Angels in Heaven

point B, with no
problems except that, because I didn’t have a watch and I’d forgotten to bring
the stopwatch from my desk, I had to ask a kindly lady for the time when I
arrived at Tony’s, since I had beaten both Elroy running and Sara on her
skates, while Willing Boy had already clocked in and started back to point A.
We repeated the process, again with no problems; then I forked over an
exorbitant amount of money and dismissed the troops, after remembering to
retrieve my watch. Elroy jogged off happily into the smog, and Willing Boy
happily gave Sara a lift back where she lived with her adoptive parents, or at
least that’s where they told me they were going.
    I did entertain a slight doubt as they
took off in completely the opposite direction.
    I was parked across the street from
Tony’s. I made sure the car was well locked up, caught a bus north, waited on
Roscoe for a crosstown bus, descended at point A, then re- versed the process,
descended at Point B, noted the times, and then made my way back to the office.
From this sort of I thing you make a living? you might query. From
this sort of ( thing and other sorts of things, I might respond. How
do you make your living? Selling roach poison or meat packing, I perchance?
    I retrieved my typewriter from the
huge safe in the rear bathroom in which I stored everything of value when I was
out, and started on the paperwork. By the time the two kids on bikes came by, I
was just signing my own statement, I which was identical to the three others
except in means of transportation and the times involved, saying in appropriate
officialese that on such and such a day, one of us did such and such a thing
twice, which took us so long on the average, and that our timepieces had been
checked for accuracy before and after, and that none of us had any prior
knowledge of or prior commitment to the accused, and so on.
    As soon as I’d explained the mission
to the two high school kids and they had zoomed off on their ten-speeds, I
strolled around the corner to Fred’s Deli for a late breakfast of two onion
rolls liberally smeared with cream cheese and two glasses of buttermilk and
also to pick up my winnings from the ball game the night before, when the
Dodgers had humiliated the Giants. Tim, the house bookie, an old-timer who more
or less lived in the first booth to the left as you went in, paid me my twelve
bucks cheerfully.
    By the time I got back to the office,
the boys were already there waiting for me. We settled up; they signed their
John Hancocks; then I typed up their statements, made out an expense voucher,
and took the whole lot around the corner to Mrs. Martel’s stationery store for
copying and notarizing. Then I divided everything into two, mailed Mel his
half, and when I’d gotten back to the office, stowed away my half in the safe.
I was entering the financial details into Betsy, my adorable Apple II computer,
when my mystery caller knocked once on the front door and then came in, right
on the dot of one-thirty. I stood up to greet him, partly out of politeness and
partly to show him I was no shorty either, although he must have been at least
three inches taller than my six foot seven and a quarter. At least I now knew
what his sport was, and it wasn’t miniature golf or riding to hounds.
     
     
     

CHAPTER TWO
     
    My mystery caller was not what you
would call handsome, but when you are his height and weigh in at about 240, you
don’t have to be. He was attired in what was his idea of natty (although it was
far from being my idea)—a no-lapel green lightweight jacket worn over a
chocolate brown shirt that was buttoned all the way up to the neck; dark, sort
of forest green cuffless slacks; and either snakeskin or alligator half boots.
His pockmarked face was square in design, and so was his hair, which was
trimmed in that box-shaped straight-sided look that was commencing to be
popular amongst the Sepia sporting set. I was attired in a sleeveless Hawaiian
shirt featuring a motif of tropical birds, also cream cords and moccasins. My
face was not square, and neither was what was left of my graying locks.
    He introduced himself as James
Jefferson (“J. J.”) Hill. I introduced myself as V. (for Victor) Daniel. We sat
down; I switched off the computer.
    “You know how to use one of them things?”
he said.
    I nodded modestly. I didn’t bother
telling him it had taken me years to get the hang of it and I was still making
mistakes so basic sometimes it