Vic Daniel 6 - As she rides by

Cast of Characters

    The story you are about to read is true. It has been torn from today’s searing headlines. All the people herein are, unbelievably, as real as the locale in which they strut their poor stuff—Los Angeles and its environs. Only my name has been changed.

    King —a dog. Played by himself.
    V. (for Victor) Daniel —his brutal, bad-tempered master.
    Evonne Louise Shirley —a livin’ dream. Also blonde.
    Benny the Boy —V.D.’s compadre in crime.
    Mel (the Swell) —legal beagle, but an OK guy nonetheless.
    Elroy —world’s only nongrasping landlord.
    “Feeb” —world’s only nongrasping landlady, but...
    Tom ‘ n ’ Jerry —once big Limey singing duo.
    L. R. “Tex” Jones —world’s only honest record producer?
    Mrs. L. R. “Mary” Jones —his little woman.
    Sara Silvetti— undisputed queen of the airheads.
    Injun Joe —presumably an Indian named Joe.
    Eskimo Lil —his part-time girl.
    Two-to-One Tim —house bookie at Fred’s.
    Fred —deli owner.
    Jim —literate publican.
    Dave —illiterate publican.
    Mrs. Morales —taco/burger stand owner.
    Mr. & Mrs. Nu— restaurateurs.
    Ernesto Romero —Catholic padre.
    Phineas —Beverly Hills florist deluxe.
    Phil & Ted— enforcers.
    Saul Gall— pornographer.
    Ms. Garrison —his gal Friday. Also Sat. & Sun.
    Rickie Sharp— Picker & pantin’ painter.
    Big Red— his latest girlfriend.
    Fido— a mangy cat.
    Annie & Dick Distler— music biz moguls.
    Curly— broken-hearted car mechanic.
    Frank Douglas— CPA with a human streak.
    Chris— a kid.
    Chris— a girl kid.
    Ralph Howieson— top business exec.
    John “Taffy” Chandler— Indian expert.
    Wade ‘n’ Willy— noted brother act.
    Suze and Cissy— their significant others.
    Katy— junior high adventuress.
    Popeye— an old salt.
    Marvelous Marv, Old Lou, Patrolman O’Connor. Don. Sneezy. Brav. Roth. Anthony (Tony) Daniel, bro. of V.D.—all connected in one way or another with an official law enforcement agency.

    Plus...
    An assortment of walk-ons, extras, passersby, rubberneckers, kib-bitzers, voices on telephone answering machines, secretaries, cleaning ladies, students, flower arrangers, wives & sweethearts, moms, comics, and lonely guys in bars.

    Special Added Attractions
    1 widow.
    1 corpse.
    1 thrilling rescue at sea.

Chapter One

    Well, I’m sittin’ and I’m sweatin’ in a tin bar near the border,
    Sharin’ a bottle of cold Carta Blanca with my memories...

    D arling,” evonne murmured sleepily.
    “Yes, peaches?”
    “It’s up again.”
    “I don’t believe it,” I said. “How do you know?”
    “Because something’s licking my foot,” she said. “And I know it isn’t you because you’re licking my neck.”
    “Oh,” I said. “Down, King! Bad boy!” A moment later there was a thump as my puppy reluctantly hit the floor, then another, softer one as he flopped down on the rug beside the bed.
    “Don’t you think it’s time you started training him properly?” Evonne said into the pillow.
    “Well I did sign him up for obedience school,” I said. “But he wouldn’t go.”
    “Darling.”
    “Yes, peaches?”
    “Sometimes I think the only reason you got a dog is so you could make dog jokes.”
    “You sure know how to hurt a guy,” I said. “Besides, it’s completely untrue. As you well know, I got him for a much more serious purpose— to help me pick up girls.”
    “Ha ha,” she said. “Now, are we going to get some sleep or aren’t we?”
    “Let me check the old schedule on that and I’ll get right back to you,” I said.
    “Forget it,” she said. “I am going to sleep, Victor. So for once and for all, good night.”
    “Well!” I exclaimed to myself under my breath, a la Jack Benny. “And what has come over madame all of a sudden?”

    T he next morning, after dropping Evonne off at the high school where she toiled as secretarial assistant to the vice principal, I drove back to my office on the corner of Victory and Orange, parked out front, then took King for his morning ablutions in the vacant lot next to me. Injun Joe, a well-known local derelict, was already installed in his usual spot on the southeast corner, sitting on a filthy blanket and leaning against the exterior wall of my office. He was wearing what he always wore, as it was probably all he had—a greasy red bandana holding back his straggly black locks, a couple of torn, cast-off sweaters too small for him, a pair of