As she rides by

radio, as Phil and Ted would be in their back seat at the time, and, knowing Marv, completely disarmed, trussed, bound, gagged, and handcuffed to the roof. And thus is history made.”
    “Sneaky and devious,” he said, turning smoothly onto Magnolia. I gave him directions from there and a few minutes later he pulled up in a small parking area in front of my office. I thanked him kindly for the lift and got out. He grinned at me, and tilted his cap down over one eye.
    “It’s moi who owes the thanks,” he said. I gave him a grandiose wave for a change.
    “I’ll get on to Derrone, too,” I said, “about where to send the dozen Angel Faces, remember? Also I’ll track down the address of Mel’s Garage and get that to him too.”
    “Jolly decent of you, old chap,” he said. “Now I simply must fly. Drop around sometime when you’re in the neighborhood.”
    “Likewise,” I said. He gave me a mock salute, and took off. Now, I know as well as you do that one often says things like that, especially in Hollywood . “Let’s do lunch next week,” you say, or “I’ll have my secretary give your secretary a call and set something up,” or “Let’s keep in touch, y’hear?” And of course you never ever see the person again, nor do you intend to. But I did see Phineas again, because he liked a long, cool one after work—and occasionally instead of work—as much as I did. I even took him shooting once, up in the badlands north of the city; he reciprocated, if that’s the right word—paid me back is more accurate— by taking me horseback riding. Frankly, I’ll stick to surfing without a paddle, thanks. ‘Course, I saw him the following week, too, but we’ll get to that.
    I opened up the office, picked the mail off the carpet, dumped it on the desk, retrieved the phone from the large safe in the small washroom out back where it and everything else of any value whatsoever lived when I was out of the office, and took care of the remaining details re Flora by Phineas. Mel’s Garage was in the phone book, so that was easy, so was my calling Phineas’s receptionist with its address and that of my beloved. On the card to be enclosed with the roses I requested there be simply written, “From a mystery admirer.” That should stump her for a while, all right. P.S.: Being no piker, ol’ Phineas sent her two dozen roses, not one, then did the same thing at Christmas. Know what he sent me for Christmas? Nothing, not even a cheap card. But he did send King a six-foot tree, a ficus, according to the label (fig to you), which still adorns my office. Class, I call it—I may not have it but I can spot it every time.
    OK. That was done. Then I leafed through the mail. The only item of interest it contained was a note scribbled in pencil on the outside of a used, dirty envelope, from Injun Joe—unless you consider a flier announcing the opening of a new ultra-rapid car wash in the vicinity an item of interest, which I do not.
    Injun Joe must have talked to his erstwhile lady friend, because the note read, “Come by. Will come by again Tues. aft,” which was then, which was fine by me; the sooner the better, in fact. I unlocked my desk and dug around until I came up with the list of things to do in the matter of V. D. vs. P.C.A.C. Co. “Injun Joe”—that was done, or soon to be so, anyway. “Father Romero”—that was done. “Historian slash museum curator”—that was done, too. “Snips”—done. “Artifact”—hopefully in the smooth, Jergens-lotioned hands of my favorite blonde by far. I then made out a new, revised list, as follows:

    V.D. vs. P.C.A.C. Co.
    To do:
    Retrieve artifact.
    Snip fence.
    Inter artifact. Disinter & authenticate.
    Enlist Injun Joe.
    Purchase suitable garb for same.
    Set up P.C. for eve in near future.

    To contact for P.C. (by telephone):
    Reporter(s).
    Mel (the Swell).
    Benny (the Boy).
    Evonne Louise Shirley.
    Marvelous Marv.
    S. (Saphead) Silvetti.
    Father Romero.
    Elroy.
    Local do-gooder?
    (By registered letter): Representative of P.C.A.C. Co.

    To do for/by date of Press Conference:
    Borrow 6 chairs from Nus next door.
    Refreshments? Cocktail weenies?

    Let’s see... say I picked up the stag-foot rattle, or whatever the dickens it was, from Evonne that night, and, much later, snuck out of her warm ‘n’ cozy cuddles long enough to do the dirty deed with it, then she could get it back to Taffy Chandler on Wednesday. Say one day for him to muck about authenticating