As she rides by

Phineas’s maison, which King and I’d investigated during our stroll. Beverly Hills isn’t only Rodeo Drive and film stars’ mansions, it’s also hills. Hence the name, one might say. Our street led to the top of such a hill, on which was a small park, a wooden gazebo, and a little lookout affair, and as it was open to the public, the public could park there for as long as they wanted if they didn’t litter, play loud music, or tamper with the flora, or so the sign said.
    Anyway. We dined on leftovers. I should have such leftovers in my icebox—salmon mousse, chicken a la something served with green mayonnaise and white asparagus, a choice of six flavors of Haagen-Dazs ice cream, and then coffee and twelve-year-old Armagnac for them that wanted, and we both did. King had to suffer with a plate of cold roast beef. Naturally, we left the dirty plates in the sink for the maid.
    Afterwards, I watched sports, with the sound low, on one of those TV screens that are about three feet by four and that you find mostly in bars, while Phineas, close by, perused a slim volume that was not only a play but in French, too, if you can believe it. He did have to look up a word once, though, I noticed. King dozed the while at my feet. From time to time the phone tinkled. I’d suggested I answer all calls, just in case one came from Phil or Ted, so I did, but none did.
    Before retiring, we had a brief discussion of where I should sleep. Now, now, I didn’t mean it that way, I meant would it be smarter for me and King of the frozen north to curl up on a mattress outside Phineas’s bedroom door or, say, sleep on the couch downstairs, or crouch under the lilac bushes out back all night. In any case, I wasn’t happy.
    “I’m not happy,” I said.
    “About what?”
    “About being sitting ducks,” I said. “About being on the defensive generally. We’ve got to make some decisions.”
    “Goody goody,” he said. “Nothing I like better.” He yawned, closed his book, got up to put it on the shelf he’d taken it from, then collapsed into his chair again.
    “You’re just too vulnerable,” I said. “That is your problem, if you don’t mind my saying so.”
    “Well!” he exclaimed. “Hath not a gay eyes, hands, organs, dimensions, senses, affections, passions? If you prick us, do we not bleed?”
    “Quote those Froggy playwrights all you like,” I said. “I mean your store-boom. Your abode, likewise. Your car. You, despite my close attendance. It’s impossible for one man, no matter who, to cover you as you whirl from hither to yon if the opposition is really determined. All right, blowing up your oh-so-humble boutique might not put you on crutches, especially if you weren’t in it, but it might frighten you.”
    “How little they know,” he said.
    “OK,” I said, “but so they might think. What I’ve been thinking of is how can we ensure that you and your real estate and your employees, for that matter, remain in one piece until Wednesday noon.”
    “If I did take a trip,” he said after a moment’s thought, “that would ensure it.”
    “Exactly,” I said. “But you don’t want to take a trip to anywhere but the courthouse downtown. But what if they thought you were going on a long, long trip? Wednesday morning, say? And then you actually appeared to?”
    “Voilà!” he said, blowing a kiss my way. “Know what? I bet this is the place where we all gather ‘round, then you say to us, ‘Now here’s my plan, gang.’ ”
    “Now here’s my plan, gang,” I said. “So gather ‘round.”
    King and I wound up sleeping in the spare bedroom, with the door open, me on chocolate-colored silk sheets, he under the bed. I thought it safe enough; there was no point in Phil and Ted getting violent unless they absolutely had to, because of the risk involved, so it made sense for them to wait until the last minute, or close to it, anyway.
    As it happened, the night passed peacefully. King woke me up early the following morning to be let out. I let him out. When I let him in again, Phineas put in an appearance wearing a bathing suit that consisted of a piece of string and an eye patch, the kind of wardrobe muscle builders wear to perform in. He took one look at me in my jockey shorts, shook his head sadly, then said, “Follow me, if you dare.” I put aside the morning paper I was perusing.
    “Lead on, McBuff,” I said. I followed him down beside the small pool to a wooden cabana which contained a junk