As she rides by

about Joseph Half-Moon?” he said. “Lil liked that.”
    “OK, OK,” I said. “Joseph Half-Moon. Anything else?”
    “Well, there was one thing,” he said. “Lil thought I should mention it just in case.”
    “Out with it, Joseph, out with it.”
    “Well, see, chief, it’s like I ain’t really an Indian.”
    “Now you tell me,” I said. “What the fuck are you, if you’re not an Indian, a pygmy bushman? How come your name’s Injun Joe if you’re not an Indian?”
    “It ain’t,” he said. “And I’m a Scandahoovian is what. Injun Joe is sorta like a nickname.”
    “Oh, really?”
    “Lil’s brother Donald, we was in the navy together, he was buckin’ for Chief, so I started callin’ him Chief, so he said if you go on callin’ me Chief before I’m Chief, I’m gonna fuckin’ call you Injun Joe. So he did.”
    “Fascinating, truly fascinating,” I said. “And what happened to Donald?”
    “Got kilt,” Joe said. “We was loadin’ ammo on the aft gun deck, somethin’ happened, whammo, I woke up in sick bay two days later and he an’ Frenchie and Red and the First woke up dead.”
    “Ah, shit,” I said. “I’m sorry, Joe. Now go on, get into your expensive new duds, will you, it’ll be all right, just don’t say anything to anybody. My lawyer pal Mel will do all the talking for you. Just nod your head in a dignified manner if he asks you a question. OK?”
    “If you say so, chief,” he said. “How will he know my new name, though?”
    “I will tell him,” I said. “Now get back there before I scalp you, here comes more company.” Joseph Half-Moon took himself out back. I stood to greet the new arrivals—Benny the Boy, Mel the Swell, and my landlord Elroy, who all had met previously, so I didn’t have to introduce them. Benny was wearing a neat three-piece suit and his habitual and highly misleading air of slightly perplexed innocence. Mel was his usual elegant self in a white and highly expensive-looking sports coat with dark green slacks and highly polished, tasseled loafers. Elroy, richer by far than either of them, was attired in his customary garb—ponytail, cheap flip-flops, cheaper T-shirt (with “Habit: Noun: A shackle for the free” on it), and the kind of flimsy, baggy black pants Cambodian coolies wear planting rice. Plus his un-see-through-able shades, of course, and his Mickey Mouse watch, and his dope bag dangling from the string that held up his trousers. I was wearing a stunning green, pink, and orange Hawaiian shirt and new tan cords.
    Greetings were exchanged all around. Puzzled glances were directed toward the kitchenette area, where what appeared to be a naked man was hopping around and cursing.
    “All will be explained,” I assured them. “As soon as the others get here.”
    “What others, my man?” Elroy wanted to know.
    “Sara and Evonne,” I said, “And a cop, a padre, and a historian. Then I will elucidate, and then we will all play our parts to perfection, and then a reasonable compromise will be worked out, and then that fence next door will come tumbling down and there will be joyous dancing and merry frolicking in the streets.”
    “My small part,” said Benny. “You’ve neglected to tell me exactly what it is.”
    “You are the Reverend Michael Lendon,” I said. “Representing the Council of the United Presbyterian Churches of these United States. Your fellow cleric, Father Romero, will be here shortly with your dicky You will then retire to the changing room, put it on, and commence to think and declaim piously, which will be an enlightening experience for us all.”
    “Him included,” murmured Elroy.
    “Ah, the ladies!” I said then. “And don’t they look a treat!” All heads turned to watch Sara and Evonne as they walked the few yards from where Evonne had parked to my office. A minute later, in they came. All rose.
    “Gentlemen,” I said, “I believe you all know Miss Sara Silvetti, President of the Wade Dean Christian Students’ Movement? Thank you for coming, Miss Silvetti, and may I say that you look particularly fetching this afternoon?” As indeed she did, if you like the Sandra Dee off-to-church look—and who in his right mind does not—demure twinset (a cardigan worn over another sweater of the same material and color), pleated skirt, red suede penny loafers, and two little ponytails held by rubber bands sticking out above each shoulder.
    “Up yours,” the sweet thing rejoindered. “What’re