As she rides by

Twenty

    Once in a while I buy a beer for the fat bartender,
    And once in a while the fat bartender does the same for me.

    M onday morning, nine-fifty-six. I was checking out my skin tone in my office’s bathroom mirror; for some reason my skin was so dry the flakes were the good news. Then all my guests arrived in a bunch, the five of them—two cops, two lawyers, and one exec. The cops’ names were Sergeant Brav, and, in plainclothes, from Fraud, Lieutenant Roth; the lawyers Messrs. Galanti and Mouton; the exec, Mr. Howieson, and in the chair, V. (for Victor) Daniel. Also attending in a watching brief was K. Daniel. When everyone had been introduced to everyone else, and all were seated (three of them in chairs borrowed from the Nus’ chop suey joint next door) and the small-talk done, I opened the folder containing my notes, cleared my throat, and called the meeting to order.
    “Thank you all for coming on such short notice, gentlemen,” I said. Mouton, the pudgy lawyer in the wig, opened his briefcase, took out a spiral notebook, then an expensive-looking fountain pen from his breast pocket, then held the pen poised at the ready. Sergeant Brav slumped in his chair and stared at his feet. Roth from Fraud switched on his miniature tape recorder. Galanti straightened his already straight tie. Howieson just sat there looking tired. “Of course take notes all you want,” I said, “but in case it might help, I’ve made copies of most of this stuff” (here tapping the folder) “I’ll hand around later. I suppose this meeting falls into two parts, one involving the fraud of the five million or so by Mrs. Mary Jones from IMM, and the second, the possible homicide by a member of the Jones family of a member of the IMM family, I thought I’d go into with Sergeant Brav here after the rest of you have departed to consult together and tear your hair and arrange warrants and prepare press statements and God knows what else.”
    “And leave for Rio ,” said Mr. Howieson glumly. “My wife’s already packing. Hope she remembers the sunscreen.” Sergeant Brav grinned. Mouton looked shocked. K. Daniel stood up, turned around a couple of times, then lay down again. I wonder why dogs do that? I know why cats do, they’re copying dogs, who they know are smarter so they figure there must be a good reason.
    It didn’t take me long to outline to my extremely attentive audience the details of Mary’s scam, as I have heretofore outlined it to you, friends, albeit in fits and starts, in bits and pieces. I did not, however, remind them how easy the cellular system employed had made it for Mary; it was all too evident to even bother to suggest that a slight modification or two in the system would not be amiss.
    Except for a question or two from Roth, Fraud, and a couple of self-mocking interpolations from Ralph Howieson, they heard me out in silence. Then I handed out copies of things like the list of twenty-seven, and the detailed report I’d typed up of Saturday’s adventures concerning the U.S. Postal Service, and so on, which got glanced at and then tucked away in various pockets and briefcases.
    “End of part one,” I said. “Unless there’s something else?” Mr. Howieson raised his eyebrows in the direction of his legal department.
    “Not from me,” Galanti said.
    “Me neither,” Mouton said.
    “If there is, I’ll get back to you,” Roth said. Mr. Howieson got to his feet. So did Galanti, Mouton, and Roth. Considerable handshaking followed. Then I politely showed them to the door. Ralph Howieson stood back to let them all leave first, then he looked down at the dog, then up at me.
    “What’s it worth?” he said.
    “What’s what worth?”
    “What you did.”
    “Forget it,” I said. “Anyways, I already got a client, you’ll never guess who.”
    “I firmly doubt that I will ever forget these past three days,” he said. “Nor will I forget the fact that you may have saved us untold further millions of bucks.” He slapped me on one arm, and took his leave. And nor did that excellent gent forget; two days later there arrived by special delivery a whopper of a check from good old IMM. Shyness prevents me from revealing how much it was for, but along with it came a note, which said, quote, “For Special Services, a one-time-only payment of $25,000.00. With thanks.”
    After the rest had gone, Sergeant Brav shifted himself over to my spare chair, which was slightly more comfortable than the