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2. Presently Stavorgin Bash was twenty five years old, named Michael O'Neill, and he and another man just turned twenty six had driven a transport car from Pittsburgh to San Francisco. There was nothing remarkable about this adventure, excepting the fact that Stavrogin actually had a drivers licence however near the California expiring date, and that the actually journey had been made with a bottle count somewhere under eight fifths of vodka. Stavrogin had known O'Neill since their Goodman Inst- itute days of late nineteen sixty three in Chicago; where Bash had a lawsuit package of money aquired against the great Dandy Gib. of very slow sports car fame, while O'Neill had had a directors scholarship. For Stavrogin teenage life had been smashing up with fist and automobile. O'Neill's jolts were emotional through five sets of parents from Los Angeles to San Diego; but his head was clear and intellectual with the occasion of his original father, had been priming his way in life toward success. Walking along the Pacific Coast Highway now still in a stage when folks could driving make a mutual residential wave; Stavrogin Bash's still natural flash back mind viewed the quarrel he and Michael O'Neill had like shadow dancers engaged in on the San Francisco streets. Busted in Carson City, and O'Neill having to send for money from Doctor O'Neill his first Dad in San Diego had to be the kindling frustration in his drying out gut. Not to mention their staying with O'Neill's friend Patrolmen Allen in