police cruiser crackled to life interrupting their sports discussion, "Sierra five, from dispatch."<br/><br/>Sammy pulled the hand set to his mouth, "go for Sierra five."<br/><br/>"Sierra five, could you go to Black Point Battery? We have a report of a code 62 washing ashore," The dispatcher spoke over the radio. "dispatched the Fisherman's Wharf patrol car to back you up."<br/><br/>"Roger that, Sierra five is enroute," the five foot nine inch Korean-American Police Inspector responded. Code 62 meant dead body. The two personal crimes inspectors covered down on a spectrum of crimes including homicide, rape and robbery as well as lesser crimes. Both Police Inspectors dressed in casual slacks, black cross fit trainers and golf shirts. Their department issue pistols holstered on their right side and inspector's shield affixed to the front left side of their belts. Today, Joe wore a red golf navy blue golf shirt and khaki trousers, while Sammy wore a light green golf shirt and gray slacks.<br/><br/>As the Dodge Charger pulled up to Black Point Battery, Sam and Joe noticed the black and white with the seven-pointed star on the sides. Joe parked the unmarked near the police cruiser and the two inspectors stepped out. Joe recognized the older uniformed police officer  as Clayton Hughes of Westview.<br/><br/>"Hey Clayton!" Joe called out. "What we got?"<br/><br/>"A jogger came through here a half an hour ago. Spotted something bobbing in the surf. She got curious and came down to check it out. She found this scumbag floating in the water face down. I used a hook to drag him out. I got the joggers name and information for ya, Joe." Clayton Hughes was a 20-year veteran of  SFPD. He knew Joe's father, Daniel when he was on the job. They had worked a few cases together. Clayton has been a beat cop his whole life and loves it more than anything else. He has never felt the urge to take the Sergeant's exam or the Inspector's exam. He is content to work the job as a patrolman.<br/><br/>"Do you know him?" Joe asked Officer Hughes.<br/><br/>"Sure I've seen him. This crack head hangs out at Joe's Crab Shack on Jefferson. I see him in there all the time drinking coffee. He must live in the area. To be honest, I think he has an apartment a few blocks south of there."<br/><br/>"Is he a drug user?" Joe asked.<br/><br/>"Sure Joe. I believe his drug of choice is crack cocaine. He's been popped a few times for possession. He usually gets a suspended sentence after enrollment in a rehab clinic and then back out on the streets. He manages the Grand Hyatt on Stockton. Guys like this go to counseling and NA, but stick to their candy. It defines them, if you know what I mean." Officer Hughes mentioned Narcotics Anonymous in regards to the acronym NA. The Grand Hyatt is a well known hotel in the financial district.<br/><br/>"Sam, call dispatch. Tell them we need an ambulance crew and the ME. have them bring the meat wagon this time."<br/><br/>"Sure thing boss," Sam pulled out his cell phone and dialed the dispatcher to place the call.<br/><br/>Meanwhile, Joe went through the dead man's possessions to get an identification. Upon closer inspection, Joe noticed a tattoo on the man's left pectoral. It was a depiction of the US Navy's Special Operation's badge or Navy SEALs. He wondered if the man was a former SEAL or just a wannabe; stolen valor candidate.<br/><br/>"Gabriel Lopez, born December 31, 1972 with an address of 640 Francisco St. The man has twenty-two dollars in cash on him and a Tag Heuer wristwatch on his left wrist," Joe looked the man over. He looked up at Sam, "what do you notice about this guy?"<br/><br/>Sam took several seconds then began describing the corpse, "average height and weight. Decent muscular frame, nice clothes, short hair and trimmed fingernails. They aren't bitten."<br/><br/>"Does this guy look like a crack head to you?" Joe asked Sam.<br/><br/>"No, Joe. He looks like a businessman."<br/><br/>"Well, how the hell did he end up here? Going for a swim in San Francisco Bay? Maybe he was sightseeing out at Alcatraz and fell in? I don't see a GSW or blunt force trauma. What killed him?"<br/><br/>"Let's see what the ME says," Sam suggested.