Vic Daniel 6 - As she rides by

smartly. I did likewise.
    “That was a short retirement,” I observed to my dog. He looked over at me and shrugged.
    Well, it turned out that Miss Silvetti was just having an attack of the vapors, or whatever it is poets get because they’re so artistic and sensitive and delicate, unlike us beefy clodhoppers. And, OK, to be fair, some drunken jerk at a disco the night before had almost scared the pants off her both literally and figuratively, according to her. And she was nervous enough anyway because she was waiting for the results of a smear test she’d just had. And she’d had a fight with her parents. And she was fucking broke, as usual. And some $!!@&**$/! poetry magazine published in a basement in Forget It, Idaho , with a circulation of about eight, had rejected a batch of her latest and most brilliant work. I did not inquire whether “Haiku for a Horse’s Ass” was among them. Even I could figure out that it was that last item that hurt the most, the rejection. As it was something I personally had very little experience of—if you leave out women—I had nothing helpful to say on the subject but instead attempted to cheer up the poor twerp by paying her full bill of $34.20 without any questions or raised eyebrows even, then taking her to lunch at Fred’s, where she of course ordered a la carte, and then I sent her shopping, after having presented her with a short list and appropriate sums. First she was to hit the hardware around the corner for tweezers, chain, and padlock, and then hike all the way over to the sign store on Van Nuys. She raised her (unplucked) brows at the last item on the list: those 100 (approx.) arthropods (any size).
    “And what are they supposed to be?”
    I told her.
    She glared at me. “And where am I supposed to come up with them?”
    I looked at King and shrugged. “So be inventive.”
    Off she went. Shortly thereafter, off King and I went, too, to the magic store on Sunset Boulevard just west of Vine. Did I ever tell you I once ran into Muhammad Ali in that same store? Well, I did. And he was performing, with great dexterity and a neat line in deadpan patter, a trick involving considerable sleight of hand called “The Professor’s Nightmare.” I know it involved considerable sleight of hand, because when the great Ali departed, I forked out $4.95 for what turned out to be little more than three bits of old clothesline and some complicated directions, and nowhere is where I got with “The Professor’s Nightmare.” So if anyone wants a one-owner trick guaranteed new, send me ten bucks and it’s yours.
    The great man was not, alas, in the store that day. I made my way down past the displays of more or less legitimate magic tricks to the so-called joke items, a section I well knew. Now I know what you are thinking—you are assuming that I knew the so-called joke section well because it was there that I replenished my collection of jumping candy, snapping gum (ouch!), and slim vols. with titles like, 1001 Snappy Jokes and The Ad-Libber’s Handbook. Oh youse of little faith, as they put it in Brooklyn ; some of us do grow up, you know.
    The four types of merchandise that did interest me were these: One: the “authentic replicas” (and authentic enough for most people, I can tell you) of police badges, security officer badges, sheriff s badges, and the like, complete with case ($2.95 extra). Two: Max Factor pancake makeup, false hair, spirit gum, wigs, etc. Three: The “Comic Certificates,” so-called because if they didn’t call them comic, they could be prosecuted for selling the real certificates they were identical to—stock certificates, birth and divorce, college diplomas, marriage licenses, and so on. For a paltry $1.95 each, these are obviously a wise investment for the beginning sleuth. And, finally, Four: laminated photo I.D. cards, one of which was the real reason for my visit. There was a whole stack of them, for novelty purposes again, of course, we get it, ranging from an excellent copy of my own California State private investigator license to things like Press, Security, and fake Actor’s Equity cards, etc., but also including such humorous items as Lawn Inspector, The International Brotherhood of Comedians, Liar’s License, Space Shuttle Pilot’s License, and, last but not least, California Department of Health Pest and Vermin Control. And most realistic they all were. For example, the Security I.D. card said something like, “The