Vic Daniel 6 - As she rides by

a buck each way, max, so what was the rest for, those rubber bands holding back her dingy hair? She’d be lucky. Anyway, I had more important things to do than niggle with her over a few measly bucks, so into the wastepaper basket went the haiku and I got on with them.
    I got out the list I’d made Friday evening at Jim’s, made a deletion or two, then an addition or two, then pulled the phone closer and started calling. It being ten-thirty or so by then, I figured that everyone I needed should be available. First, with the aid of the phone book, I called all four Pussycat houses, even though they weren’t officially open for business yet. Live people responded thrice, a recorded message once. All three live people told me that no, Mr. Gall wasn’t on the premises, but he invariably stopped by sometime before the eight o’clock show if I wanted to leave a message. I said I’d rather call him at his office, if possible. All three readily supplied his office number. Good, I thought, after completing the fourth call. Now I knew where to get him during the day, and I also knew what times of day were safe for me and the A-team to operate in without fear of him recognizing one of us.
    Next, I looked up, under local governmental services, and then phoned up, the LA Department of Health. After a short hold, complete with Muzak, a lady’s voice said, “Department of Health, and how can I help you today?”
    “Mel Harrison, Studio City Citizen,” I said. “Fastest growing weekly in the valley.”
    “Oh yeah?” she said warily, fearing no doubt that I was peddling space or subscriptions or whatever. I soon reassured her that I was naught but a humble general reporter seeking a little background for a feature article my editor suggested I do on the mainly unsung work done by her department. Gee, she said. She wasn’t sure that she was the right person to talk to, she said, being after all nothin’ but a humble receptionist herself. Yes, I said, but who else would know as much about the daily operations of her department as someone like herself, right in the middle of things, and how exactly did she spell her name, anyway?
    Well, it took a while, partly due to interruptions while she answered other calls and brief interruptions for me to shout out vaguely city-room phrases to nonexistent confreres like, “Mike, spike whatever it is you’re doin’ and get over to City Hall fast,” and, “Hey, kid, where did ya get this coffee, anyway, the La Brea Tar Pits?” but I finally got some useful tidbits out of Miss Allyson (with a y) William (no j). I found out how many inspectors worked full-time in the city checking weights and measures (pathetically few), how many restaurants and bars (pathetically few), how many street vendors of edible substances (pf) and how many visited places of public convergence, i.e., airports, bus stations, schools, and both train stations and trains themselves.
    “Was the work ever dangerous?” I wondered.
    “What isn’t in this town?” said Miss William. “We got two inspectors out right now.”
    “No kidding?” I said. “What happened?”
    “One got hit on the head with a bottle, one was stabbed,” she said.
    “Gee whiz,” I said. “I’d no idea. I wonder if I could talk to one of them? ‘Course I’d never print a word they didn’t want and naturally I’d clear it with your boss first.”
    “Don’t see why not,” she said. “We could use a little good publicity around here, if you ask me. Why don’t ‘cha talk to Andy, he’s the one got stabbed, he’s up at Kaiser till the weekend at least.” She spelled me out his full name. I asked her what happened to his caseload if he was going to be out for a bit. Would it be transferred to some other investigator? Not if he’s only out for a few days like Andy, she said. It’s easier to develop a solid case for the courts if one investigator takes it all the way from start to finish. Really? I said. ‘Course, she said, I wouldn’t normally be telling just anyone all this, like, if you was just a member of the public and you phoned up to talk to Mr. Rodriguez (Andy) I’m not gonna say no, ‘cause he’s up at Kaiser with a punctured lung, am I?
    “ ‘Course not, Miss William, you’ve got more sense than that.”
    “Yeah, and I got a directive, too,” she said, “telling me what to say. ‘Mr. Rodrigez is temporarily unavailable; may I pass you on to another agent?’ is what I say.”
    “And quite right,