Vic Daniel 6 - As she rides by

birdcage for birds what can’t fly. Like fried chickens.”
    “See right there?” I said, pointing. “That’s my office. So I’m bound to be interested in what happens on this plot of real estate, because it’s so close to my office.”
    “Right next to it, you might say,” he said.
    “I would say abutting,” his pal chimed in as he passed with a heavy-looking toolbox.
    “So if it’s not a state secret,” I said, “what’s going up here, any idea? Toddler’s park? Pet store? That would be nice, eh, King?” But King didn’t hear; he was following some invisible spoor with great concentration and who knew what doggy dreams.
    “Amos, where’d you put that pretty sign?” the one without the baseball cap called out.
    “Still in the truck,” his friend called back.
    “In the truck,” said the first guy, “is a sign. It will reveal all.”
    “That I sincerely doubt,” I said. I walked the few yards to the truck and looked in. Sure enough, there was a sign inside. Sure enough, it was pretty. It was facing my way, so I had no trouble reading what it said. Writ in gold lettering, with many a curlicue, on a vibrant pink background, it said, “Opening Soon! Another Elegant Pussycat Adult Cinema!! Triple XXX Only!!! New Program Every Week!!!! Opening Soon!”
    Over my dead body, I thought. I called the mutt, opened up the office, then rang my good friend Elroy, to whom I paid the office rent every month or thereabouts; as did all my neighbors in the small, L-shaped mall—the Nus, the Nus’ cousin Mr. Nu; Mrs. Morales; whoever owned the laundromat next to her; and Mr. Amoyan, up at the far end. Elroy was in, and, although it was only a few minutes after nine by then, already stoned out of his gourd. Not that that was unusual, he was always stoned out of his gourd; he claimed it sharpened up his business acumen. Who knows; something sure did—he’d doubled his family holdings since he came into them a few years back.
    Anyway, Elroy was, like I said, both in and totally out to lunch.
    “Lover!” he exclaimed at the sound of my voice. “Tis thee! Hang on while I turn my croissant over.”
    I hung on. When he resurfaced, I asked him if he owned that lot next to me.
    “Nope,” he said. “Dope name of Lewis Montgomery owns yon fair plot. I knoweth because I once endeavored to purchase said terrain from him. He said, ‘Two two five.’ I said, ‘Let’s lunch sometime next decade, like after the earthquake.’ ”
    “Well, Lewis don’t own it no more,” I said. “The Pussycat Adult Cinema Company owns it, goddammit.”
    When Elroy was done laughing, he said, “Least you won’t have far to go to the movies.”
    “Want to lend me two hundred and twenty-five thousand?” I said. “Maybe I can buy it back and turn it into a winos’ guest house again.” An hour later I was still fuming about it. So was King; he’d fumed himself to sleep on his scrap of rug by the door. I looked over at him— what a sweetheart. What a good boy. He was just the right size for a dog, too—in between. And just the right color—white, with a few irregular brown patches dotted on by some master’s brush. Were we going to let the Pussycat Cinema Co. destroy our playground? The very name was an insult. I was trying to figure out if I could find out who owned the bloody company without going all the way downtown to the old Records building when the red Touch-Tone phone on the desk made its noise. Maybe it was the Pussycat Co., thought I, calling to see if they could borrow my office in the evenings for use as a rub-room. It wasn’t; it was my friend Rick.
    “Hi, pal,” he said. “Long time no see.”
    “You don’t say!” I said.
    “Still detecting?”
    “What else? Still painting pictures of young ladies with no clothes on?”
    “What else indeed,” he said. “Listen, you busy?”
    “Well, not exactly busy busy,” I said. “In fact, I’m not even busy. In fact, I’ve got nada going on at the moment.”
    “So why don’t you drop by late afternoon,” he said. “Any time after five. Got some folks for you to meet.”
    “It’s a date,” I said. “What kind of folks?”
    “You’ll see.”
    “Listen, amigo,” I said. “If by ‘folks’ you are referring to scantily clad, nubile female models, you can include me out.”
    He laughed, then said, “Later, investigator,” then hung up. I did likewise. Hung up, I mean, obviously I didn’t laugh, then say “Later, investigator,” why would