Vic Daniel 6 - As she rides by

first thing a parrot would do after waking up from a dream? Bore you stiff telling you about it, like all dreamers do. And as there is not one recorded and properly attested case of a parrot ever describing its dreams, I say to you, members of the jury, parrots, therefore, do not dream.

Chapter Eleven

    See, I was makin' this quiet little run from Tampa through Nogales ;
    I was supposed to meet a Mexican gent in a field near Monterrey .

    I T wasn’t until the following Tuesday that events really began picking up in pace. The only thing that enlivened the days leading up to Tuesday was one moment of searing ecstasy Sunday night when Evonne Louise Shirley and I finally—but that’s another story, and how.
    I was sitting in my office after lunch sucking on a clear mint when the telephone rang and my caller turned out to be not only an official of the Pussycat Co., but one of its two owner/managers, a Mr. Saul Gall by name. Or so he introduced himself. I introduced myself as V. Daniel. Mr. Gall wanted to know if I was in any way responsible for the imaginative flight of fancy he was holding.
    “I am, sir, in a small way responsible,” I told him, “if, indeed, what you are referring to is an absolutely legal temporary restraining order for a cessation of any and all construction work on a certain vacant lot. Which, as it happens, sir, is not so far from my modest place of work.”
    “No, not far at all,” Mr. Gall said, “seeing as it’s right next door, according to your address.”
    From which you will have gathered that despite the lack of thrills and chills throughout the long weekend—with the one exception already mentioned—progress has been made in V.D. vs. P.C. Chores had been undertaken, errands run, deliveries made. All the remaining steps previously outlined had been successfully managed—getting the papers from Taffy to Evonne to me to Mel to a civil court judge then back to me with the newly inked court order, copies of which, along with one final addition from me, were then duly sent winging on their registered and express-delivered way to Mr. Saul Gall.
    The last enclosure from me was merely the invitation to the upcoming press conference, to wit:

    To All Concerned Citizens and Parents of North Hollywood :
    Your presence is requested this Friday evening at six p.m., at the above address (mine) to discuss, hopefully with the putative developers or a representative thereof, the proposed construction of an adult movie house on the terrain, now vacant, that occupies the southwest corner of the intersection of Orange and Victory Boulevards. Present will be members of the press, clergy, law enforcement agencies, local citizens’ committees, the legal profession, and, particularly importantly, a member of the California Historical Society. Two representatives from the nearby Wade Dean High School will also be in attendance.
    Thank you.
    And remember, as William Jennings Bryan so aptly put it:
    “The humblest citizen... when clad in the armor of a righteous cause, is stronger than all the hosts of error.”

    “So what’s going down, Daniel?” Mr. Gall said then. “I mean, I can read, and what I can read is, quote ‘desecration of a religious site, edifice and/or other properties,’ neatly typed in under ‘Grounds for the application,’ but what does that mean?”
    “All will be revealed at the press conference,” I said. “I hope you got our invitation.”
    “Yeah, I got it,” he said. “Don’t worry, the hosts of error will be there, in force.” With which he slammed down the receiver. Well! I declared. Gall by name, gall by nature, King. The dog got up, came around to my side of the desk, got the pat he was looking for, then lay down again and gave his tennis ball a good chew. I got out my address book and got busy on the phone; now that I had Mr. Saul Gall definitely lined up, it was time to line up the rest of the participants, which proved simplicity itself in some cases, and not so simple in others.
    The local weekly, the City Citizen, in which I occasionally took out a modest ad, promised to send one of their keenest cubs. Mel said he’d be there, with bells on. So did my landlord, Elroy. Marv was out chasing evildoers, but I left a message as to where and when and why, and, as he owed me a favor, I figured he’d show too. Taffy Chandler said he couldn’t wait, frankly. Evonne Louise Shirley had already been forewarned to keep Friday evening free, just in case. A quick