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There was a quiet knock at my door. I knew it wasn't Turcic come around to make unreasonable demands about back rent, because that usually involved hammering and screaming in some foreign lingo. I usually ignored that. If he was going to rent to Americans in LA, he should at least have the courtesy to scream at his tenants in English. I picked up the piece that Red had loaned me the day before and slid up to my office door. It had been getting rough in the neighborhood lately and I was also trying out the "tough guy" look for my next caper.
"Yeah? Who is it?" I yelled in my best deep and rough tone.
"It is me!" said a dame in an outrageous French accent.
"How do I know it's you?" I asked.
"Who else do you know that talks like this?"
"Good point, sister. Come on in." I opened the door to let Zippy saunter in with her black clothing and jaunty black beret. I watched appreciatively at she sauntered to the desk.
"Thinking of going pro with that?" I asked.
"Non! I have a shot at the French National Sauntering Team 400 metre event at the next Olympics."
"Good luck with that. What can I do for you, Doll? Did pshrynk get himself whacked again?"
"We're not sure. He has written so very little on the Harv and Vera saga lately that we are afraid he may have come to some nefarious end."
"His end is somewhat nefarious. Sorry, Doll. I don't take on lost causes. Why don't you go down the hall and ask Red?"
"Wrong era. We need someone from the thirties for this job."
"Well sit down and tell me the particulars. I'm not promising anything mind you."
Zippy slithered into the chair and crossed her legs with a silken whisper. My heart began to beat faster.
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