Vic Daniel 6 - As she rides by

enough, anyway, at least he was a real Indian—who had agreed, in writing (for a sizable consideration, not in writing) to replace Injun Joe should Injun Joe retire from the affair due to illness, change of heart, or act of God (Mel’s idea). One was also doomed to failure because the other principal in the case, me, was not about to retire from the affair due to any of the reasons listed above or any other conceivable or inconceivable ones.
    Which leads us to Two. The only piece of evidence in the case had not been stolen along with Joe’s old clothes, it reposed in my desk drawer and was about to be shifted into the safe out back. What had been stolen was a box identical to that containing the rattle, both purchased by me that afternoon at the ever-reliable M. Martel, Stationers, said second box containing a highly original and amusing paperweight made in South Korea—a gift from some forgot admirer for some forgot festive occasion—which featured two elephants making love and which, frankly, I was not all that displeased to see the last of.

Chapter Fifteen

    Well, we settled out of court, ‘cause that’s the Mexicali way,
    But after that I wasn’t what you’d call a man o’ means...

    I didn’t GO to the nearest bar after all. I did go to a bar, though, let me reassure you—Jim’s place, the Two-Two-Two, a comfortable watering hole not that far from a certain apartment that I was shortly about to be kicked out of, thanks very much. And Evonne Louise Shirley—what was she up to all of a sudden with her fibs and her sags and God knows what else? Ah, women. Who was it who said sometimes I think women are getting dumber as they grow smarter? Mrs. Plato?
    After the usual greetings to Jim, I installed myself in my usual quiet comer with a brandy and ginger, and thought. About war, which is a much more calming subject to think about than women. About winning same. About winning same fast, because who knew what other dangerous antics those sore losers might get up to next. They might even try and take it out on my car, heaven forbid.
    All right. According to that dulcet-voiced lady on the recording I heard, pussycat lovers, the P.C.A.C. Co. operated four cinemas, one classic, two straight pornos, and one gay. OK. Today was what little was left of Friday. By the middle of next week, latest, I figured I’d have them all shut down, at least temporarily, one way or another. I cadged another drink and a pad and ballpoint from Jim. On the pad I wrote, after some deep ruminating:
    Personnel:
    Sara?
    Phineas?
    Benny
    Me

    Hardware:
    Tweezers
    2 Mace or equiv., family-size, delayed-release
    1 length chain
    1 stout padlock
    1 sign
    1 appropriate I.D.
    1 old raincoat
    1 bag crack (optional)

    Arthropods:
    100 Supella longipalpa (or Periplaneta americana ) (any size)

    That should do to be getting on with, thought I with satisfaction. I tucked the note away and went over to the blackboard to put my name up for a game of pool.

    S ATURDAY CAME and went. Late in the morning I picked up King, who seemed fully recovered, and that afternoon we watched Fernando and the Dodgers lose another one. During the shambles, I gave King his exercise and invented a gadget that would make me millions. See, sprawled on the sofa in front of the TV a few months back, I was playing ball with the mutt but the problem was the front room was too small to give him a proper run, so in a flash of brilliance I bestirred myself enough to open the front door and then, back on the couch, if I got the bounce right, I could chuck his ball so it would carom off two walls, and then out the door and then bounce all the way down to the bottom of the stairs, which was more like it. The only problem so far was that when he wanted to signify that he’d had enough, he did so by leaving the ball downstairs, where guess who would have to retrieve it sooner or later, but I was working on that. What I invented was, while I watched those no-hit bums come up short yet again, a way for dogs to exercise themselves outdoors, viz:

    And that about took care of Saturday. Oh yes... one other trifle. Evonne Louise Shirley phoned to break the more or less understood date we had Saturday nights; seems she was feeling a bit under the weather. I asked her if she wanted me to drop around and hold her hand and make her a hot lemonade with honey in it or whatever, but she said no, she’d just as soon be miserable by herself, thanks, but why didn’t I go out and have some fun