Vic Daniel 6 - As she rides by

lot of pockets and it had ‘Some Like ‘Em Hot!!’ written on it. I wonder what I did with it?” I blew her a kiss and rang off. “Evonne,” I said to Elroy.
    “I guessed,” he said.
    “She’s come crawling back, just like I always knew she would,” I said. “Now. Where were we? Oh yes, I was just about to throttle you.”
    “ Calme, calme, compadre,” he said. “Observe.” He tapped with one finger on Mr. Amoyan’s shop. “Mr. Amoyan is retiring to do whatever it is retired Armenians do, and I shudder to think, as it probably involves some combination of pistachio nuts and sheep. His shop will become your office, it’s perzacherly the same size. You will dwell, if you so care, in the two-story apartment above, as did you not once mention to me in an aside that you were getting the heave-ho from where you are now?”
    “I did,” I said. “I did, I did. And I hang my head in shame at my evil thoughts about you.”
    “Amongst the special features planned for your abode,” he said, “are a specially reinforced roof on the top floor, complete with extra drainage, and thus suitable for a decorative town garden should the need ever arise.” Here he looked at me innocently; he knew full well Evonne was a gardening freak. “As a token of my gratitude,” he went on, “the rent for the entire unit will be—monthly,” and he named a sum so reasonable I was almost given to protest. In fact, I was just about to when a Celebrity Cab Co. cab drew up in front of the office and out stepped the leggy and highly winsome Ms. Garrison, a green cardboard folder in one hand. She was dressed that afternoon—or undressed that afternoon—in red shorts made of some shiny stretch fabric that came all the way down to the top of her legs almost, yellow tights, boots that matched the red shorts, and who even noticed the rest.
    Into the office she swept. Elroy hastily rolled up the plans to clear the desk, on which Ms. Garrison daintily deposited the folder.
    “Party of the first part, may I introduce the party of the second part?” I said to her.
    “No thanks,” she said. “Anyway, we already met, remember?”
    “How could I forget?” Elroy said gallantly.
    “Save it,” she said. She opened up the folder and began handing him documents. “Our lease with Corsault Realty. The transfer agreement. Their agreement to the transfer.” Elroy began looking them over.
    I took off my glasses, which I’d needed to look at the plans, and said, “Have a seat, Ms. Garrison.”
    She gave my spare chair one frosty look and said, “No thanks, I’ve just got these back from the cleaners.” Here she wiped an imaginary speck of dirt off her shorts.
    “Just trying to be friendly,” I said.
    “I’m not,” she said, smiling sweetly at me.
    There followed five minutes of silence while Elroy worked his way methodically through the documents. Finally he said, “They look OK to me. Your pen or mine?”
    “How about mine?” I said before she could open the purse she had slung over one shoulder. I selected one from the mug at random—it turned out to be a souvenir from some motel in Vernon I’d never been to—and she signed, he signed, she signed, he signed, and she signed and he signed.
    “Thank you very much,” Elroy said. He rolled up his copies with his plans, said he’d catch me later, and off he went. Ms. Garrison picked up the folder containing her copies and started out.
    “Those two elephants,” I said to her (mostly) bare back, “who were playing piggyback, remember? Hope you liked them.”
    “Speaking of animals,” she said, pausing by King’s empty blanket and full water bowl, “don’t see him around today.”
    “Took him home,” I said, “all things considered. Thought you might have some cyanide this time. Not nice, what you did, Ms. Garrison, lethal or not. And beating up on poor Injun Joe and frightening his girlfriend half to death, not nice either; what you need is a good spanking, only you’d probably enjoy it.”
    She turned around and swayed across to me until we were almost touching. She looked up at me, batted her fabulous eyes, and said coquettishly, “You wouldn’t hit a lady, would you, big boy?”
    “Depends, I guess,” I said, batting mine right back. “But whatever you are, sister, you sure ain’t no lady. Here. A present from King.” I shifted my weight onto my back foot, preparing to hang a six-inch love tap on her perfect chin. Her right hand came out of her shorts