Vic Daniel 6 - As she rides by

see someone had cut a hole in this brand-new cyclone fence. Must have been one of the winos who used to hang out here, I figured, who got cheesed off he couldn’t use the lot anymore. Anyway, King was through the hole before I could stop him; darned if he wasn’t looking for that old tennis ball of his.”
    “Oh yeah?” the cop said, rapidly becoming bored with the whole affair, I was glad to see.
    “Then he started digging away,” I said, “and he wouldn’t come when I called, so I had to climb in, tearing my new sweater, by the way, and go chasing that damn mutt. Jeez, my girl will kill me when she sees this sleeve.”
    The cop looked at me, then at King, then said, “Mind if I have a quick look inside?”
    “Why, not at all, officer,” I said. I held the door open for him, then shooed King in, then went in myself. The cop took a rapid look at the tiny kitchenette, poked his head in the equally small bathroom, then strolled into the office section and gave it a speedy once-over. What was there to see, after all? It was just an office. By the time he’d turned back to me, I had discreetly deposited the hoof in the kitchen sink.
    “What kind of work did you say you did, Mr. Daniel?” he then asked me idly.
    I looked shame-faced. “Don’t hold it against me,” I said, “but I’m a private investigator.” The cop guffawed loudly. “Listen, officer, whatever you do, please don’t tell ol’ Lou, your desk sarge up at the station, that you caught me chasing my dog on private property, he’ll have a heart attack laughing.”
    The cop laughed again, then said, “You know Lou? Wouldn’t think of it, pal.” Then he said, “Tell you what. You got a bit of wire, what you do is rig that fence shut best you can, and we’ll forget about it.”
    I thanked him profusely, and ushered him out. Then I dug up a bit of wire, and refastened the fence as best I could. Then I laughed, if somewhat ruefully. The bad news was it was too late to go back to Evonne’s gentle caresses. The good news was I now had not only a witness to King’s discovery, but a cop witness, beggora.
    I collected hoof and dog, and went home. And, alone on my hermit’s cot—except for one canine—I tossed and turned restlessly for a full moment before falling asleep.

    P ieces and bits.
    Bits and pieces.
    Tattered fragments unconnected to the great puzzle.
    Broken shards strewn hither and yon on the outskirts of a once-great city.
    These, amigos míos, are what my life consists of, much like Injun Joe’s wardrobe. Yes, I know I’ve said that before, but it doesn’t make it any the less true. And many of the bits are dull and many of the pieces boring or trivial or both. I usually don’t bother narrating the dull bits, because they’re dull, but just for once, to give you some idea how I pass the time when I’m not hobnobbing with rock stars or being shot at— and, mercifully, both of those occur rarely—here are a few examples:
    Wednesday morning: After dropping off the hoof at school, I stood in a door watching nothing happen. Wednesday afternoon, 2:00—5:30:1 sat in a car watching nothing happen. Most of Thursday: Twenty-one people did not recognize the young girl in the overexposed photo I was showing them. Rest of Thursday: I delivered four summonses to four different people without once having to be sneaky, devious, or even clever; all I had to do was ring the bell and hand ‘em over. All these chores were for Mel the Swell, by the way. Penultimate examples: Friday morning I spent two hours filling in and getting notarized and sending off the account of a traffic accident I’d not only witnessed recently but had been foolish enough to say so to the innocent party involved, a pretty young thing, as it happened, who’d reminded me ever so slightly of June Allyson.
    Ultimate example, and the dullest of them all: Friday noon, bought new pair of reading glasses because the pair I had just totally vanished somehow. How do things do that? How can they be there on your head one minute and be instantaneously transported into another dimension the next?
    Saturday afternoon, things started livening up a trifle. I was in the office applying a few artistic touches to the bill for services rendered I was drawing up for Mel when Jerry, of Tom ‘n’Jerry, called to say they were off to Tex ’s studio to cut a couple of demos and did I want to come along? I said, sure, man, it would give me a chance to look around and also to bring